Saturday, January 21, 2012
Thursday, January 19, 2012
The Nick Of Time (and other abrasions): Route d'abbaye
The Nick Of Time (and other abrasions): Route d'abbaye Track One- Come Together
The Nick Of Time (and other abrasions)
Al Bruno III
Night had fallen in Olathoe, the city of bones. Olathoe was a teeming metropolis of nightmares and impossibilities, a place where magic and monsters hid away from the ordinary world. In Olathoe every fable is a prophesy and every legend is a promise...
Constable Rhoden Lunt led his squad of Sentries along Thorn Park and then turned off onto Route d'abbaye. He stopped them in front of a slouching Victorian tenement and ordered them to break down the door.
The Sentries’ heads were shaven and their faces were intricately tattooed. The dull metal armor they wore contrasted with the automatic weapons slung over their shoulders. Constable Lunt's expression was sour, he didn't want to be here.
This particular barrio had an unpleasant reputation and in a city where cannibalism was legal, so long as you had the proper permits, that was no small feat.
Rhoden's uniform was standard issue for a Constable made with a fabric so dark blue that is was nearly black. Medals and awards were prominently displayed. The helmets were conical and elaborate. Rhoden’s gloved hands were clasped behind his back and he stood perfectly still. He wanted to move around, to pace and grumble under his breath but that wasn’t something Constables did. They were supposed to be men and women whose perfect poise and posture was an outward sign of their perfect minds. He’d seen entire careers derailed by a thoughtless scratching of the nose.
After what seemed like an eternity the door to 209 Route d'abbaye. splintered and the Sentries charged inside. Rhoden waited for the all clear. There was graffiti on the wall to his right, a snarled yellow sigil.
He’d seen many streets purged during his career, entire neighborhoods cleared out. Why not this one? Why did the Regent suffer it to exist?
Still he supposed it might happen soon, especially if their tip was correct and they captured Jason Magwier. Constable Rhoden Lunt smiled at the thought of bringing him in, that certainly would be a feather in his already feathery cap.
And wouldn’t his dear cousin Jack be jealous?
A shriek startled him from his thoughts. One of the Sentries stumbled back out of the building. Blood was drizzling from the gaps in his armor. The Sentries' face was a mass of gleaming red sinew. Somehow he had been skinned while still wearing his armor but Rhoden saw it was more than this, even the Sentries’ muscles were falling away from the bone, fraying like worn strings to reveal ugly glimpses of what lay beneath.
Training overrode Constable Lunt’s instinct to run. He drew his sidearm and spat an incantation.
A wave of mystical force slammed against and through the doorway of the old house. The boards across the first floor windows snapped. Constable Lunt heard things crashing and shattering. He waited a moment more and then stepped inside.
“Prostrate yourself!” Rhoden cried, “In the name of the Regent I order you!”
Something moved to his left, something low to the ground. The Constable whirled and fired two shots before he realized it was the second Sentry.
The second Sentry had been just as horribly mutilated as the first. The Sentry quivered and crawled, the shape of his body was all wrong.
How could Jason Magwier have done this? It didn’t fit his modus operandi at all. He was a subversive and an anarchist but not a sadist.
“Just as well,” a voice said from the far side of the room, “he would have died soon enough.”
Constable Rhoden Lunt spun back around again. He stared down the sights of his revolver to see a tall man wearing an inverness coat. He had a thick mane of white blond hair and octagon rimmed glasses. In his right hand he held the skin of one Sentry, in the his left he held the spine of the other; both where perfectly preserved and bloodless.
Rhoden knew who this man was. “Dr. Flesh?” the name was ridiculous but his voice trembled when he said it.
“Indeed,” the man with the white blonde hair dropped his grisly trophies and took a step forward, “I think you know what this means.”
“Whoever’s paying you... whatever they’re paying you... my family...”
“I’m sure they could but we both know better,” Dr. Flesh moved slowly, like a man trying to charm a skittish animal.
“Stay away!” Rhoden shook his revolver for emphasis, “I’ll shoot.”
“This can be painless,” Dr. Flesh said, “it can be like drifting off to sleep.”
“I said stay back!”
“If you shoot me I’ll make the parts of your face come together. Then I’ll leave your every nerve ending screaming with pain. Not a pleasant way to go.”
Dr. Flesh reached for the Constable. The Constable fired.
The bullet’s impact knocked the assassin back half a step but the wound was bloodless and began to close. Then Dr. Flesh was on him.
Dr. Flesh’s hands were pale and slender, almost feminine. When they settled on Rhoden’s throat they sank through the skin as though it was nothing but water.
For Rhoden there was a moment of revulsion and then he felt as though he was aflame. The pain sent him crashing to the floor, he began to fill the air with animalistic blubbering. The agony robbed him of his strength and then went to work on his mind.
With another brush of his hand Dr. Flesh fused melded Rhoden’s lips and eyelids closed, melting them like wax leaving nothing of his face save for the nose.
That done he fished a dog-eared paperback copy of Atlas Shrugged from his coat, sat down on the floor beside the first of tonight’s targets and started to read. He wondered idly how long the Constable would last, how long until his heart burst in his chest from terror.
Dr. Flesh guessed he had until chapter eight, chapter nine at the most.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Trying something a little different here for my FACEBOOK friends...
In my linking and re-linking of all my social networks and blogs I somehow set it up that each of my posts was showing up twice or more and torturing you folks.
Hopefully things should be running more smoothly.
BUZZFEED present 'The Day The LOLcats Died'
SOPA and PIPA are two examples of recent legislation that is lethal to the internet as we know it. The internet rose up and is on its way to successfully fighting them off, but we need to stay vigilant.
The only way to prevent legislation like this from being passed in the future is to call your Congressmen and tell them. Make it clear that you don't support SOPA, you don't support PIPA, and that you won't support future legislation that damages the stability of the internet.
For more information, visit:
Ok folks if you haven't weighed in on SOPA you darn well should...
...because while it may be intended to stop Piracy it could have a chilling effect on the social media we enjoy.
Make your voice heard by clicking here. This isn't a left wing or right wing thing... this is a censorship thing.
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
(Insane News) " Woman Arrested For Offering Sex In Exchange For McDonald's Chicken Nuggets"
A Los Angeles woman was arrested after she offered sexual favors in exchange for chicken McNuggets, Burbank police said.
Khadijah Baseer of Los Angeles reportedly opened customers' car doors in the drive-thru of McDonald's on the 1700 block of Olive Avenue about 11 p.m. Wednesday, asking for free chicken McNuggets in exchange for sexual favors, Officer Joshua Kendrick said.
A man told police Baseer approached him but he refused the offer...
Monday, January 16, 2012
5 Second Fiction Two Thousand and Thirty Nine
5 Second Fiction Two Thousand and Thirty Eight
Delores didn't think of it as a murder, she thought of it as an extreme unfriending.
5 Second Fiction Two Thousand and Thirty Seven
Everyone laughed at Lou's theory a hibernating grizzly wouldn't wake while being neutered. No one laughed when he tried to prove it.
5 Second Fiction Two Thousand and Thirty Six
“I've aged like a fine cheese,” she said, “and that's Gouda.”
5 Second Fiction Two Thousand and Thirty Five
He brought two turntables and a microphone on the nature hike because everyone loves a little trail mix.
5 Second Fiction Two Thousand and Thirty Four
The inventor of the concrete parachute had quite an impact.
5 Second Fiction Two Thousand and Thirty Three
All the cooks at King Kong Burgers were former showgirls and models, hence their catchphrase 'Twas beauty grilled the beef'.
5 Second Fiction Two Thousand and Thirty Two
The first National Smut Awareness Week was a rousing success.
5 Second Fiction Two Thousand and Thirty One
His wife made him made list of things to do on his day off, somehow that made him feel even more relaxed when he woke up at noon.
5 Second Fiction Two Thousand and Thirty
The first mission of the work-release villain group the Super Parolees was to chase protesters out of the River City park.
5 Second Fiction Two Thousand and Twenty Nine
It probably was a mistake but when he printed out fliers to advertise the sale at the golf hat warehouse he used ALL CAPS.
5 Second Fiction Two Thousand and Twenty Eight
With a name like Richard Long he always felt like he had a lot to live up to but his buddy Peter Smalley felt no pressure at all.
5 Second Fiction Two Thousand and Twenty Seven
Eventually the network engineer gave up, he'd fought the LAN and the LAN won.
I am now on Google Plus (Whatever the Hell that means)
So what does this mean for YOU the reader?
Pretty much you can find the same damn updates coming through via TWITTER and FACEBOOK.
But feel free to add me to one of your circles and as soon as I find out what that means I will let you know!
Sunday, January 15, 2012
The Nick Of Time (and other abrasions): Tales of paranormal romance for people that couldn't get laid in high school
Everything you know is wrong- there are plenty of gods but no afterlife, wizards plot rebellion against eldritch horrors with marketing departments, the Chinese Mafia runs the phone company, every tarot card is a prophesy waiting to happen and most vampires live in trailer parks. Read on to visit a world where every cliche is a parable, every fairy tale is bad advice and every dream leaves a ghost in its wake...
Why not listen to the suggested soundtrack on 8 TRACKS?
Art by Chris Scheetz, Wayne Anderson, George Vasilakos, and Vanessa Lee
The Nick Of Time (and other abrasions): Cenobia Meets Her Destiny
Hands still raised, he obeyed but as he walked past her he commented, “I would like to assure you madam that I am strictly the hired help in this endeavor. I in no way hold any allegiance to this man or his Cause.”