League of Desmond

Final Post (probably)

2009-12-23T22:48:00.001-08:00

The new blag is here: A Quality of Aspiration.

Have a look!

Please Stand By.

2009-12-05T18:46:00.001-08:00

Technical Difficulties.

(There will be an announcement made in 13 days.)

In Which A Tongue Is Held Firmly In Cheek

2009-11-19T22:25:00.000-08:00

Ser Andrew, Ser Ulysses, Ser Rutherford, and Ser James decide to have an adventure.

Or, more accurately, Ser Andrew decides that Ser Ulysses, Ser Rutherford, and Ser James will have an adventure. Any objections they may have go decidedly unheard.

"But what sort?" Ser Ulysses asks.

"We'll go to the Moon!" Ser James suggests, getting into the spirit of things.

Ser Ulysses cocks his head. "Um. How?"

The notion, tragically, is rejected.

"How about going to Poland, then?" Ser Andrew suggests, trying to salvage the expedition. "We can see the churches, tour the brothels, maybe burn a few schtetls... it'll be great!"

So they do!

Hooray!

Book of Baitings

2009-11-17T20:06:00.000-08:00

Best Playground Equipment.

Swing: The classic! Generations have grown up learning the essential secret of the swing: tuck your legs in going back, and stick them out going forward. Why? Who knows? It works! This is a valuable lesson for later life. A-

Slide: Also a good choice. Going down gives one a wonderful sense of speed; climbing up, an invigorating challenge! The trouble comes when these activites are mixed. B+

Climbing Bars: A great place for playground mockery and painful falls! It is said in the writings of the ancients that a set of climbing-bars under which no child has broken a bone is an unholy thing; therefore they ceremonially broke a child's arm under each one they built. In modern days, we have abandoned the rite; here all our sorrows stem! C

Rocking Horse: Powerful springs, constructed within a narrow range of motion. Doesn't every child dream of their being - set loose? B

Giant Tic-Tac-Toe Board: A game so simple that kindergartners grow bored of it. And so we build it, permanent, in larger scale? It is a shrine to all mankind's follies. D

edited for typo.

The Unibrow of Dr. Frederick

2009-11-14T21:10:00.000-08:00

Frederick was concerned about his unibrow.

When it first grew in, that was - surprising, but not shocking. Dr. Frederick shrugged, when he noticed it in the mirror, and went about his work.

When it began to tickle, to itch, even to sting, Dr. Frederick became somewhat alarmed, and might have taken action - but the sensations vanished within two days, and so Dr. Frederick promptly forgot the matter.

And the sleepwalking, the wakings in odd places - why, Dr. Frederick didn't connect that with the unibrow at all!

So you can see that it took rather extraordinary circumstances to prompt Dr. Frederick to concern - circumstances which were nonetheless provided. For the unibrow began to speak to Dr. Frederick - urging him to kill!

Dr. Frederick knew that this was a problem. A severe problem - one that required the attentions of a specialist! So, with a heavy heart, Dr. Frederick went through the secret channels, said the right words, and allowed himself to be blindfolded and taken to a small room. There, the blindfold was removed, and Dr. Frederick saw the face of the man he had gone to see - the most famous doctor in the world - the man who could cure his problem - Dr. Zhang!

"What's your problem?" Dr. Zhang asked, politely.

"Kill," Dr. Frederick's unibrow whispered.

"I - " Dr. Frederick began to say, but Dr. Zhang interrupted.

"Your unibrow just told you to kill," he said.

"You could hear that?" Dr. Frederick asked, surprised.

"Couldn't you?" Dr. Zhang asked.

Dr. Frederick paused a moment to consider this.

"Kill the filthy Zhang," the unibrow hissed.

"Is your unibrow like this to everyone?" Dr. Zhang asked.

"...not really," Dr. Frederick admitted. "Mostly it just tells me to kill you."

"And that's why you're here," Dr. Zhang clarified.

"Yes," Dr. Frederick agreed. A pain was beginning in his head, again.

"Should I be worried?" Dr. Zhang asked.

"What?" Dr. Frederick asked. "Because I might - I might - actually kill you or something? That - that's crazy! I'm not crazy!" His head pounded.

"Dr. Frederick, calm down," Mr. Zhang said. "Please sit down."

"What, you think I'm crazy?" Dr. Frederick asked, shaking. A dull roar echoed in his ears. "You - I came to you for help, and you insult me, you deride me? I - I'll - "

Dr. Zhang ducked under Dr. Frederick's wild swing and swept the doctor's feet out from under him with one leg. "The unibrow is using you!" he said. "Stop - think about what you're doing!"

"You - you!" Dr. Frederick said, crawling backwards towards the wall and using it as support to rise. His face was flushed red, and spittle dripped from the corner of his mouth. "You - unbelievable - I - to think that - " A metallic flash appeared within his coat.

"No!" Dr. Zhang shouted, leaping back from Dr. Frederick's scalpel-swipe. "I don't want to hurt you - "

"DIE!" Dr. Frederick roared and charged, scalpel held before him like a lance.

He crumbled three steps later, darts vibrating in his back.

"Thank you," Dr. Zhang said, nodding to the dart-gun bearing guards standing behind Dr. Frederick. "You can take him away now."

They did so, carrying Dr. Frederick on their shoulders; Dr. Zhang closed the door behind them.

"I really thought I could reason with him," Dr. Zhang, now alone, mumbled. "Man, why do people always have to be that way? Man. People."

He sighed.

"It's Nikolas, obviously," Dr. Zhang said. "He's been planting mind-controlling unibrows on people. This is the third I've seen in the last month, and I've heard stories of more. Driving ordinary people insane, just to distract me, divert my efforts? Despicable! Nikolasian."

He sighed.

"Time to finish development on the airborne mass-depilliation device, I guess," Dr. Zhang said. "The giant hair-ogres and beard-seeking missiles were bad enough, but these unibrows are intolerable! The only answer to Nikolas's vile hair-technology is to destroy all hair on earth."

Then he did!

(And can you imagine - that dirty Nikolas tried to call it a bad thing?)

What Recourse Against the Intrusion of Authority?

2009-11-12T22:31:00.000-08:00

"Oh, you think I'm just stopping by for a class?" the Grace complained. "You don't think I'd come by just to say hello? What kind of friend are you, Mr. Turner?"

"You won't go with me to get food?" 2.0 asked. "Terrible! It looks like you are the soulless machine, after all!"

Mr. Turner drew in a breath.

"ENOUGH!" he said.

"If you do not stop, I will be forced to return to my home and native land," Mr. Turner said. "I am very busy here, so I have no time for that. So: stop!"

2.0 and the Grace sighed in unison.

"What will we do, then?" the Grace asked. "I've got half an hour until my class starts!"

"For a start, one of you could check to see that everything in the closet is fully hidden," Mr. Turner suggested. "I don't want anything lying out for unexpected guests to see."

"Why not do a quick inventory?" the Grace suggested. "I've been meaning to check out what you've got back there. So to speak!"

2.0 and the Grace set to work. But it wasn't long before there was a knock at the door!

"RAs!" the call came. "Open up!"

"!" 2.0 said, its head snapping up.

"What do we do?" the Grace asked, turning Mr. Turner. "Everything's spread over the floor! They'll see everything!"

"Quick!" Mr. Turner said, pulling a small object from the floor. "To the back!"

The knocking at the front door was repeated as Mr. Turner & co. ran to the patio. "What's here?" the Grace asked. "Are we making a run for it? We won't make it on foot - "

"Hardly!" Mr. Turner said, and twisted the object he held.

With a rumble, the floor of the patio fell away; the Grace leapt back in astonishment. From it rose an object - a long pointed cone, fins rising from each side. A hatch on the side popped open, fog pouring from within.

"A spaceship!" the Grace gasped.

"I built it!" 2.0 boasted.

"Inside!" Mr. Turner ordered. "2.0, to the conn!" -

- and when the RAs burst in, they were greeted only by the thick cloud of smoke and cacophonous noise from the rocket's eruption.

"Ha!" the Grace said. "Take that, pigs! We're home free now! Though - I'm not sure what we'll do when we get back - "

"Not time to worry about that yet!" 2.0 said. "Look - on the radar - they're coming after us!"

The race was on!

Umbrellas Defend The Earth

2009-11-11T21:08:00.000-08:00

Once, the tenfold-noble Semolian Guard stood watch over the Earth. With umbrella in one hand and las-gun in the other, they put fear into the heart of any black-guards that dared threaten Mankind. Their service was long and storied; but tragedy struck in the end. Fighting a race of space-devil-goblins, the Semolian Guard were, as one, sucked into space by an enormous vacuum, leaving only their umbrellas behind to mark their passage. It was a tragedy beyond comprehension; and it would not be the last.

With the Semolian Guard gone, the enemies of Man redoubled their assault, launching attack after attack. The deaths, the destruction - horrific! Many tried to take the place of the Semolian Guard - but, lacking their discipline and skill, nearly all perished. Only one survived the attempt - a woman named Xi Xu at her birth, but who, in later life, was more widely known as the Umbrella-Speaker, for the same reason as allowed her unique success. After the vacuuming of the Semolian Guard, their umbrellas had retreated into hermitage, mourning their failure to protect their masters. It was Xi Xu who found them, beating past the guardians that protected their land of loneliness, so that she could persuade the umbrellas - not just to rejoin the battle for the safety of mankind - but to lend the use of their hermitage as a shelter for others. It is now the safest place on Earth - protected by legions of umbrellas, training for the day when they, too, must join Xi Xu on the front lines.

When the fire rains from the sky - when the space-devil-goblins seek to wipe the last humans from the earth - the umbrellas do not shy from their assault! Instead, they laugh at space-devil-goblins' attacks - use them to train, by deflecting their fireballs into targets for points!

This is the code of Xi Xu and her Umbrellas; the code of the Laughing Warrior.

See it in action here!

you will probably not regret it

Geas

2009-11-08T00:37:00.000-08:00

Grem looked at the ground.

"The earth grows barren," Inga told him. "The crops wither and rot in the fields. No rain has fallen in months.

"I do not wish to do this," Grem said. "There are risks to any intercession with the God - grave and terrible risks! I might be killed, or worse! Then where would the village be?"

Inga sighed. "I know, I know, you have told me this before," she said. "But it has been months! You must act, or we will all die when winter comes!"

"Also, it is a lot of work to intercede with the gods," Grem said. "And I am very lazy."

Inga looked at him.

"Very well," Grem sighed. "I'll be back in an hour."

Grem traipsed to his Super Secret Shaman Cave. He fetched his equipment. He traipsed out to the fields.

"Hello, the God!" he said to the sky. "You're the best! I know it, you know it, everyone knows it! All those other gods - some people like 'em, I guess. But you're totally the best! Could beat them all in a fistfight, at once! That's just the kinda God you are. Eh? Eh?"

Grem waited for a response.

The sky rumbled.

"Yeah, that's the way of it!" Grem said happily. "So, you can see I've got some sacrifices, some incenses to burn and be pleasing unto your sight, some holy symbols, eh, the God? I'm'na burn the sacrifices, and burn the incense, and cover the holy symbols in blood, as is your preference, and maybe we can see about some rain, eh? Because, you know I wouldn't bother you normally, but we're probably all going to die if you don't give us some rain. So I hope this is worth your while."

Grem lit the incense.

Grem gutted the rabbits and rubbed the holy symbols around in their entrails.

Grem set the rabbits on fire!

"Ahh," Grem said, leaning back. "Nothing like a good bonfire to lighten a mood - "

Grem lost his balance.

Grem fell over, crushing the incense, snapping the holy symbols into bits, and knocking the rabbits into the dirt. (Also, setting himself on fire.)

"Aaagh!" Grem screamed. "Aaagh! Aaaaagh!" He rolled around on the ground for a while.

When he arose, still smoking faintly, there was a curious conviction in his mind.

"I know what I must do," Grem said. "I know how I can recover the God's favor. I know how I can save our village!"

"How?" Inga asked.

"Wait, you're here?" Grem asked. "How long have you been here? Not long, right? Right?"

Inga looked at him, still smoking.

Grem's shoulders slumped.

Then they straightened again - with determination.

"I need to repair a carriage!" Grem said.

Inga's eyebrows raised.

"A carriage?" she asked. "What's that?"

Grem thought.

"...you know, I don't properly know," he told her.

"Then how are you going to repair one?" Inga asked.

A moment passed. Grem's eyes lit up.

"I have," he said, "a plan."

Inga considered Grem.

"Do tell," she suggested.

"This is a plan in three parts," Grem said. "First, I build a carriage."

"Without knowing what one is?" Inga asked.

"My intuition will guide me!" Grem declared.

"If you say so," Inga said. "Hopefully it won't guide you into another fire."

"Second," Grem said, "I will damage the carriage."

"Again," Inga suggested, "Perhaps not with fire."

"Third," Grem said, pausing for emphasis, "I will repair the carriage!"

Inga looked at Grem and considered her response carefully.

"You're quite certain that this is the only way to win the favor of the God?" she asked. "And that, say, performing the rain-ritual again - but without setting yourself on fire this time - wouldn't work better?"

Grem thought. It did seem odd, this compulsion to repair a carriage - but he knew it was right! He knew it! It must be the work of the divine! "This is the only way!" he told Inga. "I'm completely certain of it."

"Very well," Inga sighed. "I'll sent Greta over to - " supervise? make sure you don't set yourself on fire again? "assist you."

"Thank you," Grem said graciously. He turned his eyes to the sky. "I will build this carriage!"

The sky rumbled.

"Now," Grem asked Greta, "Do you know what a wheel is?"

"No," Greta said. "What's that?"

"The wheel is a secret of the shamans, carried from the ancient West by our ancestors," Grem explained. "I will demonstrate. You see this piece of wood?"

"Yes," Greta said. "It looks like a tree trunk that you've cut and trimmed."

"It is," Grem agreed. "But it's something more. We take it, we put it on its side, we give it a push... you see?"

"It fell over," Greta said.

"Well, yes," Grem admitted. "But before that?"

"It moved very strangely," Greta said. "Spinning, whirling...?"

"The secret shaman word is rolling," Grem explained. "That is what a wheel does, and what a carriage must do."

"So a carriage is a wheel?" Greta asked.

"No," Grem said. "But it has a wheel. It has... four wheels."

"How do you know this?" Greta asked.

"The God speaks to me!" Grem said. "But as to the details... I am uncertain."

Work progressed.

"So you have the two tree-trunk chunks -the wheels - and you cut a hole in them and put a long, straight branch in-between," Greta narrated helpfully. "And what will this do?"

"Now they roll together!" Grem said.

"So?" Greta asked.

"So, now we build another pair!" Grem said.

"And then?" Greta asked.

"We build a box, and put it on top!" Grem said.

"And what goes in the box?" Greta asked.

"You do!" Grem said.

"...can't you go in the box?" Greta asked.

"Nope!" Grem told her. "I'll be behind you, pushing!"

Greta looked at the lop-sided wheels lying on the ground. She extrapolated the likely stability of anything that Grem built. She sighed.

"At least there'll be someone right there to say the prayers to the God when I die," Greta said, resigned.

"That's the spirit!" Grem said. "Now come help me with this ax!"

The carriage took shape.

Grem and Greta observed their work.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Grem asked.

Greta was touched, despite herself. "It's the prettiest hacked-together box of wood I've ever seen," she said.

"Glad you like it!" Grem said. He looked over his shoulder. "Well, it looks like the whole tribe's here now, ready to see the first trial. Get in!"

"Already?" Greta asked. She stepped up. The box creaked under her weight.

"Perhaps we should test it without a human occupant first?" Greta suggested.

Behind her, Grem pushed the carriage into motion.

"Aa!" Greta said, being rather unused to vehicular transportation.

"This isn't so bad," she said after a moment more. "Bumpy, jarring, but I nearly think now that I'm going to survive this!"

The carriage hit a stump.

"Are you all right?" Inga called, running as fast as she could to where Greta lay bleeding on the ground. "Talk, Greta!"

"I'm... I've been worse..." Greta said through gritted teeth.

Grem looked at Greta regretfully; but he found his gaze irresistably drawn back to the carriage. "It looks... damaged," he murmured to himself.

It was!

And Grem fixed it!

"Yes!" he said. "I fixed it! I fixed the carriage!"

"So where's the rain?" Inga asked.

Grem looked up.

He stared at the clear blue sky.

Slowly, his hands clenched into fists.

"Come on, the God!" he shouted. "Come on! I just repaired a carriage for you! A carriage! In your name! This is more than any shaman has done for any god, anywhere, in history. This is the most amazing thing ever. And you won't give us a tiny bit of rain? For that?"

The sky rumbled.

The sun continued to shine.

Grem's shoulders slumped.

"I'll be in my cave, making new holy symbols," he told Inga. "Let me know when we all starve to death, because I'm a failure as a shaman."

He tramped away, leaving the carriage behind him.

And in the depths of the Super-Secret-Shaman cave, it was several hours before he heard the thunder, and the rain.

The History of the BIGs

2009-11-07T17:10:00.000-08:00

In the year 1957, aliens arrived on Earth.

Well, alien.

Also, he was a jerk.

To begin a reign of terror over the earth, he kidnapped people from across the Earth and mutated them to enormous size!

"Ha!" he cried. "Now you are my servants, and must obey my will! You will be the tools which I use for Global Domination!"

This was not, as such, the case.

The largest of the mutants, known even to the others as the BIG MAN, burst from his restraints. He charged the alien, and - underestimating his own strength! - slew him in a single blow.

Klaxons sounded. Lights flashed. Steam-blasts broke through the walls. The BIG MAN freed his fellow mutants, and together they fled the alien's lair, outrunning an explosion as they exited.

The alien, before his death, had possessed no respect for the laws of nature.

Outside the ruins of the alien's lair, the mutants gathered together. Led by BIG MAN, they swore a sacred oath - to remain united, no matter what happened to them, as a society of BIGs; to remain BIG, not just in body, but in heart and soul. With this resolution burning in their hearts, they made their respective ways home.

Later, they played video games together on the internet!

Dr. Zhang Fights the War

2009-11-06T22:09:00.000-08:00

Internationally renowned surgeon-warrior, Z, stood before the Joint Chiefs.

"This war is fundamentally unjust," he told them. "It is inherently evil, and you must break it off at once, for the good of every nation involved! Also, it's totally the result of one of N's plots, and he's probably going to try to use it to take over the government."

"Nonsense!" the Joint Chiefs of Staff replied. "This is useless to us! We called you here to advise us on the prosecution of the war. Instead, you whine and complain and make up conspiracy theories? You're the worst internationally renowned surgeon-warrior we've ever met! Get out of here! Go sulk in your room!"

Z frowned. With one last, warning look, he left the room, shoulders slumped. Then he went back to his room and sulked!

"Man, stupid Joint Chiefs of Staff," he complained. "All with their heads stuck up their brass and their epaulets clogging their esophagus. Why don't they believe me when I warn them?"

Z's cell phone rang.

"Man, calling me now?" Z asked, digging into his pockets. "Well, whatever, it'll take my mind off those stupid Joint Chiefs. Too bad it's probably not related. I mean, someone calling just now about that very same subject would be a ridiculously unlikely coincidence, right? Nah, it's probably Jeremy calling about lunch."

Shut up, "Z"! This plot isn't going to move itself!

"'ello, Z!" the caller said with a thick accent. "I am ze President. I 'ave an offer for you."

"Wait, the President who is the Command in Chief, and can overrule those dang Joint Chiefs?" Z asked. "Why didn't you call earlier?"

"I am afraid you misunderstand," the President said. "I am not your President. I am the President of the nation you are at war with."

"Huh," Z said.

"You are an internationally renowned surgeon-warrior," the President said. "I want you to come fight for us."

Z squinted. "Uh, I have some problems with the government, and also with the war," he said. "But I think that actually fighting for the other side is... treachery? Which is generally considered bad."

"Were not your country's founders considered traitors by ze king against which zey rebelled?" the President asked. "But do not worry. You would not be fighting your own countrymen."

"...then, who?" Z asked.

"We 'ave obtained information on ze whereabouts of ze man you call... N," the President said.

Z's eyes widened.

"We will book you a flight, eh?" the President asked.

"First thing," Z agreed.

Then he flew over!

"We believe that this map, here, shows the location of N's mountain base," the military commander briefed Z.

"Why does N have a mountain base?" Z asked.

"Hired men," the commander explained. "Agent provocateurs. Impersonating ethnic minorities with legitimate grievances, our actions against them have been taken as a provocation by your nation's military. We need to capture them, or at least their documents, to prove that we have been set up."

"And you think that N might be still there," Z said.

"Yes," the commander confirmed. "A turncoat among the mercenaries reported his presence. Further, he's reported to have a tendency to personally supervise his schemes."

"That sounds like the devil I know," Z said, eyes momentarily unfocusing in thought. He returned to the present after a short moment. "Yes, it's plausible. I'm in. What's the assault plan?"

The commander began to explain. "We go in by helicopter..."

Two days later, Z stood shakily within a helicopter, flying through the mountains in conjunction with the other five helicopters in the attack group. "We're nearly there!" the pilot shouted back, his voice deafening to be heard over the sound of the rotors. "Just a half a klick to the target - it should be in sight at any moment."

"About time," the soldier next to Z said, rolling his shoulders. "Nothing more tedious than a trip like this - "

Klaxons went off. The helicopter rocked.

"What's going on?" a solder shouted.

"We're under fire from the ground!" the pilot shouted back. "Some kinda shoulder-launched SAMs! It looks bad -"

Z leaned out of the helicopter and examined the situation.

Smoke trails criss-crossed the sky, leading from clumps of concealing rocks and shrubbery to the helicopters. The helicopters seemed unharmed - Z guessed at some kind of automatic defenses, and was proved right as another rocket arced upwards and was caught by - of all things! - a weighed net fired with explosive bolts, carrying the rocket to fall harmlessly onto the ground. But those can't work more than once, Z thought -

- and was proved quickly, dreadfully right as the lead helicopter turned into a ball of rapidly expanding vapor.

"An ambush from the ground!" Z shouted, pushing his way to the front of the helicopter. He found the radio, toggled it to transmit as the pilot looked at him with surprise. "All pilots, descend! Move forward and descend, max speed! We need to clear line of sight now!"

"You're not in the chain of command - " the pilot protested.

"The commander went up with the lead helicopter and we're all going to die if you don't do anything!" Z said. "Move!"

Another explosion rocked the helicopter.

The pilot gulped any obeyed.

And well, after that, things were practically easy!

"We've got the papers," the second-in-command told Z. "It's just like we thought. This'll be explosive enough to blow the whole war right to shreds, once we get it to the U.N."

"But there's no sign of N," Z said.

"No, sir," the second-in-command said. "It looks like he was never here - our 'informant' was playing for the other side after all. But thanks to you, that bit him right in the hiney! He'll regret this one!"

"Yes," Z said. "I guess he will."

Z sat alone until the second-in-command left.

Then he raised his arms to the sky.

"I'll get you yet, N!" he vowed.

Later, he had ice cream!

Legion III

2009-11-05T20:24:00.000-08:00

This post is, obviously, a successor to this masterpiece! Can't you tell by the title?

Mr. Zhang woke up. He had breakfast. He brushed his teeth. He flossed. He remembered.

"I left Legion out all night!" he realized. "I should go say hello to him!"

Mr. Zhang rushed to the roof. He looked all about.

"He's gone!" Mr. Zhang discovered. "Where did he go? Did he abandon me? I know he was here, there are limbs and stuff strewn all over the roof - "

Mr. Zhang paused.

"If I take a step back, and look at the limbs..."

"Oh!" Mr. Zhang exclaimed. "It's a pattern - the limbs spell out numbers! Coordinates - for where Legion has gone! But - "

Mr. Zhang's speech slowed. "Legion doesn't have hands," he said. "Well, he does, but they don't really work that well. He doesn't have the time or the patience to make this kind of thing. (I don't even think he knows what latitude or longitude are!) There must have been a struggle - Legion overpowered, many of his corpses knocked off - and the remains used to lure me into a trap."

Mr. Zhang nodded.

"OK," he said.

Mr. Zhang walked into the trap!

"Ha ha!" a familiar voice cried from the shadows of the abandoned warehouse. "You came to rescue your beloved ball of floating corpses. But now you are at my mercy - and soon I will kill you! Behold!"

The lights came on. Mr. Zhang found himself staring at Legion - noticably reduced in size (presumably from the struggle before its capture), and trussed to the walls and ceiling with steel cables. A shadowy figure stood on a catwalk in front of Legion.

"Dr. Zhang - or I suppose I should call you Mr. Zhang, yes? - you do not yet know me, so I shall introduce myself," the shadowy figure said smirkingly. "You may call me N. Since the dawn of time, I have been your foe; so shall I remain 'til the last twinkling embers burn out in the amaranthine-hued heavens, and this demon-wrap't globe at last succumbs to the final temptation of our celestial companion's temptation -"

Mr. Zhang, who had calmly climbed up to the catwalk while N was talking, punched N in the face.

"Ow! Ow! Holy shit!" N said, backing away and holding his face in his hand. "You hit me! You really hit me! Ah, I think I can taste blood - "

Mr. Zhang punched 'N' in the gut.

"Oof!" N groaned, doubling over.

Mr. Zhang stopped. He looked at the blood on his right fist. He seemed confused.

"God damn it, I forgot how you always are!" N wheezed, backing away again once he had regained his breath. "Well, if you don't have the damn patience to listen to a little speech, how's this. In a minute, the doors will burst in, and my trained shock troopers will kill you. That sound better? You have the patience for that?"

Mr. Zhang straightened, having released Legion's fastenings while N spoke. Legion floated next to Mr. Zhang, seeming uncertain.

"God damn it, stop doing things while I talk!" N complained.

The doors burst open. Armed soldiers rushed in, each wearing an armband with a gold xi on it.

"There you are!" N said. "Finally! Kill him!"

The soldiers opened fire.

Mr. Zhang dove from the catwalk, landing with a painful noise on the concrete floor. Rolling, he rose to a low crouch, dashing for the door. He turned his head back to look for Legion -

- and to his dismay, saw that Legion had descended to attack the soldiers! Corpses fluttered to the ground like confetti, shredded by automatic weapons fire!

Mr. Zhang looked with tears welling in his eyes; then he turned again and ran.

"I will remember you, Legion!" he vowed as he drove away. "I will justify your sacrifice!"

But it's okay!

Legion was dead anyway, so technically, the soldiers didn't kill him at all!

the end

Legion II

2009-11-05T19:50:00.000-08:00

Naturally, the sequel to Legion I!

Mr. Zhang was very happy with his new pet!

It was a sad fact, but Mr. Zhang was occasionally prone to fits of melancholia. He felt lonely; unappreciated; even hated! Rationally, he recognized that this was the case - but, isolated from his colleagues and without close friends, he lacked support. He worked ninety hours a week! In his circumstances, anyone would have been troubled!

Thanks to Mr. Zhang's new pet, though, his problems were solved. He always had a companion - a friend to talk to, about matters of sorrow and joy alike! No matter what happened, Mr. Zhang knew his new pet would be there for him. He could not have loved it more!

Those around Mr. Zhang, sadly, felt otherwise.

"There is a floating ball of corpses in my operating room," the supervising surgeon said flatly. "Why is there a floating ball of corpses in my operating room?"

There was a squelch.

"Shedding?" the supervising surgeon added.

Her gaze lit upon Mr. Zhang, shoulders slumped.

"'m sorry," Mr. Zhang mumbled. "'s mine. v' s'ry."

"Get it out of here," the supervising surgeon said, her face cold. "We'll discuss disciplinary action afterward. You should know better by now, Mr. Zhang!"

Mr. Zhang left slowly, his expression sad. Legion followed.

"I guess you'll have to stay out of the hospital from now on," Mr. Zhang instructed it once outside. "Sorry. We can still hang out the rest of the time, right?"

"...o...kay..." Legion agreed, its tone sepulchral.

It floated outside.

Traffic passed by.

Then Mr. Zhang appeared again!

"...zhaaang!" Legion groaned joyously.

"Legion!" Mr. Zhang shouted cheerfully. "You're all right! I was worried about you. Come on, it's time to go!"

"...where?" Legion asked.

"A party!" Mr. Zhang replied.

Then they went to a party!

"Whoa, nice music!" a clubgoer said, admiringly.

"Yeah, and crazy atmosphere!" another agreed.

"Man, that floating ball of corpses is so realistic!" a third said. "Totally metal!"

"...hardcore..." Legion agreed.

An kneecap fell off.

"What, is that for real?" the club owner asked.

"Man, that's even more metal!" the third clubber said.

"But completely unsanitary!" the club owner said angrily. "Someone get that out of here before our operating license gets revoked!"

"...rejected..." Legion groaned.

"It's okay, Legion," Mr. Zhang said. "We can still hang out at the apartment, right?"

"Out," the floor manager said curtly. (Several hours later.)

"Oh," Mr. Zhang said sadly. He gestured to Legion; Legion left, via window, and went to sulk on the roof.

Then it rained!

Poor soggy Legion! All alone! Totally rejected!

Poor Mr. Zhang! Deprived of his only friend! Also his heater isn't quite working right, so he's pretty cold too!

It's the nadir of our story!

No, wait, that's when Legion gets abducted.

Stay tuned!

Legion I

2009-11-05T16:40:00.000-08:00

The events of this story take place approximately six years before those of this one; Mr. Zhang had not yet shed his given name.

Mr. Zhang was quite enjoying his vacation, largely to his own surprise. The weather was consistently lovely, the attractions were admirably attractive, and - spending most of his time out-of-doors, out and about - Mr. Zhang was able to forget his sorrows. What trouble an email unrecieved, when your email goes unchecked; what woe a Facebook-friend rejected, when you have not the slightest thought for Facebook? For any person, the mood in which Mr. Zhang found himself might be described as good - for Mr. Zhang himself, it was nothing less than splendid!

This is, explicitly, to contextualize the moment in the third morning of Mr. Zhang's vacation, in which he found a severed head on his doorstep.

Mr. Zhang rubbed his eyes. He closed the door. He opened it again.

The severed head looked at him with sightless eyes. It was sideways. This lessened the effect slightly.

"Um," Mr. Zhang said.

He kicked the head with his shoe. The head rolled in a small circle.

"Eww," Mr. Zhang said.

He put it in a trash can.

Then he went about his business!

After breakfast, he went to see a bridge.

The bridge was quite large!

Mr. Zhang admired it politely.

He opened his guidebook.

"This bridge was the largest of its kind on the continent when it was first built," Mr. Zhang read, pausing briefly as a shadow passed over the book. "Accounting for inflation, it cost billions in today's dollars!"

"Wow!" Mr. Zhang said politely. There was a thud.

Mr. Zhang raised his eyebrows. He lowered the guidebook.

There was a severed arm on the sidewalk in front of Mr. Zhang.

"Am I being followed by a prankster?" Mr. Zhang asked. He looked around - but there was no-one nearby!

On a hunch, Mr. Zhang looked up - but there was nothing there but suspension cables!

He admired the suspension cables politely, and then moved on, tossing the severed arm off the side as he walked.

Significantly later, Mr. Zhang walked out of a diner. His stomach was full. "That was a delicious meal!" he said to his dining companion.

Mr. Zhang's companion was rude. He did not reply to this comment. Instead, he talked about something else entirely! He asked, "Why is there a limbless human torso lying on the ground?"

Perhaps he could be permitted, in the circumstances.

Mr. Zhang observed the torso. His brow furrowed. We might fault him, saying, "You have already seen two body parts today! Cannot you see a pattern!" But we have, for the sake of narrative, truncated and summarized; hours passed between each incident! So it took long seconds before Mr. Zhang thought to look up -

- and saw, for a fleeting moment, an object floating overhead.

"It went onto the roof!" Mr. Zhang cried. "Find stairs!" Mr. Zhang dashed to the left; his companion, after a moment's delay, went right. They met at the back of the restaurant, finding a fire escape, ladder retracted; a nearby dumpster gave Mr. Zhang a platform from which to reach the ladder, and from there the roof.

"Ha!" Mr. Zhang cried, triumphant. Behind him, his companion clambered onto the roof. "Found you! What do you have to say for yourself?"

"...so...lonely..." the floating ball of corpses groaned. Slowly, it began to float away.

"What? Stop!" Mr. Zhang shouted. "I want you to explain yourself!"

The floating ball of corpses stopped.

"Who are you? Where did you come from?" Mr. Zhang asked in interrogatory fashion.

"...m...i...t...le...gion..." the agglomeration of corpses, slowly, answered.

"It's called 'MIT'?" Mr. Zhang asked, perplexed. "Are they trading up for mascots?"

"Nah, it answered the questions the wrong way around," Mr. Zhang's companion clarified helpfully. "Probably some bio kid's senior project."

Mr. Zhang's brow lightened. "Oh. Well, 'Legion', tell me - why have you been following me? What do you want?"

"...want... friend..." Legion groaned.

"Aww! It wants to be your pet! That's adorable!" Mr. Zhang's companion said.

Mr. Zhang's stance firmed in decision.

"I'll let it!" he cried.

Legion bobbed up and down with joy!

Next up: Mr. Zhang versus Sanitation Regulation!

The fateful squadron

2009-11-05T13:51:00.000-08:00

•̅^•̅ •̅^•̅ •̅^•̅
•̅^•̅ •̅^•̅

Nikolas cryed out ouer the speakers system "They surrounded us! " Lets Retreet"!!! He said. The Helicoupters were buzzing loud around them like swarm of Gnats. Nikoulas pressed the big red bouton on his control panel, and he fire his large missel at the one of them. "That buyed us of some time Let's get out of here!!" He said. A large explosion. He rerutned to head Quarters. Mission failed! He could not subdued the enimies. Nikolas went home very dissapointed. They must won the war! I cannot let the enemy beat on us! !

Another day another battle Field. The captain of Squadrone 1, Commander Nikoulous!! he said, "Lets kill the bastards!" He said yelling them. They won the war, and every body was happy them. Nikolas became a locale heros.

That day he recieved a strange mission brefing from H. Q it said" Lets go to a party! " He said. "But I can not go this time. you must deliver the secret messgage to that girl over there." Nikolas looked inside the letter it say "Hey sex, I wished I was DY/DX so I can layed tangential to you're curves!!" What a good prose, Nikolas thought to him self! He delivered the message personally in person. The girl read it and he spit on Nikolas. How rude he think? He left in a weary mood.

That night he sleep, and he dreamed.

He told me his dream:

so like

i was in scool

and i was taking japanese class

for some reason

except

i forgot all of the japonese i learned

in hi scool

aslo

ryan tsong was there

and then like

he was like o haha im goign to beat you in this

and then

i forgot everything

so like

i was bad

on the test

and then i was like

shit i hope this is a dream

and then

it was a dream

except

it was a dream

inside a dream

and then like

i woke up from the dream inside the dream

and then

i was talking to you

and then like

i was reminded of the test

so i studied for a bit

and i rememebd some things

and then i did ok on the test

then later

it turned otu

that the test became like some

basket ball game

or smething

and it was really important on apparently

and then were in this big hotel

and ryan was neighbour to my room

and i could hear big party and i was jelouse of him

also

at that point i was a cartoon character

from a show i saw a long time ago

but then they caem in my room

and there was like

reperters from the news

and important peoplea

and apparently i scored the winning goal

or something

and there was a big party

then after

a womon came into the room

and she was really hot

and it ended up

that we had sex

but

i dont know how

and then

like

it turned out

that the womon

was my room mates girl freind

and then i was lik

o shit

and then like

my roommate and i were still in this hotel

and we went to breakfast or somethitng

and he did know

and it was really awkward

and i felt bad about it

and it was like of fuck what am i going to do

and i was like

o god i hope this is a dream or something

and it turned out

it was

"Man, Im so deepresed now, he said"!

Our Lady of Spite

2009-11-03T21:24:00.000-08:00

"It is my consideration," Alexa explained calmly, "That you are filth wrapped in human flesh, and do not deserve to live."

"Mmmph! Mmmph!" the subject of her conversation replied, writhing frantically in the corner.

"You have stolen," Alexa continued. "You have lied. You are a criminal, and criminals do not deserve to live. By this proof I pass judgement on you; it is trivial and uncontestable, and therefore I need subject it to no review."

Alexa paused, twirling a lock of hair in about her finger. Her captive stared at her, eyes desperate, darting back and forth.

"Nothing kills by willpower alone," Alexa said, her speech acquiring the sound of ritual. "Nothing is both real and impossible. By this equivocation - "

Alexa whirled, her black-gloved finger stabbing down at her captive. "Mmmmph!" the latter desperately mewled.

"You die!" Alexa said, a black fire filling her eyes.

The captive looked up at her, giving a small, plaintive sort of noise; then his eyes filmed over, and he collapsed, his skull striking the ground with an ugly noise. Alexa kicked it once, contemptuously.

"That proves it," Alexa said, standing. "That here, in this strange underground shrine, the laws of logic can be bent and twisted by human minds - that geometric and mathematical follies can flourish... ha! Integers unfactorable by primes! Triangles with nine sides! Insane, nonsensical by definition - and here - as good as true!"

Alexa stood quiet a moment, pensive.

"I could make a god of myself, in here," Alexa said to herself. "A Queen of flawed premises, an Empress of baseless suppositions. Shall I? Better to reign in hell than serve in Heaven, the poet said... "

"But," Alexa said, starting suddenly, "May I not have both? If the power of this place may be extended outside..."

"There are experiments to be done," Alexa said decisively, walking towards the exit. "Tests, to find the limits of this dark power..."

"And killings; a purging of the undeserving from the world, to make it a suitable Heaven over which to reign!" Alexa cried, a wide grin across her face.

A darkness spread outwards. The city warped. The world turned their eyes towards Alexa's growing realm; and trembled.

The police hunted Alexa, never knowing her name. Alexa watched them from her lair, and consigned them unto death.

The military arrived. At first they sought to evacuate the population; then they bombed without discrimination. Alexa lurked, hidden in her underground lair, and killed without fear or remorse...

But she was not careful enough, and there came a time when a shadowy figure in her demense.

"Who?" Alexa cried, whirling at the footstep. Her eyes were wild, veined with red; the bombings had impaired her sleep schedule. "No man can enter this place without my leave - "

"Just as no man can outwit you?" the intruder parried, his words sharp as a knife. "I am both; but I would prefer that you call me, not Odysseus, but rather Z; it is somewhat closer to the truth."

"You will die here, so-called 'Z'!" Alexa shouted wildly. "I have killed many others, so many others - therefore - "

"It is inevitable that you, too, shall die?" Z interrupted again. "Certainly, and not in too long. For though I would certainly love to speak with you - what strange things might you have accomplished, in this twisted realm, were your thoughts filled with goodness, and not malice? - your acts have shown yourself far too dangerous. I ventured to this city in the days after your manipulations first became apparent - not long before the police began their first hunt - and searched the city's residents for the culprit. There were times in which I despaired - or found myself disbelieving, that such a place existed that could cause such impossible terror -"

"And now?" Alexa asked, challenging.

"And now I realize that I was right," said Z, still standing in the doorway. There was a sad smile on his face. "This place is impossible, and the acts that you accomplished here were impossible, and the last few months - yes, they, too, were impossible. And a thing that is impossible cannot exist - "

And we might now claim that Alexa cried out, despairing, "No!" - realizing only too late the trap Z wove with his words -

But that's quite false, of course.

After all, such a person as Alexa could never exist.

(Z, of course, would go on to certain other, better-known adventures; some of which have appeared on this blog already. But you knew that.)

The Heroic Dr. Zhang

2009-11-01T15:18:00.000-08:00

The time: THE GRIM DARKNESS OF THE FAR FUTURE.

WORLD CHAOS unleashed by AGITATING ANARCHISTS and RAMPAGING ROGUE ROBOTS has PARALYZED governments ACROSS the GLOBE. In the confusion, ONE MAN has risen to power: the terrible NIKOLAS, whose name is TERROR and whose word is DEATH. NONE stand to oppose him...

NONE, that is, save DR. ZHANG, BRILLIANT SURGEON and LONE HERO. Forsaking friendship and even love for his mission, he hunts NIKOLAS with an undiluted passion; the PEOPLE cheer and shelter him, and the minions of NIKOLAS fear him. POLYMATH and WARRIOR with skills BEYOND COMPARE, he is not only the sole man who dares oppose NIKOLAS; he is the only one who CAN.

And TODAY...

YOU can step into his shoes!

CLICK HERE, UNZIP the FILES, and RENAME the ".py_" file to ".py". MAC users should then open it with the PYTHON LAUNCHER, in their PYTHON DIRECTORY; WINDOWS users need only DOUBLE-CLICK IT. (No idea about Linux people.) And - SIMPLE AS THAT* - YOU will be in the shoes of the great hero DR. ZHANG! FRABJULOUS DAY!

Happy birthday, Mr. Zhang! and many more...

*Assuming you already have a Python 2.6 install on your machine. But that's easy - hardly worth mentioning!

Dr. Zhang Has A Good Time

2009-10-30T11:43:00.000-07:00

"Ahh," said Dr. Zhang, powering off his mac-book. "I have completed all the myriad tasks set before me, despite the damnable interference of that meddling Nikolas. Now I can enjoy a sound night's sleep - the sleep of the innocent!"

With a pleasant smile on his face, Dr. Zhang drifted off to sleep. But he was not so happy when he awoke!

"Where am I?" he asked, looking this way and that way, groggy and startled. "What has happened? Where is my bed? Where is my room? Why is the sun so large and red in the sky?"

"Ah!" he cried. "I have slept long - far too long! Five billion years (short scale) have passed, and the sun has expanded into a red giant! All that I knew and love is vanished, dust and ashes in the wind!"

Dr. Zhang stood, and began to pace.

"I am a doctor, and a genius of unparalled scope," Dr. Zhang said to himself. "Certainly if this were any ordinary situation I would be able to solve my troubles with ease. But it is not - the only solution here seems to be the creation of a time-machine, to transport me back to before I slept. But - time travel is impossible! And can even I, Dr. Zhang, declared a Knight of the Order of the British Empire by the Queen herself - do the impossible?"

Dr. Zhang thought.

"Well, no," he said. "I can't do the impossible. No-one can. That's why it's impossible."

"But - " he added, quickly - "There may be a better way..."

Dr. Zhang made preparations. A great ship took shape - an ark, many cubits wide and long, built to carry Dr. Zhang into the distant future!

"As sleep carried me into this dismal time," Dr. Zhang said, "So will it carry me out. I will sleep until the end of all things, and die as the Universe itself does - and, when a new Universe is reborn, I will change its beginning, its seed, such that I avoid that dreadful ruse of Nikolas which is certainly responsible for my predicaiment! Then victory will be mine!"

"And," Dr. Zhang added, being somewhat hungry, "I will take this potato chip, which has survived in my clothes for five billion years... and eat it!"

"Wait, maybe that was a bad idea," Mr. Zhang added, feeling nausea churn in his stomach. "Best to enter the preservation pod."

Dr. Zhang strapped himself in. Minutes flew by - years - millenia - geologic eons! Planets fell to dust - protons decayed! The Universe came to an end!

THE END

Reunion (1/7)

2009-10-29T12:12:00.000-07:00

So many types of trails. Ion trails; a thin scattering of atoms and molecules, drifting slowly through a vast and impassive void. One - no, more, now - extend outward from the bombardment fleet orbiting Procyon II. Follow the ion trail - carefully, so carefully, squinting to keep sight of the almost-invisible stream - where does it lead? A barren planet in the outskirts of the system, entirely devoid of life. The trail vanishes into the atmosphere, but there is another - leading from a patrol-ship, landed on the surface, visible only as disturbances in the ages-settled dust covering the bleak and grey world. And if we follow this trail - across crevasses, through rocks, so careful to avoid losing our way! - we find yet another - a trail of footprints, carelessly defacing the earth on their way from the glider that took them this far. So many types of trails - each so thin, so fragile, that a breath would dispel them. But in doing so you would create another - for though you try, you cannot break the bonds that bind you to the past...

Philosophy, eh? Abtruse. Abstract. And, in this case, largely irrelevant. Why spend all our time talking about trails, after all, when there are battle-fleets to watch! Space marines to admire! And a panicked, fleeing fugitive, stumbling his way through the dust and the rocks, trying to make his way into the cave system his ship's sensors spotted as it came down from orbit!

Let's watch him, for the moment. Eh? The space marines will be there when we get back to them.

Alan stopped at the edge of a pit, panting for breath. (He knew it was foolish; his oxygen supply was limited. But still his breath came ragged.) He looked down. His eyes widened.

An airlock? So, not caves after all, those cavities in the ground... not caves, but a base...

I have to work my way in!

Alan jumped into the pit, wincing at the impact. He wrenched at the metal wheel atop the airlock, struggling to open it. Was this supposed to be opened by men, or machines? It's stiff beyond belief!

For a moment, Alan allowed himself to relax. He straightened, turning his gaze upwards. Scanning the sky, he saw nothing amiss, just a sea of stars, two brighter than the rest...

Then a patch of darkness passed over the stars; and another; and another. Three ships! That's a third of the fleet. Worse than I dared dream. Even if I hide in, in whatever's down here - will I be able to hide until they give up the chase - ?

No. Have to act. Have to hide. Will plan when it's safe...

Alan turned back to the wheel, gripping it firmly. He took a deep breath, irreplacable oxygen flooding into his lungs - then he heaved, finally sending the wheel into motion, sliding the airlock hatch with it. When it was half-way open, Alan stopped; a motion to wipe sweat off his brow was intercepted by the helmet that covered it. Alan sighed, and then turned, jumping into the gap he'd opened. And above him...

In the bombardment ship Memory of Earth, Captain Klaas reported.

"The fugitive's ion trail leads into atmosphere, with 99% certainty," he said. "Your orders?"

The Admiral nodded, not turning in the chair where she sat watching the stars. "I want the navigators to begin work on a search grid," she said, her voice betraying no emotion. "Cover the globe, starting at the most likely position for the fugitive to have landed his stolen ship. When they have it ready, have it transmitted to the Retribution and the Repercussion for immediate action."

"Yes, sir," Captain Klaas said, saluting. He turned to leave.

"And tell Colonel Sigin to prepare the marines for action," the Admiral added, her voice still completely calm. "They will be responsible for the capture of the fugitive."

"Sir, yes, sir!" Colonel Klaas agreed. He waited a moment more, and then departed, the door irising shut behind him.

"And when they find him," the Admiral whispered to herself, her hand forming into a fist in her lap, "and when they've extracted every last scrap of information from his useless corpse - "

"For killing my son, I will personally reunite the traitor with the hell from which he was spawned!"

The exotic realms

2009-10-28T21:51:00.000-07:00

THE CRONYCILS OF DISMINDE

1. Deſmound wæs bourne upon a ſmalle hille, which wæs atoppe þe mönt, & þe encæmpmente upon þe hille, which wæs atóp þe mönt, yn þe proximite of þe encæmpmente, which wæs nær þe Kingdome of Nikoulous, þe Ratte-Kinge.

2. Deſmound went unto þe church of yſſe-lounde, & hē pray'd to Gode, & Jeſù, & hē æſked for þynges, which were plæſurable, & ynvolved cárnal knouledge, & þat hē louſted æfter.

3. & yn þe chirchē þere wæs much çinging of religös muſyk, & hē joyned yn þe çinging, & hē encountered 2 vyrgins, & hē ſcurrie'd to þem, & hē bade þem come untó his benchē of ſælte, & þey ſat þereunto & çung a hymne.

4. & one wæs before himme, & one wæs to hós ſyde, & hē talk'd to þe one upon hós ſyde præfryentially, þö ſhē wæs þe leſſir of þe two yn térms of þe plæſéntries of þeir bödies, upón his judgements.

5. þe next day Deſmound jörney'd unto þe grét cave of þe ançynt tymes, & yea, hē wæs prépæring to acroſs þe rain-bow, houever, hē realiſd hē did not contayn all his neck-laçe, & hē ſought to retreve yt.

6. & yea, yt came to paſs þat hē realiſed þát hiſſe neck-laçe haþ borök, & þe beades þereunto wert ſcattre'd acroſs þe lande, & hē muſte cóllect all 100 of þemme, for hē to be endou'd wiþ a great pouer.

7. & hē ſerchēd þe caves þe lande, & hē killed dógges, & hē plant'd treeſe, & hē did many þyngs which were odde, or biſſare.

8. & hē gaþer'd all of beads butte one, which hē knowe'd to be proſeſs by þe Kinge of þe önderworlde, who wæs þe Ratte-Kinge, & hē croſſed þe rain-bowe, & hē ſlay'd þe Ratte-Kinge, & hē tooke þe 100 beades unto þe neck-laçe.

9. & þe beads glow'd wiþ a ſtrange pouer, & yt became very hotte, & yt ſhooke þe earþe, & yt gave Deſmound a ſtrange pouer.

10. & þen Deſmounde return'd to þe churchē þe next daye, & hē onçe againe bade þe two vyrgíns to his ſalt-petre, & þey ſát doun, & hē talk'd to þe one which wæs more plæſureable.

11. & hē took hēr up too þe béd-chambre, & hē undreſſed hērre, & hē wæs about to pénetræt hērre, but hē remember'd þat hē wæs a chriſtiæn, & hē did notte, for yt wæs a ſínne.

12. þen hē return'd houme, & drank ále, & ſpirits, & ſmoked a pype, & became quite content'd.

ARMA II

2009-10-23T11:06:00.000-07:00

I had been sent to destroy a radio station.

It was 0515, just before the invasion was to begin. HQ had identified a radio station that OPFOR was probably using to coordinate their coastal defenses; so our squad had been airlifted in, in the wee hours of the morning, to mark its location for "fast movers". Or, that is to say, tactical bombers and their laser-guided ordinance.

I took the laser designator, per orders from the squad's lieutenant, and scrambled off the helicopter, getting clear of the LZ. We moved forward together, using night-vision goggles to pierce the murky pre-dawn gloom. And then... well, something of my inexperience showed.

For this was a video-game, you see, which I'd gotten on sale earlier that day, and I was not very good at it.

I wandered through the night, frequently getting lost, hearing radio chatter as my more-capable AI team-mates engaged and eliminated hostile forces. (ENEMY MAN 200 METERS FORWARD, their robotic voices would disjointedly announced. 3 ENGAGE TARGET. SCRATCH ONE.)

Our original mission had been to target the radio for a bombing run, but it turned out the radio was in the center a populated village. A bombing run would cause horrific civilian casualties. So instead, I agreed to take the radio out with satchel charges.

I had the satchel charges. I planted the charges. I had no idea of how to use them.

So: better idea.

Nearby, the local OPFORCE had a weapons cache; several automatic weapons, ammunition, and an RPG-7. (A rocket-propelled grenade-launcher.) That would do the trick! There were three rounds for it, too... but I couldn't carry more than two (of the three) without dropping something.

Looked at my inventory. What to drop, to make room? Perhaps... this now-useless laser-guide battery?

Now happily (and heavily) armed, I gained a safe distance from the radio. I aimed. I fired. Whoosh! Boom! The radio antenna was fine.

I blinked. I aimed higher. I fired again.

Whoosh! Boom! No more effect.

I loaded my last round and decided to get another angle on the situation...

Which promptly revealed that, rather than firing into the power generator for the radio antenna, I'd been hitting the wrong side of an adjacent truck.

Took aim at the generator. Nudged my aim up. Fired. Whoosh! BOOM!

Objective complete.

The mission continued. Civilians were rescued; enemies were eliminated (by my team-mates, of course); I got lost. Autosaves were made. Finally, I made it to the extraction point; our command congratulated us on a job well done, and suggested that, being already on the ground, we might be suitable for a job spotting enemy beach defenses for the bombers. (A massive invasion was about to begin, you see.)

I was always up for more. "Sure!" I agreed.

"All right," my squad's lieutenant said. "Where's your laser spotter?"

I blinked.

The battery was still on the ground, next to the enemy weapons cache.

"...I left it on the chopper," my character lamely excused himself.

"God damn it, Cooper," my lieutenant said wearily.

END OF MISSION!

I hope you were entertained by this humorous anecdote

(Plusses: I found another weapons cache en route, so I have another three rounds for my splendid RPG-7! And inventories seem to carry over between missions... man, I anticipate good times.)

The Romance of Mr. Zhang

2009-10-21T21:04:00.000-07:00

I. Mssr. David and Ms. Mary met in organic chemistry class.

Both were instantly smitten with the other. Mr. Zhang cast his gaze obliquely Ms. Mary's way - "So beautiful!" he thought. Ms. Mary returned the favor, careful not to be seen doing so (and missing Mr. Zhang's own stares) - "So distinguished!" she thought, practically swooning.

But, by the tragic flaws of their natures, both were too shy to do any more than sit next to each-other! (And barely, that!) Their conversations, when forced, were terse and emotionless, each doing their best to avoid looking at the other. (What if they knew, after all? And what if they didn't reciprocate?)

II. Mr. Zhang and Ms. Mary sat in their respective homes, talking the matter over with friends. (Ms. Mary spoke with a room-mate; Mr. Zhang spoke with a high-school friend by IM.)

"oh god it is so awkward", Mr. Zhang wailed. "aaaagh".

"I just - I can't say anything to him!" Ms. Mary said, pacing the kitchen awkwardly. "God, he must think I'm some frigid b- - ice princess!"

"Look, you've been sulking for weeks over this guy," Ms. Mary's room-mate told her. "It's past time for action."

"okay okay I know what to do", Mr. Zhang's internet-friend sent. "I have a plan."

"But - what should I do?" Ms. Mary and Mr. Zhang asked.

Ms. Mary's room-mate described her plan. "You work in the labs after-hours, and build a solution of biocarbon crystal-solution. It'll look magical - just the thing to catch his heart! Then you watch how he responds. That'll prove it, one way or the other!"

"ok ok ok," Mr. Zhang's internet-friend sent rapidly, in a staccatto series of beeps. "You rap to her. Rock me Amadeus. Falco. In the original costume."

"But - how do I know he'll like it?" Ms. Mary asked.

"what if she hates it?" Mr. Zhang asked.

"Well, he's in your o-chem class, right?" Ms. Mary's room-mate asked. "So he must like o-chem. He'll think it's cool!"

"come on," Mr. Zhang's inter-friend replied. "everyone likes Falco."

And that settled that!

III. They met after class, two days later - Mr. Zhang in full regalia, Ms. Mary with a glass tube containing a shimmering green solution.

Ms. Mary looked at Mr. Zhang. Confusion was visible in her eyes. Why is he wearing that? she thought.

Mr. Zhang looked at Ms. Mary. His thoughts were filled with perplexity. What is she carrying?

"It's... a study aid?" Ms. Mary attemped.

"It's... for a class," Mr. Zhang tried to explain.

Mortified, both fled.

IV. "aaaaaargh"

"oh god"

"now she hate me forever"

(Mr. Zhang relates.)

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," Ms. Mary cries, bursting into her apartment. "That could not have gone worse."

On prompting, they explain to their respective advisors.

"Wow!" the advisors say. "They were making stuff for you, too! They must actually love you, and just be as shy as you are! Quick, arrange another meeting!"

V. They meet.

They approach, slowly, cautiously.

Then - it's not clear who initiates it - they kiss.

It's long and passionate. They have to gasp for breath when they're done.

Later, they have unprotected casual sex!

This is probably an unwise idea, but who cares? They survive, and live

HAPPILY EVER AFTER

(THE END)

The Spirit of the Forest

2009-10-21T20:18:00.000-07:00

Ally walked through the densely crowded forest in search of the spirit apparition that they told her would appear any minute now. Then, suddenly in a puff of smoke there appeared a most fantastic creature, who was half-man, and half-spirit, and he hovered before her. He stroked his ghostly moustache and beard. He proclaimed, "I am The Honourable GEORGE AIRY, THE AIRY FAIRY, the gouerner of the peesefull lande, upon whych thou steppest, ande what busness hast though herre, I aske." Ally said, "Sureley youe mouste bee the one who they hauth procklaimed to bee the great visionery of the forreste, who speakes the truthe, and predychts the futture, and who whisperres sage advise, unto the loust soules of the whorlde, and who tells of the pathes of the righteousse, I come herre to seke the knowlege of the ancyent ones, telle me the moste wysely advise of your greate wyssdomme." And then the Forest Spirit said, "I wille doe this thynge whych you aske of mee, butte I must teste your whorthienesse with a ryddle, which I speke unto you thusley: I seke a functione, of which the propperties are as folloues. Whan thou takest the deryvative of that functione, and then henceforthe take againe the deryvative of that resultante, then thou subtractest the function in it self, multiply'd by the variabble it taketh, in its foulde, then that answer must be nulle, and noughte, and not summe to any noumber, be it realle, or fancifulle, or imagyn'd in the myndes of Mankinde. That is the ryddle I deliever unto thoue."

Then Ally took some time to ponder this riddle, and walked around the forest for a while, and at last, she believed she arrived at a reasonable answer. She approached the forest spirit and said, "O greate spirite, I belieue that I haue solv'd the greate ryddle, which thou hast poused unto mee, and the function that you seke, cannote be written as in the mannere of ordinry noumbers, or lettres, as thouse of a manne, in the prynting presses, but in the mannere of one who can imagyne the infynite, that which stretches as a stryng, or a lengthe of corde, or rhope, or a twine, or a vyne, or a roote, or a branche, or a leafe, unto the realmes of the unknowne, and this shall be a summe of many thynges, not singulere in natuur, and the summe shall be comprysed of 2 summes, that are segregated from one another, and that are dystinct in natuur, and the first summe shall be wrytten as one, added to the third pouer of the variable, which be devided by the product of three, and two, and then this shall be added yette again, to the sixth pouer of the variable, which doth be devided by the producte of two, and three, and fyve, and sex, but notte four, and then this shalle bee added to the ninth pouer of the variable, whence devided by the prouduct of two, and three, and fyve, and sex, and aight, and nyn, but not four, norre seuen, and so on, unto the darke realmes of the mysteriousse.

When the spirit heard this, and confirmed it as the correct solution, he laughed evilly, and he proclaimed, "Foole! Now you haue told me all I kneed to know, about the most fancifulle functions, that I shalle publishe it onder my owne name, and I shall become famovs ouer it, and counquer the whorlde of mathematicks." And then Ally said, "What a rude beaste you are, houeuer, thou hast promysed me the prophesy and the wysdom advise, that you keepe, and I shall lyke to knowe it nowe." And the spirit said, "Indeede, I shall say that to you, beinge a manne of my worde, and that the advise that I render unto you shall bee as folloues: That you shall go unto your classes at the Universyty, and you shall go to the manne, who is in the class of Physick, and who grows a bearde, which is blacke as coale, and who smelles of chese, and haue sexuelle relationes with himme, and it shall be pleasureable, and goode, in the eyes of the Lord, and all shall be ryght with the worlde." And then the spirit disappeared in a puff of smoke, to publish his findings, and the next day, Ally went to class as usual, and she did what the forest spirit told her, and everything worked out pretty well, and that was the end of that.

Undifferentiated Enlightenment

2009-10-19T20:14:00.000-07:00

Elia woke up. She yawned. She stretched. She stood up.

Near the base of the bed, there was a lump of flesh growing in the carpet!

"Oh!" Elia said. "A person-seed!"

She left the room, returning several minutes later with an earthenware pot in one hand and a spade in the other.

"It's odd," Elia said, putting the pot down. "I changed the screens on the window a few months ago. But I suppose that's when you must have come in - just wafted in through the window like pollen!"

Carefully, Elia used the spade to dig out the chunk of carpeting surrounding the person-seed, lifting it gently into the pot. (The pot was already mostly filled with carpet.) She looked at the person-seed a little longer, and then pushed more carpet onto it, leaving only a small surface of slowly-pulsing flesh visible. "There!" she said. "Now you'll grow as quickly as a person-seed can!"

"It's funny," Elia said, looking at the person-seed. "It's only in places like this that you'll find people-seeds - places struck by fallout from the Enlightenment Bombs. When I was growing up, I never saw any at all! Now you're everywhere, collecting in the corners on the street every morning before the street-cleaners come by, like a haze of pinkish dust. It's just a funny thought - to think that you, all of you, are people!"

Elia carried the pot and spade downstairs, putting the spade back in the hidden cubby from which she'd taken it. She began to do the same with the pot; and then reconsidered. Instead, she closed the cubby and put the pot down on the kitchen table. She sat down.

"The Enlightenment Bombs," Elia sighed. "Weapons of mass transcendence. When detonated, they instantly enlighten every last person in a city, firing them physically into Nirvana. Then, the unenlightened people that launched the Bomb can move in and take their stuff!"

"The side effect," Elia added, "being a rain of not-quite-enlightened souls that fell just short of Nirvana." Elia smiled at the tiny lump of flesh in a pot. "Like you!"

Elia got up. She drank a cup of coffee. She showered. She had breakfast. Then she left for work!

Later, she sat down at the kitchen table again.

"It was advanced Buddhist theory that led to the development of the enlightenment bombs, but there are hardly any buddhists around any more," Elia said. "Most of the true believers just gathered around one of their nirvana bombs - and boom! Mass enlightenment! The ones that were never really committed to the faith were scared by the thought of actually attaining enlightenment. They thought it was only a hypothetical possibility! So they left the faith. That's why you don't really see any Buddhists around these days!

Elia stood up. She brewed a pot of coffee. She poured a cup. She sat back down.

"The only Buddhists around these days," Elia said, "are some hermit-monks in the mountains - reportedly - and a few rare, terrifying bodhisvattas. Bodhisvattas postpone their own enlightenment in the hope of assembling an enlightenment bomb - and taking a city with them!

Elia sipped at her coffee.

"That's where the old saying comes from," Elia explained. "'If you meet a buddhist in the road, kill him!' After all, either he's a bodhisvatta - or, nearly as terrifying, a scammer trying to sell overpriced yoga-course subscriptions! A threat to life and health either way."

The person-seed showed no particular reaction to Elia's humourous comments.

Elia shrugged. She stood up. She changed clothes. She went to bed.

Days passed.

Then came a sharp rapping at the door!

"Yo, dog, the police be up ins!" a voice from outside declared. "We be detectin' too much enlightenment here, so if you've got nothin' to fear, open up and let us in!"

Elia, in the process of washing dishes, looked up. "One minute!" she shouted, and rushed over to the table, picking up the person-seed pot thereupon. (The person-seed was noticably bigger than when Elia had first seen it.) Running to the stairs, Elia hid the pot in the cubby at the stairs' base; then she went to the front door and let the police inside.

There were three of them; dressed in blue and silver, each with a slowly spinning lotus on their left palm. Two of the police began opening drawers and cup-boards, searching the house; the third spoke to Elia.

"Our enlightenment detectors," the policewoman said, gesturing with her lotus-palm, "tell us that your neighborhood is way too filled with enlightenment, dogg. So we be lookin' for summa dat enlightenment stuff, as so we don't all make the big boom."

"I don't know what could be in my house that would be setting off your enlightenment detectors," Elia said innocently. "Ah - there was a person-seed that landed in my bedroom, a few weeks ago. If you move the floor lamp, you can find the chunk I took out of the carpet when I dug it up."

"Hey, dawgs!" there came a shout from upstairs. "Someone's been diggin' up carpet 'round here! I'm'a thinking it's a contamination!"

"What'd you do widdat?" the policewoman speaking to Elia asked politely.

"Well, naturally I was afraid that it would grow into a bodhisvatta and enlighten everyone," Elia told the policewoman. "Being so enlightened already, and all."

"Dat is bein' a natural concern," the policewoman agreed.

"But I wasn't sure what to do with it," Elia said. "So I told Ms. Umpleby, next-door, and she told me she'd take care of it."

The policewoman furrowed. "Dat bein' all kinds of irregular..."

"I'm sorry!" Elia wailed, tears beginning to form in her eyes. "I didn't know what to do! I don't want to be enlightened yet!"

"Shh, shh," the policewoman soothed. Her colleagues had already reappeared downstairs; the policewoman signaled them with a nod. "We be goin' over to your neighbor-woman to be sortin' it all out. You don't be guiltin' at all. Just remember next time as to give 't to the street-cleaners, yah?"

"Y-yes," Elia said, wiping her eyes with a sleeve. "I'll remember."

The front door closed.

Elia, now completely serene in appearance, walked over to the hidden cubby. She took out the person-seed pot and put it on the table. She looked at it.

"Of course," Elia said, "When the police search Ms. Umpleby's house, they'll find the defective screens she installed, and the little person-seed garden she's keeping in the basement. Ha - she thinks they're cute! I didn't give her one, of course, but when the police find what they will - why would they believe anything she says? Looks like my little voyeurism habit has paid off."

The person-seed pulsed gently.

"Don't judge me," Elia told it. "I have to maintain a few vices. Otherwise, I'll ascend into Nirvana, myself!"

Time passed. Elia brewed coffee.

She sat back down in front of the person-seed.

"I have a confession to make," she said. "I've been hoping you'd grow into a bodhisvatta. The primary component of an enlightenment bomb is a nearly-enlightened soul striving for enlightenment - the tension of their few remaining material attachments is enough to catalyze a cataclysmic enlightenment explosion! (Well, with the help of an attached Teller-Ulam nuclear device, but I've already got one of those.) I intentionally left a gap open when I was replacing my screens, so that you would float in - my neighbors would suspect me if I didn't have any screens at all, or defective ones, like silly Ms. Umpleby, so I had to be subtle. Then I was going to raise you until you unrooted from material desire - and the carpet - and use you as the core of an enlightenment bomb. I'd send you straight to the capital!"

Elia sighed.

"...but I can't do that," she admitted.

"Watching you, thinking about you - innocent, a person wiped clean and yet to re-form - "

"I came to realize I was wrong. My beliefs, my goals, all I've been striving for the last few years - misguided, at best."

"If you want to root yourself to the material realm - even so close, so very close, to enlightenment as you are! - that's your choice."

"And if they, all the people in this city, want the same - that's their choice, too."

"People have the right to make their own wrong choices."

Elia sighed.

"I'll keep the Teller-Ulam device," she said. "Just in case I change my mind, or decide there's some group of people that really needs a swift dose of enlightenment. Like terrorists, maybe, or lawyers. But if I need to set off an Enlightenment Bomb, I'll rededicate myself to the Noble Eightfold Path, and use myself as the catalyst, as I always should have planned to."

"And I'll keep you around, too," Elia told the person-seed. "Because you are the most adorable, lovable little chunk of undifferentiated person!"

"Now, to stop externalizing my internal monologues onto a person-seed that has yet to develop hearing organs, before I go as crazy as Ms. Umpleby," Elia said.

Il Professore Nikolas

2009-10-18T20:28:00.000-07:00

"Quali sono tutte le radici cubiche di 1?", Il professor Nikolas chiese ai suoi studenti. "Uno", ha detto uno studente. "Bene," ha detto il professor Nikolas, ma quali sono le radici cubiche, eh? ", Ha continuato," L'uomo si ragazzi sono così stupido, me ne vado. "Poi se ne andò. Gli studenti erano in collera con questo, e avevano protestato . professor Nikolas ha detto ai suoi studenti che sarebbe tornato quando uno di loro potrebbe produrre un altro radice cubica di 1. Fortunatamente, uno degli studenti stava prendendo un altro corso di matematica, in cui ha appreso questo concetto della voce. ha detto il professor Nikolas, e lui è stato molto impressionato. chiese il ragazzo, "Come hai potuto capire questa soluzione?" Il ragazzo ha risposto, "Um, io sono solo un genio, credo». professor Nikolas è stata soddisfatta a questa risposta, e decise di tornare in classe il giorno dopo. Egli disse al ragazzo: "Tu mi ha impressionato molto con la vostra intelligenza, sicuramente devo premiare in qualche modo." Il ragazzo ha detto il professor Nikolas, "Be ', ho bisogno del vostro aiuto per qualcosa .. ".

Il ragazzo disse: "C'è questa ragazza nella mia classe di chimica organica. L'uomo, che la classe è veramente brutto! Mi piace molto la classe. Ma devo prendere, perché esso è necessario." Si fermò per un secondo, e poi disse: "Ho bisogno di fare sesso con questa ragazza, l'uomo, è come, sai, così caldo, l'uomo". Il professor Nikolas è stata presa alla sprovvista, sbalordito e divertito. Egli disse: "Non posso aiutarti in questo sforzo. Dovete guardare nel tuo cuore e trovare le soluzioni, molto simile a come avete trovato le soluzioni della matematica". "L'uomo non si tratta di una buona situazione", ha detto il ragazzo.

Desmonde and the Snowe-Wolfe of Dartmouthia

2009-10-17T21:30:00.000-07:00

Desmonde wasse borne in Isse-Lunde, and he wasse dead.

It did come to pass that Desmonde, residing in the courte of the Isselandic-King, with the men, and the women, and the dogs, and the sheep, and the cattle, and the horses, and the goats, and the children, and the raveners, and the oil-pots, and the unusually ornate tapestries depicting Greate Military Victories over the Ratte-Kinge, defeated some seven years ago, didde hear worde of a terrible creature, being posessessed of fanges, and claws, ande fur, and teethe, ande teeth, and a pelt, ande long tearing nails, stained with the bloode of its victims, and yea, also did it exert a terrible pull upon those metal objects being brought near it, those being such divers items as swords, and shields, ande helmets, and pots, ande kettles, and cross-bow bolts; ande yea, did it frolick among the woodland meadows, and leap, ande cavort, and bring death and devastation upon the peaceful village of Dartmouthia, and also surrounding regions; and yea, didde Desmonde see this as a great injustice, and a tragedy, ande a wronge, to be Wrighted, in the manner of those lawyers and barristers of the Isselundic isles; and yea, didde Desmonde arm himself with sword and bow and spear and cross-bow and spring-launched harpoon; and yea, did he armour himself with a gambeson, ande a hauberk, ande a cuirasse, ande a helmet, ande a shield, ande a large wheele of cheese, being for defense againste the Höfðingi-monsters that roamed the plaines of Isselunde; and yea, did he acquire arms-men, and horses, ande sailors, and long-ships; and yea, did he sail to the easte, for days upon end, such that his men grew weary, and complained, "Yea, certainly we will never see land again!"; and yea, did Dessmonde skewer those that complained with his sword, and his bow, and his spear; and yea, did he hang them upon the maine-maste, up-side down; and yea, there was no more complaining until landfall; and yea, Dessmonde did hunt the Snowe-Wolfe downe, through the forests, ande the fields, ande the meadows; and yea, did it raven moste vigorously, and tore at the horses, ande sent the arms-menne to flight; and yea, did Dessmonde confront it in the manner of the duel; and yea, did it pull at him, in the manner of a lode-stone to iron, or an electromagnet hoisting a car to be scrapped; and yea, did Dessmonde cry out, "Objection!"; and yea, did Dessmonde leap from his horse, and fly unto the Snowe-Wolfe, and stab him many times, with his sword, and his spear, and his spring-launched harpoon; and yea, did deathe come swirling downe.

Verily.

(Forsoothe.)

2009-10-16T12:53:00.000-07:00

In the grim darkness of the far future, a man contemplates the bleakness of his own life, wailing over the thousand sorrows the assail him, weeping at the indignities he suffers. And we mock him for it; bccause, in the end, he is no more and no less than a silly Zhang.

look

how do you tell

if like

someone

doesnt like you

Are they spitting on you, or in your path?

That would be a clue!

Otherwise it is a nontrivial problem and I am not sure I can help.

man

crazy

look

i will decribe

the situation

ok so

on friday i went to class

and there was a dude on my chair

so i sat next to that womon

and it was ok

(There is a woman for whom he pines,
seated near him in his al-chemistry class;
yet with her he cannot sit,
save unless he is given some excuse!)

(So tragic.)

then

on monday

there was no one there

but

i sat up there again

and i said some things

and it was ok

(A boldness!)

(A daring!)

(Certain to win the lady's heart.)

then

on tuesday

i did the same thing

and it was still pretty ok

but

not as much as monday

(All right, truthfully: that's a little odd.)

then

on wednesday

i did it again

and then

it was less cool

and

she was always looking away from me

at a really sharp angle

and like

i said some things to her

and she was like yea

uh huh

and

then

at the end of class

i went up to her

and i was like

hey do you want

to study

or something

and then she was like

maybe

i have like

some friends

or something

and then she said she might email me

but then

she didnt

(How can this be?)

(Have the lady's affections for our hero... faded?)

(How can this be?)

so then

on friday

i went to class

and then

i decided to sit up there again

and i thought

ok i will not say anything

and see if she talk to me

and then

she didnt

so that was that

(The tale grows grim indeed, dear readers!)

and then

on the next monday

i went back to my old chair

and

she did not notice

so that was that

(From this point on, readers may find the tale... unbearably dark. Like a black cat in a soot-filled black paint factory! Beware, those of sensitive tastes. From this point on, there is no going back!)

(Unless you start reading backwards, I guess.)

(But that's just be odd.)

look

so then on tuesday

i went to class again

and i sat in my old seat

and she did not look at me

or antyhing

so i thought

ok forget it

(Almost as though her attention was on the class itself, unlike our hero! (Why is he even in this class, anyway?))

then

in my next class

there was this womon

that i usually talk to

and she was like

nice and whatnot

and then i was like

im not going to say anything to her

and see if she talks to me

(A brilliant ploy! This will be a foolproof test of her feelings! Because if she doesn't talk to our hero, it will mean - that she hates him!)

(Or that she's busy, or that she thinks he's snubbing her, or any number of other things.)

(BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT CARRY ON)

and then

she did not

and then class was over

and i left

and

nothing happened

(It is always good to note when nothing happens. Otherwise, you mightn't notice!)

so then

on wedmesday

i did the same thing

and nothing happened

and then

i thought

ok i will try to talk to that womon who has

a boy firen

again

(She has a boyfriend.)

and then

i sent her a email

that day

and she did not respond

that day

on thursday

i didnt have class

so then

i sent her another email

that was like

hey im free

do you want to hang out

and then

there was not answer

that day

(Little does Mr. Zhang know that his internet connection was severed weeks ago!)

then

on friday

i went to class again

and i did not talk to anybody

in any class

and nothing happened

(Another useful note.)

and i still did not get a email

so then i thought

ojk

look

i should go

and see if there are any womons

that i can hit on

in any of my classes

(A valid goal! (Maybe.))

and there was this girl

in my math class

and she was hot

but

i did not know her

at all

ever talk to her

or anything

so i thought

i can try to leave at the same time as her

and like

smile

at her

or something

but

she left with a larger

group of men

that surrounded her

(Dear readers: I must confess. I have read ahead. Brace yourself: this is the most magnificent piece of writing in the entire post.)

Are you ready?

All right. Go ahead. Do not forget to savor the moment.

a ionic compound

that was solvated

in watter

a metal

that was coordinated

at 6 ligands

Mmm. Delightful!

and then

i tried to follow her

but i was going to be late

for my next class

so i didnt

He was planning to murder the men with a knife!

so then

on the weekend

i thought

ok i can party with those guys again

like last time

but then

they were all like

hey we all got into fraternities

unlike you

you know

we are going to do stuff there

and be cool

i didnt do anything

over the week end

logic

then

on monday

i went to classa

again

and i saw that womon

in my math class

and this time

she left by herself

and i took that chance

so i went into the hall

with her

and i said hi

and she was like

looked at me

with a funny look

and walked past

and then i thought

well

that is that

reference link

then

i went to my next class

and

the next one

The meticulous chronology is one of the many things that sets the inestimable Mr. Zhang's chronology apart from that of his many rivals.

and

then i went to lab

and i thought

i can talk to that stoner guy

who is next to me

usually

but

he was stoned

Logical!

and hung over

and

he was saying

rude things

to me

so i thought

thats that

This is Mr. Zhang's catchphrase.

and then

i finished the lab

and it was night time

and i went home

and then

i thought

i can hang out

with my room mates

but then

they were not there

and later that night

they came back

and he said

o we went to this cool thing

without you

oh noooooooo

so i didnt do anything

that night

then

on tuesday

i went to class

again

and then

i got my tutouring assignment

(Mr. Zhang is becoming a tutor! Even in real life! It is crazytimes.)

and i thought

hey this is cool

and it was a womon

and i thought whoa cool

and then

i went to the meeting place

to work

with her

and she was like

not there

but then

she came

and i was like

and she was like

hey

and then

she got her cellular

phone

and she called some people

This is slightly odd.

and like

then

i was like

do you have

any questions

and she was like

yeaeh

and she like

gave me

her homowork

and she was like

can you do this for me

She is an excellent student!

and then

she got on the phone agagin

with

her boy friend

and she was talking to him

and then

i was working

on the homowork

This is basically the root of all of Mr. Zhang's fictional problems. Maybe even some of the real ones. Hard to be sure.

and then

the time was up

and she took ait

and left

and she did not say anything

so then

i went home

again

and i thought

thats that

The catchphrase is used - but this time, it is more ominous than ever!

and then

on wednesday

i did not come

to class

but nobody noticed

aww

and then

on friday

i was not in class

either

and nobody noticed

Wait, hm. This seems inconsistent. What about that stoner guy? Wouldn't he notice.

...I guess he could've been stoned.

(For days on end.)

Carry on.

and then the midterm came

and

the techer noticed that i did not take it

and he said what is going on

but

they could not contact me

Oh no! Did Mr. Zhang forget to leave his cell phone on?

and then

they went to look for me in my room

and i was there

dead

with a gun in my hand

the end

Oh gosssssssssssssssh

(This is of course entirely unrealistic because it is hard to get a firearm, especially if you are living in the middle of nowhere. Is there even a gun shop in Dartmouth-Towne? It seems unlikely.)

(Also because Mr. Zhang is both talented and well-liked, and would never be driven to such dark extremes in "real life".)

(Unless he felt driven to it by his paranoid imagination...)

(What's the number for Dartmouth emergency psychiatric services, now?)

Religious Views on Gender: A Historical Perspective

2009-10-15T19:02:00.000-07:00

Mera, being a girl raised in a devout household, had always dreamed of serving the gods. To percieve and channel the will of Those that raised the sun into the sky, sent the moon to light the night, and brought forth rain to nourish the earth; oh! What a glorious thing it would be!

Her parents, though faithful worshippers of the gods, disagreed with Mera's optimistic assesstments of the life of the priesthood. Mera was unable to sway them to her point of view, though she argued it for weeks upon end. So, entirely naturally, midway through the twelfth summer of her life, Mera ran away.

Mera chose for her destination the great city of Ur, where she had heard the worship of the gods was a great occupation. It was not far from Mera's home to the great city of Ur; fortunate, this, for it was a troubled age, and the roads were not safe for a lone traveller. Still Mera made the three-day trip safely, subsiding on a loaf of bread stolen from the house before her departure. It was farther than she, or any of her family, had traveled before.

So Mera gawked as Ur appeared upon the horizon, draped lazily over a small hill, leaking smoke from a myriad of fireplaces to make a mark of its presence even upon the sky. She marvelled as she entered the streets of the city, staring at the clamouring crowds, the shouting street merchants, the closely-packed buildings - some of them two stories tall! (Supported by the hill, of course, but still.) Guards armoured and armed with glittering copper patrolled the streets, on the watch for thieves and false idolaters; Mera spoke to one, managed to pry from him directions to the Great Temple of Ur, though both she and he had to strive to understand each-other's thick accent.

As Mera walked, she thought of a story her father had told her, passed from his father (now dead); that Ur held within its confines, not hundreds, but thousands of people, all living and working and fighting within the same city. At the time, Mera and the rest of her family had not believed the tale; even her father had told it with the air of a fable. But now - !

The Great Temple sat near the top of the city, the Palace visible above it. Mera was panting for breath in the moments before she caught sight of it, passage through the narrow, winding, uphill roads of Ur having taxed her in the summer heat; upon seeing the temple, she stopped dead. Everywhere on its walls were colors: blue, green, yellow, illustrating the gods and their many escapades and powers. Pilgrim and city worshippers filled the front courtyard, giving offerings the statues of the gods and speaking to the brightly painted women that preached the words of the gods. (Or so Mera presumed; the noise of the city was that she could hardly hear anything said more than five feet away from her.) Looking on the spectacle, Mera was entranced. "Ah!" she thought. "Certainly this is the life I would lead!"

With some difficulty, Mera succeeded in gaining the attention of a temple acolyte; he directed her into the temple, through several narrow corridors lined with orange-glowing braziers, and into a small room, where another acolyte directed her to wait. She waited, squatting on the floor, noticing as she did so that certain of the murals on the walls were... to put it politely... unusually risque. Mera had many times seen animals in the field, and heard her parents in the night, but - the unusual nature of many of the acts portrayed... she was glad of the poor light that the braziers cast, when the priests finally beckoned her inwards, so that they could not see the blush that coloured her face.

Three old men sat at a table, dressed in temple robes. There was a stool across from them; Mera sat on it, feeling awkward. The old men looked her up and down, appraising her. Mera flinched slightly.

"I've come to join the temple," she said, stammering slightly. The confidence that had filled her during her departure from the farm seemed to have entirely deserted her.

"Hmmm," one of the old men said, still examining her. "So we were told. You seem a bit young for it. Has your night blood come yet?"

Now Mera blushed bright red. "Of course!" she said. "I'm not a child."

"Yes, yes," another of the old men said dismissively. "You certainly look it, though. I doubt more than a fraction of the men would fancy you. Of course, it might be a fraction that wouldn't be interested in any of the more mature women, anyway..."

"What?" Mera asked. "What does my desirability to men have to do with anything?"

This took the old men aback. "You said you were here for the position!" one said.

"I am!" Mera replied. "Like I said, I want to serve the gods and become a priestess!"

"Impossible!" the first old man told her. "Only those born to the priesthood can serve in it! Women from outside can only serve as sacred prostitutes!"

"Sacred prostitutes?" Mera asked, incredulous. "If that's all you'll allow, then, then - I refuse! I reject it! I'll form my own priesthood!" She fled the room.

"We wouldn't have given you the job anyway!" she heard one of the old men shout in departure.

Safely outside the temple, Mera found a corner to sit down in. She sat. She sobbed. Then she thought.

"I said I'd start my own religion," Mera thought to herself. "And that's wrong. The gods are the gods; An, Ki, Ninil, Enki, all of them. I would never start a cult to oppose them."

A fire burned through Mera; a fire of resentment, and frustrated optimism, and of faith. In its path she was consumed, and reborn.

"But the priests are fat and old and cruel," Mera's thoughts continued. "They do not represent the gods. So if I will not start a new religion, what I can do, what I should do, is to start a new priesthood; name myself the Prophetess, and turn the priests out of the house they have forfeited through their acts."

The fire within Mera burnt itself out fully; in its wake Mera, now the Prophetess, stood, tear-tracks still drying on her cheeks. She stared toward the temple. "O Gods, when I return, I will raise a feast and a jubilation in your honor; I will offer all that I have to your service and your glory," she promised. "Now I have nothing; I must leave you with only this promise. I am pure and steadfast in my faith; it must suffice."

The Prophetess left the city of Ur.

She travelled; not back to her home, but elsewhere, through farm and field. She came unto a wilderness, and a cave that would shelter her; there she lay her burdens down. "Here I will live and pray," she said, "living the ascetic life, until the gods show me the path I must take."

She considered the sum total of her burdens: a small knife, a thin blanket, and half a loaf of stale bread.

"I will also," the Prophetess noted as an aside, "have to learn to hunt."

This was difficult!

When the bandits accosted her, the Prophetess had grown somewhat better at hunting, and rather noticably thinner. She sat at her fire, roasting a skeletal rabbit over the flames, as she considered.

"There are three of them," the Prophetess thought to herself. "They are armed; I am not. Certainly I cannot fight, and there is nowhere to run. Therefore I will trust to the gods to guard me."

"Hello there, little lady," the first of the bandits leered down at the Prophetess. "They call me Syram; my brother, here, is Jude, and his brother is Bilon. What's your name?"

"Some called me Mera, once," the Prophetess told them.

"Ain't that nice?" Syram asked. "Now, little girl, we all of us are tired and hungry and been too long without company of the friendliest sort. So my thought is that, now that we've gotten to know each-other proper-like, you'll give us all your food and valuables, and maybe give us a little hospitality on the side, eh? No need for anyone to get hurt or anything."

"Now, though, I am named the Prophetess," the Prophetess told the bandits, proceeding as though she had heard not a word they had said. A light burned within her eyes. "I am the voice of the gods, gifted by Heaven to right the wrongs wrought by man. Should any man take any possession of mine without right, their hands shall blacken and rot off; should any man harm me in any way, the creeping death shall come upon them, killing them and all around them. If any many should strike me down, then he, and his children, and his children's children, down to the seventh generation, shall be cursed with sorrow and bloodshed; yea, and there should be no redemption for they, not even beyond the gates of Death itself. So sayeth Sin, so sayeth Nann, so sayeth the en-zu."

The bandits backed away, cowed.

"...maybe we oughtn't rob her, brother," Bilon suggested in a hushed whisper.

"Y'don't say!" Syram snapped back.

Cautiously Jude approached the Prophetess; he sank to bended knee before her. "O Prophetess," he said, "we are sorry to have offended you. We are poor, and hungry, and barely manage to feed ourselves from day to day; we are ever on the brink of starvation. We ask only this from you; that you give us your blessing, and whatever scraps you can spare, if you so desire. Then we will leave you in peace."

The Prophetess hesitated at this request; but an impulse moved within her. "You may have my blessing," she told the bandits, "On this condition: that you swear to me to hold ever to the path of the Gods, and rob only those less needy than yourself, and harm others only in self-defence. This you must swear!"

"I do, O Prophetess," Jude said.

"I do," Bilon and Syram agreed, mumbling.

"Then you may have this blessing," the Prophetess said. "That so long as you hold to your oath; fortune will favour you. That adversity will bend its knee to you, and hunger stay its wrath; that, so long as your wits remain with you, there will ever be a way to turn the situation to your advantage. Carry this with you!"

"And also," she said in a burst of pity, "this rabbit, here; it is not much, but it will tide you by for a time."

The bandits bowed, awed; Syram reached forward, taking the rabbit off the fire, and bundled it into his search. Then he, with the others, departed.

The Prophetess, watching them, sighed.

She looked at the heel of long-stale bread placed on the center of her blanket.

"I hope I was wise in giving them that gift," she said to herself, "because I am very hungry, and it was very hard to catch that rabbit."

Time passed.

A farmer stumbled into the Prophetess's cave; there was a look of desperation in his eyes. "Are you the hermit-prophet said to live here?" he asked.

"I am," the Prophetess replied. "Why?"

"My family has been stricken by a terrible sickness," the farmer told the Prophetess. "They lie on the ground, rolling and moaning, their skin warmed by a fever that burns like fire. The other villagers have barred the door and left them to die; they shun me, too. Ask the gods to aid me!"

The Prophetess considered.

"The illness has already come too far," she told the farmer. "Some of your family will and must die. But your wife will survive, and a child; with this you must content yourself. This is how it is and must be."

The farmer stared at her, wordless; then he turned and left.

Days passed; the farmer returned. With him were other villagers. They spoke to the Prophetess, telling her that their priest had left, off to Ur; there had been a great battle, and confusion reigned. All had heard of the Prophetess's words of the farmer's family, which had come true; they invited her to live in the village, taking the priest's place. The Prophetess considered, and accepted.

It was there that she was when three great lords came, some time later, escorted by a retinue of copper-armed guards. The Prophetess emerged from her hut to greet them; her gaze was grim.

"If you come to kill me, claiming false idolatry, know that you are wrong, and will be punished for it," the Prophetess began. "I am the Prophetess; by the gods' will, any that harm me will suffer plague, and any that - "

"Ah!" one of the three lords cried; all were startled. "O Prophetess, fear not that we seek your death! Do you not recognize us!"

For they were the three bandits, who had, finding advantage in every situation, rose in the chaos of war to become lords of Ur. And they had come - "to raise you up to the throne of the Great Temple," Syram told the Prophetess, "and let all lesser priests prostrate themselves before you."

"Let that be so," the Prophetess said, a cold delight showing through at the thought of her victory. "And as for the oldest among them, who select candidates for the sacred prostitutes - "

"Yes?" Jude asked.

"Let them serve as they had others!" the Prophetess declared.

"...seriously?" Syram asked.

The Prophetess thought. Images passed through her mind.

"...perhaps being placed within my service would be punishment enough," she conceded. "Let it be so!"

And it was so.

Of Pleas Unto God

2009-10-13T19:33:00.000-07:00

The little bird knew there was something wrong.

It thought for a while.

"Am I in the wrong place?" it asked. "It's awfully dark down here. Also, there seem to be loads of strange, bubbling liquids, and things that look like I should be able to fly right through them, but will totally block me if I try! Force-fields. I don't think birds should be in places filled with bubbling liquids and force-fields!"

"Those chemicals are necessary for my work, bird," the room's other occupant, a tall grey-haired woman, grumbled. "And you'd best be grateful for the glass; it's all that's protecting you from those chemicals. Now, shut up while I finish what I'm doing."

The little bird shut its beak compliantly: snap! It thought for a while longer.

"Oh! Oh! Is there something with my plumage?" the little bird asked chirpily. It preened. "Nope! Just as amazing as ever! Man, just check out these greens, and that yellow. Wow!"

"Shut up, little bird!" the woman grumbled. "I care not a whit for the colours of your feathers! In fact, I would much rather you were brown and mud-coloured; but I must work with the tools I am given."

"What? What?" the little bird asked, incredulous. "Me, all brown and muddy and nasty? Why would you want that? I mean, just look at this tail-feather, here - "

"Shut up, little bird!" the woman said.

The little bird's beak snapped shut.

It thought some more. This time, its thoughts were more focused, more intent than ever. It knew it had to get things right this time - there was something wrong, and it was going to get to the bottom of the matter - no matter how long it took!

Roughly three seconds later, the little bird opened its beak again. "I totally got it this time!" it said. "It's me, right? I'm dead! You killed me! That's what's wrong!"

"Yes!" the woman said, looking up from her workbench. "I killed you! Then I revived you with the powers I hold over life and death, turning you into an undead mockery of your former self! That is the only reason you can talk to me, and I have come to believe that the gift of human speech accompanying your revival is a very specific curse - from God - to me - because even with all the immense arcane power I command, you will! Not! Shut! UP!"

"Oh yeah?" the little bird asked, posing defiantly. It puffed up its breast, for added intimidation. "If you're gonna be so mean to me, why don't I just fly away! I'll fly away as fast and as far as I can, and you'll never see me again!"

"Yes!" the woman said, standing. There was something in her hand. "Fly away, little bird, as fast and as far as you can. Just - hold still, please," she interrupted herself as she stooped to tie a small paper to the little bird's right leg, "- ah, where was I? Right! Fly away, with your undead stamina, lack of hunger or thirst, and immunity to predatory birds, until you reach the Kingdom of Heaven itself, there to deliver my ultimatum unto God!"

"Maybe I will!" the little bird said, and shot into the air, shattering the underground laboratory's skylight in a shower of glass and feathers. "Hah!" the little bird congratulated itself. "That will show her!"

Several miles later, the little bird considered the exact situation of its departure.

"Er," the little bird realized, "I'm basically doing exactly what she told me to. Maybe this was not the most effective act of defiance ever?"

The little bird thought some more.

"Oh!" it exclaimed to itself. "I know what'll show her! I'll just land, and not go anywhere at all! Maybe she'll even see me again, and go, 'Drat, that bird totally didn't convey my message to God! Now I'll have to kill another one!'"

"...I cannot be held responsible for the hypothetical actions of others," the little bird added sheepishly.

"Here!" the bird thought, looking downward to a verdant forest. "I'll land here! Time to sample all the pleasures of life, just like before that woman killed me!"

"Mmm, seeds!" the little bird said, taking an anticipatory sniff before popping the seed in question into its mouth.

Then it recoiled!

"Dang!" it said. "That smelled and tasted just like ash!"

The little bird looked around; found a wild raspberry growing neary the ground. It plucked the berry; took a bite.

"Everything tastes just like dust and ash!" the little bird said. "This totally sucks! Well - I'll try drinking some water from this nearby, pure, refreshing-looking mountain stream. Nothing can go wrong there, surely?"

The little bird took a sip.

It made choking noises; sprayed water onto the ground.

"Aaaugh!" it wailed. "It's like drowning, but without me ever actually dying or whatever! Drowning forever!"

The little bird took a moment to compose itself.

"All right, all right," it said. "Eating sucks now, drinking even moreso. Whatever. I never even liked those anyway. But, look. I've still got my beautiful plumage, right?"

The little bird admired its plumage.

"Yeah, totally!" the little bird congratulated itself. "The ladies have always loved this stuff! Now that I won't always be pestering them for a taste of their walnuts or whatever, they'll love me even more!"

It was but a moment's work for the little bird to find a nearby cluster of lady-birds. "Heyo!" it said, puffing out its chest as it approached. "How's it going!"

"Eeeuurgh!" the lady-birds said, recoiling en-masse! All but one took to the air, leaving the dumbfounded little-bird stunned.

"You might want to have yourself checked out, guy," the last lady-bird suggested helpfully. "You smell like rotting flesh! Maybe take a nice bath?" Then it turned away, flying quickly in pursuit of the others.

"What?" the little bird asked, disbelieving. "I don't smell like rotting flesh." It took a quick sniff under its wing to confirm this. "Yeah! All I smell like is... ash?"

"Aw, man!" the little bird said, realization dawning. "Everything smells like ash to me! I totally lost my sense of smell! That was my favourite one, too; including but not limited to my sense of proprietry!"

"Well, whatever," the little bird said. "Being dead totally sucks. I'll just fly to the Kingdom of Heaven, like that woman wanted me to. Things might be better there, maybe."

The little bird considered.

"Oh, hey, they're totally going to be better!" it exclaimed. "It's Heaven! Everything's awesome there! Rad! Well, off I go, then." And with the words, the little bird was in the air once more.

"Wait, which way's Heaven, again?" it asked itself after a moment.

It thought.

"Oh, right!" it realized. "Duh! Up!"

Its wings beating hard, the little bird began to spiral into the air.

Time passed. The sun set and rose again.

"Whoa, if I were a normal bird, I'd totally be tired by now," the little bird realized. "But I feel like I could do this basically forever!"

"It's true," a nearby hawk observed. "Usually I have to dive quite a distance to strike my prey; and then climb a long ways back again, after my meal is done. So obliging of you to come all this way; I won't waste your time with delay."

"Huh, wha?" the little bird observed articulately.

"Waaaaaaaaargh!" it wailed, moments later, as the hawk rent at it. "Hawk totally eating me! The heck the heck the heeeeeeeeeck!"

"Oh, don't worry about it, little bird," the hawk said, drawing back. "I'm quite done; I see this was a terrible mistake on my part. Rotten flesh isn't quite my thing. Unless you've anything more to say, I'm back to scanning for something to wash this taste out of my mouth..." And with this the hawk withdrew, its eyes cast once more in the direction of the distant earth.

"Right!" the little bird remembered. "Totally undead! I remember that woman said I'd be immune to predators. Guess this is why! Best perk I've gotten so far. Sucks to be you, large predatory birds!" It flipped a wing in the general direction of predatory birds.

Shortly thereafter, after recovering from the uncontrolled-spin this ill-considered gesture caused, the little bird continued its upwards ascent.

Until it got caught in a web of invisible, sticky fibers, that is!

"What the heck!" the little bird said. "This doesn't even make any sense! I guess I'm in some sort of web, but what would it even be anchored to?"

"Clouds, naturally," a sky-spider said, approaching at a sedate pace. "Don't injure your little brain worrying about it too much, though. Soon, I'll have injected you with my paralytic venoms, and then you won't have to worry about anything at all. Later, I'll liquefy and ingest you!"

"You totally don't want to, though!" the little bird said. "I'm totally undead! You'd be totally unhappy if you ate me! All, "whoa, that was disgusting, I never want to eat again!" For days! Plus you might catch some weird zombie illness. Not worth the risk, if you ask me!"

The sky-spider tilted its multiorbed head quizically. "Undead? That's most unusual. How can I be sure you're not just lying to avoid being digested?"

"How else'd I get this high?" the little bird asked.

"Reasonable enough," the sky-spider agreed. "Best not to risk it. I'll just cut you free, now..."

"Aw, thanks!" the little bird said, flexing its wings. "You're the politest sky-spider I've ever met. Later!"

"If you want to avoid further such encounters, steer wide of the gaps between clouds," the sky-spider shouted upwards to the departing little bird. "That's where we spin our webs!"

"Whoa!" the little bird said in surprise. "Politest sky-spider ever!"

Its journey upward continued. The sky darkened, turning deep blue. At first the little-bird thought that it was night. Then it realized that the sun was still up. It had just gotten that high!

"Huh!" the little bird said. "I must be nearly to Heaven by now! Hope I can make it the rest of the way - my wings aren't working as well as they were back near the ground, for some weird reason."

"That's very strange indeed," said the leviathan sky-squid. (That's not a very good description of it. It looked kinda like an elephant, but with no legs, and also tentacles? Also it was purple, ish. And had lots of bumps on its skin. And - perhaps best to leave it here.) "You must have come a very long way to get here; I imagine you would be terribly sad if your quest for Heaven was to be ended in failure at so late a date."

"Aw, man," the little bird griped. "Why do I even bother having inner monologues? Every time I do, some predator shows up! Whatever." It turned its beak upwards. "Whatever, sky-squid-thing!" it shouted. "I'm totally undead! Don't bother eating me! Also maybe give me some directions, I'm kinda worried that I overshot Heaven at some point like maybe three miles ago, that'd suck."

"Oh, little bird, little undead bird," the sky-squid-thing sighed. "I am not your friend. I am the Guardian of Heaven, and I am here to eat creatures like you."

"Wha?" the little bird asked. "Seriously? Man, that totally sucks. That sucks, and you suck. And your face sucks. And you smell. And I want you to know - "

Then the sky-squid seized the frantically-flapping little bird in one of its thousand tentacles, stuffed it into its many-fanged maw, and chewed!

"Om nom nom nom," the sky-squid observed.

-

The little bird knew there was something wrong.

It thought for a while.

"Didn't that sky-squid eat me?" it asked.

A great and benevolent radiance enveloped the little bird. The 'sky-squid' is the Guardian of Heaven, it seemed to wordlessly convey. Through its ommings and nommings, it conveyed you here.

"Oh!" the little bird said. "Huh! I totally didn't expect that."

Are you prepared to experience the glory of Heaven? the great and benevolent radiance asked.

"Um, er," the little bird said. "Yeah. Uh. Actually, I was thinking... could I maybe just be restored to life? I was having a pretty good time, living. It was fun. I liked it."

Heaven's pretty great, the immense and incomprehensible radiance intimated. Don't knock it before you try it.

"Yeah, but... life, eh?" the little bird said. "Also, sex. Not sure you have that around here."

Why don't you try Heaven first, and then if you really want to return to life, we can work something out? the immeasurable numinance implied.

"That works," the little bird said.

"Oh," it added, as a swirl of light wrapped around it. "I had this note, from this lady. She tied it to my leg. I guess I'm supposed to deliver it to God. You should maybe probably take it?"

Certainly, the light agreed.

And then the bird was gone; only the slip of paper remaining.

The divine luminance unwrapped it. Slowly, it read.

It stopped. The paper rotated; then back again. The impression of a disbelieving squint resonated through space.

Get those damn kids to stop throwing stones at my vile sanctum of unlife? the divinity asked disbelievingly.

"Seriously!" the woman said, looking up from her laboratory bench. "They damaged my trim!"

tales of woe and despair

2009-10-12T15:24:00.000-07:00

like the sinking

upon the wave fronts of

the travelling oceanic currents

that drag along with them

the lycht at the ende of the tunnel

from that comes

the black

pool

of deadly sins

and our

past

like a journey to the centre of the earth

that dives ever further down

and never comes up for

a breath

of air

and that festers

in the bowels

of hell

and takes upon

its broken back

the signs

of the moon and the sun

and that makes the tides in the ocean

that drag along with them

the lycht at the ende of the tunnel

Appropriate Applications of Basic Arithmetic

2009-10-11T18:12:00.000-07:00

"Now, everyone in the Weir knows that mathematics is the most important skill you can learn," Mr. Willems said. "But can anyone tell me why?"

Several hands went up. "Me! Me!" Andrea demanded.

"All right, all right, settle down," Mr. Willems said, chuckling. "Andrea, why don't you explain?"

"It's 'cuz math makes bad things go away!" Andrea said triumphantly.

"That's right!" Mr. Willems congratulated. "A good enough mathematician can solve any problem, no matter how thorny. Why don't I give a demonstration?"

"Show us! Show us!" the class clamoured. "We want to see you do math!"

Mr. Willems laughed. "Watch closely, now," he said, and stepped to the back of the classroom. A box-shaped object, covered in black cloth, sat on a table; every child in the room had their eyes fixed on it as Mr. Willems reached down, got a solid grip, and yanked the cloth away. And what they saw beneath -

"Aaaaa!" Sallya screamed.

"It's a monster!" Jervin yelped, his voice filled with terror. "Kill it, kill it, make it go away!"

"Now, now, children, don't be afraid," Mr. Willems said soothingly. "The big bad monster is in a cage. It can't get out. See?" He poked a finger into the cage, to demonstrate. The monster snapped at it; Mr. Willems yanked back quickly. He turned, holding his index finger before the class. "See? Harmless!"

"Are you gonna beat it with maths?" Elpin asked.

"No," Mr. Willems said.

Faces fell all across the classroom. "Then what are you gonna do?" Jervin asked.

"I'm going to have one of you beat it for me!" Mr. Willems said.

"Whoa!" Benn exclaimed. "Awesome!"

"How are we supposed to do that?" Kelliagh asked.

"It's simple," Mr. Willems said. "See there, above its head?"

"Yeah!" Jervin shouted. "They're numbers! We learned 'em last year. There's a two and a six, and a pembleteen in between!"

"Don' be stupid," Sallya reprimanded him. "There's no such thing as a 'pembleteen'!"

"Be polite now, children," Mr. Willems said. "But Sallya's right - the symbol in between isn't a number at all. Can anyone tell me what it is?"

"I remember! I remember!" Andrea said, practically leaping from her chair. "It's a 'plus'! That's "two plus six!" It's a 'quation!"

"Oh, yeah!" Benn realized belatedly. "We learned those last year. I'd forgot!"

"Very good!" Mr. Willems said. "This one is the equation you need to solve to beat the monster. that's why it's hovering above its head! Can anyone tell me what the answer is?"

"Four?" Jervin suggested hastily.

"Not quite," Mr. Willems said. "Does anyone else want to try?"

Andrea sat with an expression of ferocious thought. "It's eight," she said. "Eight! Eight, stupid monster!"

The monster reeled. It fell backwards. Then it hit its head against the bars! Down went the monster!

"Exactly right!" Mr. Willems congratulated. "That's how you beat a monster. Basic arithmetic will only get you so far, though; this one will be back in a few hours, once it feels better. If we wanted to stop it for good, we'd have to try a little harder. Now, everyone saw the numbers right above its head; "2 + 6". If you look very hard, though, and maybe even squint, you should be able to see something else. Why not try now?"

The children squinted.

"There're... more numbers?" Sallya said hesitantly. "I think it's a two and a nine. No, a seven and a nine. But there's something in between... a 'x'?"

"Can everyone else see the equation?" Mr. Willems asked. "Don't worry if it was hard, or you couldn't make it out well; this is the sort of thing you have to practice for. That was the equation you would have to solve to kill the monster. "7 times 9"."

"What's times?" Ephriem asked.

"That's what we're going to be learning this year," Mr. Willems said. "And we'll start on it first thing tomorrow. But now - field trip!"

"Hooray!" the class shouted in unison. "Field trip!"

"We're going to the courthouse!" Mr. Willems told the class.

"...yaaay?" the class said. "...courthouse?"

"And we're going to see them do math!" Mr. Williams said.

"Yaaaaaaaay!" the class shouted.

Then they went to the courthouse.

"I call this proceeding to order," the Judge said sternly. "Jury, do you have a decision?"

"Yes, Your Honor," the jury foreman said. "We solved the equations together, and are now ready to pronounce this bandit - guilty of all charges."

"No!" the accused shouted. "No! It was only some bread! I needed to feed my children! I needed to feed my children!"

"Bailiffs, restrain him," the Judge said calmly. "I will now enact the sentence. For three counts of attempted murder, one count of trespassing, and one count of exacerbated banditry, I hereby sentence you to death. Sixteen by eighty-four. Thirteen-fourty-four."

"Noooo!" the bandit wailed. Then the impact of the maths struck him, and he faded into oblivion.

"That's the power of mathematics, children," Mr. Willems said. "It can be dangerous, so you must always remember to use it wisely."

"Wowww," Benn said.

"Now, I'll take you back to the classroom, and you can find your way home from there - " Mr. Willems began -

Before being rudely interrupted. A woman slammed the doors of the courtroom open, panting heavily. "Brigands!" she said. "An army, at the gate! All able-minded adults to the walls!"

"You'll have to take the children with you, teacher," the Judge said, stepping down. "The children won't be safe at home alone, and you heard the messenger - every able mind is needed."

Mr. Willems hesitated. "Very well," he said. "Come on, everyone, with me. You can play together near the wall, where we can keep an eye on you."

The class followed Mr. Willems, muttering. "Do you think it's bad?" Sallya asked. "I hope mummy and daddy are safe," Corrin mumbled.

As Mr. Willems left the courtroom, a black bird swooped overhead, something clutched in its claws. It landed on the lintel of the door, and took a long, slow, look around. Then it tore at the shape it carried, dropping something onto the ground, and rose again, flying quickly out of sight. Besides the door was the thing the bird had dropped - a rodent's head, trailing severed viscera behind it.

"Ewww!" the children cried en masse, leaning back. Almost immediately thereafter, some of the boys began eyeing the head with curiosity.

"A bad omen," the Judge said, pushing through the children.

"It's nothing," Mr. Willems said. He squinted. "d/dx (6x + 5)... 6." The aspect of the head which foretold an ill future vanished.

"Wow!" Jervin said. "Was that multiplication?"

"No, no," Mr. Willems said, seeming distracted. "Come along, now. We need to hurry."

The scene at the wall was pure chaos. Arrows arced through the air, deflected from harm by swift-adding auxiliaries: "One! Ten! Three! Seven!" one chanted, sending arrows careening away from the defenders. Others struck at the bandits more directly, peering down with spyglasses to see the equations. "Seven plus five-fifteen is five-twenty-two," one announced. "Ninety-six plus thirty-four is - ah - 140. No. No. 130! Yes." A few had set themselves to the task of dismantling the siege engines and ladders the bandits brought against the walls.

But among the arrows were those not deflected, but instead finding their marks; among the bandits were those that avoided the arithmetic of the defenders and made their way to the ladders. And with each passing moment there were more of the latter; and men and women went tumbling from the wall, blood stains spreading from their wounds.

"There are more every year," the Judge said, walking towards the wall.

"Every year," Mr. Willems agreed, seeming sunken within depression. "Impossible to stop them for more than a few months, a year."

"Why not just use math?" Andrea asked.

Mr. Willems started, remembering the presence of the children with him. "We are," Mr. Willems explained to Andrea, gesturing to the efforts on the wall before them. "But there's a lot of math to do, and sometimes we can't solve all the equations fast enough."

"No, no," Andrea said, exasperated at the stupidity of adults. "Don't fight them. Solve them. Beat the thing that makes bandits."

"But - it's not that simple," Mr. Willems said. "There's a complex system of socioeconomic causes creating the bandits - it's a practically insoluble problem!"

"You said that a good enough mathematician 'can solve any problem, no matter how thorny'," Benn quoted. Belief shone in his eyes.

"Well - all right. I'll look," Mr. Willems said, peering into the air over the battle. He had little hope of success - but, to his own surprise, he saw - something. Barely visible, a glimmer in the air - a one-point font in blue-on-slightly-darker-blue...

"lim (x -> 0) 6x / -sin (x) ?" Mr. Willems read slowly, somewhat unbelieving.

"Yeah!" the children cheered. "Solve it, Mr. Willems, solve it!"

"But - I can't!" Mr. Willems protested. "It's an indeterminate form! Insoluble!"

"We know you can do it, Mr. Willems!" Andrea told him, her voice filled with unshakable faith.

Mr. Willems paused. "Wait - I think I remember something..."

He did the math.

He double-checked.

"...negative six?" he suggested.

There was a pause.

The world changed.

-

EDIT: Fixed final equation.

Cooking Dinner

2009-10-10T21:13:00.000-07:00

It was 8:35 when I considered dinner.

By this time, every dining hall on campus was closed. There was one that normally stayed open until 11, but today, for some reason, not so. The options, then: starve, or buy food from one of the general stores on campus. (They stayed open until 1!)

I chose option 2.

Entering the store, I considered the available options. There were snacks - certainly, snacks aplenty. There were microwaveable meals - I looked on them with skepticism. But one, the mysterious "Bagel Bites", sparked an idea...

Minutes later, I exited the store, a small bag of cheese and a set of bagels cradled under my arm. I had a Plan.

I opened the packages!

I separated a bagel into halves!

I put cheese on one of the halves!

I put the bagel in the microwave!

Three minutes later, I returned to see how the bagel-cooking had progressed.

Smoke had filled the kitchen, and the bagel was in ruination. And worst of all -

The plate on which I had put the bagel - purchased only days ago - had split unevenly in two.

(The bagel, though it smelled appetizingly of the cheese melted into it, was completely dehydrated. Tragically inedible.)

My second attempt, far humbler, was more successful.

But - let us say only that my room-mate has told me, with great kindness, that if I ever want to cook something again, I should just ask him to fix it for me. You know. To avoid further property damage.

Bagels!

Children of God: A Coda

2009-10-09T23:19:00.000-07:00

This is an - arguably spoiler-free - appendix to Children of God, explaining something of the back-story that I began the post with. It's never explained outright in the story proper, and may have been somewhat confusing; so I felt I should mention it.

The story seed came from thinking of Jesus. Specifically, the Immaculate Conception. The Virgin Mary got off rather easily; pregnant, not by her husband, but hey! It's the Son of God! That's perfectly all right!

Whether or not you accept the truth of the Immaculate Conception, you have to admit that being impregnated by God is a pretty good excuse for any young mother who's unwilling, or unable, to support a child. (Or to acknowledge its father.)

But - there's no free lunch. What kind of social structure would evolve around such a thing, if "immaculate conception" was accepted as a plausible excuse? Well - who's going to take care of a Child of God? The church, naturally. That's their ball-park. So they're going to need some compensation for this - otherwise they'd collapse, especially if this is in the context of a small town or village, where the Church is basically an old guy in a robe who knows how to read Latin. So perhaps the mother pays some small tithe to the church, in return for their acknowledging her claim of Divine Insemination; and when the child grows up, it becomes a priest in turn, helping to keep the level of clergy high. Maybe - if this is common enough, which doesn't have to be very common - most of the church is composed of these Children of God.

So - what do you call a person who's half human and half God? A demigod, of course.

And what kind of adventures might a demigod get up to? What problems might they find themselves in, as a result of their privileged status?

(This was another point I found in favor of this idea, by the way - the idea of having what are essentially orphans be higher-class than most of their fellow citizens. It seems... right, somehow.)

Whatever bizarre, disturbing mind-thing that produced this dream was also probably responsible for influencing Children of God. Probably the same as the 'darkness' in this post. It's a recurring character! We'll give it a slot on the cast page, next.

(The cast page doesn't actually work that way.)

(...and I'm to bed.)

(Sweet dreams!)

Children of God

2009-10-09T23:03:00.000-07:00

(Author's note: this story is dark. In themes and in narrative. Act accordingly.)

The Church teaches that we, all of us, are children of God. I believed that, once. I believed.

What brings this to mind?

I was at a banquet; platters stacked high with roast mutton and prok, men and women in colourful clothing filling the hall with chatter and laughter. I was perhaps the soberest dressed of any man there, saving only my superior, Father Henrich, who (like I) was dressed in the black robes of our order. There was, for this and other reasons, naturally something of a distance between us and the other guests at the banquet, but I cared little. It was rare indeed that I had opportunity to feast as I did that night.

Still it was a surprise to me when the Baron himself, emerging from the crowd, greeted Father Henrich and I. His clothes were sewn of velvet and ermine, his bearing was noble and his eyes filled with festive charm - were it not for his slight limp, and what seemed like scars or burns on his hands, I would have thought him the finest example of manhood I had ever seen...

He spoke politely to Father Henrich, congratulating him on the initiation of a new novice (an odd piece of trivia for a Baron to know, I thought), and then turned to me. "What a strapping young lad!" he boomed. "You'll sire many fine children for the Realm some day, I've no doubt at all."

My face turned instantly red with mortification, and I turned away to hide it. Father Henrich was left to intercede in my stead. "He is a Son of God, your Lordship," he apologetically corrected. "His blood is reserved by God, and the only children he will sire are the seeds of faith in the minds of those he will teach." Henrich's wording was clumsy, as always, but I could not have appreciated his assistance more.

"Well, we are all children of God, are we not?" the Baron asked cheerfully, seeming entirely unmoved by the correction.

"Some of us more than others," I heard Father Henrich answer, just before I slipped outside.

Night had fallen since I entered the Baron's castle; the streets were cold on the route back to the cathedral, and I watched about me warily, on the lookout for the thieves and cutthroats known to populate the dark places of the city. None accosted me, though, whether by respect for my strength, for the robes I bore, or simple luck, I knew not. I arrived at the cathedral only somewhat colder than I was when I began the journey - that, and more chagrined by my early flight from the banquet.

The cathedral doors were locked, but Novice Welkin came quickly to open them when I knocked. I tarried not long once inside; the vast, arching expanse of the cathedral's interior, which I knew to be awe-inspiring when filled with life and prayer, was only cold and intimidating when empty, as now. Quickly, I collected the prayer-book and other personal belongings I had left in my cell before leaving for the banquet; then I made my way out of the cathedral, bidding a good night to Novice Welkin as I went, and set my course towards the dormitory where the rest of our order now lay peacefully bedded.

Barely had I passed beyond the cathedral when a hammer-blow fell upon the crown of my head, sending me reeling. A hood fell over my sight, blinding me; I thrashed, sending blows in every direction, but my fists felt nothing but air, while my attackers struck me again and again. Every part of my body seemed a blazing star of pain when at last, blessedly, I lost consciousness.

Unfortunately, I felt no better when I awoke. My bones ached; my skin was cracked and covered in crusted blood; my head - well. It was some time before I grew conscious enough to realize that I was naked, lying on filthy straw; more time yet to muster my much-abused musculature into motion. The place I was in was darker than any I'd ever been before, but a minute's slow crawling was enough to explore its confines in their entirety - and to test its bars. I was in a stone cell, in some sort of dungeon. If it was brigands that had taken me, they were uncommonly wealthy - and though I doubted the possibility that any common criminals could have such wealth as that, the alternative was itself so unlikely - and so worrying - that I preferred the thought of bandits. That this was the Baron's dungeon - that I, a man of the cloth, had been taken for a thief, not by one -

I attempted to occupy myself with prayer, though over the time that followed - minutes? Hours? Days? - thoughts of thirst, hunger, and worry all rendered prayer difficult.

Then came light - light! - flickering and dim, but still a blessing to my eyes. With it came footsteps, and I rose, realizing as I did so that I had fallen asleep. "Hello?" I called, my voice hoarse; with a start I remembered my nudity, and moved to cover myself with my hands. "I need to speak to the jailor - I'm being held here unjustly - "

A pair of men arrived in front of the cell - uniformed, with swords at their hips. Guards, then; not bandits after all. One of them held a torch, the source of the light that heralded their approach; the other fumbled at his belt for keys. "Why am I here?" I asked them, my throat paining me with each word, as he opened the door and pulled me from the cell. My legs had grown weak with inactivity; I stumbled as I walked, the guard's gloved shoves from behind being further antithetical to my balance. "Where are you taking me?" I asked again.

The guards made no response.

The trip was blessedly brief, but the destination was not what I had expected - no jailor's office, no exit, but a black iron door with a shutter near the top, bolted and locked from this side. It radiated menace. The guard with the keys reached forward to unlock the door; I panicked. "What are you doing?" I asked. "God will punish you for your misdeeds - "

The first guard pulled the door open; the one behind, bearing the torch, shoved me through with his free hand. But as I tumbled to the floor, and the door closed behind me, my thoughts were on neither - rather they were on -

- the light -

- her -

- for the cell was not empty.

Inside, naked and prostrate, lay an angel.

She was beautiful - I will say this first, so there is no mistake. She was beautiful, every part of her, despite the grime and bruises that marred her ivory skin. She was beautiful, and the light that shone from her and lit the room like a star was beautiful, and even the burning I felt at touching her - where my limbs, sprawled from impact, touched hers - was beautiful, in its own way. She was beautiful, and there was no drive in me at that moment but the need to protect her. And no thought in me but the question, "Why is she here?"

As the moments passed, and my mind churned, my thoughts grew darker - but I was interrupted before I could pursue them to conclusion. The shutter in the door slid open, and one of the guards spoke through it. "You! Fuck her!"

I was confused - disbelieving. Tearing my eyes off her with difficulty, I looked toward the door, trying to find words to respond. "What?" I asked. "'Fuck' - her?"

"Yah!" the guard replied, his tone derisive. "Fuck her! The up and down, the in and out, the all around, then you have lots of little angel babies together. Lots of fun, and if you don't, we kill you!"

Every fibre of me screamed in protest. I steeled myself, drawing together as much dignity as I could in my unclothed state. "She is a thing beautiful and holy and sacred," I told the guards, "and to do what you ask would be an insult to everything I believe in, everything good and right in this world. I would rather you kill me than I would do as you ask."

The door swung open.

The guards dragged me outside, kicked me onto the floor, and beat me until I lost consciouness.

Some time later, I woke again, in the cell I'd awoken in before. My body was covered in bruises. A small bowl of an unappetizing-looking gravy sat near the bars. I stared at it for some time; when I could muster the strength, I crawled towards it, lapping it up like it was divine ambrosia. My hands were clumsy, and shook as I held the bowl; some of the gravy spilled, pooling on the stone. I stared at that for a while. Eventually, I drank that too.

Then I waited.

When I saw the light again, flickering into my cell, it was no comfort to me.

They hurled me into the angel's cell and ordered me to violate her. I refused. They beat me.

Then again, after I woke up.

Then again.

Then again.

I stopped refusing, after a while. Just lay there, still, with the angel. That gave me longer, before they'd beat me again.

I eventually noticed that the angel's touch didn't burn any longer. It was - a tingle, now. Nothing more. One less torment for me to suffer.

I spoke to her, sometimes. Asked her things; her name. How she'd come here. If she was - happy. She never responded with words. But I think there was something in her eyes.

(She looked almost human, mostly. So beautiful; so radiant; but still, very nearly human. The only difference, in the gross physical sense, was on her back. Two long nubs, scarred, sensitive. (She winced when I touched them.) I eventually realized what they were. The sole remains of her wings.)

I changed, in that place. I knew it, at the time. That I was changing; growing leaner, losing muscle, feeling myself shift - inside, too. I had a lot of time to think. But I never understood.

Then there was a change. The guards opened my cell, dragged me out - but in a different direction. They took me to a room holding a tub of water - dumped me in, scrubbed me to remove the worst of the filth. (Did I ever mention the accomodations they'd made for my lavatory-needs? They hadn't made any.) Then they dressed me, in simple clothes - I could barely remember the last time I'd been clothed - and took me, cleaner and, I'd guess, more palatable to the nose than I'd been for - some time - upwards. They entered an area that was well-lit, furnished, carpeted. Servants passed in the hall, peering at me curiously; I heard some gossip, speculating as to who I was and what crime I'd committed for the guards to be man-handling me so roughly. Higher and higher the guards dragged me, still too weakened by my captivity to resist; and at last deposited me in an ornate wooden chair, opposite a table from the Baron.

"Hello, young man!" he boomed. "How are you?"

I looked at him, finding it impossible to muster any emotion. I could think of nothing to say to him.

"Not at your very best, I'd warrant," the Baron said, his voice as cheerful as ever. His eyes were warm and human. "But you were a strong young man when I first saw you, and I'm sure you'll be back to that in no time. I'm releasing you, as of today, and I must say - I am very grateful to you for the services you have rendered me. If you want anything of me - anything at all, in the limits of my power - just ask."

I stared at him blankly.

"Well?" the Baron asked. "You can't think of anything you'd want?"

A thought bubbled upwards.

"An explanation," I rasped, my throat dry and sore from disuse. "Why you did this to me. To her."

"Ah," the Baron said, nodding somberly. He rose; from a shelf beside his desk he fetched a bottle of wine and a pair of glasses, filling both. He passed one to me; I ignored it. Then he sat back down and cleared his throat.

"An explanation... a wise choice. That, I can give you."

"I came into the possession of an enfleshed spark of divinity, some time ago. The circumstances are - irrelevant, for your purposes, at any rate. This spark was something I had sought after for some time, for it is the nature of Kings to hold within their person the Divine Right of Rulership. So - "

"Hm. I see you do not understand. Let me step back."

"My goal - my only goal, which has always been my only goal - is the betterment of my children. What greater good can a man do in this life, after all, than provide for his offspring? And this is an important matter - too important to leave to chance. I wish my children to be the best - to have every advantage I can give to them. And there is no better way to ensure that than to give them the spark of the divine."

"Now you begin to see. My original plan was to beget children upon the spark myself - but the spark of the divine resents mortal flesh, and, well, burned me badly when I made my attempt. So I planned again - I need to dilute the spark, somewhat - soil it with mortal flesh, just enough that I could approach it."

"So you come into the picture - a strong, healthy young lad, well equipped to do the necessary, and possessed in half-part of divinity yourself. Now, of course, you're in the clergy, like all the rest of God's Children - he hoards them to himself so greedily, doesn't he? Uncommonly selfish, for God. You would not breed yourself upon the spark, or any other, by choice. So - I persuaded you."

"I see the way you look at me. The imprisonment, the starvation, the beatings - all that was for the greater good, you see. For my children. If only you hadn't resisted, everything would have been so much easier. To think you caused yourself, and her, such unnecessary pain!"

"Now," the Baron said, pushing his chair back and standing, "I trust that is explanation enough for you?"

Mutely, I nodded.

"Very well, then," the Baron said amiably. "I suppose I can't persuade you to try any of the wine? It's a splendid vintage - '43, just the thing to refresh you at a time like this. No? Very well. The guards will see you out. From the moment you leave the castle gates, you will be a free man once more."

He was true to his promise.

I stood outside the gates, for a while, watching. I watched the traffic of the city go by - noisy, smelly, rude, a heaven compared to what I had been through. I looked at the sky - the endless blue of it nearly broke my heart. I looked at the castle.

There was something strange, in my throat. Something pulsing, or beating - pushing upwards, striving to be set free. Like a shout of joy, or a scream. I would say that I was helpless to resist its push - but I wasn't. I could have held it back, if I wanted to. I could have walked away. But instead I let it out - tearing at my throat, as it escaped, scraping my escophagus raw and irreparably shredding my vocal cords - and I felt it, as a solid object, not as a sound -

a word.

מוות

shattering the air around me, sending people flying and turning carts into shrapnel, flaying the flesh from my bones

and tearing the castle stone from stone, sending it downwards into the earth in a collossal pile of dust and rubble.

Then, belatedly, I turned away. I walked; through the streets that I had known so well; past the cathedral at which I had worshipped, and the dormitory at which I had lived; and through the gates of the city, out, for the first time, into the world beyond.

Were I more arrogant, I would have justified myself; naming myself the judgement of God upon the unworthy and the sinful, sending forth only the punishment they had brought upon myself. Were I more arrogant yet, I would not have stopped at the castle; that word I would have brought forth would have taken the city, too, and brought it swirling down into death. Were I so - but I was not. I had chosen to kill, not only the entirely guilty, not only the somewhat guilty, but also the innocent. I had killed the one I would have given the world to protect. I had sinned, once and then again; and for that, the Word had taken from me my humanity.

There was a pond by the side of the road; I stopped to look into it. I was gaunt and haggard; the clothes the Baron had given me were shredded by the violence of the Word I had spoken. My flesh was torn and peeling in strips; a great hole was open in the side of my throat. Idly, I attempted to speak; the effort produced only a faint wheezing sound. I had already known, before I tried, that speech was one of the things the Word had taken from me.

But the pond did show me something. I reached over my shoulder with one hand, watching my reflection. Along one shoulder-blade I felt a nub; reaching over, I felt the same on the other. My wings were growing in.

chronicles of nikolas

2009-10-09T20:47:00.000-07:00

If you walk through the swirling sands of the largest desert to the north of our lands, and you cross through the oases, to the break of the rising sun, that touched the dunes on the mount high aloft, you will find the ancient kingdom of KESSLER, which is inhabited by the KESSLER people, built tough, and muscular, with dark complexions, and mysterious to outsiders. In the capital city of the Kingdom there is a young man, who is known to his peers as NIKOLAS, the one of the large head, and who studies in the seminary in the gardens upon the fountain. NIKOLAS enters the large rectory, and he prepares for his studies. This is what happened from then on.

Chapter I.

1. Nikolas stays after class to help those who are struggling to comprehend the lecture material.

2. He needs to inflate his ego.

3. One day a small group of students gather around him, eagerly awaiting his discourse.

4. He notices among this group a young lady, whom he finds intriguing, and sets himself after.

5. He throughly explains what he knows to the paupers.

Chapter II.

1. A year passes, Nikolas is in class again.

2. He notices the girl again, still in the same class as he is.

3. Staring at her vigorously, he notices her dress matches the pattern on his.

4. He writes down his observation.

5. He decides on a course of action.

Chapter III.

1. He buys a dark robe and tunic and paints it bright red spattered with blood.

2. That night, he goes to her dinner table, and slips the sleeping powder unto her wine.

3. While she is fast asleep, he abducts her and takes her to a remote location.

4. Wearing the robe, he assumes the identity of "DESMOND THE DESTRUCTOR"

5. He explains his evil plans to her, saying he has kidnapped her and holds her for ransom.

Chapter IV.

1. He tells her that she will die if he is not paid.

2. Nikolas slips quietly into the woods while she is not looking.

3. He replaces "DESMOND THE DESTRUCTOR" with a bale of straw, wearing the robe.

4. Thus the impression is given that he keeps watch over her, though from a large distance.

5. Nikolas, now without disguise, runs to her, with his musket, and charges the straw bale.

Chapter V.

1. Nikolas dispatches "DESMOND THE DESTRUCTOR".

2. He goes to the girl and frees her, and takes her back to the town.

3. Believing that Nikolas saved her life, she becomes extremely grateful to him.

4. He uses his new power over her to convince her to have sex with him.

5. Nikolas is quite satisfied that night.

Our Anonymous Correspondent Plans a Date!

2009-10-07T21:32:00.000-07:00

Advice is requested.

how do i get that womon

alone

in a dark

place

where there are no witnesses

We request clarification; our correspondent replies promptly.

look

it just has to be a place

where there is nobody

around

and relatively soundproof

We observe that these conditions seem somewhat peculiar.

also

it needs to be near like

a body of water

or maybe

somewhere

with soft earth

Why?

for

relaxation

Being somewhat unsure of his intentions, we ask our correspondent to re-iterate his requirements.

i just want to like

hang out

with her

in a place

you know

that is

tightly sealed

and that like

she wont fall out

by accident

and people cant go inside

to look around

...she won't fall out by accident?

you know

escape

i mean

We observe that this clarification in no wise improves our perception of the situation.

look

ok look

i just want to chill with that womon

at the lake

you know

alone

isnt that nice

also

i need some bags

and like

some heavy rocks

you know

for a tarp

in case it rains

and also

some

chloroform

you know

in case i have to dissolve

some organic

compounds

It is good that we have explanations, or these items would appear suspicious.

i mean

you know

i need to get

a lock pick

to get into her room

i mean

my bike

the locks busted

you knwo

thats totally legal

you know

im just stating

some plans

its like

just

you know

legal

and stuff

so ya

thats what i mean

man

what were you thiniking

your sick

you know that

man

look

i already said too much

wait

no i didnt

i didnt say anything

illegal

man

your sick

im not crazy

man

Thanks to the vast amounts of advice we provided, our correspondent now appears ready for a perfectly splendid date.

Success!

The Lair of Madness

2009-10-06T22:13:00.000-07:00

Edwin approached the office, two friends close behind; and in his heart was trepidation.

He was an hour late, now, for the appointment; a meeting with a man from the Internet, unknown, Anonymous. The industrial-park was sparsely lit with orange-glowing sodium lights; offices and warehouses stood closed all about. And in Edwin's mind, too, was a darkness; cloaking his thoughts, letting him see naught about him but the ill. Through this lens he percieved events, and was much troubled by it.

Two men stood on the balcony, their faces hidden by cap-bills. The doors were locked; one of the men went down, letting Edwin in through a narrow stairway. And what they saw -

ah -

- graffiti, paintings, the scrawlings of a condemned mind! -

All about him was evidence of the sickness Edwin knew to lie in this place. He felt faint, reeled; nearly turned back and ran. But with him were his friends (a label the darkness in him would repeal), and so he continued on, into the innermost sanctum, where another man waited - his visage most horrible of all. And he spoke -

"Here's the turntable, $250, as we agreed."

"$250, for one of those?" one of Edwin's friends asked incredulously, bending to look more closely at the turntable. "That model - it's $550! You must be crazy to be selling it that cheap!"

"Crazy?" the man asked. "Must I be? Then perhaps I am... mad!" And with a cackle he roared his pleasure to the sky, as lightning flashed -

Or Edwin handed him the money, took the turntable, and left - through an office which seemed, if not ordinary, then certainly not malign, as he had percieved it -

And about him the world, though still night-dim, seemed a little brighter than it had when he entered.

The tale of the mutant organisms

2009-10-05T21:31:00.000-07:00

Nikolas got out of maths class early that day. He walked quickly to the other building, so that he would get there before that womon did. He didn't know why he did this, only that it was vitally important to the success of this mission. When they were all settled in their seats he put the plan into action. He rapped quickly on the screen door, metaphorically, you know, and he asked her about her note-book, not really paying attention to the answers. But he did it, now, he could say something to her every day, and soon he would be the king of the rainbows, he thought. Time passed, and class was back in session. Some papers laid out on his desk, a plan formed in his brain, he thought, if I could move these to her desk, she would have to sit somewhere else...maybe next to me today. But it never happened. How can I become king of the rainbows at this point, he wondered. He took out his shovel and spade, and tunneled a hole under his desk, slipping out into the underground unnoticed. When he got back to the surface, a few furlongs away from the classroom, he thought to himself, she must have sex with people in fraternities like every day, man. Then he went home, and that was the end of that.

It's Mr. Kessler's Birthday!

2009-10-05T10:01:00.000-07:00

Hooray for Mr. Kessler's birthday!

Very early this morning, a package arrived at Mr. Kessler's residence. Mr. Kessler picked it up; Mr. Kessler looked at the label. It had come all the way from Dreamland - and it was for him!

Mr. Kessler's heart leapt with joy!

(actually he spent like forty-five minutes getting the blasted thing to work)

Then Mr. Kessler's heart leapt with joy!

And so generous, so kind, so benevolent is Mr. Kessler that he will share his gift with all of you!

Download link is here! (You'll want to run "waddledee.exe"; "waddledee.sourcecode" is actually just a text file, if you want to have a look at it.)

An excerpt of the letter enclosed in Mr. Kessler's package:

Here are some things you may wish to try!

Click near the ground!
Click in the sky!
Double-click near the ground!
Marvel and delight at the natural splendor of existence!

Happy birthday, Mr. Kessler!

Aaand many moreeeeee...

The Dream-Diary of Mr. Zhang (Or: Exercises in Reciprocity)

2009-10-04T11:25:00.000-07:00

Mr. Zhang lies deathless beneath the sea.

Through his cold mind flow alien thoughts.

He is dreaming.

In the dream, his perspective follows a girl - somewhere in her teens.

The girl is running. She sought something - hidden in a witch's house, possibly - but the witch discovered her, and now gives chase, holding a knife in her hand. She shouts something - perhaps, "If you succeded now, what story would there be left to tell?"

(This is a loose reference to Joseph Campbell's Hero with a Thousand Faces.)

The girl flees; but not quickly enough. The witch catches her, knocks her to the ground, and cuts her belly open. Guts spill out. Blood spatters everywhere. This is considered unfortunate, but not the end of the story.

(In the context of the earlier reference, the word ectype comes to mind.)

Another character appears - a man, slender in build, meant to be the girl's guardian. He is the Player Character. (Mr. Zhang is, for no reason clear to anyone, playing the upcoming Computerized Role-Playing Game Dragon Age: Origins. In his dreams. He has never heard of the game; nonetheless, its advent cast psychic echoes throughout time and space, transforming all of existence. Hence, its presence in his dreams.)

Mr. Zhang's character approaches the witch. The witch fears retribution; she makes excuse for her actions, describing them as "her nature", and makes reference to some history between herself and Mr. Zhang's character. Still spattered in blood, she attempts to seduce him away from his duty. Mr. Zhang's character, to his own slow horror, passively acquiesces.

Is he a false guardian?

What does this say of Mr. Zhang himself?

It says that he hasn't realized that Dragon Age's peculiar real-time dialog/interaction system requires him to take action without prompting - just like the real world of objects!

Luckily, he figures this out just before it would be too late.

A happy ending for Mr. Zhang, lying deathless beneath the seas!

-

(Room-mates and guests partying the night away - until, at the very least, 5:30 AM - does not make for pleasant dreams.)

Pecularity: LOVE

2009-10-01T21:07:00.000-07:00

The first time I logged in to LOVE, after going through a somewhat arduous process to purchase and update the game, I immediately fell into the water and died.

When I respawned, I was in a much safer, stabler area, and I dismissed it as a quirk. But when the game crashed, later, and I logged back in, I spawned in the exact same place, suffering the exact same death.

LOVE is a game with quirks.

I could list a few more. There's the walls that become, from time to time, invisible. There's the Monoliths (those are crucial) that occasionally, seemingly spontaneously, explode. And there's a plethora of small spelling mistakes and bizarre phrasings - though, as the creator is foreign (Swedish?), that's quite understandable. So's the rest, really. I mean, the game's in alpha.

Let's step back for a moment. What is LOVE?

The main site has a few things to say about it, of course. But, because I'm a pure narcissist, I'll give you a few words of my own on the matter. LOVE is a first-person-shooter which has hardly any shooting; LOVE is a game of unique beauty, created entirely by procedural generation*; LOVE is a slow-paced, freeform, sandbox game in which you will be killed again and again, and all your works rendered unto dust, by a relentless and murderous AI.

I'd summarize it as "Minecraft, but bigger and stranger."

Then I'll tell you some anecdotes of play.

When I first joined the game, a few people had already set up a small base. (The game is organized by servers, of which there are, I believe, four, at present. Two in the UK, two in the US. They'll hold at most 200 people, but the one I'm on now has only perhaps 50.)

(That's not people playing at the same time - that's a total number of people registered for that server. It's a micro-MMO, a rather amusing sort of term.)

An icon at the bottom of my screen told me where the settlement was, so I made my way there. The journey was fairly long - they tend to be, when you're spawned out in the wild - but I eventually made my way there. The people there had already collected a number of 'tokens' - useful objects that will appear at random in the wilderness and can be placed near a settlement, whereupon which their associated 'tool' can be placed in one of your four inventory slots. I looked around, picking things like the Radio tool (essential - allows long-range communication), the Pavement tool (cosmetic - lets you change how a certain tile appears), and the Binoculars tool (utterly useless). I wandered around - at one point getting stuck in a teleport trap that sent me into an infinite loop of teleports back and forth between two naturally-occuring teleporters, explored, built some walls, talked to people...

After a while, there were strange reports of 'enemies in the base!' Sometimes they were dispatched. Once I was killed, shot in the back. And then, quite suddenly, the base was destroyed - the Monolith going up in flames, and all its associated Tokens vanishing with it.

It was quite perplexing.

Eventually, someone else found and planted a new Monolith. We all trekked our way over there, finding that, unlike the old base (in a sort of grassy area, named "Arden - Garden of Colossi" - the random area names can be pretty sweet), this one was on a frigid ice shelf. Also unlike the other base, this one was under constant and harrowing AI attack. I took to the field, my puny Blaster plinking away at the foe's strange, amorphous shapes (other people look really weird in the game, and AIs moreso), killing a few; but I was greviously wounded, and fell back to the base. "Nice base," I might have said.

At that point, the server hiccuped and caused the game to lock-up. When I logged back on, I learned that something of the sort had happened to most of the other people there.

It's a very peculiar sort of game, still in alpha but very interesting for that. Like Minecraft, griefers are its greatest scourge - at one point, one managed to destroy our monolith, find another, and then plant it high in the sky where no-one could reach it. (If we had our terrain-shaping abilities, we could have reached it - but we needed to touch the monolith to regain those. Catch-22.) Much later, that same griefer (who repeatedly denied he was any such thing) threw an already somewhat complicated base into complete chaos, turning it into a seemingly non-Euclidean maze. What a mess.

But for that, I would recommend it. As it stands, I still spent the vast majority of my evening on it, and plan to spend more once I finish this - perhaps visiting the UK servers, where the Rock-Paper-Shotgunites live.

LOVE: what a mysterious, many-splendored thing!

*I.e., guided randomness. Wiki can help you.

**Quick warning: despite being an alpha, there is a subscription fee for LOVE. $4.50 for 30 days. The creator says that this is because, if he were to try to pay for servers for everyone who'd want to play in alpha without a subscription fee, he'd go bankrupt. Quite plausible.

But, you know, if you thought it was free (as basically all other alphas are), that could be a bit confusing.

A Salubrious Exchange (II of II)

2009-09-30T21:37:00.000-07:00

(As this is one post in two parts, it seems appropriate to point you to the original, here...)

"What name do they call you by, stranger?" the village elder asked.

"People feeling kinda formal tend to call me Captain," the captain of the Salubrious Exchange explained. "People feeling very formal call me by my full name, the Admirably Lawful Expeditious Explorer. But mostly I just go by Alex, for short."

The elder accepted this without comment. "Where do you hail from, stranger?" he asked. "And what do you wish here?"

"I have come a great distance," Alex intoned in a deep voice, "from another earth, far above the dome of the sky. And my sole intent is to trade... with you."

"We are known, then, beyond the dome of the sky?" the village elder asked.

"Nah, not really," Alex admitted. "I just came to trade with whoever. You look like you'll do."

"And what will you offer us?" the village elder asked.

"Plenty," Alex said, gesturing to the bloated shape of the Salubrious Exchange looming over the village. "Off the top of my head... I've got soap, I've got disinfectants, I've got medicines - some quinine, some azlocilin, juust a bit of pethidine, for the laaa-dies. Any of those take your fancy?"

"I have concerns," the village elder said slowly.

"Hit me," Alex said invitingly.

"You are a stranger," the village elder began. "You come offering trade and friendship. I wish to believe in your goodwill. But I fear you may be like the city-folk, who come to us with smiles on their faces and knives held behind their backs. Do you seek to sell us junk and trash? Do you intend to gouge us for inferior goods? These are the concerns which I hold."

"Also, I can't quite figure out what gender you are," the village elder added.

"In the advanced civilizations that travel beyond the dome of the sky, we have evolved beyond gender," Alex said smugly.

"That in no way alleviates my suspicion," the village elder replied.

Alex sighed. "Look. You worry that I'll cheat you. Understandable! Especially since you've been cheated before. But I can prove to you - prove to you - that I only sell items of value. Matter of pride, that," Alex added as an aside.

"Well, prove it," the village elder suggested.

Alex examined the items brought down from the ship. "Maybe soap and medicine aren't the most impressive things. They're useful, sure, but not impressive. So let's pick out some other items. Here - " lifting up a box, opening it and pulling out one of the hafted items within " - monofilament cutter. Excellent for butchering deer, cattle, pigs, what have you - cuts through everything."

"The pigs will not be a concern," the village elder noted.

"I said I was sorry about the pigs!" Alex exclaimed. "Look. See this rock?"

"The one you just lifted from the ground?" the village elder asked. "My eyes are yet well enough to allow me that, yes."

"Here," Alex said. "I take the monofilament cutter, and -"

Two halves of rock clattered to the ground.

"Very impressive," the village elder said.

"Aw, you're just being polite," Alex said. "I've got something better. Ah! Here! How about this pocket-sized fusion-reactor? Guaranteed to last two hundred years, just dump a cup of water in to power it!"

The village elder looked blankly at Alex. "Reactor?"

"Oh, right, right, gotta hook something up," Alex mumbled. "Um... yeah, this should be good."

Alex adjusted a large, wheeled device. The village elder watched. Time passed.

"Sorry," Alex apologized.

Then, pointing at a large hill, Alex struck a dramatic pose. "You know that hill?"

"Certainly," the village elder said. "That is Muhall-Shali, where our younglings go to endure the Rites of Adulthood."

"Um," Alex said, losing the dramatic pose. The machine was readjusted.

"All right!" Alex said. "What about that hill, over there? The one with that weird purple tree on it?"

"That is Ocas-Ocas, where we have bury our dead, as we have done for uncounted generations," the village elder said. "The founder of our tribe is buried under the roots of the great purple tree."

"What do you think about... cremation?" Alex asked.

"We bury our dead," the village elder repeated.

"Oh," Alex said. "What about that hill, over there? The kinda rocky one?"

"What about it?" the village elder asked.

"Anything special about it? Sacred?" Alex asked.

"No," the village elder said. "It's just a hill."

"What's all this about?" he added.

"You'll see," Alex said. "Are you watching the hill?"

"Yes?" the village elder said.

The hill exploded.

"And that is what a fusion reactor can do for you!" Alex exclaimed triumphantly.

"...certainly it will drive our tribe to poverty and ruin to barter for such a device," the village elder said sadly.

"Ah!" Alex exclaimed. "Not so! I'll sell it to you for a song."

"Like, literally," Alex added.

"Why would you do that?" the village elder asked.

"Seems like a good idea!" Alex said cheerfully.

"So... if I sing to you, you will give our tribe these treasures?" the village elder asked hesitantly.

"Ehhh, kinda," Alex said, shrugging. "It's one song, one item; so all the stuff I've brought out here will cost you six or so. More if you want more, naturally. But I won't limit you to song; poems, stories, whatever works. Your culture, y'know, man?"

"Like the story of how Whistler tricked Badger and Goat into eating their own tails?" the village elder suggested.

"Yeah!" Alex said. "Exactly! That'll get you a great big box of nanopolymer cloth, no problem."

"But - why?" the village elder asked again. "Why would you trade us these treasures for mere songs and stories?"

Alex considered. "How best to answer? Um. Do you guys have the aphorism, 'One man's trash is another's treasure?'"

"So, you are trying to sell us trash?" the village elder asked.

"No, no, no," Alex replied quickly. "It's... um.... post-scarcity economics, you know? Look it up."

"That is probably not very useful advice for me," the village elder noted.

"That's because it's not for you," Alex said, looking directly at you. "Thaaat's all, folks!"

THE END

("Post-scarcity economics totally means we can break the fourth wall," Alex tells you as an aside.")

A Salubrious Exchange (I of II)

2009-09-29T22:59:00.000-07:00

The sun rose.

Among the tribes of the Ipsan were numbered three primary opinions as to the significance of the sun's rising. The first was named Orthodox, and held that, as the sun had set uncounted generations ago and (according to prophecy) would not rise again until the coming of the Great Messiah, the sun they saw must be a fake thing, a trick, a deceit of demonic origin. Accordingly, the Orthodox shunned the sun, seeking to live so much of their lives as was possible without its false and misleading light; a practice mocked by the Redemptionists. Those latter worthies argued that the sun was obvious, palpable (in its light and heat), and clearly real; therefore the Great Messiah had come, or was about to come, or had come and gone, but in any case the sun's rising was wonderful and a thing to be celebrated so vigorously as seemed possible. Accordingly the Redemptionists centered their waking hours about dawn, rising in the dark hours and sleeping at noon. Both groups were considered rather peculiar by the Uncommitted, who suggested (quietly, without great vigour) that perhaps it was a bit of a silly question either way, and spent their waking hours in day-time, so they could, you know, see things. A neutral observer might expect the Uncommitted to come to dominate the tribes, owing to their energy being rather more focused on pragmatic matters than those of the other two beliefs; but the fierce zealotry of the Orthodox and the Redemptionists was sufficient to balance the scales and ensure a sort of stable balance between the three beliefs.

You may be somewhat confused by the preceding, or have forgotten the name of one of the beliefs, or be unsure as to how, exactly, the Orthodox believers manage to get anything done. That's entirely all right. If you comprehend it perfectly - good! Congratulate yourself! And otherwise - well, pretty much everything that was just mentioned is irrelevant. Don't worry about it too much.

So -

The sun rose, and below it fell the fat, metal ovoid that some (notably, its owner) named the Salubrious Exchange. Spitted atop a pillar of atomic fire, it drifted lazily earthward - down, down, down, until at last its fins met the surface (with such delicacy, such caution!), at the center of a steaming, black-glass coated crater.

The crater was new.

(If you hadn't guessed. I mean, there hadn't just been a crater there, waiting for the Salubrious Exchange to show up so that it could land there. Not to assign moral judgement, but, really, it was the Exchange's fault that the crater was there at all - )

(Whoops, back to the point.)

Time passed. The crater cooled.

"Hello?" the ship broadcast to the surrounding area. "Is anyone around?"

"I have soap!" the speaker added helpfully.

But no answer came; and after a few more minutes, the ship's innards rumbled once more*, and sent the ship soaring skyward and sunward once again.

The next two landings were similarly uneventful; the third found the Salubrious Exchange accosted by a swarm of howling, half-naked natives, who hurled spears and curses at the ship. (For some reason, they seemed to think it was a "sun-devil"!) The Exchange's captain burned skyward with haste, but not without forethought; as the ship began its ascent, a hatch on the side popped open, and a package rolled out. Inside were fifty individually-wrapped breath-mints, prepared for just such an occasion - even the most savage and fierce of warriors, the captain hoped, might well be soothed by such a gift! Suffused with powerful minty flavors, they would be more likely to greet the Exchange with warmth and kindness on a later visit, should it ever pass that way again. Such was the foresight of the Exchange's captain!

The natives burned the package unopened, then buried the ashes. Alas: the plans of mice and men!

On the fourth landing, with no sign of sapients present, the Salubrious Exchange's captain emerged to examine the hull. (More specifically, to clarify: the hull's ablative (and festively coloured!) ceramic coating.) Certain superficial scratches were examined and lamented; one rather deep dent, still holding the stone head of the spear that had caused it, was covered and repaired with an blast from an aerosol-can the captain carried. Then the captain re-entered the ship, and the Salubrious Exchange, still wreathed in the red-gold light of dawn, shot upward and westward once more.

(The Salubrious Exchange traveled in a state of perpetual daybreak. The captain considered this ideal; what better time to begin an endeavor than dawn, when the whole day will be available for its completion?)

The Salubrious Exchange's next landing was in the center of a small village.

"Hello!" the Exchange shouted to the small, motionless collection of mud huts and gardens. (The village, that is.) "Nice place you have here! I'm sure we have many mutual interests! Also, sorry about your pigs!"

Black glass, covered with by a thin soot layer of indeterminate origin, creaked and cracked beneath the weight of the Salubrious Exchange. Slowly, a blackened fence-post at the edge of the crater toppled and fell. Had this planet and climate been of the sort to support the formation of tumble-weeds, one most certainly would have appeared.

"Come on," the Salubrious Exchange's captain said, exasperated. "Come out! It's safe! I only want to sell you things!" And with this the captain emerged from the ship, black pseudoleather boots clicking on the ramp, a large, clam-shell box cradled under one arm. (A small side-arm hung discreetly at the hip.) The captain placed the box at the bottom of the ramp - opened it, revealing an array of brightly-coloured spheres - took two from the box, placing them into her mouth, chewing, and swallowing with exaggerated relish - and then turned to retreat back up the ramp. "Come on come on come on," the captain murmured as an aside.

Behind her, dark shapes emerged from the shadows.

CLIFFHANGER

(Wait, no, better:)

It turns out that children like candy!

*You came this close to a rather unpleasant gastrointestinal metaphor there. It was a close call! I nearly used it! Be lucky this story was written by an author of my obvious skill and taste, unlike certain authors I won't name -

- cough, cough -

If you think that was referring to you, you have self-esteem issues! Sorry! Try feeling better about yourself**. That usually works for me!

**"You are a pretty cool person! Also I have nothing against your writing! I've probably never read it! This is only one reason why I have nothing against it."

The tinkerer

2009-09-28T20:26:00.000-07:00

One day Nikolas was walking along in his village when he saw a "pretty young thing". Being a Nikolas type of fellow, he set about immediately to try to get her "in bed". Now Nikolas was studying many things in the university, but the most important thing was the fluid thing. He used his knowledge of the fluid to build a giant water gun, so that he would shoot water at the girl from a long distance, so that her shirt would be come wet, and he could see through it. It was a very good idea except Nikolas forgot how to power his big water gun. He realised he did not know anything about the electricity, or the magnets, and he needed this to power his "big gun". So then the divel came in through the roof, and he said to Nikolas, hey man I can like, teach you that thing, you know, bro, but like you have to like, give me some cool stuff ok dog. And then Nikolas was like, what kind of cool stuff. And then the divel said I want your soul, o ho ho. What a clever divel he was. Then Nikolas said, ok, and he learned all of the electricity, and he took a large coil of wire, and he coiled it up, and he laid it down under a power pole, and he got some "high-voltage rock and roll". Then he hooked up the ends to his water gun, and he aimed and prepared to shoot. But Nikolas forgot one thing, water and electricity dont mix. How silly of him. And that was the end of that.

Isaac and the Whale

2009-09-27T22:00:00.000-07:00

I.

"Our whale is listing," the Mayor said to Isaac. "If nothing is done soon, our city will slide off and fall into the sea! Quickly - you must figure out what has gone wrong with our whale."

"Then, fix it," he added.

II.

Isaac's bathysphere descended into the sea.

III.

Isaac examined the whale's flank. "Hm," he said. "This is odd."

The whale rumbled, a subsonic noise that shook Isaac's bathysphere. It could have been a question: "What is odd?"

"It seems someone's cut a flap in your skin," Isaac said. "And they've mined all the fat stored beneath it."

"I'll be back," he added, as his bathysphere rose.

IV.

"So?" the Mayor asked. "Why is our whale listing? And why haven't you fixed it yet?"

"Someone's been mining our whale," Isaac told him.

"Ah," the Mayor said.

"I'll call a meeting."

V.

"I say he should be prosecuted," the Scientist said.

"Yes!" the Mayor agreed emphatically. "Sued for the greatest damages the law can provide!"

"And then," the Priest said with relish, "he should be devoured by sharks!"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," the Businessman said. "Gentlemen. Let's be rational now. In the first place, there is no way that you can prove that I am responsible for anything."

"The courts will decide that!" the Mayor shouted.

"Secondly, even if my company were, hypothetically, responsible for mining the fat from the whale upon which our city rests (and therefore dooming us all in the interests of short-sighted profit), it is the company that would be sued; all my actions act solely for the benefit of the company, and therefore I am shielded from direct prosecution," the Businessman continued.

"Sue the company, then!" the Priest demanded. "Take every last penny!"

"And thirdly - gentlemen, please," the Businessman continued, "We are presently in the grips of an emergency. Surely we can act to fix the problem, and give me time to destroy the evidence and move my assets overseas, before we stoop to base acts of retribution?"

The chamber listed noticably. A chair fell over.

"Well, maybe," the Scientist said reluctantly.

VI.

"Solutions," the Mayor said.

"Here's what I think," the Businessman said. "We shouldn't look at this as a problem. Look at it as an opportunity. Just suck out the excess fat from everyone in the city, and stuff it back in the whale. The whale will be fine once more - and we'll have a slimmer, fitter community as a bonus!"

"There are, perhaps, certain logistical problems with that," the Mayor said.

"And ethical - " the Priest said.

"- and, to be honest, I don't think that's biologically possible," the Scientist interrupted.

"Let's look for another option," the Mayor said.

VII.

"Perhaps we could build a set of enormous gyroscopic stabilizers," the Scientist speculated. "Just insert them into the whale, in the empty space left by the fat - we'd be right as rain!"

"Do we have any enormous gyroscopic stabilizers?" the Mayor asked.

"Well, no," the Scientist said.

"Do we have any idea how long it would take to develop or manufacture them?" the Mayor asked. "If, in fact, it is even possible to do so?"

The Scientist wiggled his hand back and forth in a gesture of uncertainty.

"Let's try a more practical solution," the Businessman suggested, "and come back to this later, when we're all doomed."

VIII.

"Why don't we just find another whale?" the Priest asked. "Then we could move onto that - at least some of the city, enough to even the load."

"Could be expensive," the Businessman said. "But I'm certain that informed, local businesses could manage to make a profit out of it."

"Do you have any technical concerns?" the Mayor asked the Scientist, who, miffed at the rejection of his gyroscope proposal, remained silent.

"Very well, then," the Mayor said. "We'll send someone down to find a new whale at once. No time to waste!"

IX.

Isaac's bathysphere descended into the sea.

X.

Isaac floated in the center of a large whale pod. One whale floated immediately beside him, gliding slowly through the deeps. Isaac matched its speed.

"Whale," Isaac said, "Our city is in great danger. The whale upon which it rests has become unstable, and threatens to tip all of us into the sea. Would you consent to taking some number of us on-board yourself, to lighten the load?"

A rumbling came through the walls of Isaac's bathysphere. Looking at the whale, Isaac could only interpret it as: "I am sorry, but as you can see, I am currently occupied with raising my own children. I cannot abandon them for your city."

"That is very fair," Isaac agreed, and turned his bathysphere away.

XI.

Isaac floated next to another whale, smaller and younger than the first. It moved with rather more vigour, making circles around slower whales; Isaac struggled to keep up. Following it, he asked: "Haste-filled whale, I have a request for you. My city is in danger, and we need your help -"

But the whale issued a deep sound, and turned away; Isaac thought that, perhaps, this might mean, "I am young, and would enjoy my youth. What reason do I have to burden myself with a great city upon my back? Would it not cover me in stench and trash, would it not slow me to the speed of an elder? I have no reason to consider your proposal further,"

"I cannot argue with you," Isaac said to the departing whale. "I would never deny any young creature the right to enjoy its youth -" and at this he sighed, remembering certain traumas now past. After a moment, he gathered himself and began looking for another whale.

XII. The third whale Isaac attempted to speak to was on the outside of the pod, barely visible against the gloom of the deep. Its skin was old and cracked, its stroke ponderous; Isaac suspected it to be a matriarch among whales. He spoke to it with great respect.

"O Whale," Isaac said, "I approach you with a humble request. I come from a city, on the surface far above, which has come upon troubled times. Short-sighted persons among us have injured the whale upon which our city rests; now it rocks and tilts, and we may all soon slide off it, and ot our deaths. All living things must regret such a tragedy. Would you find it, in your wisdom, to come to our aid - or send another in your stead, if your age prevents you?"

There was a long silence. Isaac wondered if he had even been heard. But then a very long, slow, pulse came from the elder-whale; another; another. And Isaac heard, "You seek aid because of the abuse you have inflicted on the whale that serves you now. Why would I, or any other, seek to suffer the same?"

XIII.

Isaac's bathysphere ascended.

XIV.

"So, we can't find another whale," the Mayor said. "What do we do now?"

The chamber was silent.

"Is it time to return to the fat-extraction plan?" the Businessman asked. "I'm ready as ever."

"We may have to," the Mayor said darkly.

Silence prevailed.

"Where's the Scientist, anyway?" the Priest asked suddenly.

XV.

"Behold!" the Scientist said, slamming the chamber doors open. Behind him, a pair of assistants wheeled a large, cylindrical device forward, stopping it in the center of the chamber.

"What is it?" the Mayor asked.

"Our salvation!" the Scientist said. "A gyroscope!"

"I'm unconvinced," the Priest said.

The Scientist gestured to his assistants. Switches were pulled; lights flashed. The gyroscope spun into complex motion.

"Oooooo!" the Businessman cooed. "Spinny!"

"I'm convinced," the Priest said.

"We'll begin deployment at once!" the Mayor decided.

XVI.

Isaac gathered certain supplies; then his bathysphere sank once more beneath the waves.

XVII.

Isaac's tools moved slowly across the whale's surface. It rumbled; Isaac heard, "What are you doing?"

"I'm sealing you up," Isaac said. "The gyroscopes are all in place; now I'm plating you with iron, so you can't be cut up again. I'll do it on the other side, too, just to be sure."

XVIII.

The whale rumbled again. Perhaps it was another question: "Would your employers approve?"

"Probably not," Isaac said. "The Businessman almost certainly wants another crack at you, now that he knows his stupid mistakes can be fixed without repercussion, and the Mayor's always good friends with the Businessman when he doesn't think his own neck is at risk. So, I'm doing this on my own accord."

XIX.

The whale rumbled again. Isaac thought that were he the whale, this would be a third question: "Why?"

"Because I don't want my own life risked for the Businessman's profits," Isaac said. "Because I don't want the whole city to be endangered, again. Because I think you're a proud and noble creature, and I think it's wrong to hurt you so."

XX.

The whale issued another noise as Isaac put the last rivet into the whale's side. Isaac took a moment to interpret.

"Also, I'm pretty sick of this bathysphere," he admitted.

Apologies to Mieville, as appropriate.

Footage From a Recent Project

2009-09-26T22:11:00.000-07:00

Physics!

(The video-capture software seems to operate at a low framerate - hence the unfortunate appearance of the wheels. Apologies! It's much classier in action.)

A Tale in the Mode of that Infamous Zhang

2009-09-24T19:48:00.000-07:00

It was to his surprise that Ser Knight Nathan - by nature somewhat of a recluse - found himself in conversation with a young lady he knew not at all.

She had begun the conversation, speaking to Ser Nathan without prefix. "Your vestment is most fine," she said, her words sounding entirely sincere.

"My gratitude for the thought," Ser Nathan said, giving a courteous half-bow. "I have seen some number in this style about, enscripted with the words of the Poet."

"I really ought have one similar commisioned," the young lady said with some regret in her tone, "but at present, my only garb based on the Poet's works are of a different focus; his thoughts on the triumphs of the natural sciences."

"Ah!" Ser Nathan said. "I encountered a young nobleman wearing just such a thing earlier today, greeting him, praised him for it vigorously."

"It seems there are few here who appreciate the works of the Poet," the Lady said with a tone of sadness."

Ser Nathan shook his head. "Certainly you may find some hereabouts who do," he said.

The conversation lapsed. Ser Nathan considered. The Lady's appearance was in no aspect displeasing; quite the opposite, as it happened. He wondered if he should ask for her name - was it too casual a contact to justify such a request? While he deliberated, the issue was settled for him. The Lady turned away, speaking to a friend of unrelated matters; the moment was lost.

Throughout the rest of the banquet, Ser Nathan cursed his slow reactions. Certainly, he decided in retrospect, it was the wrong choice, a failure to choose - 'Alas! Alas! What a spineless witless worm of a fool am I!'

But then, even as Ser Nathan continued to lambast himself, a young lady spoke to him once more. ('Is she the same?' Ser Nathan - possessed of no gift for the recollection faces - asked himself frantically. 'Is she another?') This lady asked Ser Nathan a minor request - the location of cutlery - a trivial favor he easily granted. ('If she is the same,' Nathan thought with desperate haste, 'then most certainly I should ask her name. And if not - then it is incorrect. Ah - ah - if only my memory did not betray me so! - ) But the moment, once more, was lost; another opportunity, had it indeed been she (and likely so!), squandered.

Ser Nathan, walking dejectedly into the night, described to himself the situation he had just experienced. 'A young lady approached me, admiring my garb - a young lady of uncommonly excellent form and a demonstrably excellent wit, as shown by her tastes in the arts. Ah! I should have asked for her hand at once, much less her name! But - the moment - it is gone!'

Such is the life of the indecisive man!

The oracle

2009-09-24T17:56:00.000-07:00

"a nikolas-idea post"

Kelsey sat inside the high tower, peering out into the wilderness, with his telescope pressed against his eyes, surveying the land for signs of trouble. Then he saw in the midst of the forest clearing, that young girl that he had his eye on for so long. She must be lost, he thought. I should go and rescue her. Then she will have to stay the night with me. I can use that opportunity to have sex with her. He was preparing for his endeavour when just then, he saw a man come into the clearing. What is this, he wondered. Then the scoundrels took off their clothes and started to have sex. Kelsey was very distraught at this, for he wanted to have sex with her first. Then Kelsey became very excited because he realised that he got to watch her having sex. That is almost as good, he thought.

Just then the door opened and the summons from the royal palace were delivered, requesting his immediate arrival at the court of the King. Kelsey cursed foully and set down the telescope. When he arrived at the court there was much commotion. There is a terrible plague in the capital city, the King announced, and the researchers have not been able to concoct a cure, because we are missing the important aromatic compounds. Kelsey noted that he was very aromatic himself, and that perhaps he could soak himself in the elixir and spread it around the city. The court looked at him strangely. It could work, the King declared, and Kelsey was stripped of his clothes and soaked in the elixir. Then the King told him to go into town and rub himself up against all the citizens of the town. Kelsey became very excited at this because he knew that young girl lived in the city, and now he had royal orders to rub up against her naked. However, as soon as Kelsey entered the walled city, the elixir radiated out, and, combined with the power of the aromatic Kelsey, the disease immediately faded away. Kelsey was very disappointed, because now he would not have a chance to rub up against that young girl. Well, that is the end of that, he thought, and retuned home.

Leopards and Stranger Things

2009-09-22T17:47:00.000-07:00

(Warning: slightly risque content follows. Slightly. After that, there are turtlenecks.)

Michael and Jeannie were engaged in sexual intercourse. Jeannie was rather pleased with this, a state which ended exactly when Michael turned into a leopard.

"Ahh!" Jeannie yelled, rather startled. "Ahh! What the hell? What the hell!" She pushed the leopard off herself and off the bed; it sprawled on the floor and turned back into a rather unhappy-looking Michael.

"Dammit!" Jeannie shouted, still quite upset. She pulled the covers up to her neck. "What the heck, dude? Why were you a leopard?"

Michael lied on the floor. His face contorted in thought.

"I know," Jeannie said with sudden decision, pointing a finger at Michael. "I know. You're a furry, aren't you? That was your true form? Sicko!"

This brought an immediate response. "I am not a furry!" Michael said. His expression was one of defiance, which might have been more impressive if he wasn't still sprawled on the floor, naked. Perhaps realizing this, he began making his way to his feet.

Jeannie was disbelieving. "Not a furry, eh?" she asked. "Then how do you explain that? I knew this was going too well for a second date," she mentioned as an aside.

Michael, now fully risen, attempted to explain. "It's - I'm - when I get really stressed or emotional, I - well - probably easier to show you than to tell. Punch me, would you?" he asked.

"With pleasure!" Jeannie said, and swung at Michael.

Michael's head rocked back with the impact of the emphatic blow. A bruise began to form. Also, he turned into a large, feline creature with white fur and black spots. (Briefly.)

"See?" Jeannie said, triumphant. "Leopard. Furry!"

"Look - no," Michael said, human again. "That was - unfortunate. Usually it doesn't do that. Try again?"

Perhaps under the impression that she had been insufficiently firm the previous time - or still upset about the leopard-intercourse thing - Jeannie swung even harder on her second attempt. Michael's nose made an unpleasant noise; blood began to trickle down his face, which had, remarkably, become the monitor of an Apple ][c.

Jeannie drew back her hand, surprised. She looked at it. She looked at the Apple. She wiped her hand off on the sheets, absentmindedly. She watched the Apple turn back into Michael.

"...what?" she asked.

"See, I'm of the Logos-kin," he explained. "We're kind-of - linked - with brands, ideas, in the popular consciousness. There are a few of us, here and there. We've got a community, online - "

"Just like the furries," Jeannie said darkly.

"One, don't be ridiculous," Michael said, regaining somewhat of his poise. (He'd gotten his pants back on by this point.) "Two, what's with you and furries, anyway? Did one kill your dog? Or - "

"My last date was a furry," Jeannie said. "He didn't tell me beforehand, either."

"Bad memories, huh?" Michael said apologetically. "Look, I didn't think it'd be a big deal, the Logos-kin thing. I mean, I didn't think we'd end up - here..."

"And when we did?" Jeannie asked. "You didn't think to tell me then?"

"...my judgement becomes very poor when I am around pretty ladies," Michael mumbled, looking at his feet.

Jeannie looked at him. Then she sighed and went to put her clothes on. "Look, it was a crummy decision," she said, "but there are worse, and at least you apologized. I'll get my clothes on, we can call it a night, and then we can just be friends - "

But she stopped, looking at Michael. He was stock still, except for his eyes, which were flashing around the room wildly. "Do you hear that?" he asked. "He's here."

"Who?" Jeannie asked, somewhat concerned. "You brought a friend?"

"Not - intentionally," Michael said, his breath beginning to come ragged. "I've heard about him. On the forums. They say he's one of us, gone wrong - absorbed by his inner nature. People just go missing, sometimes - we're never sure. But he's here - now - "

"Who?" Jeannie asked, her brow furrowing. "Some kind of stalker? I've got Mace in my purse - let me look - "

"The Hunter," Michael gasped, his form shimmering. "There's no time - goodbye - "

A hammering came upon the door.

"Michael - " Jeannie said, picking up her purse and turning towards him.

But Michael was gone - where he stood was another man, calm and strong, wearing jeans and a black turtleneck. He strode to the door, opened it, bowed; and was gone.

When Jeannie finally worked up the nerve to look outside, there was no-one there.

Apartment 4203

2009-09-21T17:02:00.000-07:00

By popular demand - "popular", of course, being quite rightly defined as "Mr. Zhang's" - we send our finest investigative reporters to that cesspit of sin, that darkest den of inquity... Apartment 4203. Shield your eyes, gentle readers! For now our dark tale begins.

The Apartment's unassuming entrance, hidden behind mounds of greenery, belies its true nature.

Observe! So placid! So serene! So very nearly clean! One can hardly fathom that such fiends live here as, in the fact of the matter, do.

Entering the bathroom is a harrowing experience; unearthly apparations seem almost to haunt the place, mimicking one's actions in the mirrors. We move on quickly.

Here, one of the foul denizens of this place, his visage captured as we beat a quick retreat. His room is not the one we sought -

But here - here -

Agh! Oh, the horror, the horror!

We flee -

And out the back, barely sparing a glance for the method of our escape.

A warning to all who read this: never venture into that dread place, if you value your life and sanity! It is not a place where Men should walk.

2009-09-20T22:26:00.000-07:00

The throngs pulse and seethe, filled with an alien energy. Coloured lights flare and ebb, flicking to and fro in meaningless, soothing rhythm; and an endless noise pours forth, shaking the earth, bringing a trembling unto the sky -

So, yes, a concert.

But of all the ancient god-kings, of the Sumerians and the Han and the Aztecs, which of them could summon forth spectacle such as this?

(And how, in the melding of the human with the inhuman - the voices amplified a thousandfold beyond what any human could muster, the minds seeing the world through a veil of drugs and alcohol - can anyone see this as ordinary?)

(Strange world, this one.)

The shadowman

2009-09-18T01:45:00.000-07:00

Desmonde walked slowley unto the steppes of the grande halle of the churche upon the villege of isse-lunde, for he was wont to praye fur a goode harvest of the croppes, and as hee inspectid the cravesses and the frescoues and hee saide unto him selfe, who ist there ? In this sacrid playce ? Hee lookt to the alter and hee sawe a shadew figeure there, and he call'd out to himme, Who ist there ? Speak, man ! And the shadowe figure came out of the darkenesse, and he spoke unto desmonde. Hee saith unto himme : Willst thou lysten toe myn histoire , whych conteynes inni it muche parabels of woe and mysery , such that I may be in peece with my selfe ? And desmonde , whoe waes a goode christien , saith that hee wouldt lysten to the histoire of the mysterious manne.

The shadowmanne saith : It waes at leaste passed one year to this daye, that the events unfourled. For thou seest, it was that thyme that I was allso a manne of faythe , and suche that I goone unto the monestery, that I may bee pure and cleen, and be with the grace of god. And in the cours of thyngs, I joyned the brotherhoode, and I wore the robbes of puryty, and I became verry sprituall , and all waes goode.

Then the face of the shadowmanne beecometh twistid and soure, and he speketh in a bytter toune. Hee saith : And then as is the wont of many thyngs, who straye from the lycht of the lord, and beecome tempt'd by eviles, of the worlde, I was leade astraye, by the machinations of the towne and the poupoulasce. It was the daye which I was wont to go unto the towne to acquire bread and porridge for the ketcins of the monestery, for our soupper, that waes the day wyc curse inflickt mee. As I wead thorough the iles of the central market I was wont to go unto the stalle whereupon there waes freche venison meats to be solde, and also a partrige , which weth hounted wy the forests wyn the wylde. Houever, as soone as I reche the stalle I beecame quite bewhilder'd, for there was a younge girl at the countre, not the olde mann whomme I waes acoustom'd too.

The shadowmanne lay prostrate upon the grounde, and hee continueth : I became enamour'd of the young girle, and I said many strange thynges, as ist the customme for myc, and she was bemus'd, and also bewhilder'd. And then I endeavoured to proposition the young girle, and she refussed, and I became withdrawne , and summarily retrated. A year pass'd from then, by wych tyme I doth forget of that milkemaide. Houever, at that tyme I recieved unto my personage a news-lettre, in which conteyned the expliots of the townsfolke, and I detected the presence of that young girl that I once saw, at the meat-shoppe, and I read of itte hastily, and I became enamour'd of herr once againe, and I beecame more detremin'd to take her too my sellf.

Then the shadowmanne pulled out a daggar, which was hydden upon his greatcoat, and he saith : I have comme here to slaye the manne, who was wont to bee her hosband, and to claime herr unto my selfe, ande that manne ist thou, M. Desmonde.

Then Desmonde saith : Calm your sellf, and remember that you are a goode christien manne, and that thou shoudst not murder a manne ! Allso, are youe notte a monke as well, by such not alloued to take a wyfe any way ?

The shadowmanne saith : That is a goode pointe.

Then the shadowmanne retreateth into the darkenesse.

The Divine Fire of Existence

2009-09-15T21:28:00.000-07:00

Let there be some kingdom, somewhere in the far and distant lands of which we know so little. Let this kingdom be populated by a people of, on the whole, great personal strength, wit, and courage; and let them then be conquered by an alien force, posessed of superior might, numbers, and will to conquer. Let their heroes, and the heroes among their children, and the heroes among their children's children, rise up against the conquerors, bearing banners of defiance; and let their heroes fail. Let them die, or flee into exile, or simply give up and - disappear - and let the spirits of the country fall with them, such that, four generations from the invasion, they are a broken people, assimilated. Let the occupying forces leave, all but some token policing-force, and let many of the youth go with them, to conquer and oppress other countries as they were oppressed -

assimilated -

How, then, may this kingdom of ours be freed; how may it escape from the boot upon its neck? What hero could accomplish the task, when so many heroes have tried and died trying? Is there anything left to save?

Perhaps not -

So the first action to undertake would be to create something, the kingdom-that-was. History; the study which princes and tyrants neglect to their own downfall. Act subtly; create literary reviews for the upper classes, spread songs and tales for the lower classes. Reinforce a sense of national identity, or create it, if matters are too far gone. Do not spread agitation; do not foment revolution! Not directly, at least. Not yet.

Time must pass. The lessons must sink in. The people of this generation, we already know, are too far gone. Their spirits are shattered. But the people of the next - young, or yet unborn. They can be taught. Not all of them, not perfectly - but perhaps - they can become a tool, a medium, a place from which revolution can spring.

Revolution!

How beautiful a word.

The Knife Quicksilver

2009-09-13T23:07:00.000-07:00

(Title from this, which I neither understand nor truly wish to. Post is otherwise unrelated.

Well, except insofar that I have been making another attempt to re-read Hitherby, a thing which always inspires into me a mad and fervent desire to write.)

It occurred that the sun set, and did not rise; the night continued without end. Elsewhere, on the other side of the world, the sun rose, and thereafter remained stationary; a natural transition applied between these area. It became, nonetheless, a matter of some concern for all and sundry.

"What shall we do?" the people cried out. "In the regions of eternal day, it grows terribly warm, moreso by the moment; in the lands of night, the chill is ever-increasing. (Furthermore, it is difficult to see.) Shall we move to the lands of twilight, there to gain some modicum of respite?"

The scientists considered, and met, and studied the matter; and their spokesperson gave her judgement on the matter. "There must be constructed an instrument," she declared to the assembled journalists of Earth; "a long thing, a sharp thing, a knife to sever night from day. And there will be a terrible price - " but the price was paid, and the knife was made, and they named it Quicksilver. And the knife rose skyward, and descended, and in its passing there was a change; and once more the sun moved, and day turned to night turned to day again; though those who had lived through those times claimed that it was never again so steady, so reliable in its passing, as it had been before those events here described.

But -

- what then became of the knife?

Lord Wormsnake's Evil Plot (& assoc. miscellanea)

2009-09-13T19:30:00.000-07:00

Lord Wormsnake rose, cackling. His black-gloved hands shaped them into claws; unearthly energies sheathed them. "I will destroy... THE WIGGLES!" he shouted, and a cry of woe followed.

Belshazzar, Lord Wormsnake's cat and evil minion, looked up. Slowly, he yawned, and licked his fur. Then he deigned to respond. "The Wiggles?" he asked.

"The Wiggles!" Lord Worsnake declaimed dramatically. "A children's musical group formed in Sydney, Australia in the distant past year of NINE-TEEN NINETY ONE. They're educating children to good moral virtues, making them less suitable for use in my invincible earth-conquering army. They must be stopped! Also, they've earned seventeen gold, twelve platinum, three double-platinum, and ten multi-platinum awards for sales of over 17 million DVDs and four million CDs," Lord Wormsnake noted as an aside. "A high-value target!"

"Are Wikipedia trawls really the proper method of selecting targets for your Evil Plots?" Belshazzar inquired.

"Irrelevant," Lord Wormsnake dismissed. "I am off - TO DESTROY THE WIGGLES!" He cackled. Further cries of woe rose from the speakers Lord Wormsnake had installed beneath the floorboards.

"Don't forget to get some milk while you're out," Belshazzar reminded Lord Wormsnake lazily.

But Lord Wormsnake had no chance to do any such thing - for it was barely five minutes later that he was confronted by PAN-OMNI-TEAM, universal purveyors of PURE JUSTICE! (By mechanism of giant robot.)

"HALT, EVILDOER!" their leader, STAR RANGER, shouted. "We, the PAN-OMNI-TEAM, will halt your vile schemes!"

"Ha!" Lord Wormsnake laughed, drawing up his hands. Glowing energy wrapped around them, pulsing and fluxing. "You pint-sized pile of miniature munchkins think you can stop me? It is I, Lord Wormsnake, Future Master of All the Cosmos! I have barely begun this plan, and the likes of you shall not - "

He paused.

"Wait," Lord Wormsnake said, a note of confusion entering his voice. "I never announced my evil plan. How did you guys find out about it?"

"Ubiquitious surveillance, durr," SUNSTRIDER (another PAN-OMNI-TEAM-member) taunted. "We're watching everyone, everywhere, at all times - even when they think they're alone. Especially then! That way, we stop crime before it even starts."

"Yeah!" LUNAR GUARDIAN agrees. "We're like those Future Police guys, from that one movie with the sweet holograms and the hover-cars! So rad."

Lord Wormsnake appeared unconvinced. "I think there might be something wrong here," he observed. "I mean, you're creating a police state in an attempt to stop crime? Rampant violation of privacy, without the consent of the public... I mean, obviously, I'm fine with police states, though ideally with me at their head, but I've had thought that you would - "

"Hey! Wormsnake!" SUNSTRIDER rather rudely interrupted. "You. Villain. Us. Heroes. Stopping you. Justified!" Then he fired a giant laser-beam at Lord Wormsnake!

"Gosh dang," Lord Wormsnake sighed, leaping aside. A giant warping energy-bubble flew overhead, crushing a small building. Later, it exploded.

"Okay, another question," Lord Wormsnake shouted, firing a wave of flying, wiggling energy-snakes in all directions. PAN-OMNI-TEAM retaliated. "So, you guys are fighting me. Splendid. Fine. But you're heroes, right? Dedicated to the established order? How do you justify all this rampant property damage?"

"Better a few smashed houses and exploded office buildings than that your evil plan is accomplished!" LUNAR GUARDIAN replied defiantly. "You were going to kill people! What's money, compared to that?"

"What?" Lord Wormsnake asked, surprised. He dodged a laser bullet. "I wasn't going to kill anyone! I was just going to destroy the Wiggles. You know, spread rumours, plant false evidence, tear them apart as a group, etc, etc. I'm not a murderer!"

LUNAR GUARDIAN wavered. "Gosh," he said. "That's actually pretty plausible. Now, well - I'm torn!"

"Don't be, LUNAR!" STAR RANGER shouted. "It's a trick on your mind! He's trying to use the same ruses with us as he just described - to divide us, and then conquer us!"

"You're right, STAR RANGER!" LUNAR GUARDIAN agreed. "Now - let's defeat Lord Wormsnake, once and for all!"

"Curses!" Lord Wormsnake shouted. "But I'm not defeated yet. Come - shatter my ULTIMATE DEFENSE, if you can!" And about him rose the likeness of a shield, and a wall, and a sword which pointed each way; and all about him was the numinance of the power of Lord Wormsnake, He That Consumeth the Earth.

PAN-OMNI-TEAM fired a giant laser at Lord Wormsnake. He vanished.

"Ha!" STAR RANGER laughed nervously, relieved. "Another victory for PAN-OMNI TEAM!"

"...did we just kill him?" LUNAR GUARDIAN asked. "Like, to death? We don't usually do that. It seems bad."

"Fools!" the voice of Lord Wormsnake laughed, seeming to come from every direction at once. "You have but empowered me - turning me invisible, so that I might escape your attacks! A ha ha ha ha ha haaaaaa!"

"Blast! Dang you, Lord Wormsnake!" STAR RANGER cried, giant-robot-fist upraised to the heavens. "We'll catch you! We'll catch you yet!"

Some months later, the Wiggles dissolved, claiming "irresolvable creative differences" between the members of the band. Small children all over the earth mourned. Lord Wormsnake's plans of world domination, to his exasperation, appeared largely unaffected.

The Silvano Experience

2009-09-11T20:58:00.000-07:00

Once, there was a Kelsey and a Zhang.

The Kelsey said, "Mr. Zhang, I know we have our differences. But must there be war between us? Can we not have peace?"

The Zhang said, "Graar!" Then he leapt.

The Zhang and the Kelsey grappled! They became quite bloody and tired. "I would like a break," the Kelsey said. "Bluuugh!" the Zhang agreed.

"NO RECOVERY!" Silvano declared.

And that was that!

Fruits of PAX

2009-09-10T21:55:00.000-07:00

This isn't a full thing, but I thought I should feature some of the better photos from the convention. Might have some kind of synopsis at some point, above and beyond what I blagged during the event; might not. A summary:

1) Tons of people.
2) Loads of fun, by and large.
3) So many TF2 cosplayers.

Gallery: start!

A photo I took with my iPhone, walking towards the convention center. Bit of a crowd, isn't it? There was a scalper, too, trying to buy passes for the sold-out show. He didn't seem to be having much luck.

This woman startled my father to no end. She is in a rather elaborate costume - quite impressive, even if none of us (truthfully) knew exactly what it was - and she is also on a cell phone.

Something about the combination, I suppose.

Two things to note here:

1) On the far left, there is a fellow with glowing red eyes. He's dressed as a headcrab zombie, though you can't really see very well in this photo. Nonetheless, this is wonderful.

(A theme in our photos: Looking around, in the background of photos taken to capture one particular cosplayer, and seeing others lurking to the sides. Most excellent.)

2) See that bag, barely visible on the bottom of the photo?

It is a ubiquibag, and it, too, will be common in this gallery.

Where's Waldo?

That's the question on everyone's lips, but it's safely answered, for the moment. Hooray!

In a better world, this would be composited into a crowd shot for optimum Where's Waldo action; perhaps one of our readers will do this for us? We can only hope.

Master Chief, or one of his fellow Spartans, stands nonchanalantly in queue. (PAX is a place of endless queues.) He is so very nonchalant. Observe his casual pose!

His neighbor, not so.

(Also, note his height. He seriously was that tall. It was impressive. And... realistic? If that's the word.)

Tanuki Suit Mario (if I'm identifying him correctly) makes his appearance, along with his companion, That One Girl* from Super Mario Galaxy. They wandered the show; we ran into them a number of times. Mario frequently sported a detachable moustache. At the time of this photo, it seems to be in its detached state, though it's hard to tell from this angle.

(Also: Ubiquibags! I told you they'd be showing up again. There's two of them here; one with the Nexon side facing us, and the other with the Dungeon Fighter Online side towards the camera. I'd never heard of the aformentioned game before the convention, but within its halls, it was inescapable. Not least because of the Ubiquibags, but not exclusively, either. Strangely, I still have no desire to play it.)

*May not be her actual name. She may not have had one. I'd have to go to Wiki to find out, and that's far too much effort for me to bother.

It's the Prince, demonstrating his new game! Well. His port of several old games,
with updated graphics and remixed music. But that's practically as good!

Also he seems to have acquired a Tekken 6 shirt (very peculiar, that), as well as the company of some random schmuck. Who is that guy standing next to him? Who knows? Probably best to ignore him and move on.

GLADOS makes her proud appearance in this photo, complete with Weighted Companion Cube handbag. You might think it would be difficult to cosplay as someone that looks like this. You'd be right! But with diligence, hard work, and just a little creativity, it can be done.

Other notes: bonus cosplayer on the right (I would assume - no idea what she's supposed to be), and the area in the background, "Bandland", where one could purchase merchandise and/or obtain autographs from various semi-celebrities present. Jonathan Coulton was there, and I saw him briefly; sadly, the line for him was (approximately) six miles long, so I entered into no interaction with him. Shame.

iPhone shot of a group of TF2 cosplayers. (Left to right: Spy, Medic, Sniper, and Scout.) There were, as mentioned, loads of these guys about; we saw at least three of both Scout and Medic. (Ethan claims larger numbers.) I saw examples at least eight different classes - every class except the Demoman - and people cosplaying as both red and blue members of some classes, though blue seemed significantly less common. What I am saying here is: for a $20, 2-year old game with no plot, TF2 gets a heck of a lot of love for its characters.

It's Valve, man. They're magic.

Bonus: See that in the center? Can you identify it? It is... the ubiquibag! Hooray! Taking center stage, as it was always meant to.

Ubiquibag story time: While immediately outside the convention center, waiting for our crepes to cook, we saw a man going past carrying a large package. We have no idea what it was, because it was shielded from the low-grade ambient dampness (this was Seattle, after all) by a pair of Ubiquibags, one on each end, covering it completely. As I observed to Ethan at the time: An item posessing extremely low scarcity will naturally have uses evolved to exhaust the supply. Loads of bandwidth? Stream video! Loads of bags? Use them as shielding!

My phrasing could be better, but I maintain that the principle is sound. High supply impels consumption.

We have no idea what the Butterfly dude was. Saw him a number of times, never figured him out. But two things to note here:

1) The numbers on the fellow's back, labeled "NV-[something]." One might reasonably ask, "What are those?" The answer is that they are numbers for buttons handed out by Nvidia for a sort of competition; the idea being that you should find the person with the number matching yours to win a prize.

This rapidly became an obsession for many people. People went around wandering the halls, calling out their number(s); putting their numbers on signs (like Butterfly-Man); even setting up websites for the purpose. I am informed that there was more than one of these, listing numbers and associated contact information, set up during the three-day run of the event.

Man.

2) Hooray, Blue Engineer! Another cosplayer bonus.

Red Scout says hello! Good costume. We saw, as noted, quite a few of these, including one with an arm in a splint. The splint was captioned "Critical Hit". It seemed appropriate.

Also note, in the background; not a ubiquibag, but a sign for "Dungeon Fighter Online". They really were everywhere.

To round this post off: Draenei woman, seen sitting by the wall for no particular reason, is so very happy. Don't know why! Perhaps no-one else liked her costume.

It is a very nice costume.

Some photos got lost in the warp during upload, and there's still plenty of event stories to tell, so this post may have a sequel. Or it may not. We'll see!

In the meantime: hooray for cosplayers, hooray for ubiquibags.

The story of the man in the moon

2009-09-09T02:19:00.000-07:00

There was a man who lived on the moon. He was very lonely. But it was fine because there were other people living there too; there was a city in a big dome on the moon, and it was a colony of the earth peoples. But this is not very relevant to the story, so forget it. Like most solid citizens of his age he went to university often. It was at this point that he became interested in the plant species, and the potted plants, and the herbs, and sometimes he smoked the herbs too. So he decided to take a class in the plant biology. It was there that he met 2 important people who destiny would guide him against for months to come. The first was a very strange man, in his habits and his manner of appearance and dress, and he often spoke in strange and indecipherable ways, such that it was quite confusing to listen to him, and sometimes vexing, to the point that the first man did not wish to associate with this man too often. The second person was a young girl who was quite pleasant in her ways. Naturally, the first man wanted to have sex with her. But then she ended up having sex with the strange man described previously instead. In the course of things, the first man learned of this. "Damn" he said.

The Peculiar Quest of Mr. Zhang

2009-09-08T15:53:00.000-07:00

(Part Two of Two.)

In the high mountains, an ancient temple stood, carved of marble and adorned with aged bronze. The white-haired monks that tended that place each bore vestments adorned with the sign of an oval containing a circle, and a staff capped with that same symbol; the idols which they polished were great orbs, each with a pair of concentric circles - one coloured, one black - painted on their front. This was the nature of that place, that most peculiar temple: it was the Shrine of the Eye. And its ruler named himself the King Eye; none knew a time in which he had not ruled that place, even long before the birth of the oldest man yet alive.

To this sanctuary Mr. Zhang arrived, clad in thick clothing to ward off the cold weather. His teeth chattered as he approached the gates, slowly slogging through the snow.

"Halt!" shouted one of the guards, turning his pike level. The other matched him, blocking off the gate entirely. "What is your business here, traveller? There have been rumours of eye-stealing brigands about; we desire no such criminals troubling this holy place!"

"Fear not," Mr. Zhang said, his voice cultured as ever. "I am only a harmless traveler, here on a pilgrimage."

"Ah," the guard said, lowering his pike. "Very well. You may enter; but do not dare to trouble the monks that live here, or any other person herein, for most certainly such a betrayal would bring the wrath of King Eye upon you."

"That sounds most unpleasant," Mr. Zhang agreed. "I will avoid it."

As he walked past the guards, Mr. Zhang noticed - to his surprise - that they were quite without eyes.

"Peculiar," he mused to himself. "Perhaps this is how they came to know of eye-brigandry in the area? Do I have a competitor? Or perhaps it is some religious rite. No matter - I will continue onwards."

Inwards he went, past sconces filled with smoking incense and faded mosaics depicting fractal eyescapes. The glory days of this place had passed; the priests wandering the halls were few and far between, and grown old without hope of replacement. Mr. Zhang stopped briefly, once, to ask one for directions; and on this occasion that he noted the priest, too, was blind.

"Perhaps it's ironic," Mr. Zhang thought to himself.

Then he came to the entrance to the innermost sanctum - a pair of great iron-sheathed doors, together forming, shockingly, the shape of an eye - which, rather more surprisingly, was in this instance guarded by a dragon.

"Who comes?" the dragon rumbled. "King Eye has secluded himself; he expects no visitors, nor desires those which come unexpected."

"Most unfortunate," Mr. Zhang said. "I will come another time, then. Let him know that a gentleman by the name of Zhang seeks an audience with him, and will be by tomorrow, and the day after; it is to be hoped that at some time, my desire for a meeting will be reciprocated in kind."

"I know no Zhang; nor, I think, does King Eye," the dragon said slowly. "But there is something in your voice that is peculiar. Are you one of those I robbed, before King Eye so terribly betrayed me, and rendered me his servant entire? Have you come for revenge upon him, or to retrieve the eyes that I took? In this case I will most certainly let you pass; for there is nothing in King Eye's treatment of me that engenders loyalty."

Mr. Zhang peered upwards at the dragon. "Why, you are that bescaled creature that stole my first eyes from me, and set my feet on that path which I now tread!" he remarked with astonishment. "I had nearly forgot, those eyes with which I was born; certainly I had no notion that they might be found here, in the sanctum of King Eye. But - how peculiar. You claimed yourself, then, mightiest of all living creatures; now you are humbled, terming yourself a servant. What has happened to you in the time of our separation?"

"All has gone for the ill," the dragon sadly rumbled. "When I met you, I was in partnership with King Eye, trading him the eyes of my victims to gain baubles for my hoard; but he tricked me, claimed I had cheated him, and took my eyes in compensation. Now I am his chattel, sitting in front of his door like a guard-dog. My axiom, I think, has served me ill; I must rescind all advice I gave to you as to its adoption. For the world is like unto a great wheel fixed on the side of some celestial ox-cart; and that which is presently mounted astride it will presently be ground underneath."

"It is a sorry tale you tell indeed," Mr. Zhang said, "And I am certain there are many lessons to be learned from it. But still I seek an audience with King Eye, and so I will bid you adieu for the moment - "

A voice came from behind the doors. "With whom doth thou converse, wyrm?"

"A traveler who calls himself Zhang, and seeks audience with you, O King," the dragon said with bitter humility.

"...let him enter," the speaker announced.

The doors swung open; slowly, with a dignified step, Mr. Zhang entered.

The room immediately inside was darkened, especially in contrast to the bright-lit outside; Mr. Zhang had to blink repeatedly to clear his vision. Even after acclimating, the figure of his host, King Eye, was difficult to see clearly; he was wrapped in a long coat, and shrouded in darkness.

Also - Mr. Zhang squinted - the coat was covered in eyeballs, with two especially large, reptillian eyes on King Eye's shoulders.

"Fascinating," Mr. Zhang observed under his breath.

"Zhang," King Eye spoke. "What quest bringeth thee to mine door?"

"I came for something of yours, Your Highness," Mr. Zhang said with a gentlemanly bow. "The country-folk tell that in your possession is an eye that can see into all hearts and uncover all falsehoods; this is a thing which, for my own reasons, I much desire the use of. I therefore would propose this; that I, for some fee or service, might have the use of your eye. A mutually beneficial arrangement, to be objected to by none."

"Would to be thought that mine chattel outside might have informed thee as to the risks of entering into any arrangement with mineself," King Eye said, "but 'tis an obstacle more fundamental to your proposition: behold!"

With a violent gesture, King Eye opened its cloak wide. Mr. Zhang averted his gaze, wincing, and then slowly turned back; and started at what he saw. For, in addition to residing at the center of an eye-shaped temple to the eye, wearing a cloak covered with stolen eyes, and being named King Eye,

King Eye's body was, in its entirety, an exceptionally large, floating, eyeball.

(Mr. Zhang's fears of him being a flasher were simultaneously averted and confirmed.)

"This is the eye thou wert told of, Zhang," the Eye King said - despite not being posessed of a mouth, he had no difficulty in verbal communication, perhaps aided by those same arts that allowed him to levitate. "This is the eye thou sought, that can see into any heart. And now, uncovered, I look with it into thine own - and see the perfidity therein. Thou didst not seek equitable agreement when thou came here - thou came as the boldest thief, and only the example of that wyrm that lurketh outside didst deter thee!"

Mr. Zhang shrugged. "The truth of the matter is closer to that than any other," he admitted, "though I'd argue I have more need of thine - er, your - eye than you do. You lurk here atop a mountain, alone but for your monks, your guards, and your pet dragon. I am a man of the world, forced to deal with all the woes and troubles of modern life - such as, for example, a certain lady who refuses to answer her correspondence in a timely manner," Mr. Zhang said with some frustration in his voice. After a moment, he recovered his composure, asking: "What use do you put the eye to?"

"What use have I for it?" King Eye asked, outraged. "I am it, foolhardy wretch! Thou wouldst abscond with not only mine property, as thou planned at first, but mineself?"

"As't may be," Mr. Zhang said. "But I think - what sort of creature is a floating eye-ball? Perhaps that is you, yes. But perhaps you are no more than a clever marionette, held to the ceiling by cleverly concealed wire-work, hidden in the darkness..."

"A puppet to cow a dragon?" King Eye asked. "Thine propositions are insane, all the sooner to accelerate thy waiting doom!"

"Perhaps, perhaps," said Mr. Zhang, waving a dismissive hand and begin to walk. "I do not dismiss the possibility out of hand. But if I am correct - if you are a tool and nothing more, terrorizing that dragon by trickery and not strength - then there must be, somewhere..."

Mr. Zhang stopped in his tracks, holding his hand against the wall. "A man behind the curtain!" he cried triumphantly, and pulled at the wall, revealing another blind monk, wires hanging all about him, an orb displaying a smaller, distorted image of Mr. Zhang before him.

A sword was in his hand, and he was already lunging.

"Ah!" cried Mr. Zhang, rather distressed, and fell backwards, recieving nothing worse than a glancing slash. The monk pursued, harrying the fallen Mr. Zhang, but that worthy had already retrieved his own blade from its sheath, and now mounted a furious defense. The sound of steel on steel resounded throughout the sanctuary; the dragon poked its head inward. "Mr. Zhang," it said, "If you are presently about an assassination, please be careful of my eyes. I would like them back, when you are done!"

"I will attempt it!" Mr. Zhang said gamely, glancing towards the dragon's eyes, still mounted on the cloak "King Eye" wore. Then a thought struck him; gaining his feet with the time provided by a very clever riposite, Mr. Zhang backpedaled, then turned and ran towards "King Eye". The sword-wielding monk came close on his heels, crying, "Spite will avail thee naught, Zhang - touch not the Eye!" But nonesuch was Mr. Zhang's intent. Instead, reaching the Eye, he sidestepped once - watching it turn towards him - and then reached out and spun it -

"Augh!" cried the monk, disoriented and nauseated, staggering about the floor. Mr. Zhang, carefully and precisely, stepped up to the monk and clubbed him over the back of the head with the hilt of his sword. The monk fell.

Then Mr. Zhang stole his eyes, for good measure.

"Dragon!" Mr. Zhang cried, looking towards the doorway. "The monks will certainly have heard the sounds of fighting, and will be coming this way. I have no desire for them to catch me here, especially with the burden of carrying this rather large Eye. Therefore, I propose this bargain: carry me safely away, to a destination of my choice, and I will return your eyes to you when you are done. Are you agreed?"

"I will do this thing," the dragon rumbled, "for I greatly miss that sight which once was mine."

"Very well, then," Mr. Zhang said, tearing the wires from the Eye. He held it, wrapped in the eye-covered cloak, in his arms, and took it to the dragon, which he mounted even as the monks - and the guards - entered the courtyard. "What transpired here?" the guards challenged, levelling their pikes. "Where is that stranger which entered our gates this morning?" But the dragon beat its wings, once, twice - and was gone.

Epilog the First.

Mr. Zhang landed in a small clearing, not far from the city they named Boss Town. Carefully, he descended one of the dragon's legs, letting out a soft breath once he was safely upon the ground once more. (A blind dragon's flying abilities are remarkable, for that they do it at all - but, perhaps, are something most safely experienced from some distance.) The dragon's head curled around, pointing roughly in the direction of Mr. Zhang. "I have held my part of the bargain," the dragon rumbled. "Now, do the same. Return my eyes to me!"

"Very well," Mr. Zhang said, drawing forth his sword. "I will cut your eyes loose from the cloak on which they are fastened - " slice, slice went his sword - "and hand them to you. Here," he said, delivering the eyes into one of the dragon's very large claws. "And now - I must be off. Adieu!" he cried, and then began to run.

The dragon, tenderly, carefully, fit the eyes back into their sockets. "It has been so long... " it crooned - then the pitch of its voice changed. "Wait. What's this? I still can't see. There's something - my vision - it's red..."

"ZHAAAAAAAAAAANG!" the dragon roared, shaking every tree of the forest. "YOU HAVE BETRAYED ME, ZHANG! YOU HAVE DESTROYED MY EYES EVEN AS YOU GAVE THEM TO ME! YOU WIL PAAAAAAY!" It thrashed, bringing ruin to a large area of woodlands - but Mr. Zhang was already gone.

"It seemed unwise to restore such a creature to its full, deadly majesty," Mr. Zhang justified. "And besides - had I not the greater strength? Certainly the creature's own morality would justify me." He continued on, satisfied.

Truly, Mr. Zhang is the most honourable of all Gentlemen.

Epilog the Second.

Mr. Zhang lurked in a window, peering downwards through the Eye. He squinted.

"There she is!" he remarked, some significant excitement in his voice. "Now, at last, I will learn why she never replies to my communications - or so very tardily, at best! I will learn the truth that I have burned for..."

"Oh," he said, a moment later.

"She... thinks I'm weird?"

"And creepy."

"And obsessive."

"And she thinks I should probably get a haircut that isn't a mullet."

Mr. Zhang looked sadly at the Eye.

Then he threw it out the window.

"It was probably defective," Mr. Zhang concluded. "After all, it thought I was a liar. The gall! The truth must lie elsewhere. Perhaps a love elixir..." he pondered.

Finis.

The Beady Eyes of Mr. Zhang

2009-09-08T12:15:00.000-07:00

It occurred to Mr. Zhang, as the dragon collected his eyes, that the situation was somewhat less than ideal.

"Sir!" he remarked, staggering backwards. "I must protest! You, at present, already posess two perfectly good eyes, which should be enough for any creature not of an insectile nature. You are reptilian, or draconic, as you prefer; therefore you have no use for my eyes. Return the one you have taken, and desist from attempting to remove the other; then this unfortunate matter will be at an end, and we will have no further need to quarrel."

"Ow," Mr. Zhang continued, as the dragon took his other eye.

"Dragon!" Mr. Zhang cried, shouting in the direction of the departing dragon. "This is a most terrible injustice; to take the eyes from a man who needs them, while you need them not. How can you justify your actions?"

The dragon paused in its flight; turned, and flew back to Mr. Zhang, hovering in the air before him with great flaps of its scaled wings. Mr. Zhang was immersed in its sulfurous stink with every breath it expelled. "In truth, I live life by a simple axiom," the dragon rumbled. "Might makes right. It is a simple law, and it allows me to conduct my affairs as I like them, without undue trouble or bother. I am greatest of all the dragons, and therefore the mightiest creature alive: thus there is nothing which may contest my righteousness."

"Your axiom is flawed!" Mr. Zhang hastily retorted. "A philosophy of life must certainly be judged by how well it fares for its user if all other persons also employed it; and certainly, in the very short term, such a test would fare well for you. But consider - what if some other creature, some rival dragon, gained strength over you? Or if you sired a mighty son, even more powerful than yourself? They would cast you down; they would render you unto dust, and none would remember your name! By your own philosophy this would be just. Can you accept this?"

"These scenarios seem somewhat unlikely," the dragon mused. "Am I not the most magnificent of all dragons, of all living creatures? Certainly nothing can overset my supremacy. Instead of seeking refuge in philosophy, I would advise you thus: do unto others as was done unto you. Take eyes from those weaker than you; thereby may your loss be reversed." And with this the dragon beat its wings mightily, once, twice; powerful winds buffeted Mr. Zhang, and no more did he hear the voice of the dragon.

"This is most unfortunate," Mr. Zhang remarked.

He considered. After a moment, he had a plan; decision was writ upon his face.

"Ho!" Mr. Zhang called. "Is any living creature about? I would have conversation!"

Presently, a chittering came from the underbrush. "A squirrel!" Mr. Zhang remarked, surprised. "Well, it is not what I would have wished... but it will do. Mr. Squirrel! As you can see, I am presently blind. Would you mind lending me one of your eyes, so that we could be on equal terms for the duration of the conversation? I will certainly give it back afterwards."

The squirrel chittered. Mr. Zhang felt a small object being pressed into his hand; he pushed it into his right eye socket, and found his vision - partially, blurrily, missing a few colours - returned.

"Thank you, Mr. Squirrel!" Mr. Zhang remarked, impeccably polite, as befit a gentleman of his breeding. "Now we may come to the subject of our conversation."

"Squeak?" the squirrel chittered.

"Squeak!" the squirrel remarked in some agitation, now without both eyes.

"Much better!" Mr. Zhang said, looking about with some satisfaction. "Not as good as my old, human eyes - but certainly it is better than what that dragon left me with. I suppose I will have to make do..."

He thought about this.

Some time later, he entered a small town; made polite conversation with an old lady walking down the street.

"It's good to see a young man like you so respectful of your elders!" the old woman remarked, leaning on her walker. "I was suspicious of you at first, I admit, with those strange beady eyes of yours... but you're a perfectly courteous and trustworthy individual after all!"

"Aaiii!" she screamed, moments later. "My eyes! He stole my eyes!"

"Much better," Mr. Zhang said with satisfaction. "Now - what's next?"

"Hello, sir," said the clerk of the eye store, looking up upon hearing the door open. "What sort of eyes would you like to purchase today?"

"I think I would like... all of them!" Mr. Zhang said, cackling triumphantly. He swept all the eyes off their shelves into an enormous sack, which he'd painted an eye on. (To avoid confusion.) Then he stole the clerk's eyes!

"Whyyy?" the clerk wailed. "You just stole like five-hundred eyes! You don't need mine! You total jerk!"

"Ha ha!" Mr. Zhang laughed. "Go steal your own!" Then he ran off.

(Part One of Two.)

2009-09-06T21:20:00.001-07:00

Had a lovely day; back on Californian soil, at the land of claimless bags, my own Ubiquibag in hand, heavy-laden with loot. Trip: success!

Will most likely do a photo-write-up of the trip to-morrow; then back to standard-grade blagocontent. A race of warlike sheep, terrorizing their peaceable lion neighbors, until they are interrupted by an outside force, is most certainly to be anticipated.

In general, that is. No relation to whatever I'll end up blagging.

2009-09-05T20:58:00.001-07:00

PAX has rather a lot of lines. Just as well, then, that they have developed the most advanced line-waiting technology in the world.

Seriously, it's high-caliber stuff. Can't say a word against it. Even if you wanted to - they have mind-control rays for that!

Ah - no - said too much

2009-09-05T11:57:00.001-07:00

Also, no sign of known acquaintances at PAX, even those we know to be here. Slight vexation.

2009-09-05T11:53:00.001-07:00

Reunited with family last night. Movement proves more difficult with three; as a plus, actual camera allows improved photography of costumed persons.

Waited in line half an hour this morning for, as it transpired, the line-waiting experience. Very odd.

2009-09-04T19:18:00.001-07:00

V. tired. Dining at "Rock Bottom", which, surprisingly, appears to be a chain. Still an unfortunate name.

May help set a world record, later tonight. One hopes.

2009-09-04T18:21:00.001-07:00

(Update: 8 TF2 classes spotted. No alcoholic, yet.)

2009-09-04T16:44:00.001-07:00

Characters I've seen cosplay past me in the last 30 seconds:
1. Moogle; someone's toddler.
2. Professor Science. (Well, actually, it was just a T-shirt, but still.)
3. GODOT. With "Hold it!" sign in hand!

If I were only faster to react - ahh!

(I've been seeing the TF2 cast all day; at least 6 classes. Popular!)

2009-09-04T12:06:00.001-07:00

Some confusion over transit, but I'm in and feeling great.

Scott Pilgrim is here!

The Magnificent Beard Master

2009-09-03T19:52:00.000-07:00

Does this count as content? Not sure.

Anyway, download this and run "curviform.exe". It's more or less an experiment in creating curviform shapes - things like roots, or hair. Turned out pretty well. The source code is in the zip, labeled 'curviform.txt'; it's Python code, and requires Pygame to run.

(Mr. Feinberg, or "sib-sib", opines that it should be transformed into a superior program, the Technicolour Dream Beard. Perhaps so.)

The Advent of the PAX

2009-09-03T10:34:00.000-07:00

Real life alert (klaxon noise, klaxon noise): I'm heading off to the dreaded PAX tomorrow morning. It will almost certainly very busy; I may be able to do some micronanofemtoblogging, but almost certainly nothing more in-depth like that. Accordingly, barring the intervention of the dreaded Doctor McZhang, content will probably be fairly sparse about the blag for the next few days.

Unlike it has been for the last few, of course.

...I'll try to have something of interest up later to-day.

There Are Two Space Stations

2009-09-02T22:06:00.000-07:00

(This post was going to be somewhat less terse, but then I became tired and slothful. Apologies.)

Once there were two space stations.

"Whirl in orbit!" went Space Station One.

"Transmit vital solar power!" went Space Station Two.

Then there was a great big crash! (Though only the people in Space Station Two could hear it, because sound doesn't travel in a vacuum.

"Hey!" the people in Space Station Two complained. (Over the radio.) "Dang Space Station One people! Your trash is hitting us and wrecking all our solar panels!"

"Ha ha!" the Space Station One people laughed. Then they hung up! Over the radio! How rude!

"Dang gosh," the Space Station Two people said grumpily. "We totally have to do something about this before it gets worse!"

Then it got worse.

"We probably should have done something about this," the Space Station Two crew admitted, plummeting uncontrollably downwards towards a fiery death.

And that's why procrastination is a mortal sin! You can look it up.

Guide: New Readers

2009-09-01T18:56:00.000-07:00

I. What is this strange place?

The Unterblag is a collection of fiction, written largely by this author, Nicholas né 'Cavalcadeofcats', and by the infamous Mr. Zhang, known by many names but most often (as of this writing) 'Calvacadeofcats', a name chosen to confuse and befuddle according to Mr. Zhang's own puckish caprice. Others occasionally contribute It began some years ago as a sort of chronicle for the many deeds of that most noble of groups, the League of Desmond. (A group of like-minded high-school friends.) Years have passed, and the group has largely dispersed; therefore the blag has diverged somewhat from its initial purpose. Content on the blag, in whatever era, tends to fall loosely into three categories. These are:

First, the literal recounting of events that have occurred. These are fairly uncommon.
Second, a retelling of real-life occurances in a somewhat less literal vein. These were more common in the earlier years of the blag, but still occur at some frequency, most especially in the infamous Mr. Zhang's posts, which nearly all might be marked with this label.
Third, complete fabrications, intended to delight, educate, and/or set to contemplation. At present, these comprise the majority of my posts, and therefore the majority of posts on the blag.

You might argue, "I am not of this 'League of Desmond'" - if indeed this were the case - " and so I have no interest in literal recountings of your lives, which are rarely of such interest as to pique my tastes." This may be the case! I fairly confess that it may be so - much as I strive to imbue even my most factual writing with the character of entertainment, some dissapation of interest is to be expected from those entirely uninvolved. However, such posts are uncommon - as noted above - and you may readily move onwards from them to subjects which interest you.

But you might continue - "As I do not enjoy tales of your life in the most factual mode, it seems reasonable that I might not enjoy those in the more fictionalized form." This would wound me - for the fictionalization of events is something both myself and the infamous Mr. Zhang take no small delight in - but I would shrug, and raise my palms apologetically. Though I, as an author, feel that my fictionalisations are so obfuscated, and given such a character of narrative, as to stand on their own independent of knowledge of events therein described - certainly I am biased! I cannot be certain. To you I would say, "Very well, then; let you disregard such posts, too - if you can separate them from the broader crop - and move onwards. Even with all posts relating to reality removed from the blag, there is much to choose from."

But a third time you might object - decrying, "What is this? Fiction? Fantasy, science-fiction, other immature, puerile nonsense? What are you wasting my time with?" And at this I would cry out, "Arrant fool! Begone from this place - no more are you welcome here!" For though certainly many of the stories here are not of professional quality (being written, after all, by amateur hands), and fairly one might even describe some number of them as puerile - though your indiscretion in so doing would cause me to wince, at the very least - in your rejection of fiction entirely you would deny all that is the best here, and prove your heart black and empty in so doing.

But I rather hope you will not; and in that spirit, will carry on.

II. Do I need to read the older posts before reading the current ones?

As of the time of this writing: No! There have in the past been episodic series of posts, telling an ongoing story; there will likely be such again, and in those cases, you would probably be well advised to read the constituent posts of a series in order. But when there are such series, they are in general carefully marked, so as to avoid confusion; and most posts, in any case, are entirely stand-alone, and of no relation to each-other. Certainly I would not discourage you from reading older posts - there are significantly over 1000 posts in the archive as of the time of this writing, which, even if only one in ten is really worth reading, a not insignificant figure. So there is that possibility; but it is by no means required for the enjoyment of current posts.

III. Who on earth is Desmond, anyway? And why is he in Isselunde? (What's Isselunde?)

...all right, that's a bit of a long story, and nothing on the blog will explain it, even if you trawl the archives.

In short: 'Desmond' is Devin M., one of the original League of Desmond members. He's in Isselunde (Medieval Iceland) because the infamous Mr. Zhang wrote a series of very, very strange stories about the Hero Desmonde's adventures and battles against evil, all of which began with something not unlike the sentence at the top of the blag. Some few of them have survived to be posted on the blag, tagged as "chronicles"; most are long gone, essentially because he wrote them in class, on the TI-84 graphing calculator. (Of all things.)

He's not around so much these days, largely because Devin himself moved to another state some time back, but he remains forever beloved in our hearts.

IV. What content rating would you give your stories, if they were rated by the American movie-rating system?

Varies wildly. Most are somewhere in PG-13. A few wander around R. One is probably NC-17, but it's way way way back in the archives, and only has one paragraph of relevant material, hidden in white text. NOW YOU KNOW.

V. I have further questions, or perhaps I have praise, or criticism. I'm not entirely certain, largely because I'm an FAQ-question written to cover too wide a range of topics.

That's all right! I don't mind, too-generally-written FAQ. Email me at nick dot feinberg at google's email service dot com, replacing 'dot' with '.' and "google's email service" with the appropriate five-character name, and I will reply promptly and politely. You could also try to contact the infamous Mr. Zhang, who may post his contact information if he feels so inclined; this may be more appropriate if the question/feedback relates to one of his posts.

We (or I, at least) try to read all comments, but this is somewhat difficult; Blogger doesn't really provide any convenient way to tell which comments are new or unread. Email is probably more reliable. BUT - more dangerous. You could be infected by a rampant meme-worm, just by emailing me! Think of the risk!

(There is no such thing as a meme-worm.)

(Tragically.)

SUPER BONUS QUESTION VI: Are there any posts you'd particularly recommend to a new reader?

An older version of this guide has a number of links, none of which I'm particularly inclined to disown, at this moment. A potential project would be to compose a link of old posts that are probably worth reading; if and when I accomplish this, I'll update this question with a link. Until then: follow your heart!

(A good motto to close on.)

As A Prelude

2009-08-31T15:16:00.000-07:00

Melissa danced; and though she had given better performances in the past, she was quite nearly sober and in every way invigorated by both music and surroundings, and therefore those both present in the night-club and observing (including her friend Ingrid, who she had known since the second grade) were in agreement that her dance had within it no slight element of grace.

But though enthusiastic and somewhat skilled, Melissa was mortal yet, and wearied, as mortals do. For this reason, when (some time hence) the song ended (to presently give way to another), Melissa made her way to the bar, there to briefly rest and speak with Ingrid.

"Did you see those guys in the corner?" Ingrid inquired. "They're totally weird - just sitting there, not dancing, not drinking, just staring at people. I don't know why the bouncer hasn't kicked them out already! It's not like this place isn't busy enough that they've got practically no room to spare."

Melissa followed her friend's gaze. There indeed were three figures seated at a table in the corner; little more could be said of them than that, for they were shrouded in shadow, remarkable for the strobe-lit nightclub. Nonetheless they accomplished it, a fact which only served to pique Melissa's curiosity further.

"I think they were staring at you, too, a minute ago," Ingrid observed. "While you were dancing. Total creepers."

"Really?" Melissa inquired. "Bizarre! I'll go talk to them, see what their deal is."

Ingrid appeared surprised. "Really? I mean - I guess, yeah, sure, that makes sense. But there's something about them... takes more courage than I've got on me to talk to people like them, I guess."

"You've got more courage than you think," Melissa said warmly, reaching over and taking Ingrid's shot-glass. She drained it in one gesture, saying "See?" and then turned to the figures in the corner. "I'll see you in a minute or two, yeah? We'll take the next song together,"

"All right," Ingrid said, some formless, sourceless anxiety writhing in her belly like a nest of worms. "Be careful, all right? Don't drink anything they give you!"

"'Course!" Melissa agreed cheerily, and then was gone amid the crowd.

Ingrid watched the scene a moment longer, and then ordered another drink.

Melissa approached the shadow-shrouded table, both natural and liquid courage strengthening her step. Peculiarly, despite her closer proximity to the table's occupants, she could make out no more of them than she could from the bar; nor did they make any response to her approach. It was up to Melissa, then, to make the first move; which she promptly did. "Hey!" she called out. "I'm Melissa! I heard you guys were watching me?"

The shadows parted somewhat. Melissa could see somewhat more of the general form now: one man, one woman, and... the third had a gender impossible to distinguish, from the dark, blurry image Melissa could percieve. (Though something in its face, even what little could be percieved, seemed fundamentally wrong...) Their features were sharp, but not unkind; in all ways they seemed set apart from the ordinary stock of Man. When one spoke - the man - his voice was crisp, cool, clear. "Watch you we did," he agreed without any tone of apology. "Your dance was in every way attestatory to the peaks of the spirit," the woman agreed, the burble of brooks flowing through her words.

"Aw, I haven't had that much," Melissa said, pulling up a chair from a nearby table. (The table was already occupied by a pair of lovers, their attention elsewhere; they made no objection to the appropriation.) She focused her speech on the matter which prompted her visit: "Who are you guys? What are you doing here, anyway?"

Somewhat more of the air cleared; Melissa now had a clear view of the man and woman who had spoken to her. They were of a type: their features sharp, noble, aquiline; their figures both tall and slender; their garb, though superficially of a type with that worn by the other patrons, somehow set apart absolutely in nature. (A thing which might apply to them in general.) The woman answered Melissa's question willingly: "I am the Marquessa of the Void," she said, and with a gesture to her companion, "He is the Prince Inhuman. We are here to observe and prepare before we begin our task in earnest."

Melissa raised an eyebrow at the names. "Didn't know there was any nobility visiting the area," she said. "Should I have bowed first, and called you 'Your Graces'?"

"If you prefer it," the Prince Inhuman said, shrugging. "We've more important matters on our minds than formality."

"Your task, right?" Melissa asked, intrigued despite herself. Certainly these were strange people - and in most circumstances, she would have willingly dismissed them as lunatics or god-botherers of some obscure cult. But their manner and appearance in some way disarmed her, rendered her willing to speak and to listen... and, of course, they had offered her no drink. (This being somewhat of a reassurance, under the circumstances.)

"It is an action of some scope," the Prince Inhuman admitted. "To extract some manner of amends from humanity for their wrongs - "

"- and to offer somewhat for the way in which they have been wronged," the Marquessa of the Void interjected, "for though much is said of man's inhumanity to man, and rightly, still there are no few horrors tormenting humanity that are neither self-inflicted nor deserved."

"Let me guess," Melissa said, her disbelief still held in an unsteady suspension. "You're in charge of making amends," this said to the Marquessa, "and you're in charge of - demanding them?" Melissa asked the Prince Inhuman.

"Roughly correct," the Prince agreed.

"And what about her?" Melissa asked, turning to the third figure at the table.

"Ah," the Marquessa said.

The shadows lifted as the figure rose; and a shape similar to the Marquessa's own, female and unnaturally slim, appeared - but it was clearly a thing of another type, for upon its face it wore the mask of some alien bird, its movements were jerky and sudden, and it spoke not at all.

"Nine Lives Twirling," the Prince Inhuman named the creature, even as it stepped towards Melissa and Melissa stood up and began to back away and it reached out and touched her -

- and Melissa was reeling, the table before her empty, something ringing in her mind. Ingrid appeared from behind her, gingerly reached out to steady her; "Are you all right?" she asked. "What did they do to you? Should I call the cops?"

Melissa felt queasy; her skin tingled strangely. She looked down. There was something - something had happened to her clothes -

Ingrid was staring at her in slack astonishment, now, unable to believe her eyes: for in all the places that Melissa's clothing had covered was now a vast array of rings, golden and capped with jewels of the same colors as the garb they replaced; threaded through her skin in the manner of piercings, rendering her skin like a great perforated sheet.

"Oh, God, Melissa," Ingrid gasped.

Melissa reached back to feel her ears; both were whole, unmarked, as though they had never been pierced. She looked at her body, at the rings; felt one. Melissa attempted to muster a response. Somewhere from the depths of her mind, one arose. She seized upon it; weakly, she said, smiling,

"Guess this was a good night for the tank-top and cutoffs, eh?"

History: A Discussion

2009-08-30T22:30:00.000-07:00

Moderated by the eminent Dr. Zhang, arch-professor of History at Gressenheller University. Let's thank him for his time here tonight, and then watch as the discussion begins. Wow! So tightly focused!

Tarvek S: Pardonnez-moi, monsieur, mais ou est la catastrophe?
Gilgamesh W: En Utah, je crois!
Il y a un grand feu.
C'est quinze miles proche d'Eli!
Tarvek S: Wow! I hear it's also pretty bad down near LA.
They are "besieged".
By flame!
Gilgamesh W: (Il m'a telephone il y a une heur)
*heure?
Indeed!
Tarvek S: Oh!
He never calls me.
But that is all right.
We were never really that close.
Even before his untimely accident.
Gilgamesh W: How ironic, given that his untimely accident caused his left arm to be permanently glued to your right!
Tarvek S: Ironic indeed.
Like rain on your wedding hay!
Gilgamesh W: Wet hay is entirely inconsumable.
Tarvek S: It's tragic, it is!
The wedding will never go through like this!
Gilgamesh W: A good thing, I think; they've only known each other for three weeks.
Although, statistically speaking, their communities have extremely low divorce rates!
Tarvek S: That's true.
It's their stoic Mormon way!
The Mormons had a kingdom once, you know.
In Wisconsin, on an island.
It ended poorly.
As most kingdoms do.
Oh - I was reading about a kind of a tragic thing.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Republic_of_Ragusa
It was its own independent state for centuries.
A history, famous (or semi-famous) inhabitants, the works.
Gilgamesh W: Should I roll my Rs when pronouncing its name?
Tarvek S: And I had never heard of it until today.
Possibly.
It's dead!
It's gone!
Even its name practically forgotten. (Except for Wiki, of course.)
Gilgamesh W: How curious!
Tarvek S: (The possibly was for the r-rolling.)
Gilgamesh W: What lead to its demise?
Tarvek S: Napoleon.
He had many guns.
The Ragusans had rather fewer.
Gilgamesh W: Blast that Napoleon
Tarvek S: They didn't really put up much of a fight.
Gilgamesh W: And his cookies, too
Tarvek S: Man, if it weren't for his hunger for cookies, he would've started hardly any wars!
Gilgamesh W: Quite!

And that wraps it all up, folks. Thanks for watching, and I hope you've enjoyed your time here. Don't forget to tip Dr. Zhang at the door!

MAN WITH THE POX

2009-08-29T20:27:00.000-07:00

(Speed-blagh: can I finish this post before the inimitable Zhang and Kessler finish playing their rocke-band song?)

The man wailed, moaned, complained.

"WAAAAAAAAAGH!" he roared. "WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAILLLLLURRGH!" His discontent was evident.

But whatever might have provoked such an emotion?

"They have taken my dog!" he complained, momentarily articulate. "They beat him, rubbed his nose in spit - disgusting! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAFFFUNCHHERGH!"

His articulacy lapses. Nonetheless, the problem is clear; the answer, likewise. The dog must be found, recovered, returned to his owner. Thereby will the anguish ebb, and something like blissful quiet return to the region.

So we go forth; and what do we find? Naught but skeletons, beating some pagan rhythm with their own bones!

"This is entirely the wrong song," my companion complains. "Aren't you wandering off-topic a mite?"

Her words fail to daunt.

We come before a great and terrible iron door: its face spiked and lined with poison. "Only those devoid of the blood of the Americas may enter here and live," it reads; and I shrink back, alarmed.

"Why does this concern you?" my companion asks. "Your blood is of the wintry steppes of Mother Russia; you need fear not!"

"But - all my friends are Indians!" I reply.

She boxes my ear gently. "Enough of that. Inward and onward!"

The door is opened; the dog is found. We take it in our arms and return it -

- silence, at last!

(Could I finish before they? Yes - very barely!)

The kronickels of desmound level 5

2009-08-28T17:36:00.000-07:00

This is the hiſtorye of Deſmonde, who wæs geboren in the towne of Iſce-lunde, and who wæs a fyghter in the armies of the fourtificatione, and allſo, who wieldid the greate Sworde Durendall, and who defeated the Ratte-Kinge Nikoulous, yea, and who was a friend to the Preiſt Matteo, and allſo, who commanded the pouer of the Magicke Dragone Kinge. Yea, it wæs richt, that in the tyme before the greate criſiſſe of the Ratte-Kinge, ther weran a auld legende, who ſaith, that of the mych tymes of Deſmonds youthe, and that he taken the tyme to become a miniſtre of the fayth, and that he was to be educated, at Oxforde, that was cloſe to his hauſe, and ſych that he taketh a longe boat, that was conſtruit of ſtrong woode of the tymbres, that he cutte downe, and placed uver a fyre, in which was alight the dunges of nombreous elfes which roomed the foreſte, and which Deſmond belifed that this proceſſe werden fortifie the rafte, which he was carefull to be ſtronge in the great ſee. Then he taketh the ſmall boat, and then he ſaileth acroſſe the fjordes, untill that he recheth the iſles of Britaigne.

Whan he coume to the lande of the Britons, Deſmond needed to rech ſtill the halls of the Univerſite, which was as he knewed, at leaſt ſeveral furlonges from the ſhor, and Deſmonde, being a clevar ladde, and who was reſourſefull, did gather ſeveral ſea-faring birdes, and the tooke the legges of ſych birds with a rope that he hath gemaken aut the beards of nombreous muſſels in the tydal pooles. Thuſly, he tyd a length of rope unto his own corps, and did he alight unto the aire, ſuch that he kunne travelle at great viteſſe unto the colds winds of Britaigne. In the aire, he looketh down unto the ſurface of the lande, whereupon he ſawe manny townes, and having greate thirſte from his voyage, he drooped down unto one of the townes, and he went in ſide the publick hauſe, and he demanded a tanckard of ales.

Whan Deſmond hath gedrinkt the ales, he talketh amoungſt the local peoples, who were converſing of the newes, and that the invaſion was imminente, and Deſmond was in great diſtreſſe, for he feared that he not kunne contignue his educacion againſt the threght of any foreign invaſions. Thuſly, he enquired as to the nature of the war fare that werden occureth. And it came to paſs, that, the Normans, who waren in the ſouthe lands, and who deſired to conqure Britaigne, hath gelandt ſone yette upon the ſhors, and that they were hoſtyle to them.

Coyote In the Woods

2009-08-27T19:00:00.000-07:00

Warning: this story is rated "Coyote" for sexual imagery, language*, and suggestive content. Children, the faint of heart and Mormons may wish to abstain.

*Well, mostly just the English language, really.

That said:

Coyote was always horny! He was always thinking about copulating.

(But you knew that already, didn't you?)

One day, when Coyote was walking through the woods, he espied a beautiful young maiden.

"Ah!" he cried. "She has stolen my heart! Or something nearby. Certainly I must have intercourse with her!"

Coyote created a plan as quickly as lightning; he ran into the forest, found a dead tree, and dragged it to the path that the girl was travelling on. Then he unslung his member from over his shoulder, set its end down upon the log, and walked backwards into the woods, carefully avoiding sharp rocks, rough branches, and tripping. "Ha ha!" Coyote crowed to himself. "When the maiden spies that log - so convenient! - she will certainly sit down on it for a rest from her tiring travels. Then - yip yip yip yip yip!" Coyote was besides himself with delight.

The girl, walking along the trail, heard distant laughter. Her eyebrows went up.

"There!" said Coyote, whispering now. "I see her coming along the trail! She'll see the log in moments!"

The girl saw the log. She walked over to it. She examined the strange, bulbous mushroom growing out of the top. She considered.

"Wow, what a large mushroom this is!" she exclaimed to the surrounding woods. "And of a quite extraordinary shape, too. It looks delicious - I simply must have a taste!"

Coyote licked his lips.

"Now," she said, reaching back to her pack, "Let me just fetch my knife!"

"Yip yip yip yip!" Coyote wailed, terrified, and fled posthaste. His member dragged ignominously and painfully on the ground. "What a disaster!" he whined. "How could she have unraveled my ruse?"

Once he was in safety, Coyote stopped and pulled himself together. "She saw through me once - but no matter!" he decided. "I will simply have to use a more sophisticated trick." He considered. "Ah!" he said. "I have just the thing. Here!"

Quickly, he ran ahead of the girl once more, then donned a ragged brown robe."I will decieve her," Coyote declared. "I will pretend to be a fellow woman, travelling along the same road; and then - yip yip yip yip!"

Again, the girl heard the sound of distant laughter. She paused a moment, and then continued on.

Carefully, Coyote posed himself, leaning against at tree as though exhausted. He primped. The girl rounded the bend.

She stopped. She considered. She continued.

"Hello there, fellow traveller!" Coyote said in his highest falsetto. "Care to travel with me awhile?"

The girl tilted her head. "No reason why not, I suppose," she said agreeably. "Sure. What's your name?"

Coyote improvised rapidly. "Margaret!" he declared, still in falsetto.

"Nice to meet you, Margaret," the girl said, not the faintest hint of sarcasm in her voice. "What are you doing here, so deep in the woods?"

"I'm travelling, of course," Coyote said, falling into stride with the girl. "I'm going to the village just over that way," he said, pointing, "to peddle my wares."

"What wares are those?" the girl asked curiously.

"I sell herbal remedies," Coyote said, his voice becoming more eager. (And still in falsetto.) "I have many, all puissant and powerful cures, but there is one that is more powerful, more valuable, than all the others; a cure for whatever ails you, or so the customers tell me. A most magical herb it is. Would you like to see it?"

"Sure!" the girl agreed. "What's it called?"

"It's called the love root," Coyote said, reaching under his dress -

- but the girl's hand reached out and stopped him. "Really," she said, raising her eyebrows.

Coyote considered quickly. "...yes?" he said.

"I still have that knife," the girl said significantly. She reached for her pack.

"Yip yip yip yip!" Coyote wailed, throwing off the girl's grasp, and fled once more into the woods, discarding the dress as he went. The girl watched him depart, shrugged, and turned back to the road.

"She saw through my tricks again!" Coyote moaned. "But - I know the problem. It is that I have been using all my old tricks, all stale and moldy! These are things I have done before. It will not do! I will create a new plan, something that no-one has ever seen me do anywhere, and then - "

Coyote slapped a hand over his mouth as he began to yip. "Perhaps that is not such a good idea," he admitted.

Then he moved swiftly away by a magic way; and when he returned, minutes later, he was dressed as a great Swan, proud and white of feather. "Ha!" Coyote cried to himself, quite pleased. "No woman could reject an animal so handsome as this! I shall have my way with her, remaining disguised throughout, and never she the wiser!"

Quickly, he stalked to the trail, and there caught up to the girl, some distance from where he had seen her last. "Hello, Mr. Swan," she said. "What business are you about, this fine afternoon?"

"I have come to seduce you," said Coyote. "Admire my magnificent plumage!" He preened it.

"Those are very nice indeed," said the girl. "And on any other circumstances, I would most certainly be yours. But I regret to say that my heart is another's."

"Another's?" Coyote asked, startled. "Who? I will best him! I will beat him, I will prove myself his better in every respect, and then I will eat him! This I will do for your love!"

(Coyote held, at that time, certain misapprehensions regarding the customary diet of the Swan.)

"A proud boast," the girl observed, "But I fear you will have difficulty in fufilling it. The subject of my love is clever; strong; and proud in all things. He will not accept any challenge easily."

"Who is this creature?" Coyote asked, his neck feathers rising. "I will kill him and boil his bones for my supper! Or - gently displace him as the object of your affection," he added as an afterthought.

"Why, Coyote, of course," the girl told Coyote with a smile on her face.

Coyote took a moment to consider this.

"...you love Coyote?" he asked.

"Of course," the girl said. "Would I lie to such a noble beast as yourself?"

Coyote took another moment to think.

"There is no reason to love Coyote," Coyote said carefully. "He would only trick you - "

"And I would trick him right back," the girl retorted. "I have done so already twice today."

Coyote filed this away for later examination. "He would not stop at that," he said. "Coyote would steal from you; cheat on you; copulate with you - "

"For all of those, I am fully capable of reciprocation;" the girl replied hotly, "most especially that last; to which, I think, I would have no objection."

Coyote, his curiosity now knowing no bounds, indulged in an aside: "But did you not reject - ah - Coyote - most violently, earlier today?" he asked, his tail-feathers ruffling.

"This maiden must be asked, not taken," the girl said firmly. "I am glad that you, at least, seem to understand that."

"So if Coyote were to ask you - " Coyote began.

"I would accept," the girl said.

"But why?" Coyote asked, entirely without comprehension. "When he would lie to you, cheat on you, turn your genitals into an aphrodisiac after your death - why would you consent to be with such a creature?"

"This last, I will confess, I did not anticipate," the girl said, "and I might object - but, being dead at the time, what would it matter to me? For the rest, though, the answer is simple. I have thought on it betimes, and I will answer thus: what more exciting life, in all the world, could there be - than wife of Coyote?" the girl asked, and her eyes burned bright at the thought.

At this Coyote turned away, conceding defeat and victory both; in the forest he shed his Swan-costume, and stood naked beneath the trees.

"She loves me," Coyote said to himself, disbelieveing. "She loves me! The greatest trick of all - and I all unknowing of its performance!" He stood there a while longer -

- and had it been in his nature, perhaps, he would have wept then.

But instead Coyote bent his head upwards, toward the sky, and cried out, triumph pure within his voice, "I get to copulate with a womon!"

"More than once!" he added after a moment, and his cries of delight, yip yip yip yip!, echoed through the woods.

And the descendants of the two would spread through the world, and thrive, and multiply, as their natures let them; and in time, when men at last found themselves in need of names both first and last, one scion of that far-spread clan chose for themself the name Fynbergh; or Finbirg; or Feinberg, as the customs of the time had it. And they carried with them this story, of Coyote and his wife;

and the blood of Coyote runs strong in them still, even to this day; or so they claim, and I am inclined to believe them, for their ways are most tricksome indeed.

Mr. Kelsey and the Elephants

2009-08-25T22:09:00.000-07:00

One day, while all the elephants of the Elephant village were doing macrame - as was their custom - a wild Kelsey appeared.

"HA HA HA HA HA!" the wild Kelsey yelled. "I WILL EAT YOU ALL FOR BREAKFAST, OR MAYBE FOR LUNCH! WHICH IS APPROPRIATE TO THE TIME! HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

The elephants were terrified! "Whatever can we do?" they asked. "We cannot defeat the love-power of the Kelsey, not with only our own strength! We are surely doomed!" They wailed and moaned and, should they have had hair, would surely have torn at it. What to do, what to do?

Then one rose from their ranks. "We must," he proudly declared, "shoot ourselves in the head on masse!"

This caused some confusion. The elephants conferred among themselves; one approached the speaker. "We recognize that you have travelled far to reach us," the elephant said to the other, "from the distant Other Elephant Village, so far away that we have never heard of it before; and we have accepted and sheltered and fed you in the manner dictated for the treatment of an honoured guest. But, despite all this, there are limits to our hospitality; and it is therefore perhaps meet that you explain your reasoning, for we find it difficult to concieve of any way in which shooting ourselves in the head, en masse, would improve the situation."

"Behold!" the helpful elephant cried, lifting a pistol to his head. He fired -

And with the sound of shattering glass, something -

- emerged -

- a shape, a swirling presence, something that did not belong in the world of men and beasts!

With a guttural cry, the elephant commanded it, "Scour our foes!" - and fire leapt out, and lashed forth, and the Kelsey was driven back, wailing, "Oh, man! Man! Man! The heck, man! I can't believe you did that! You really burned me, man! Man! Ow!"

"Behold!" the elephant cried triumphantly. "We can drive the dreadful Kelsey back - but we all have to act together! Now, take these," he said, handing out pistols to the elephants gathering around him. "I startled him - but he won't be beaten so easily next time. He'll be back soon - "

"RAAAR!" came a distant cry, helpfully.

"And this time, we'll all need to act together!" the elephant finished.

"Will we have to do anything special?" another elephant asked.

"No," the foreign elephant said. "Just put the muzzle to your head - and pull! But not yet," he clarified.

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAR!" the Kelsey said, tromping towards them. "I WILL EAT YOUR DELICIOUS ELEPHANT FLESH!"

"Get ready!" the elephant with the gun said, looking from side to side to be sure that the other elephants were following his directives. "All together now! Ready... PULL!"

There was a noise as of thunder. Then, slowly - sadly - the elephants, all except the foreigner - fell over.

"Ha ha ha!" the foreign 'elephant' laughed, climbing out of his elephant suit. "Yip yip yip yip yip! Stupid elephants - to believe anything a stranger tells them and then backs up with supernatural proof! Their flesh will be delicious!"

"And you're sharing it me, right?" asked the Zhang, climbing out of his Kelsey suit.

"...of course I am," Coyote said, grinning widely.

And that's why elephants don't do macrame!

The grand adventures of sir késsler, duke of spain

2009-08-25T01:05:00.000-07:00

One day in a high tower there was a young prince upon the thrones of the bloodline succession of the thrones of a court somewhere in Spain, and one day this prince he cried out and he trembled vigourously, and he wailed and punched a straw bale, which caused its imminent collapse, upon the stone ground, and then he lay down on the floor, defeated. The cause of such rambunctiousness in the prince was the result of his most unprincipled endeavour to the day, the report arrived by the horse-messenger and caused much alarm and panic in Mr. Kessler, and sent chills down his spine, and he convulsed and trembled with fear and apprehension. The endeavour in question was the unwarranted espionage against the youngest daughter of the noble family which lived some twenty or thirty kilometers to the south-east, where there were hot breezes from the gulf that swirled in, and mixed with the gaseous miasmas of the swamp-waters which surrounded the territory. The viscount of that noble family was a man of the renaissance, as he said, to him-self, and he was wont to have his daughter educated at the university, which was upon the boughs, and also the prince Kessler was resident there as well. And so it came to pass that Mr. Kessler spent a brief time in the company of that girl, and then they parted ways, as was customary for those times, and took the winter holiday at their separate estates. However, the most ungentlemanly behaviour of the prince started when the young Mr. Kessler spotted the portrait of the girl upon a poster which was posted upon the town square, which was governed loosely by the duke, and, despite his best efforts inquiring of her at the tavern, he discovered nothing, as her informations were shrouded in secrecy. Then, the prince Kessler, not having the moral character of a good Christian man, decided to conduct espionage against her, being a man of the strangest passions. Thusly, he took under his employ several serfs, and peasants, which formed an organisation, whose purpose was to track the number of outgoing and incoming messages which were delivered by the horse-coach to her estate, and, like all fiefdoms, was to be in stable equilibrium, unless she should take action against this, at which point Mr. Kessler would immediately discover that she was indeed being courted by many men, of the town, such of the lower classes, and this repulsed Mr. Kessler, who was of noble blood, and so he saw to it that it was done. And at last, the month had passed, and the organisation reported the solemn news to Mr. Kessler, and he ran off in a hurry, and so that is how the suffering of the prince was began.

kelseys fiurst day of scool

2009-08-24T20:27:00.000-07:00

kelsey wock up in the morning when the cock tcrowed and then he ran off to catch the scoolbus and then he sat on and ate a cereal with whiskey pored over it becuase he was healthfull. Then his first class was in a very cold place and it snowed a lot, then he had a dream about some owles and then came to pick him up into a big towuer and then kelsey climbed all up the tower and he saw the big owles and also he saw nikolous and nikoulous said i will kill that owls because they were interfeing with his scoolwork, but nikolas had a big sword. he stole the sword from the village where he lived and he want to unleash the true power, but nikolous was not a nice man so he can not make the sower glowed porple. then the owl came to kill the kelsey but nikolas interfered which this and then he became a nice person and his sword became glowwing. Then kelsey went to his next class, the techer said, les go on a field trup to learn about his tory, and then he went into a big door that went 1000 years into the past, so kelsey could see what happeend then. Then he saw a naked womon, and he stole her closths, so that he could put them on. then a big snake cane to eat the keslesy, but he took his whiskey to make the snake drunk and then he cut off all his heads, and he became a big hero. then kelsey went home and ate some sandwhsiiches.

Edwin Bucknell Survives This Story!

2009-08-22T15:15:00.000-07:00

Edwin Bucknell crouched in a trench, quite entirely alone. Machine-gun fire whizzed constantly overhead, and shells fell with such frequency as to approximate a torrential thunderstorm. (The mud their detonations cast overhead did not hurt their efforts to approximate this effect.) Edwin's rifle was out of ammo, and his pistol had but one round remaining. He held it, considering. If I see the foe approach, shall I employ my last round against them, or to end my own life for fear of capture?

Then he heard a whistling from overhead, terribly close, and he knew the moment of his end had come. He gripped the pistol close to him, huddled against one side of the trench, and when the shell burst he went instantly blind and deaf -

- and regained the former sense moments later, still rolling. Slowly he brought himself to a stop, examining his surroundings.

Why, that shell blew me entirely off the battlefield, and with no worse injury to me than a few bruises! Edwin realized, entirely to his own surprise. Well, all for the better. My mission can go on!

Two hours later, outside the enemy HQ, Edwin was to be found crouching in a bush, watching the enemy's patrols stroll by. Their dogs, vicious and lean, sniffed suspiciously at the night air.

I must be very cautious here, Edmund thought to himself. They will kill on sight here - and that would be that!

Seeing a gap in the patrols, he stood up cautiously, creeping from cover to cover. One a sentry hesitated near him; but he passed. But then he gained his way inside the HQ-building - and found himself face to face with an enemy officer, trying to exit at the same time Edwin sought to enter!

The officer hesitated a moment, giving Edwin a moment to deliver a vigorous roundhouse, topping the man; but as he fell, he cried out, something in the enemy's gutteral tongue. "Intruder", no doubt, Edwin thought. Now, I have to get through here quickly - there's no more room for slip-ups!

Swiftly, he dashed through the halls of the HQ, zigging from side to side as he ran, careening into guards and staff with abandon. Now where's the General's office - ah! There! Locking the door behind it and blocking it with a file cabinet, Edwin frantically searched the room, toppling stacks of paper and military trophies. It must be here somewhere! Where is it?

"Stop!" a voice came from outside, thickly accented. "Ve can see you through the window! Stop, or ve shoot!"

Edwin dove for cover without time for thought, firing his sole round of pistol ammunition as he fell. He heard a cry of pain as he rolled under the desk - enough to buy me time, at least! - and then, dropping his emptied pistol, saw to his astonishment two more fastened to the underside of the desk. Just what I needed! Now, it's clear this mission's a wash - time to abort!

Quickly, Edwin took down both pistols, fastening them to his belt, and made a dash for the window, firing as he went. Leaping out, he dashed through the floodlight-lit street, bullets whizzing past him to every side, and commanadeered an enemy truck, shoving its driver out with one swift motion. "Later!" he cried, and drove away, even as the enemy impotently emptied their magazines at him -

- and later, driving down the dark road, Edwin examined the pistols he had taken from the General's office. This one wasn't firing when I made my escape, he thought. Unloaded? - but that makes no sense. Why keep a pistol under your desk for emergencies without loading it? Why keep two at all, for that matter? He felt at the butt of the pistol, frowned. It's certainly loaded - but what's inside?

The mechanism clicked as it disengaged; the contents of the pistol's magazine slipped out. Edwin grinned.

The General's secret, hidden where he thought no one would ever find it. And I wouldn't have, either - if it weren't for a fantastic stroke of luck!

Edwin Bucknell was very pleased with himself.

MORAL:

Many writers, and creators of fiction in general, could stand to take a lesson or two from George R. R. Martin.

Infantry Doctrine: Rank Zero

2009-08-22T14:26:00.001-07:00

The scene:
A capacious hangar-bay, largely empty, completely silent. The walls and floor are grimy, seeming ill-serviced. A starfield twinkles gently outside.

Oh!

Also, there's a firefight going on.

"I NEED FIRE SUPPORT!" Lieutenant Brown, local commander of Union forces, cries into his helmet-mic. "They've got us pinned down at the south airlock! Need reinforcements pronto!"

"Roger that, Alpha Two," SITCOM replied. "Bravo Four is inbound to your position, ETA one minute. Can you hold out?"

Lieutenant Brown looked back to the firefight, peering over the improvised barrier of crates his platoon had set up. "I think so - wait, no! Damn! Damn! They've got a grenade launcher!"

Had the fight been conducted in atmosphere, a rather satisfying thoomp noise would have followed this declaration, itself followed presently by the powerful whoomp of rapidly expanding superheated gassess. (The shrapnel, even in atmosphere, wouldn't have made much noise.) As it was, though, anyone seeking such noises would have to make them themselves.

"Man down! Man down!" Lt. Brown's NCO cried. "I need fire support now!" Lt. Brown demanded. "He's reloading - get down!" one of Lt. Brown's platoon-members exclaimed.

Had the fight been conducted in atmosphere, a line of green light would have appeared in the air, backscattering from dratted interfering air particles. A hole would have appeared in the grenade-launcher wielding soldier's forehead (wait, actually, that still happened), and then he would have fallen to the hangar deck with a distinct clatter. But alas; the vacuum is a harsh mistress.

"He's down!" one of Lt. Brown's platoon-members rather redundantly exclaimed. "They're falling back!" the NCO more helpfully reported. "Thanks for the sniper-support, SITCOM," Lt. Brown said gratefully. "We've got it from here."

Then there was a rumble in the deck-plating which, even in vacuum, the Union soldiers could feel. "What's that?" one asked. "Look up!" another cried.

"Someone flew a gunship into the hangar!" Lt. Brown exclaimed.

"Is it ours or theirs?" a Union-man asked.

The gunship turned towards them. Its chainguns visibly spun up.

"Theirs!" the NCO shouted. "Take cover!"

Swiftly taking up positions on the other side of their barricade, the Union soldiers cradled their vacuum-rifles in their arms. "What do we do?" one asked Lt. Brown.

"Open fire!" the Lieutenant ordered.

Bravely, as they were trained to, the soldiers popped up over the barricade, spewing small-arms rounds toward the fiendish foe. Callously, the gunship mowed them down with a spray of high-caliber fire, completely immune to their attacks. The hangar floor was swiflty littered with bodies.

"Oh god!" Lt. Brown wailed. "Oh god!"

MORAL: Recognize the limitation of small arms! They are pretty okay at killing human beings. Occasionally, they can even deal with nastier things, like bears, or cape buffalo. But attempts to shoot at anything armoured with anything smaller than a recoilless rifle will only lead to SADNESS.

Shooting at people in general leads to sadness, but that's a separate issue.

The Wendigo's New Hat

2009-08-22T14:26:00.000-07:00

Five women, swords drawn, surrounded the cowering Wendigo. Each was armoured in shining mail, and carried a bow and quiver on their backs; their swords were both sharp and keen. The Wendigo, in contrast, was naked (saving only its fur), panting from earlier exertions, and appeared terribly unprepared for conflict.

"We have you at last!" one of the women exclaimed, triumph filling her voice. She wore a distinctive white fedora on her head. "Your life of murder and cruelty has come at last to its end. Now - we will kill you!"

She advanced towards the Wendigo, sword held pointing directly at its skull.

"You have done so many terrible things," the woman continued. "You have killed so many, destroyed so much... to imagine that we would finally corner you, here, now? It's barely imaginable."

The Wendigo seemed to be catching its breath.

"But now we'll kill you," the woman said. "We'll take revenge for everything you've done and render you unto dust and carrion. We'll patch the flaw in the world!"

Her sword slipped downwards as the woman stared into the Wendigo's eyes, her teeth bared.

"Now," she said. "Now, I'll kill you. Now, I'll make an end to everything you've done. I'll stab you with my sword. And that. Will. Be. Tha - ergh!"

In one quick movement, the Wendigo had her throat in its hand; there was an ugly snap, and she went flying into the ranks of her comrades, sending them tumbling. The Wendigo was moving, its dirty white fur stained red -

And when the fight was over, the Wendigo had a brand new hat!

MORAL:
If you're going to kill someone, do it. Standing around for half an hour, gloating, rarely (if ever) ends well!

Actually, gloating over your defeated foes is pretty much always a bad idea. Worth considering.