saw a vehicle that had alaskan plates while coming home from the store. was weird cause it looked more like a car than a dogsled.
Goe, making a funny.
27 November 2005
22 November 2005
19 November 2005
He's making a list
He's checking it twice.
Sauron will kill the naughty and nice.
Goe, does not have the ring of power or access to the fires of mt. doom.
Sauron will kill the naughty and nice.
Goe, does not have the ring of power or access to the fires of mt. doom.
18 November 2005
The Ghost Who Saved The Holiday
The holiday was fast approaching. He didn't like the holiday. It was far too commercial for his taste. He'd been dead for slightly over a decade and hadn't grown the least bit fond of it. When he was young, he never knew it was coming until it had passed, but now the advertisements were everywhere he went.
"All you can eat!" yelled someone dressed up as a stick of pepperoni. The ghost walked around the barker and stopped to look at a gaudy sign that read "DON'T GO TOPLESS ON THE HOLIDAY." He turned and started walking when he realized a half-dozen annoying looking children were about to bound through him. He spun, half jumping and half falling, and was quickly on the other side of the shop window.
He hated children almost as much as he hated dogs, which prefered to urinate on anything he passed through. He'd spent two months moving through the apartment manager's door to get dogs banned from his building. He put a lot of thought into getting children banned, but had no plan yet.
He stayed in the same apartment where he had lived and died. The new tenants were nice, he couldn't help but like them, and he often tidied up while they were out or sleeping. They were currently trying out holiday recipes for visiting relatives. The holiday isn't about family, he told himself as the children passed by. He stepped back through the display window and headed down the street to a club with boastful signs of nude sauce wrestling.
He'd barely reached the door when a short rotund man stepped out, turned, and affixed to the door a sign. The fat man stepped back inside, closing the door behind him. The ghost, rather used to this sort of thing, stepped through the door and into the club.
The club was half full, the wrestling wasn't to commence for another hour. He liked to arrive early and peek in on the dressing room. None of the other patrons seemed very happy, and the girls were drinking at the bar instead of changing into their easily torn lacey undergarments. He didn't know what was going on, but it didn't look good.
He stepped back through the door to read the sign. "WRESTLING CANCELLED DUE TO SAUCE SHORTAGE" was written thereon in crudely stylized block handwriting. He hadn't heard anything about a sauce shortage and it seemed the sort of thing that might make the news. He hadn't bothered with the news for months, tired of the soap opera quality projected on every story, so he missed a lot of information.
He'd never heard of a sauce shortage befoore and would have normally thought it wasn't possible. The sauce came mostly by train. For a full month before the holiday, trains brought sauces of all types in from the farming communities. Most of the sauce was stored in a set of specially built warehouses near the railyard. As long as the warehouses and rail station were intact, a sauce shortage should be impossible. The ghost shivered when he realized what that meant.
He drifted as quickly as he could towards the warehouses, rising up so that his feet were just about the heads in the crowd. He could see crowds already gathered outside a police barricade as he approached. Several bomb squad trucks were parked nearby, but there wasn't any sign of an explosion or fire.
The ghost drifted into the nearest warehouse, and was stunned by what he saw. Dogs were being egged on by policemen as they limped across piles of broken glass and through puddles of sauce. Some of the sauce was so thick that it barely moved
as the policemen sank their arms into it, obviously looking for something. The ghost realized why the bomb squad had come. He looked around at the mountains of crates that hadn't been opened or searched yet. It didn't take a math genius, and he wasn't one, to figure out that the police would probably have to spend several days searching each warehouse for a bomb, if there was on. Several of the dogs began barking at him, and he slid back through the wall.
He drifted over to the next warehouse, and floated inside. The police hadn't gotten to this one yet, the crates were intact, and the sauce unspoiled. He drifted from crate to crate, sticking his head inside, looking for anything that might spoil what little holiday fun there was to be had. Naked women could wrestle in sauce any time of the year, but they only did so around the holiday. He saw nothing unusual in the crates, just sauce in large barrels, small glass jars, large plastic bottles, small aluminum cans, and small plastic bottles made to look like glass jars or aluminum cans. He peeked into every crate in the building, then drifted through a high part of the wall and into the next warehouse.
The police weren't in the third warehouse either. The ghost began peeking in crates again and found something in a large wooden crate that was circled with thick metal straps. Instead of holding jars of any size or type, it contained a large metal box. Wires came from many parts of the box and went into a smaller metal box on top of the larger box. The smaller box had a number of flashing lights and what appeared to be a small clock radio that kept blinking "12:00".
The ghost drifted back outside and into the first warehouse. He lowered himself so that his feet were in the floor, and floated back to the bomb. He wasn't suprised to see that nothing followed him, so he floated back to the first warehouse, trying to follow the path he had just taken. He had travelled back and forth several dozen times before the dogs began to take notice, but it took a few dozen more trips before the dogs were pulling their handlers along the invisible trail.
When the dogs reached the bomb, they took turns urinating on it while the other dogs barked and the handlers tried vainly to pull them back towards the first warehouse and the gooey mess inside. The ghost knew it was time to go home when the police began to scrutinize the crate. He had done all that he could, the sauce would be distributed as soon as it was safe, and Pizzamas would go on as always.
Goe, never got around to writing more Pizzamas carols.
"All you can eat!" yelled someone dressed up as a stick of pepperoni. The ghost walked around the barker and stopped to look at a gaudy sign that read "DON'T GO TOPLESS ON THE HOLIDAY." He turned and started walking when he realized a half-dozen annoying looking children were about to bound through him. He spun, half jumping and half falling, and was quickly on the other side of the shop window.
He hated children almost as much as he hated dogs, which prefered to urinate on anything he passed through. He'd spent two months moving through the apartment manager's door to get dogs banned from his building. He put a lot of thought into getting children banned, but had no plan yet.
He stayed in the same apartment where he had lived and died. The new tenants were nice, he couldn't help but like them, and he often tidied up while they were out or sleeping. They were currently trying out holiday recipes for visiting relatives. The holiday isn't about family, he told himself as the children passed by. He stepped back through the display window and headed down the street to a club with boastful signs of nude sauce wrestling.
He'd barely reached the door when a short rotund man stepped out, turned, and affixed to the door a sign. The fat man stepped back inside, closing the door behind him. The ghost, rather used to this sort of thing, stepped through the door and into the club.
The club was half full, the wrestling wasn't to commence for another hour. He liked to arrive early and peek in on the dressing room. None of the other patrons seemed very happy, and the girls were drinking at the bar instead of changing into their easily torn lacey undergarments. He didn't know what was going on, but it didn't look good.
He stepped back through the door to read the sign. "WRESTLING CANCELLED DUE TO SAUCE SHORTAGE" was written thereon in crudely stylized block handwriting. He hadn't heard anything about a sauce shortage and it seemed the sort of thing that might make the news. He hadn't bothered with the news for months, tired of the soap opera quality projected on every story, so he missed a lot of information.
He'd never heard of a sauce shortage befoore and would have normally thought it wasn't possible. The sauce came mostly by train. For a full month before the holiday, trains brought sauces of all types in from the farming communities. Most of the sauce was stored in a set of specially built warehouses near the railyard. As long as the warehouses and rail station were intact, a sauce shortage should be impossible. The ghost shivered when he realized what that meant.
He drifted as quickly as he could towards the warehouses, rising up so that his feet were just about the heads in the crowd. He could see crowds already gathered outside a police barricade as he approached. Several bomb squad trucks were parked nearby, but there wasn't any sign of an explosion or fire.
The ghost drifted into the nearest warehouse, and was stunned by what he saw. Dogs were being egged on by policemen as they limped across piles of broken glass and through puddles of sauce. Some of the sauce was so thick that it barely moved
as the policemen sank their arms into it, obviously looking for something. The ghost realized why the bomb squad had come. He looked around at the mountains of crates that hadn't been opened or searched yet. It didn't take a math genius, and he wasn't one, to figure out that the police would probably have to spend several days searching each warehouse for a bomb, if there was on. Several of the dogs began barking at him, and he slid back through the wall.
He drifted over to the next warehouse, and floated inside. The police hadn't gotten to this one yet, the crates were intact, and the sauce unspoiled. He drifted from crate to crate, sticking his head inside, looking for anything that might spoil what little holiday fun there was to be had. Naked women could wrestle in sauce any time of the year, but they only did so around the holiday. He saw nothing unusual in the crates, just sauce in large barrels, small glass jars, large plastic bottles, small aluminum cans, and small plastic bottles made to look like glass jars or aluminum cans. He peeked into every crate in the building, then drifted through a high part of the wall and into the next warehouse.
The police weren't in the third warehouse either. The ghost began peeking in crates again and found something in a large wooden crate that was circled with thick metal straps. Instead of holding jars of any size or type, it contained a large metal box. Wires came from many parts of the box and went into a smaller metal box on top of the larger box. The smaller box had a number of flashing lights and what appeared to be a small clock radio that kept blinking "12:00".
The ghost drifted back outside and into the first warehouse. He lowered himself so that his feet were in the floor, and floated back to the bomb. He wasn't suprised to see that nothing followed him, so he floated back to the first warehouse, trying to follow the path he had just taken. He had travelled back and forth several dozen times before the dogs began to take notice, but it took a few dozen more trips before the dogs were pulling their handlers along the invisible trail.
When the dogs reached the bomb, they took turns urinating on it while the other dogs barked and the handlers tried vainly to pull them back towards the first warehouse and the gooey mess inside. The ghost knew it was time to go home when the police began to scrutinize the crate. He had done all that he could, the sauce would be distributed as soon as it was safe, and Pizzamas would go on as always.
Goe, never got around to writing more Pizzamas carols.
15 November 2005
History channel
A history channel show just described congress of the late 40's as having an "almost irrational fear of communism". How can the fear of something that killed over 100 million people even come close to approaching irrational.
Goe, doesn't wanna die in a 're-education center'.
Goe, doesn't wanna die in a 're-education center'.
13 November 2005
spam
not the same as linkwhoring, but sitemeter gives a list of everyplace that referred a visitor, and some people have found a way to stick their sites into those lists, making them look more important than they really are. this artificially high profile may be good or bad for them, i don't know or care, but each time i make a new post i get one or two of these fake visitors. probably half of the total visit count to this site is that. all i have to do is post stories and presto, i have an instant and artificial readership.
Goe, watching a Gilmore Girls marathon.
Goe, watching a Gilmore Girls marathon.
Gilmore Girls
i've become a huge fan. i've never seen dialogue so fast outside of a mamet or marx brothers film. it's just fascinating to watch the nonstop chattering. i'm coming to believe that 'gilmore girls in space' would be the best sci-fi show. ever.
Goe, needs some aspirin.
Goe, needs some aspirin.
12 November 2005
About Me!
Numenorean
To which race of Middle Earth do you belong?
brought to you by Quizilla
My pirate name is:
Dread Pirate Flint
Like the famous Dread Pirate Roberts, you have a keen head for how to make a profit. Like the rock flint, you're hard and sharp. But, also like flint, you're easily chipped, and sparky. Arr!
Get your own pirate name
You are Sam the Eagle.
You are patriotic and devoted. And extremely anal.
HOBBIES:
Patriotism, Being appalled at what everyone else is
doing.
FAVORITE MUSIC:
The National Anthem of America
FAVORITE MOVIE:
"An American In....America"
LAST BOOK READ:
"Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus,
Eagles are from America"
QUOTE:
"Please stop that now! It's un-American!"
What Muppet are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
You Are Cupid |
 A total romantic, you're always crushing on a new reindeer. Why You're Naughty: You've caused so much drama, all the reindeers aren't speaking to each other. Why You're Nice: You have a knack for playing matchmaker. You even hooked Rudolph up! |
Which of Santa's Reindeer Are You?
Which OS are You?
 I am a Thrust-ship.I am small and tricky - where you think I am, I probably am not. I can work very fast, but I tend to go about things in a round about way, which often leaves me effectively standing still. I hate rocks. Bloody rocks. What Video Game Character Are You? |
 | You scored as Kaylee (Kaywinnet Lee) Frye. The Mechanic. You are a natural mechanic, and you are far too sweet and cheerful to live out here. How you can see the good in everyone around you boggles the mind occasionally. Still you don't seem to be any crazier than that, and it is a nice kinda crazy.
Which Serenity character are you? created with QuizFarm.com |
 | You scored as General Grievous. Which Revenge of the Sith Character are you? created with QuizFarm.com |
You Are Not Scary |
 Everyone loves you. Isn't that sweet? |
Goe, hooray self-promotion!
10 November 2005
Uber-meh redux
crappy crappy day. haven't gotten anything written since chapter 2. had an interview today that didn't go well. they gave me a productivity test before the interview during which i did more than twice as well as they required, then during the interview they repeatedly asked if i had any relevant skills. like, DUH, i blew away your test, what more are you looking for? an ability to rub my belly and pat my head at the same time? juggling? rapping in foreign languages?
Goe, wonders why doing a job well is not what companies are looking for.
Goe, wonders why doing a job well is not what companies are looking for.
07 November 2005
04 November 2005
Root Causes
There's a lot of information on different reasons why the people in the parisian suburbs have reason to riot, protest, and throw tantrums in general, but there's very little information to be had on what's actually happening.
Goe, would like more news, less commentary.
Goe, would like more news, less commentary.
Chapter Two
Selfless Sacrifice was used to suffering for others. It was his calling in life and he would begrudge no one the comforts he could provide them. He wasn't exceptionally tall, strong, or attractive, but he had found his niche and it made him happy. His horses were always given away to the crippled, his food to the starving, and his money to the poor. This left him in a perpetual need for more money to buy more horses and food, which in turn left him in the employ of the King.
King Feeble neither hired nor paid Selfless directly, and the two had never met. Selfless worked for the King's chief aide, a short whispy man of very advanced years called Ancient Advisor. Mr. Advisor was wise by the standards of wise men, and old by the standards of old men, but he had advised the royalty of Setting for longer than anyone else could remember. There was even some doubt as to whether or not he even remembered a time when he did not have a king's ear.
Access to the King meant access to the King's Treasury as well, and Advisor had often hired adventurers to do the King's dirty work. Selfless had been hired this time to prevent a war with the neighboring kingdom of Locale, along with Dandy Fop who employed the Goon brothers as bodyguards. Fop and his men were waiting in an alley, the recruiting wasn't done yet and Advisor was keeping them on a tight budget this time.
Others were being lured into a trap with the temptation of mischief, a rare and highly valued spice. Advisor had made all the arrangements, Selfless only needed to lure them into the alley and give them an ultimatum: help or die. Not even King Feeble could afford to hire very many mercenaries at the rates charged by the guilds, and no ordinary guild would help to prevent a profitable war.
Selfless had been instructed to wait for a very hairy man and two companions, who would try to rob him. He saw three men approaching, one was very hairy indeed, with enough hair to to keep warm on the coldest of nights. Selfless did not see the mountain of hair that had moved around behind him, and wasn't quite prepared to be flung against a wall. Cleans flung Selfless against a wall anyways.
Selfless drew his sword, an elven blade filled with enchantments so common that he'd never felt a need to offer it to anyone without also being the one to use it. The elves had made more magical blades than could be counted, and only animosity from the Great Elf War kept them out of the hands of most people in the Kingdom of Setting. Selfless had used his sword in many different circumstances, and was able to parry a thrust dagger aside.
“Now,” he shouted towards the alley, spinning his sword upwards in an arc, blocking a strange twirling motion from the older of the two non-hairy men. The younger man stood back, with the less hairy of the two hairy men, whose face was now entirely obscured by a large ax blade so dirty that it would have been difficult to distinguish blade from handle.
Dandy Fop and his two bodyguards came dashing out of the alley. “Halt, in the name of the King!” yelled Dandy, as the Goon brothers ran at the two hairy men. Idiot and Stupid both had their swords drawn, but let the tips of the swords drag on the ground as they ran toward the fight. Selfless blocked an arm which lunged with surprising speed from the mountain of hair, and then kicked out, knocking whomever was under the hair backwards into a puddle. He turned to the other man just in time to see him get tackled by Idiot, who dropped his sword on impact, letting it clatter to the ground.
“There is no mischief here!” said Selfless loudly, turning the heads of several passers-by. “You need to come with us or die.”
Noreach shrugged, his face unreadable behind the ax blade. Adolescent stood still, looking confusedly between Noreach and Amiable for some sort of explanation. Amiable lay on the ground, trying to push Idiot off, and gave no indication that he had heard or understood what Selfless had said. Cleans lay in his puddle for a second before rolling back and forth in the mud, laughing.
Selfless put away his sword, and with the help of Dandy, pulled Idiot off of Amiable. Stupid stood next to Cleans, drooling heavily. When Amiable was back on his feet, Stupid reach down into the mud and pulled Cleans up to his feet as well.
“We are on a task assigned to us by the Association of Stereotypes, Archtypes, and Caricatures, and we can not fulfill other tasks until we've achieved our stated objective of robbing you. Working for you at all would be a violation of the Adventurer Caricature Labor Union Law as established by King Delirium so many centuries ago. Therefore, we have to say no.”
“Well, in that case, we'll have to kill you,” said Dandy, pulling a knife out of his immaculately sequined tunic. The knife had a jeweled handle far larger than it's blade. Dandy spoke in a lighthearted way, almost laughing. “It's such a pity too, because we really could have used your help. With you along, we'd fail in no time and rot in a most unfashionable manner in some distant swamp. Now we'll just succeed and save the kingdom.”
“That's enough, Dandy,” said Selfless, who then turned his attention to Amiable. “The Order of Timely Heroes, Enchanters, and Royalty is a section 23 organization. As such, I will repeat the offer. Join or die.”
A look of surprise appeared on Amiable's face. Noreach's ax slid down several inches, and Adolescent was stunned. Cleans' hair even seemed to wriggle slightly more than the breeze and lice would account for. Section 23 organizations were the stuff of legends, of secret conspiracies, and royal intrigue, all beyond the scope of the adventurer guilds and their corrupt guildmasters. Amiable, with an expression akin to having been hit with a frying pan while standing in a fire, nodded.
“Excuse me,” Said Dandy, his tufts on his large pink hat waving so freely as he bounced towards Selfless that they appeared ready to fall off, “but are you agreeing to join us or are you agreeing to die?”
“Huh?” mumbled Amiable, turning to notice Dandy smiling at him as though he were some sort of freshly won prize. “Join. Not die.”
“Very good then,” said Dandy. “Got your things? We're heading off in a bit. Got to pick up a few more chaps and then get some instructions from Ancient Advisor.” Amiable blinked a few times in rapid succession, as though starting to come out of a stupor. “You did know he was involved, didn't you? Who else could actually run a section 23 organization such as the Order? Come on now, that's a good fellow.”
Goe, will finish the story even if he doesn't 'win' nanowrimo.
King Feeble neither hired nor paid Selfless directly, and the two had never met. Selfless worked for the King's chief aide, a short whispy man of very advanced years called Ancient Advisor. Mr. Advisor was wise by the standards of wise men, and old by the standards of old men, but he had advised the royalty of Setting for longer than anyone else could remember. There was even some doubt as to whether or not he even remembered a time when he did not have a king's ear.
Access to the King meant access to the King's Treasury as well, and Advisor had often hired adventurers to do the King's dirty work. Selfless had been hired this time to prevent a war with the neighboring kingdom of Locale, along with Dandy Fop who employed the Goon brothers as bodyguards. Fop and his men were waiting in an alley, the recruiting wasn't done yet and Advisor was keeping them on a tight budget this time.
Others were being lured into a trap with the temptation of mischief, a rare and highly valued spice. Advisor had made all the arrangements, Selfless only needed to lure them into the alley and give them an ultimatum: help or die. Not even King Feeble could afford to hire very many mercenaries at the rates charged by the guilds, and no ordinary guild would help to prevent a profitable war.
Selfless had been instructed to wait for a very hairy man and two companions, who would try to rob him. He saw three men approaching, one was very hairy indeed, with enough hair to to keep warm on the coldest of nights. Selfless did not see the mountain of hair that had moved around behind him, and wasn't quite prepared to be flung against a wall. Cleans flung Selfless against a wall anyways.
Selfless drew his sword, an elven blade filled with enchantments so common that he'd never felt a need to offer it to anyone without also being the one to use it. The elves had made more magical blades than could be counted, and only animosity from the Great Elf War kept them out of the hands of most people in the Kingdom of Setting. Selfless had used his sword in many different circumstances, and was able to parry a thrust dagger aside.
“Now,” he shouted towards the alley, spinning his sword upwards in an arc, blocking a strange twirling motion from the older of the two non-hairy men. The younger man stood back, with the less hairy of the two hairy men, whose face was now entirely obscured by a large ax blade so dirty that it would have been difficult to distinguish blade from handle.
Dandy Fop and his two bodyguards came dashing out of the alley. “Halt, in the name of the King!” yelled Dandy, as the Goon brothers ran at the two hairy men. Idiot and Stupid both had their swords drawn, but let the tips of the swords drag on the ground as they ran toward the fight. Selfless blocked an arm which lunged with surprising speed from the mountain of hair, and then kicked out, knocking whomever was under the hair backwards into a puddle. He turned to the other man just in time to see him get tackled by Idiot, who dropped his sword on impact, letting it clatter to the ground.
“There is no mischief here!” said Selfless loudly, turning the heads of several passers-by. “You need to come with us or die.”
Noreach shrugged, his face unreadable behind the ax blade. Adolescent stood still, looking confusedly between Noreach and Amiable for some sort of explanation. Amiable lay on the ground, trying to push Idiot off, and gave no indication that he had heard or understood what Selfless had said. Cleans lay in his puddle for a second before rolling back and forth in the mud, laughing.
Selfless put away his sword, and with the help of Dandy, pulled Idiot off of Amiable. Stupid stood next to Cleans, drooling heavily. When Amiable was back on his feet, Stupid reach down into the mud and pulled Cleans up to his feet as well.
“We are on a task assigned to us by the Association of Stereotypes, Archtypes, and Caricatures, and we can not fulfill other tasks until we've achieved our stated objective of robbing you. Working for you at all would be a violation of the Adventurer Caricature Labor Union Law as established by King Delirium so many centuries ago. Therefore, we have to say no.”
“Well, in that case, we'll have to kill you,” said Dandy, pulling a knife out of his immaculately sequined tunic. The knife had a jeweled handle far larger than it's blade. Dandy spoke in a lighthearted way, almost laughing. “It's such a pity too, because we really could have used your help. With you along, we'd fail in no time and rot in a most unfashionable manner in some distant swamp. Now we'll just succeed and save the kingdom.”
“That's enough, Dandy,” said Selfless, who then turned his attention to Amiable. “The Order of Timely Heroes, Enchanters, and Royalty is a section 23 organization. As such, I will repeat the offer. Join or die.”
A look of surprise appeared on Amiable's face. Noreach's ax slid down several inches, and Adolescent was stunned. Cleans' hair even seemed to wriggle slightly more than the breeze and lice would account for. Section 23 organizations were the stuff of legends, of secret conspiracies, and royal intrigue, all beyond the scope of the adventurer guilds and their corrupt guildmasters. Amiable, with an expression akin to having been hit with a frying pan while standing in a fire, nodded.
“Excuse me,” Said Dandy, his tufts on his large pink hat waving so freely as he bounced towards Selfless that they appeared ready to fall off, “but are you agreeing to join us or are you agreeing to die?”
“Huh?” mumbled Amiable, turning to notice Dandy smiling at him as though he were some sort of freshly won prize. “Join. Not die.”
“Very good then,” said Dandy. “Got your things? We're heading off in a bit. Got to pick up a few more chaps and then get some instructions from Ancient Advisor.” Amiable blinked a few times in rapid succession, as though starting to come out of a stupor. “You did know he was involved, didn't you? Who else could actually run a section 23 organization such as the Order? Come on now, that's a good fellow.”
Goe, will finish the story even if he doesn't 'win' nanowrimo.
03 November 2005
Chapter One
The clerk sat behind the large desk. The desk took up most of the north wall of a large entrance hall. Several dozen people sat in the chairs and benches that filled the room, but the clerk didn't look at any of them. He stared at the young man in front of his desk.
“You can't join the guild,” the clerk said, his jowls flapping wildly as he spoke, “because you're underage and unsponsored. The Association of Stereotpyes, Archtypes, and Caricatures does not accept just anybody. You've got to be of age, and sponsored by a participating organization”
“But I am an archtype, like both my parents before me! My father was Charismatic Misfit and my mother was Rebellious Teen, and they were both members of your organization!”
“That is neither here nor there,” replied the clerk as dryly as he could, “as they were both of age when they joined and both sponsored by participating organizations. Why don't you try the Setting Trade Union for Projections of Internalized Development or the Setting Idiosyncratic Labor League or independent Explorers?”
“They both say that I'm not old enough,” muttered the young man.
“Well then, maybe you're just not old enough for such a challenging and dangerous career? Have you thought of that? Now go bother someone else, as I've got many other things to do before you become of age.”
The young man turned to leave, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. “Wait here,” said a gruff voice, as a tall muscular man stepped around him and up to the clerk's enormous desk.
“I'm Amiable Rogue, are there any messages for me?” said the tall man, as a second shorter man kept his hand on Misfit's shoulder. The clerk shuffled through a tall stack of papers for a few moments before pulling out a piece.
“Here,” said the clerk as he handed over the paper, “there's a job for you with Cleans Upwell. You'll find him in the Pig's Tie Tavern, over on Dirt Road.”
The tall man nodded to the clerk, and then to the shorter man. They both turned, steering Misfit with them, around the chairs, and out the door. When they were outside, they stopped and the tall man introduced himself as Amiable Rogue.
“And I'm Noreach Axemaster, a dwarven warrior of great fame and little reach,” spoke the shorter man. We overheard the clerk talking about your problems joining the Association and that's fine with us. We're only in it for the chicks. We both belong to the Free Association of Recycled Character Embodiments.”
“I think I should be qualified to join that!” said the young man enthusiastically. “My name is Adolescent Misfit, and I'd be happy to come with you on your errand.”
“I know you would boy,” said Noreach, patting Adolescent on the back. “It's fine with us if you do. We'll sponsor you into the guilds when the time comes, and train you up in the meantime.”
“I can't turn my back without the dwarf taking a liking to someone,” said Amiable, “but let's get going. Dirt Road isn't the best place to be when it's raining, and the skies are starting to look stormy.”
The dwarf nodded and the three began weaving their way across town. They took shortcuts through Dark Alley and Lovers Lane before reaching Dirt Road. The Pig's Tie was hard to miss. The small shops and bars all looked the same except for a three story pink pig wearing a beige necktie. The whole building was made of wood, with the lower portion of the tie also serving as the establishment's door.
The three made their way inside and squeezed through the thick smelly crowd until they reached the bar. Amiable flagged down one of the barmen and asked about Cleans Upwell. The barman grunted and pointed at the stairs. “He's in the Louse Room,” the barman half-shouted before turning to a paying customer.
Noreach muttered thanks as the three adventurers began to push their way towards the stairs. The upstairs hallway was painted bright yellow, with the name of a parasite painted in green on each door. Amiable and Noreach split, each going a different way down the hall. Adolescent hesitated at the stairs for a few moments before following Noreach. They were about halfway down the hall when Noreach yelled “Here!” and knocked on a yellow door.
The door still had not opened when Amiable reached them. Noreach knocked again, this time harder and more successfully, for a voice came from within. “Come in, come in.” Noreach opened the door and they went in.
The room was filthy. Light flooded in through large pink windows, illuminating a room covered with furs. There was a man sitting on what appeared to be a fur bed, with thick dark hair that almost reached the fur rug on the floor beneath him. The hair was so thick and matted with filth that it was hard to tell which way the man was facing aside from portions of beard that jutted out. Amiable and Adolescent each thought they saw a mouth deep in the hair when the man began to speak, but Noreach did not, watching the fur-covered floor instead and pondering if he was likely to be infested with the room's namesake parasite.
“You must be Amiable Rogue and his compatriots. I was only expecting one other, but no matter, you have come as requested. I've asked for your help because I can't do this job alone. A man named Side Character is moving some mischief through town, and I intend to take it from him. You'll each get a share when it's sold to my buyer.”
Amiable and Noreach assented immediately, while Adolescent stood silently still until Noreach gave him a sharp jab with an elbow. The mountain of hair led the three through the door into the pink hallway, down the stairs into the crowded bar, and out into the dusty Dirt Road.
Goe, not sure if he'll make the 50k wordcount in 28 days :(
“You can't join the guild,” the clerk said, his jowls flapping wildly as he spoke, “because you're underage and unsponsored. The Association of Stereotpyes, Archtypes, and Caricatures does not accept just anybody. You've got to be of age, and sponsored by a participating organization”
“But I am an archtype, like both my parents before me! My father was Charismatic Misfit and my mother was Rebellious Teen, and they were both members of your organization!”
“That is neither here nor there,” replied the clerk as dryly as he could, “as they were both of age when they joined and both sponsored by participating organizations. Why don't you try the Setting Trade Union for Projections of Internalized Development or the Setting Idiosyncratic Labor League or independent Explorers?”
“They both say that I'm not old enough,” muttered the young man.
“Well then, maybe you're just not old enough for such a challenging and dangerous career? Have you thought of that? Now go bother someone else, as I've got many other things to do before you become of age.”
The young man turned to leave, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. “Wait here,” said a gruff voice, as a tall muscular man stepped around him and up to the clerk's enormous desk.
“I'm Amiable Rogue, are there any messages for me?” said the tall man, as a second shorter man kept his hand on Misfit's shoulder. The clerk shuffled through a tall stack of papers for a few moments before pulling out a piece.
“Here,” said the clerk as he handed over the paper, “there's a job for you with Cleans Upwell. You'll find him in the Pig's Tie Tavern, over on Dirt Road.”
The tall man nodded to the clerk, and then to the shorter man. They both turned, steering Misfit with them, around the chairs, and out the door. When they were outside, they stopped and the tall man introduced himself as Amiable Rogue.
“And I'm Noreach Axemaster, a dwarven warrior of great fame and little reach,” spoke the shorter man. We overheard the clerk talking about your problems joining the Association and that's fine with us. We're only in it for the chicks. We both belong to the Free Association of Recycled Character Embodiments.”
“I think I should be qualified to join that!” said the young man enthusiastically. “My name is Adolescent Misfit, and I'd be happy to come with you on your errand.”
“I know you would boy,” said Noreach, patting Adolescent on the back. “It's fine with us if you do. We'll sponsor you into the guilds when the time comes, and train you up in the meantime.”
“I can't turn my back without the dwarf taking a liking to someone,” said Amiable, “but let's get going. Dirt Road isn't the best place to be when it's raining, and the skies are starting to look stormy.”
The dwarf nodded and the three began weaving their way across town. They took shortcuts through Dark Alley and Lovers Lane before reaching Dirt Road. The Pig's Tie was hard to miss. The small shops and bars all looked the same except for a three story pink pig wearing a beige necktie. The whole building was made of wood, with the lower portion of the tie also serving as the establishment's door.
The three made their way inside and squeezed through the thick smelly crowd until they reached the bar. Amiable flagged down one of the barmen and asked about Cleans Upwell. The barman grunted and pointed at the stairs. “He's in the Louse Room,” the barman half-shouted before turning to a paying customer.
Noreach muttered thanks as the three adventurers began to push their way towards the stairs. The upstairs hallway was painted bright yellow, with the name of a parasite painted in green on each door. Amiable and Noreach split, each going a different way down the hall. Adolescent hesitated at the stairs for a few moments before following Noreach. They were about halfway down the hall when Noreach yelled “Here!” and knocked on a yellow door.
The door still had not opened when Amiable reached them. Noreach knocked again, this time harder and more successfully, for a voice came from within. “Come in, come in.” Noreach opened the door and they went in.
The room was filthy. Light flooded in through large pink windows, illuminating a room covered with furs. There was a man sitting on what appeared to be a fur bed, with thick dark hair that almost reached the fur rug on the floor beneath him. The hair was so thick and matted with filth that it was hard to tell which way the man was facing aside from portions of beard that jutted out. Amiable and Adolescent each thought they saw a mouth deep in the hair when the man began to speak, but Noreach did not, watching the fur-covered floor instead and pondering if he was likely to be infested with the room's namesake parasite.
“You must be Amiable Rogue and his compatriots. I was only expecting one other, but no matter, you have come as requested. I've asked for your help because I can't do this job alone. A man named Side Character is moving some mischief through town, and I intend to take it from him. You'll each get a share when it's sold to my buyer.”
Amiable and Noreach assented immediately, while Adolescent stood silently still until Noreach gave him a sharp jab with an elbow. The mountain of hair led the three through the door into the pink hallway, down the stairs into the crowded bar, and out into the dusty Dirt Road.
Goe, not sure if he'll make the 50k wordcount in 28 days :(
02 November 2005
day two
got part of chapter 1 written yesterday, got nothing written today. can barely think. will try to do better but i'm falling way behind.
Goe, has had better days.
Goe, has had better days.
Relatives
I hate them, they're killing me. I mean that in almost a literal sense. I'm exhausted in every way I think I can be, but I'm still being hounded to help them entertain other relatives. The other relatives being elderly people who wouldn't give me the time of day back when their circle of friends were still alive. If I tell them I'm exhausted then they either try to one-up me by going through a littany of their medical history, or try to force feed me some sort of 'all natural' herbal supplements that they heard from a friend of a friend once made someone feel better and containing god only knows what. This has led me to recently start desiring the demise of elderly relatives so that the golddiggers stop bothering me. Is being left alone really too much to ask?
Goe, not rude enough to slam doors in people's faces.
Goe, not rude enough to slam doors in people's faces.
01 November 2005
Just a theory.
I've heard all sorts of theories online about what happened to iraq's chemical and biological weapons programs. the one i believe isn't one i've seen or heard anywhere. i think we've found them. the u.s. investigation in iraq for weapons (i think documented in the kay report) found that the iraqi's had stopped working on most obvious biological weapons and was trying to weaponize other diseases as well as practicing on non-lethal virii and bacteria (i.e. using camelpox in the lab instead of smallpox). i think they did the same thing with chemical weapons. instead of producing sarin, they made large amounts of pesticides which are toxic to humans as well as bugs. if anybody asks, it's just pesticide, but can be put into a chemical weapons warhead on a moments notice.
several times, soldiers in iraq went to areas where people said there were chemical weapons and became sick, only to "find" barrels of pesticides buried there., and the camoflauged trailers identified pre-war as portable chemical weapons manufacturing areas were found scrubbed clean and identified by the cia as only used for pesticide production.
Goe, can't prove that theory.
several times, soldiers in iraq went to areas where people said there were chemical weapons and became sick, only to "find" barrels of pesticides buried there., and the camoflauged trailers identified pre-war as portable chemical weapons manufacturing areas were found scrubbed clean and identified by the cia as only used for pesticide production.
Goe, can't prove that theory.
Prologue
Prologue
Two men entered the village from opposite sides, both on horseback. The village of Prologue lay on the side of a hill, overlooking Lake Wet. The one road that passed through the village followed the shoreline of the lake and crossed the border seperating the Kingdom of Setting from the Kingdom of Locale. Merchants and diplomats often traveled that road during the dry season. It was not the dry season as the two men rode into the village, but it was hot and dry that day, and throats were easily parched.
The man riding from the border was on a brown horse, and dressed in fine linens and silks. Several lengthy weapons dangled from the saddle in their scabbards, and a large pole rose up, from the top of which flew a banner, bearing a noble crest unknown to the people in the village.
The other man was also on a brown horse, and also finely dressed, but all of his clothing was marked with the royal symbols of Setting. These symbols were all known to the villagers, and they bowed low as the horse and rider passed by. He had also brought more.
Both men stopped at the tavern, and waited for the tavernkeepers servant to come and tie their horses. They dismounted in unison and went inside. They ordered drinks and found a corner table where they talked in low whispers for several hours. The man dressed in royal regalia paid for both, and they departed.
Neither man looked back as they rode out of town, but the man from the border ripped the blue banner loose and dropped it as his horse trod along the dusty road. He stopped as he crested the next hill, more horsemen joined him, unnoticed by the villagers too accustomed to strange visits and secret negotiations.
The horsemen all wore bright blue shirts, their pants and jackets were black and trimmed with pale blue. Each had a distinctive noble crest on the backs of their jackets, in yellow and blue, and the handles of their swords were bound with blue-stained leather, now fading from age and use. These men wore the markings of the Duke of Decoie, a Locale Noble who ruled a small duchy far across the nearby border. None of the villagers would have known this, such things were not important to shepherds, to fishermen, or to the tavernkeeper.
It was important, and everything was for a purpose unknown to any but the two men. The royal figure vanished from sight, but the other man stayed on the nearby hill's crest, and shouted something unheard in the village. As one, the other horsemen turned their horses to the village and began to move toward it.
A small crowd, composed mostly of curious children, watched them approach the village. A small girl waved the blue banner that had been left behind, only to have it snatched from her grasp by an older girl in a blue dress. The smaller girl protested, but conceded defeat when the horsemen began to form a line, several yards between the flanks of each horse, at about a hundred yards from the village.
Other villagers joined the crowd as the men on horseback raised their swords to shoulder height. The blades were long, four feet each, and the edges didn't form a smooth curve but had a slight ripple to them. The horses began moving faster, well trained to this task, and the people of the village realized death was upon them when the horses were spurred to a gallop.
“They want the flag back!” yelled the little girl as she began to tug on it again. The larger girl tried to push her away as the others around them began running to the nearest houses. The houses were wood and stone, built to withstand the heavy winter snows and strong lake winds. They were good shelters, sturdy and warm inside their thick walls, walls that a horse could not pass through.
The horses did not need to pass through walls though, they passed through the gaps between homes, leaving the girl in the blue dress shorter by a head, and the smaller girl armless past the elbow as she lay on the dusty road and cried for them to just take their flag back. The men did not take their flag back, but rode through the village until they had reached the other side, leaving several dozen villagers dead or dying on the ground behind them.
The men were silent, and could hear the shouts and screams of the villagers. Reins were pulled and the horses turned. A fisherman charged from the nearest house, brandishing a pitchfork he had beaten into a more suitable shape for fishing. It had three tines, the center one remained straight in line with the eight foot shaft, and the outer two had been curved back into crude hooks.
The nearest horseman tried to block the ungainly weapon with his sword, but the fisherman was used to rough waters and strong fish. He smiled as the central tine went through the horseman's chest, as the man frantically chopped at the shaft with his sword. Another sword slashed across the fisherman's back, bearing bone and muscle to the hot, dry air, and the fisherman fell forward, still smiling, still pushing against the horseman who was toppled sideways by the weight of the fisherman's fall.
The other horsemen left the two dying men, and split into two groups. The first group dismounted and lit torches while the second group trotted back through the village, chopping down any villagers who had dared an escape. As they began to burn the village, the men worked fast. They did not like being dismounted or lingering too long in one location, both were death for the Duke's horsemen.
It was an hour before the entire village was on fire, smoke billowing high into the sky. The horsemen rode back to the man on the nearby hill's crest, and one shorter than they arrived, they rode away toward the border. There were no more screams in the village, nor any living souls to scream. At the edge of the village, the lifeless hands of a headless girl clutched a small banner.
Goe, cause the village of Prologue is destroyed before chapter 1.
Two men entered the village from opposite sides, both on horseback. The village of Prologue lay on the side of a hill, overlooking Lake Wet. The one road that passed through the village followed the shoreline of the lake and crossed the border seperating the Kingdom of Setting from the Kingdom of Locale. Merchants and diplomats often traveled that road during the dry season. It was not the dry season as the two men rode into the village, but it was hot and dry that day, and throats were easily parched.
The man riding from the border was on a brown horse, and dressed in fine linens and silks. Several lengthy weapons dangled from the saddle in their scabbards, and a large pole rose up, from the top of which flew a banner, bearing a noble crest unknown to the people in the village.
The other man was also on a brown horse, and also finely dressed, but all of his clothing was marked with the royal symbols of Setting. These symbols were all known to the villagers, and they bowed low as the horse and rider passed by. He had also brought more.
Both men stopped at the tavern, and waited for the tavernkeepers servant to come and tie their horses. They dismounted in unison and went inside. They ordered drinks and found a corner table where they talked in low whispers for several hours. The man dressed in royal regalia paid for both, and they departed.
Neither man looked back as they rode out of town, but the man from the border ripped the blue banner loose and dropped it as his horse trod along the dusty road. He stopped as he crested the next hill, more horsemen joined him, unnoticed by the villagers too accustomed to strange visits and secret negotiations.
The horsemen all wore bright blue shirts, their pants and jackets were black and trimmed with pale blue. Each had a distinctive noble crest on the backs of their jackets, in yellow and blue, and the handles of their swords were bound with blue-stained leather, now fading from age and use. These men wore the markings of the Duke of Decoie, a Locale Noble who ruled a small duchy far across the nearby border. None of the villagers would have known this, such things were not important to shepherds, to fishermen, or to the tavernkeeper.
It was important, and everything was for a purpose unknown to any but the two men. The royal figure vanished from sight, but the other man stayed on the nearby hill's crest, and shouted something unheard in the village. As one, the other horsemen turned their horses to the village and began to move toward it.
A small crowd, composed mostly of curious children, watched them approach the village. A small girl waved the blue banner that had been left behind, only to have it snatched from her grasp by an older girl in a blue dress. The smaller girl protested, but conceded defeat when the horsemen began to form a line, several yards between the flanks of each horse, at about a hundred yards from the village.
Other villagers joined the crowd as the men on horseback raised their swords to shoulder height. The blades were long, four feet each, and the edges didn't form a smooth curve but had a slight ripple to them. The horses began moving faster, well trained to this task, and the people of the village realized death was upon them when the horses were spurred to a gallop.
“They want the flag back!” yelled the little girl as she began to tug on it again. The larger girl tried to push her away as the others around them began running to the nearest houses. The houses were wood and stone, built to withstand the heavy winter snows and strong lake winds. They were good shelters, sturdy and warm inside their thick walls, walls that a horse could not pass through.
The horses did not need to pass through walls though, they passed through the gaps between homes, leaving the girl in the blue dress shorter by a head, and the smaller girl armless past the elbow as she lay on the dusty road and cried for them to just take their flag back. The men did not take their flag back, but rode through the village until they had reached the other side, leaving several dozen villagers dead or dying on the ground behind them.
The men were silent, and could hear the shouts and screams of the villagers. Reins were pulled and the horses turned. A fisherman charged from the nearest house, brandishing a pitchfork he had beaten into a more suitable shape for fishing. It had three tines, the center one remained straight in line with the eight foot shaft, and the outer two had been curved back into crude hooks.
The nearest horseman tried to block the ungainly weapon with his sword, but the fisherman was used to rough waters and strong fish. He smiled as the central tine went through the horseman's chest, as the man frantically chopped at the shaft with his sword. Another sword slashed across the fisherman's back, bearing bone and muscle to the hot, dry air, and the fisherman fell forward, still smiling, still pushing against the horseman who was toppled sideways by the weight of the fisherman's fall.
The other horsemen left the two dying men, and split into two groups. The first group dismounted and lit torches while the second group trotted back through the village, chopping down any villagers who had dared an escape. As they began to burn the village, the men worked fast. They did not like being dismounted or lingering too long in one location, both were death for the Duke's horsemen.
It was an hour before the entire village was on fire, smoke billowing high into the sky. The horsemen rode back to the man on the nearby hill's crest, and one shorter than they arrived, they rode away toward the border. There were no more screams in the village, nor any living souls to scream. At the edge of the village, the lifeless hands of a headless girl clutched a small banner.
Goe, cause the village of Prologue is destroyed before chapter 1.
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