Thursday, May 27, 2010
Leaves sprouted from his fingers and his feet had taken root to the ground when he woke up in his recliner. However, Rufus Bent was not alarmed. Though his family argued that he was too old and feeble to live alone anymore, he always knew he would stay on the land that once belonged to his granddaddy...
Throughout the 1950's Abner Deggent protected America's interests from Communist spies, mad scientists and cannibal beatniks.
At long last Magwier had possession of the legendary and mystical Maker of Moons- he was surprised to find it had a hand crank.
The Mathmagician user her powers to divide up the most of the villains but someone else would have to deal with the remainder.
He said zombies were a metaphor for the plight of the underclass, that didn't save him from the undead feasting on his testicles.
She had studied Ancient Egyptian erotica for years and it was always about the mummy shot.
Commander Infinity was the most powerful superhero on Earth but he had one weakness- asphalt.
By now Lorelei was so jaded that when the monster appeared her first thought was that now her term paper was going to be late.
Abner Deggent bragged he could deal with those pornographers with one arm tied behind his back.
Outraged mimes took to the streets of River City; it literally was a quiet riot.
He stole coffee and sugar successfully but they caught him creaming in his jeans.
She had been in a twenty-year relationship but then tragically LAW & ORDER was canceled.
She wanted fame but they rejected her novel, her demo tapes and her every audition; when they rejected her sex tape she gave up.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
In The Shadow Of His Nemesis
Chapter Sixty Five
BY AL BRUNO III
Friday, December 3rd 1996
“Johnny?” Angie’s voice was ragged, “Hey Johnny...”
The room was still dark but Sig had done his best to clean the sick from Angie’s body and the mattress. The broken furniture and the holes in the walls had taken care of themselves while he made his farewells to Isobel and the others. The room looked as though nothing had ever happened. Sig had brought a pitcher of water and some crackers in case Angie needed them but he only had to look at her to know she wouldn’t be able to hold anything down.
“There was someone in the room Johnny,” she said.
“That was Isobel. She’s going to get us medicine.” Sig ran his cool hand along her feverish skin.
“No not her, I heard her but I was too tired to talk. There was someone here when you were gone,” she said, “like a ghost but not like Magwier.”
“I don’t understand.”
Could she have glimpsed the thralls of house? If she had...
No! Sig refused to consider such a thing. Not when he’d sacrificed so much to save her from a living damnation. He had thought Laurel House would be just a stop on their journey, a place to recover from their disastrous visit to Hampton Beach but they had gotten comfortable. Well, she had gotten comfortable and that was enough for him.
Sig could never be at ease in a place like this, he wasn't meant to live like a tick on the back of a great and terrible beast.
“I feel so sick,” Angie said, “like there's knives in me...”
“Don't worry,” he said, “get some rest and everything will be all right soon.”
How long would it take them to get back? Isobel was only human and she would slow the others down but Sig knew she was the only one he could rely on. She was a pure spirit, a human spirit. That wasn't always enough in this world but what other choice did he have? Everyone else here was either too selfish, too insane or too damned to be relied on. Roxanne carried treachery in her blood, Bodivar had left his sanity in the ruins or Woldercan, Magwier was never to be trusted and Zeth was his lapdog. Jack and Hao were good enough company but they had both been responsible for dozens of deaths; how else could they have come to serve Laurel House. And as for Galen? Sig bore him no grudge but how could one turncoat trust another?
Sig didn’t even dare pray to blessed Phalen, not when he’d mortgaged his soul twice and again over the years.
Poor Isobel! She didn't know how alone she truly was in all this; even her own brother carried the mark of something terrible within him, of something waiting to be born.
“Something's wrong Johnny...can't you feel it?”
“I'm not going to let anything happen to you,” he said but the words left him feeling like a liar.
Angie said, “Something's wrong...” before dropping off to sleep again.
Lady Cruella preferred to use soap on a rope so she could have self-cleaning submissives.
Judy liked going down on her boyfriend but she refused to swallow, she didn't think vegans were technically allowed to.
From then on he always prefaced "I could eat a horse." with "I'm so hungry" and he was never accused of bestiality again.
The Local Heroes crossed paths with The Brotherhood of Evil Janitors and things got really messy.
Using the dark arts they summoned a pan-dimensional being from outside time; but even it couldn't explain the LOST season finale.
People had been saying things were worse than Hitler for so long that when Hitler did come back no one knew what to say.
Abner Deggent wasn't the sort of man to hit a woman- not when a choke hold was so much more effective.
The strange barbarians spent so much time working out and oiling their bodies that they rarely had time to rape or pillage.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Mama was putting clothes on the line when they came to tell us that Pa had killed himself. I remember the wind whipping past, snapping Lily's bloomers and petticoats and my union suits. The windmill was going like tomorrow would never come...
Can it be thirty years since we first learned
A hungry man can live on yellow dots?
How many million quarters have been burned
To hear the waka waka? Must be lots!
I ever was a duffer at this game;
One only was there in my little town
And that where I dared not go, to my shame --
The high school kids were scary, hangin' down
At the convenience store, when it was new.
Now where the arcade games were, you will find
A low-rent humidor of cigarettes.
I wasn't totally deprived, though, mind:
I too wasted much time with no regrets.
I had to go to Rawlins, that was all
And play at Roller City. 'Twas a ball.
Why did this shit always happen after midnight? Garcia never had to deal with this crap. Todd reached for the distress button, but paused. Maybe it was just a drifter looking for a warm, dry place to bed down during the thunderstorm. Since the craze of super villains in trashy trench coats started, it was hard to tell them apart from the bums...
Making a sequel is one thing, but creating a film series is something entirely different. Most films stumble with their sophomore effort, and by the time it gets around to the third installment both the audience's interest and the creative imperative have waned. Sure there are a few exceptions, Nightmare on Elm Street 3 springs to mind, but I could list dozens of films that never needed a third movie. Take for example The Howling III: The Marsupials or Superman III, did anyone really need those films to be made?
your nearness gives pleasure to the senses..it makes a plateau ..a golden hue.
embracing me and you...a stable condition on my feelings...
a range of emotional excitation..interjecting a beautiful view.
like when the sun is about to set..
.....my body stops.. I cease to exist..
like the sun ceases..at that moment projecting beautiful rays.
feelings inter my existence.as when you inter my embrace..
enclosing a love..
a grace of...something far above..
.. leaving just a trace .. .
as a delicate..and lovely melody.. dances inside my mind..
as if I was intertwined in the flash of those you left behind..
when I think of you...as if your touch is real..in my imagination is what I feel.
when you leave..is like when the melody ends..the sonatas...the voices of the arias....gone from the voices that were there.
tears so vast..so great that interrupts the rain..
like the grains of send..in a river-bed...moving like the blood in my veins..
disturbing your en brace.
tears that disturb the beauty that was there..
just before I feel your touch....once more it's just my imagination .. .
it is therapy..it's the sadness part of my voice..
my imagination..becomes excitation once agar....once again..
stabilizing a culture in my heart..stabilizing the purity..
the purity of love.....
That has been left......afar-
It was the year our community leaders made a Big Deal of reading The Maltese Falcon for The Big Read. They liked doing things together: reading books, presenting scholarships, honoring cops, going to church. They gave me a scholarship that year, despite the fact that I did not go to their church. My friends told me it was a matter of time before they took it back. I couldn't decide if it was a lucky break or if it was a case of mistaken identity, but I didn't question it. I was a senior in high school and I had to think of my future...