Almost forgot to post this:
BSA: Blood Sucking Accountant
TA: The Author
WW: Wonder Woman
DFl: Dictator for Life
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
A House of Many Doors
BSA slid out of the haystack as she finished buttoning up her shirt. Behind her, a pale muscular German in lederhosen tried to follow but fell back exhausted. BSA turned to him with an aggrieved huff and a smile as she adjusted her jet cufflinks. “Oh now you’ve wrinkled my jacket shatzie, maybe you should just lie there and rest for awhile.” She bent down to retrieve the crumpled suit jacket, stealing another kiss from her latest conquest. His lips were cold, and his chest wasn’t moving. Worried, BSA searched for a pulse. Did she kill him? She became more frantic as memories crowded her mind. Candles, moonlight, that stupid Chihuahua, and a lifeless Fernando, clutched in her arms over spilled reams of black carbon paper.
She awoke with a gasp and found herself lying on a cold tile floor. The tiles were a dingy white, with even dingier grey tiles forming diamond patterns. Grimacing at the tasteless floor décor BSA sat up and looked for her teammates, who she found flopped on the floor around her. WW was beginning to stir, but TA and DFL were still out. They were so cute when they were asleep! BSA resisted an urge to tousle DFL’s hair and checked out their new surroundings.
They were in the center of a large, narrow, oval shaped hall. The ground floor had white marble columns, topped at the second story by gothic arches painted a dark, petulant red. A second story balcony ran along the walls until it reached the ends of the gallery, where a white marble spiral staircase sloped gracefully between the floors. An ornate iron railing guarded the edge of the balcony, while affording a view to the center of the hall. Tall, windows over the staircases let in shafts of cold light, their high gothic points giving them a sinister, watchful look. The marble was worn and scratched, the paint was cracked, the air was stale and cold; BSA figured she could flip the whole room for about $20,000 dollars and sell it for $80,000. WW groaned and sat up, running a rueful hand through her short cropped hair she grunted “Where are we?”
“I’m not sure, you guard the others while I take a closer look.” With vampiric grace and speed BSA floated through the hall, noticing for the first time a series of heavy square doors set into the walls.
“Hey batchick!” WW called, “You might want to get back here!”
BSA whisked back to the center, “What is it?”
“They’re waking up” WW pointed out helpfully.
TA groaned and stirred, the heavy protective fabric of her gi rasping over the tiles.
“Ow,” she said ruefully as she rubbed her cowl.
DFL reached up a languid hand, “I’m ready for my Diet Coke now” she drawled. When no drink was forthcoming, she cracked an eye open and took stock of the situation. “No coke, sub-par accommodations, creepy ambiance, this sucks.” She concluded.
“Does anyone know where we are?” asked TA.
Blank glances all around. “We need more information.” TA sighed.
“Obviously we’re dealing with some powerful magics.” BSA pointed out, “Not only were all four of us transported, but WW’s even been cleaned up!
WW blushed as she proudly petted her restored leathers. “I know!” she brightened, “The Old Crone of Knowledge. She’s great at this kind of stuff.” WW reached into a pocket, whipped out a flip phone, and jauntily started dialing. Her face quickly fell, “I can’t seem to get a signal.”
“It’s cool,” DFL replied as she whipped out an even smaller flip phone, “I have Verizon.”
She attempted to dial. A slight frown creased her brow as she attempted to dial again. She held the phone over her head and dialed again. Horror dawned on her face, “It… It can’t be. I have Verizon! No Coke and NO PHONE??!!” DFL’s voice raised in pitch as the glass shuddered in the heavy gothic windows.
The three girls stepped away from the enraged dictator. “Dude it’s okay, we’ll think of something” TA tried to placate her.
“No Phone?! I Need to TEXT!!” DFL yelled as the cracks in the walls shuddered and grew longer.
TA looked over at WW, “Hey I just got this leather nice again.” WW said defensively.
“And I want my frigging coke!” DFL demanded as the glass finally gave and shattered explosively across the staircases.
“Okay, why don’t you calm down and we’ll go look for a vending machine.” TA suggested cautiously while sliding into a defensive stance.
DFL shot a look at the dictator, the force of it ripping up the tile between them as the ninja flipped away from the glare and behind the Amazon.
As Dictator whirled towards the pair, a smoky fog coalesced behind her, forming into the darkly immaculate BSA, who grabbed Dictator from behind in a massive bear hug. “Group hug!” BSA crowed as DFL struggled to break free. But then her eyes rolled back and she sagged in BSA’s arms. “Come on you guys!” BSA looked over at WW and TA.
“Oh heck no.” TA answered as she put a restraining hand on WW’s arm, “I can see from here that you’re draining her chakra.”
“But she’s so much more calm now.” BSA looked down at DFL, “S’all right?”
“S’all right” DFL replied dreamily.
“See?” BSA pointed out happily.
“We need her coherent” TA warned.
“Fine” BSA conceded and released the Dictator.
“DFL, are you all right?” asked a wary Wonder Woman. (I had to spell it for that lovely alliteration).
DFL smiled, “I dreamed that I was in a story. And that I. . . was the star of that story.”
“Okay,” WW drawled, shooting a look at a smug BSA.
“Hey, at least she’s not trying to kill anybody” BSA sighed with an overdramatic frown, “caffeine addiction can be a brutal master.”
“We need to get out of here,” TA said, “have you looked around?”
“There is a row of doors in each wall, I haven’t been upstairs yet.” BSA reported.
“Check it out, we’ll start examining the doors down here.” TA replied.
BSA snapped off a cheeky salute before bursting into dozens of squeaky bats and flying off to the second story.
WW and TA shared a concerned look.
“I have a cross” WW said helpfully.
“And I have a wallet of wadded receipts.” TA replied thoughtfully
“I love rock and roll” DFL sighed happily.
“We should find an exit before she gets hungry” TA resolved, and WW nodded in agreement.
The doors were solid rectangles of dark stained oak. Iron rivets studded the surface and each door had a large, wrought iron door latch. None of them featured an exit sign.
“Just more doors up here!” called BSA, hanging over a railing.
As our heroes examined the doors more closely in the weak light they noticed that some of them appeared to have been blackened and warped, as if exposed to some great heat. Other doors radiated a biting cold, forming into frost crystals as the girls drew nearer.
Still others had deep scratches gouged into their wooden frames.
“I guess we’ll just have to pick one at random” WW conceded.
So, which door would you like to try?
A: Normal Door
B. Cold Door
C. Burned Door
D. Scratched Door
She awoke with a gasp and found herself lying on a cold tile floor. The tiles were a dingy white, with even dingier grey tiles forming diamond patterns. Grimacing at the tasteless floor décor BSA sat up and looked for her teammates, who she found flopped on the floor around her. WW was beginning to stir, but TA and DFL were still out. They were so cute when they were asleep! BSA resisted an urge to tousle DFL’s hair and checked out their new surroundings.
They were in the center of a large, narrow, oval shaped hall. The ground floor had white marble columns, topped at the second story by gothic arches painted a dark, petulant red. A second story balcony ran along the walls until it reached the ends of the gallery, where a white marble spiral staircase sloped gracefully between the floors. An ornate iron railing guarded the edge of the balcony, while affording a view to the center of the hall. Tall, windows over the staircases let in shafts of cold light, their high gothic points giving them a sinister, watchful look. The marble was worn and scratched, the paint was cracked, the air was stale and cold; BSA figured she could flip the whole room for about $20,000 dollars and sell it for $80,000. WW groaned and sat up, running a rueful hand through her short cropped hair she grunted “Where are we?”
“I’m not sure, you guard the others while I take a closer look.” With vampiric grace and speed BSA floated through the hall, noticing for the first time a series of heavy square doors set into the walls.
“Hey batchick!” WW called, “You might want to get back here!”
BSA whisked back to the center, “What is it?”
“They’re waking up” WW pointed out helpfully.
TA groaned and stirred, the heavy protective fabric of her gi rasping over the tiles.
“Ow,” she said ruefully as she rubbed her cowl.
DFL reached up a languid hand, “I’m ready for my Diet Coke now” she drawled. When no drink was forthcoming, she cracked an eye open and took stock of the situation. “No coke, sub-par accommodations, creepy ambiance, this sucks.” She concluded.
“Does anyone know where we are?” asked TA.
Blank glances all around. “We need more information.” TA sighed.
“Obviously we’re dealing with some powerful magics.” BSA pointed out, “Not only were all four of us transported, but WW’s even been cleaned up!
WW blushed as she proudly petted her restored leathers. “I know!” she brightened, “The Old Crone of Knowledge. She’s great at this kind of stuff.” WW reached into a pocket, whipped out a flip phone, and jauntily started dialing. Her face quickly fell, “I can’t seem to get a signal.”
“It’s cool,” DFL replied as she whipped out an even smaller flip phone, “I have Verizon.”
She attempted to dial. A slight frown creased her brow as she attempted to dial again. She held the phone over her head and dialed again. Horror dawned on her face, “It… It can’t be. I have Verizon! No Coke and NO PHONE??!!” DFL’s voice raised in pitch as the glass shuddered in the heavy gothic windows.
The three girls stepped away from the enraged dictator. “Dude it’s okay, we’ll think of something” TA tried to placate her.
“No Phone?! I Need to TEXT!!” DFL yelled as the cracks in the walls shuddered and grew longer.
TA looked over at WW, “Hey I just got this leather nice again.” WW said defensively.
“And I want my frigging coke!” DFL demanded as the glass finally gave and shattered explosively across the staircases.
“Okay, why don’t you calm down and we’ll go look for a vending machine.” TA suggested cautiously while sliding into a defensive stance.
DFL shot a look at the dictator, the force of it ripping up the tile between them as the ninja flipped away from the glare and behind the Amazon.
As Dictator whirled towards the pair, a smoky fog coalesced behind her, forming into the darkly immaculate BSA, who grabbed Dictator from behind in a massive bear hug. “Group hug!” BSA crowed as DFL struggled to break free. But then her eyes rolled back and she sagged in BSA’s arms. “Come on you guys!” BSA looked over at WW and TA.
“Oh heck no.” TA answered as she put a restraining hand on WW’s arm, “I can see from here that you’re draining her chakra.”
“But she’s so much more calm now.” BSA looked down at DFL, “S’all right?”
“S’all right” DFL replied dreamily.
“See?” BSA pointed out happily.
“We need her coherent” TA warned.
“Fine” BSA conceded and released the Dictator.
“DFL, are you all right?” asked a wary Wonder Woman. (I had to spell it for that lovely alliteration).
DFL smiled, “I dreamed that I was in a story. And that I. . . was the star of that story.”
“Okay,” WW drawled, shooting a look at a smug BSA.
“Hey, at least she’s not trying to kill anybody” BSA sighed with an overdramatic frown, “caffeine addiction can be a brutal master.”
“We need to get out of here,” TA said, “have you looked around?”
“There is a row of doors in each wall, I haven’t been upstairs yet.” BSA reported.
“Check it out, we’ll start examining the doors down here.” TA replied.
BSA snapped off a cheeky salute before bursting into dozens of squeaky bats and flying off to the second story.
WW and TA shared a concerned look.
“I have a cross” WW said helpfully.
“And I have a wallet of wadded receipts.” TA replied thoughtfully
“I love rock and roll” DFL sighed happily.
“We should find an exit before she gets hungry” TA resolved, and WW nodded in agreement.
The doors were solid rectangles of dark stained oak. Iron rivets studded the surface and each door had a large, wrought iron door latch. None of them featured an exit sign.
“Just more doors up here!” called BSA, hanging over a railing.
As our heroes examined the doors more closely in the weak light they noticed that some of them appeared to have been blackened and warped, as if exposed to some great heat. Other doors radiated a biting cold, forming into frost crystals as the girls drew nearer.
Still others had deep scratches gouged into their wooden frames.
“I guess we’ll just have to pick one at random” WW conceded.
So, which door would you like to try?
A: Normal Door
B. Cold Door
C. Burned Door
D. Scratched Door
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Ask A Dictator: The Advice Column for Aspiring Fashionable Despots
Dear Dictator,
My superhero mode of transport is an invisible jet. While this makes me effective and intimidating, zipping through the air faster than the speed of sound, I can never seem to locate the jet again after I've parked it in the hangar. How can I solve this little conundrum?
Also, for the new fall superhero season, patriotic mini skirt: tacky or chic?
Looking for jets and fabulousness
Dear Looking for Jets,
Your invisible jet problem is one that has plagued many a super hero. Wandering aimlessly through a parking lot is frustrating at best, and is often compounded by additional impediments such as an escaping villain or fifteen bags of groceries. Fortunately, new jets are now coming equipped with a remote sensor that can be attached to your key chain. This control will allow you to unlock the doors while approaching the jet, making for a speedy getaway, or handily pop the rear hatch for easy loading of aforementioned groceries. When activating the sensor, the lights on your jet will flash once and issue a small "beep", allowing you to locate your air transportation vehicle. High end models also come with a flash memory erase, so that any bystanders who may be a little too curious soon have an intense craving for Ben and Jerry's Half Baked Ice Cream, to the loss of all other thought process.
If you happen to be in possession of a "classic" model, after-market remote sensors are available through ACME Jet Accessories, Inc. Make sure you do your research and find a reputable installation company as this is not a "do-it-yourself" project. One crossed wire can result in dire consequences including instantaneous combustion and sulfuric exhaust fumes.
Regarding the patriotic mini skirt: patriotism is always in style, but sometimes it is a statement best worn on your heart and not on your arse.
With utmost impunity,
DFL
My superhero mode of transport is an invisible jet. While this makes me effective and intimidating, zipping through the air faster than the speed of sound, I can never seem to locate the jet again after I've parked it in the hangar. How can I solve this little conundrum?
Also, for the new fall superhero season, patriotic mini skirt: tacky or chic?
Looking for jets and fabulousness
Dear Looking for Jets,
Your invisible jet problem is one that has plagued many a super hero. Wandering aimlessly through a parking lot is frustrating at best, and is often compounded by additional impediments such as an escaping villain or fifteen bags of groceries. Fortunately, new jets are now coming equipped with a remote sensor that can be attached to your key chain. This control will allow you to unlock the doors while approaching the jet, making for a speedy getaway, or handily pop the rear hatch for easy loading of aforementioned groceries. When activating the sensor, the lights on your jet will flash once and issue a small "beep", allowing you to locate your air transportation vehicle. High end models also come with a flash memory erase, so that any bystanders who may be a little too curious soon have an intense craving for Ben and Jerry's Half Baked Ice Cream, to the loss of all other thought process.
If you happen to be in possession of a "classic" model, after-market remote sensors are available through ACME Jet Accessories, Inc. Make sure you do your research and find a reputable installation company as this is not a "do-it-yourself" project. One crossed wire can result in dire consequences including instantaneous combustion and sulfuric exhaust fumes.
Regarding the patriotic mini skirt: patriotism is always in style, but sometimes it is a statement best worn on your heart and not on your arse.
With utmost impunity,
DFL
Friday, September 22, 2006
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Classical tidbit
I'm currently reading "Heart of Darkness" by Joseph Conrad. I've read the book before in jr. high, and that I can vaguely recall as being creepy. Hopefully I get a bit more out of it this time around. I particularly liked this little passage.
I watched the coast. Watching a coast as it slips by the ship is like thinking about an enigma.
There it is before you--smiling, frowning, inviting, grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and
always mute with an air of whispering, 'Come and find out.'
This is true. This curious feeling of watching a strange coast is one of the things I miss most about the Navy.
I watched the coast. Watching a coast as it slips by the ship is like thinking about an enigma.
There it is before you--smiling, frowning, inviting, grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and
always mute with an air of whispering, 'Come and find out.'
This is true. This curious feeling of watching a strange coast is one of the things I miss most about the Navy.
Friday, September 15, 2006
An explanation
I was slumbering peacefully last night, when all of a sudden the next part of the story just blossomed in my mind, unfolding in intricate detail.
Yes! I cried as I sat up. Then I looked at the clock, which said 4:00. No!! I cried, because I hate waking up that early.
The only explanation for such an inspiration at such an evil hour of the morning is an attack by Robin McKinley's story pixies. These offensive creatures have supposedly caused her to rewrite and publish the story of Beauty and the Beast three times in a row. I can only assume that they take delight in disrupting perfectly good sleep cycles as well.
However I will not be vicitimized by these fiendish fairies. I must find a way to get them whisper their plot lines during normal business hours.
Also, before I post the Acronyms, I want to point out that as the mere author to a Choose Your Own Adventure, I am merely a humble servant to the wishes of my readers. All 5 of you. And you guys were the ones who stated that you wanted a love scene in the story. And you guys were the ones who chose WW's story next. So WW, when you read this and fly into a murderous rage, I just want you to target the appropriate people.
Acronyms:
TA: The Author
BSA: Blood Sucking Accountant
DFL: Dictator for Life
WW: Wonder Woman
SB: Skater Boy
DOAC Park: Dude on a Column park
Yes! I cried as I sat up. Then I looked at the clock, which said 4:00. No!! I cried, because I hate waking up that early.
The only explanation for such an inspiration at such an evil hour of the morning is an attack by Robin McKinley's story pixies. These offensive creatures have supposedly caused her to rewrite and publish the story of Beauty and the Beast three times in a row. I can only assume that they take delight in disrupting perfectly good sleep cycles as well.
However I will not be vicitimized by these fiendish fairies. I must find a way to get them whisper their plot lines during normal business hours.
Also, before I post the Acronyms, I want to point out that as the mere author to a Choose Your Own Adventure, I am merely a humble servant to the wishes of my readers. All 5 of you. And you guys were the ones who stated that you wanted a love scene in the story. And you guys were the ones who chose WW's story next. So WW, when you read this and fly into a murderous rage, I just want you to target the appropriate people.
Acronyms:
TA: The Author
BSA: Blood Sucking Accountant
DFL: Dictator for Life
WW: Wonder Woman
SB: Skater Boy
DOAC Park: Dude on a Column park
The Plot thickens
WW was working on her father’s farm high in the Idaho mountains. The cool mountain air had a bite to it as she hefted hay bales, tossing them lightly into piles with her amazon strength. WW was alone except for the soft mooing of contented cows, yet she was happy and at peace as she worked. Suddenly a sweet tenor sounded across the field, yodeling the ancient songs of the Germanic mountaineers. WW looked up, squinting against the early morning rays as that sweet manly yodel drew closer. Then he was there, cresting the fields in long strides, lederhosen straining over bulging muscles, taller than her, the man of her dreams swept WW up and pulled her close to his broad chest. She snuggled close with a contented sigh, enjoying his warmth and wet, acrid scent.
Wait a minute…
WW opened her eyes with a groan and wondered where she was and what she was snuggiling. Judging by the grit under her left cheek she was lying on cracked cement. Something heavy was on her back, pressing her closer to the pavement. A thick, gooey wetness filled her senses as it dripped down her face and body to lie in sticky puddles around her. As she grew more aware, the memories started to trickle back: the humidity, the punks, the Holstein?
With a roar WW pushed herself off the pavement and free of the mangled remains of the punitive cow. The bright sun dazzled her for a moment and she desperately tried to wipe the blood and gore from her face. She blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted. The street was cracked and broken, with asphalt ripped open in jagged chunks. These broken pieces were whirling into the air, circling to pick up speed before launching into the scrabbling, ducking crowd of punks. In the middle of this rocky cyclone, DFL stood imperiously, eyes hard in concentration as her hands directed her missiles with deadly accuracy. BSA had nabbed some unfortunate soul and TA was nowhere to be seen; probably in need of rescuing WW harrumphed. Well, as the group powerhouse it was her duty to rout the rabble, for nothing could stop an Amazon in all her patriotic glory. WW looked fondly down at her flag inspired leathers, only to gasp in horrified astonishment at the damaged wreaked by various liquid cow goo. (I could go into detail here, but do you really want me to?) A slow, burning rage began to fill her mind as she reached over and ripped off a hind leg that had somehow remained intact. Someone was going to pay. She hefted the leg and screamed her battle cry, “FOR THE LEATHERS!!!” as she raced into the remaining punks. However, at the sight of this apparition the punks finally broke and began racing in all directions as they attempted to escape their cowey fate.
As the punk mob broke and run, WW dashed madly behind them, using her gruesome club to take down as many as possible. (Like whack-a-mole! Only wetter.)
****
And then there was one. The adventure of DFL.
As the punk mob raced towars TA and DFL, TA looked at the oncoming horde of punks, hefted her bo staff and said ruefully, “you know, ninjas were never meant for crowd control. We’re more of a one-on-one, spy, steal and assassinate type warrior, so I’ll leave this to your more applicable talents”
DFL rounded on the ninja with a furious gaze, “Don’t you dare!!” she began angrily but the diminutive ninja had already gone, fading into the dappled shadows of the park with nary a sound to betray her.
“Fine” DFL continued, just in case TA was still within hearing distance “Any Dictator worth her salt can put down an angry mob. I give you my permission to depart.”
She then turned her attention back to the punks. There were simply too many of them for her to control, and they were getting awfully close. She would have to get creative. DFL smirked at the oncoming horde and said “You dare to challenge me! I control the very streets!” She compressed her will into a tight ball and then using all her focus, mentally slammed it into the road. Under the psychic assault the street buckled and twisted throwing the punks off their feet. The asphalt stretched, bent, and finally split into giant cracks under the enormous pressure of the twisting street.
As the punks attempted to stand up on the remaining road, DFL felt a cold smile touch her lips. Time for step 2 in the rebel smackdown. She directed her gaze at the sidewalk in front of the “House” that may or may not be “White.” It was constructed of large, rectangular blocks of stone. She pointed at a stone block and commanded it to rise. Guiding it’s path with her finger, she flipped it into the stumbling punks where it landed with a satisfying thud. With a grunt she snagged a second block, they were heavier than she expected, and sent it flipping after the first. At the third she felt the first glistening drops on her forehead and became seriously annoyed. Dictators didn’t do heavy lifting. Where was WW when you needed her? She should be here flinging assorted masonry but nooo, that lazy amazon was taking a nap under a cow. She used her irritation to fuel the fourth block, taking out an entire line of punks as it blasted through the air.
Despite DFL’s best efforts, the mass of punks continued bravely on, working their way across the uneven pavement and dodging the stone blocks. One plucky lad actually made it within striking distance before DFL put up an imperious right hand and held him in his tracks. She looked deep into his eyes and intoned, “I’m not the Roman Emperor you’re looking for”
His eyes glazed over and he repeated back, “You’re not the Roman Emperor I’m looking for.”
Still locked in eye contact with the punk, DFL used her left hand to throw another block against his fellows. A sharp pain flared in her right temple, but she ignored it and continued with her enslaved punk.
“You will bring me a Diet Coke”
“I will bring you a Diet Coke” a small drool line was forming at the corner of his mouth.
“Then you will go home and rethink your fashion choices.”
The punk dutifully parroted this back and left as DFL launched yet another block, sending another flare of pain across her temples. DFL staggered under this new flash of pain and decided to change tactics. She focused on all the fragments of asphalt surrounding her and started sending them into the punk mob. Unfortunately, while the fragments stung and left welts they didn’t hamper the now angry and determined punks. DFL frowned, and started the fragments circling around her in a defensive sphere as she searched for new ammunition. The punks hung back, defensive as they looked for a break in the swirling debris. DFL’s eyes landed on the mangled cow and she smiled. That’s what she needed, just a little terminal velocity to turn the tide. She closed her eyes and focused on the fragments whirling around her, spinning them faster and faster until they cut through the air with a high pitched whine. DFL opened her eyes and started sending her high speed shrapnel into the mob with sharpshooter accuracy. Cries of pain rose up from their ranks and the advance stopped as everyone suddenly tried to be in the center of the crowd. DFL continued picking off the edges until suddenly, with a roar of “FOR THE LEATHERS!!” WW leapt into the fray wielding a cow leg and the punk army broke and ran. “Ew, gross” remarked DFL, her lip curling at the blood spatter as WW began chasing the retreating punks.
As the street cleared, DFL picked her way down to the PNC Bank, where BSA was adjusting her makeup in a compact. A pale punk lay limp at her feet. DFL nudged the punk with her foot and said “So will this one be a CPA?”
“Please” laughed BSA as she snapped the compact shut, “I don’t elevate just anyone into the elevated ranks of accounting.” She picked some invisible lint off her suit and looked over the punk. “Although he will balance his checkbook and manage his credit reports obsessively for the rest of his life.”
DFL smirked and replied “Hey, personal money management is important.”
BSA returned the smirk, “That’s right! He should thank me for doing him such a service.”
Just then SB’s unconscious form fell by them and DFL jumped slightly as TA asked “So, I see lots of bodies lying around, how many will be signing up as business majors next semester?”
“Just this one” BSA replied defensively.
“And you shouldn’t sneak up like that, it’s rude” DFL added.
“Hello, ninja?” TA pointed out helpfully, “by the way, where’s WW?” she asked.
BSA shrugged and DFL flapped her hand in the general direction of the park, “She went that way, playing with the leftovers. Did you know she spent most of the battle under a cow?”
“A cow?” said a confused BSA, “How did that happen?”
DFL was about to explain when suddenly, the sky grew dark and a strange, shrieking laugh echoed all around them. “At last!” it said “I have found a worthy adversary!!” The three heroines formed a tight circle, back to back as they tried to identify this strange new threat.
“This can’t be good” remarked TA.
“What IS that?” demanded DFL.
“Nice of it to block the sun,” BSA remarked casually, “I’m growing stronger by the second.”
The weird, shrieking laugh sounded again, and the ground beneath their feet grew soft and they started to sink.
“Crap!” swore BSA as she tried to shapeshift out of the sinking ground.
“Crap in a hat!” swore TA as she tried to leap out of the sinking ground.
“Crap in a freaking bucket!!” Swore DFL as she tried to command the sinking ground.
And off in the park:
“Oh Dookie.” Sighed WW as she pounded at the sinking ground with her cow leg.
However it was to no avail, and soon the ground had swallowed all four heroines and then all was blackness.
Is this the end for our intrepid band of heroes? Of course not… when are heroes awake they find themselves:
A: On a train
B. In a desert
C: In a house of many doors
D: By a lake
Wait a minute…
WW opened her eyes with a groan and wondered where she was and what she was snuggiling. Judging by the grit under her left cheek she was lying on cracked cement. Something heavy was on her back, pressing her closer to the pavement. A thick, gooey wetness filled her senses as it dripped down her face and body to lie in sticky puddles around her. As she grew more aware, the memories started to trickle back: the humidity, the punks, the Holstein?
With a roar WW pushed herself off the pavement and free of the mangled remains of the punitive cow. The bright sun dazzled her for a moment and she desperately tried to wipe the blood and gore from her face. She blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted. The street was cracked and broken, with asphalt ripped open in jagged chunks. These broken pieces were whirling into the air, circling to pick up speed before launching into the scrabbling, ducking crowd of punks. In the middle of this rocky cyclone, DFL stood imperiously, eyes hard in concentration as her hands directed her missiles with deadly accuracy. BSA had nabbed some unfortunate soul and TA was nowhere to be seen; probably in need of rescuing WW harrumphed. Well, as the group powerhouse it was her duty to rout the rabble, for nothing could stop an Amazon in all her patriotic glory. WW looked fondly down at her flag inspired leathers, only to gasp in horrified astonishment at the damaged wreaked by various liquid cow goo. (I could go into detail here, but do you really want me to?) A slow, burning rage began to fill her mind as she reached over and ripped off a hind leg that had somehow remained intact. Someone was going to pay. She hefted the leg and screamed her battle cry, “FOR THE LEATHERS!!!” as she raced into the remaining punks. However, at the sight of this apparition the punks finally broke and began racing in all directions as they attempted to escape their cowey fate.
As the punk mob broke and run, WW dashed madly behind them, using her gruesome club to take down as many as possible. (Like whack-a-mole! Only wetter.)
****
And then there was one. The adventure of DFL.
As the punk mob raced towars TA and DFL, TA looked at the oncoming horde of punks, hefted her bo staff and said ruefully, “you know, ninjas were never meant for crowd control. We’re more of a one-on-one, spy, steal and assassinate type warrior, so I’ll leave this to your more applicable talents”
DFL rounded on the ninja with a furious gaze, “Don’t you dare!!” she began angrily but the diminutive ninja had already gone, fading into the dappled shadows of the park with nary a sound to betray her.
“Fine” DFL continued, just in case TA was still within hearing distance “Any Dictator worth her salt can put down an angry mob. I give you my permission to depart.”
She then turned her attention back to the punks. There were simply too many of them for her to control, and they were getting awfully close. She would have to get creative. DFL smirked at the oncoming horde and said “You dare to challenge me! I control the very streets!” She compressed her will into a tight ball and then using all her focus, mentally slammed it into the road. Under the psychic assault the street buckled and twisted throwing the punks off their feet. The asphalt stretched, bent, and finally split into giant cracks under the enormous pressure of the twisting street.
As the punks attempted to stand up on the remaining road, DFL felt a cold smile touch her lips. Time for step 2 in the rebel smackdown. She directed her gaze at the sidewalk in front of the “House” that may or may not be “White.” It was constructed of large, rectangular blocks of stone. She pointed at a stone block and commanded it to rise. Guiding it’s path with her finger, she flipped it into the stumbling punks where it landed with a satisfying thud. With a grunt she snagged a second block, they were heavier than she expected, and sent it flipping after the first. At the third she felt the first glistening drops on her forehead and became seriously annoyed. Dictators didn’t do heavy lifting. Where was WW when you needed her? She should be here flinging assorted masonry but nooo, that lazy amazon was taking a nap under a cow. She used her irritation to fuel the fourth block, taking out an entire line of punks as it blasted through the air.
Despite DFL’s best efforts, the mass of punks continued bravely on, working their way across the uneven pavement and dodging the stone blocks. One plucky lad actually made it within striking distance before DFL put up an imperious right hand and held him in his tracks. She looked deep into his eyes and intoned, “I’m not the Roman Emperor you’re looking for”
His eyes glazed over and he repeated back, “You’re not the Roman Emperor I’m looking for.”
Still locked in eye contact with the punk, DFL used her left hand to throw another block against his fellows. A sharp pain flared in her right temple, but she ignored it and continued with her enslaved punk.
“You will bring me a Diet Coke”
“I will bring you a Diet Coke” a small drool line was forming at the corner of his mouth.
“Then you will go home and rethink your fashion choices.”
The punk dutifully parroted this back and left as DFL launched yet another block, sending another flare of pain across her temples. DFL staggered under this new flash of pain and decided to change tactics. She focused on all the fragments of asphalt surrounding her and started sending them into the punk mob. Unfortunately, while the fragments stung and left welts they didn’t hamper the now angry and determined punks. DFL frowned, and started the fragments circling around her in a defensive sphere as she searched for new ammunition. The punks hung back, defensive as they looked for a break in the swirling debris. DFL’s eyes landed on the mangled cow and she smiled. That’s what she needed, just a little terminal velocity to turn the tide. She closed her eyes and focused on the fragments whirling around her, spinning them faster and faster until they cut through the air with a high pitched whine. DFL opened her eyes and started sending her high speed shrapnel into the mob with sharpshooter accuracy. Cries of pain rose up from their ranks and the advance stopped as everyone suddenly tried to be in the center of the crowd. DFL continued picking off the edges until suddenly, with a roar of “FOR THE LEATHERS!!” WW leapt into the fray wielding a cow leg and the punk army broke and ran. “Ew, gross” remarked DFL, her lip curling at the blood spatter as WW began chasing the retreating punks.
As the street cleared, DFL picked her way down to the PNC Bank, where BSA was adjusting her makeup in a compact. A pale punk lay limp at her feet. DFL nudged the punk with her foot and said “So will this one be a CPA?”
“Please” laughed BSA as she snapped the compact shut, “I don’t elevate just anyone into the elevated ranks of accounting.” She picked some invisible lint off her suit and looked over the punk. “Although he will balance his checkbook and manage his credit reports obsessively for the rest of his life.”
DFL smirked and replied “Hey, personal money management is important.”
BSA returned the smirk, “That’s right! He should thank me for doing him such a service.”
Just then SB’s unconscious form fell by them and DFL jumped slightly as TA asked “So, I see lots of bodies lying around, how many will be signing up as business majors next semester?”
“Just this one” BSA replied defensively.
“And you shouldn’t sneak up like that, it’s rude” DFL added.
“Hello, ninja?” TA pointed out helpfully, “by the way, where’s WW?” she asked.
BSA shrugged and DFL flapped her hand in the general direction of the park, “She went that way, playing with the leftovers. Did you know she spent most of the battle under a cow?”
“A cow?” said a confused BSA, “How did that happen?”
DFL was about to explain when suddenly, the sky grew dark and a strange, shrieking laugh echoed all around them. “At last!” it said “I have found a worthy adversary!!” The three heroines formed a tight circle, back to back as they tried to identify this strange new threat.
“This can’t be good” remarked TA.
“What IS that?” demanded DFL.
“Nice of it to block the sun,” BSA remarked casually, “I’m growing stronger by the second.”
The weird, shrieking laugh sounded again, and the ground beneath their feet grew soft and they started to sink.
“Crap!” swore BSA as she tried to shapeshift out of the sinking ground.
“Crap in a hat!” swore TA as she tried to leap out of the sinking ground.
“Crap in a freaking bucket!!” Swore DFL as she tried to command the sinking ground.
And off in the park:
“Oh Dookie.” Sighed WW as she pounded at the sinking ground with her cow leg.
However it was to no avail, and soon the ground had swallowed all four heroines and then all was blackness.
Is this the end for our intrepid band of heroes? Of course not… when are heroes awake they find themselves:
A: On a train
B. In a desert
C: In a house of many doors
D: By a lake
Friday, September 01, 2006
Metro Story
So it was a quiet on the metro this morning. Since it was Friday there was plenty of space on the train, and most people were lost in their papers or headphones, or staring out that window at the drizzling wet scenery. Suddenly, the operator comes on the intercom, sounding irritated and asks "Is there a Stacy on board?"
A girl across from me, young twenties with luggage and a pink purse, starts looking nervously around the car to see if anyone else is reacting. "Is this a joke?" She asks.
The operator repeats, "Is there a Stacy on board, please use the intercom at the end of the car."
She gets up and walks to the intercom, presses the button and says "uh.. hello?"
The operator *still irritated*: "Is this Stacy?"
Stacy *nervous*: "Yes."
By now everyone on the train is trying really hard to look like they're not listening. Well except me, I took off a headphone since I was in the middle of the compartment and couldn't hear very well.
The operator continues: "Where you standing next to a woman named Estelle?"
Stacy *nervous and confused*: Yes?
Operator: Well she's up here in the first car and has your umbrella. She wants to give it back to you.
Stacy *relieved*: Oh! Well, tell her I"ll meet her at the airport stop to get it.
By now everyone was trying really hard not to laugh, and there were many smirks hidden behind newspapers as the girl walked embarressed back to her seat, muttering things like "they didn't have to announce it across the whole train, it's not even raining any more!"
A girl across from me, young twenties with luggage and a pink purse, starts looking nervously around the car to see if anyone else is reacting. "Is this a joke?" She asks.
The operator repeats, "Is there a Stacy on board, please use the intercom at the end of the car."
She gets up and walks to the intercom, presses the button and says "uh.. hello?"
The operator *still irritated*: "Is this Stacy?"
Stacy *nervous*: "Yes."
By now everyone on the train is trying really hard to look like they're not listening. Well except me, I took off a headphone since I was in the middle of the compartment and couldn't hear very well.
The operator continues: "Where you standing next to a woman named Estelle?"
Stacy *nervous and confused*: Yes?
Operator: Well she's up here in the first car and has your umbrella. She wants to give it back to you.
Stacy *relieved*: Oh! Well, tell her I"ll meet her at the airport stop to get it.
By now everyone was trying really hard not to laugh, and there were many smirks hidden behind newspapers as the girl walked embarressed back to her seat, muttering things like "they didn't have to announce it across the whole train, it's not even raining any more!"
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