Friday, December 9, 2011
Sarah: Kate Bush - Wuthering Heights (1978)
Because there are some things we will always share.
Happy Birthday! (To Both of Us)
Sushi?
Monday, September 19, 2011
Meghan: The Island
The day I was born was not unique.
I was called out from wherever I had been before into the place where I was to serve my purpose, where I was to be alive. I was excited, ecstatic about this new existence I had, this new ability to think. But then when my story had run its course, my maker had no more use for me and I went to where those of our kind go when we have completed our usefulness; to the Island of the Jasmines.
This is our story.
Actually my story.
When I was assigned to a dormitory in the non-magical district I knew that my life on the Island would be tougher than I first thought. Jasmine’s magical creations far outnumber her nonmagicals, so the room I moved into was somewhat shabby and small. The matron of the house poked her blonde head in to see how I was doing. Her blue eyes flashed as she took in the disarray of my room and a moldy cereal bowl on the counter. One strain of living with the Jasminelings was the short tempers of our kind, especially when it came to old food. I quickly scooped the bowl into the trash, before there could be violence. The matron smiled and stepped in, letting in a few of the cats that were prolific on the island.
“I just came by to see how you’re settling in and give you a list of the rules.” She said, petting a tabby.
“Rules?” I asked. She handed me a long list that read:
Welcome to Jasmine Island! Here are a few rules to help you settle in
1) Jasminelings must never leave the island
2) Violence to cats is punishable by death
3) Other violence is an encouraged recreational activity
4) Jasminelings are to have fantastic sex every day (multiple times a day if there is time)
…
“What about the strait Jasminelings?” I asked. Since everyone I had seen on the island was female I wondered how Jasmine’s purely straight characters got by
The matron laughed, “There is a very, very small resort where Jasmine’s male characters go. I think they call it Spa Damian? Anyway they don’t do much but have sex all day long, what with the huge needs of the female characters. Poor dears.”
I laughed too, I doubted that the ‘poor dears’ suffered very much.
I continued reading the list and grew more horrified
…
45) Jasminelings must be physically perfect at all times
46) Jasminelings may not alter their appearance/character
…
“I can’t alter my appearance?” I asked, horrified, “but my story is over?“
“That doesn’t matter, why would you want to anyway?” The matron asked airily, “We’re all the way we’re supposed to be.”
She left, waving to me over her shoulder, “Call if you need anything, I’ll be up on the top floor.”
I just stood watching a cat rolling on my floor, unable to wrap my head around it. I couldn’t change my appearance? But I was just like them; I wanted to be different, I wanted to be me.
I fell to the floor, tearing at my long blonde hair. I didn’t care! I would dye my hair black, I would cut it! I would talk with an accent and pretend to be terrible in bed!
I would be different!
-M
I was called out from wherever I had been before into the place where I was to serve my purpose, where I was to be alive. I was excited, ecstatic about this new existence I had, this new ability to think. But then when my story had run its course, my maker had no more use for me and I went to where those of our kind go when we have completed our usefulness; to the Island of the Jasmines.
This is our story.
Actually my story.
When I was assigned to a dormitory in the non-magical district I knew that my life on the Island would be tougher than I first thought. Jasmine’s magical creations far outnumber her nonmagicals, so the room I moved into was somewhat shabby and small. The matron of the house poked her blonde head in to see how I was doing. Her blue eyes flashed as she took in the disarray of my room and a moldy cereal bowl on the counter. One strain of living with the Jasminelings was the short tempers of our kind, especially when it came to old food. I quickly scooped the bowl into the trash, before there could be violence. The matron smiled and stepped in, letting in a few of the cats that were prolific on the island.
“I just came by to see how you’re settling in and give you a list of the rules.” She said, petting a tabby.
“Rules?” I asked. She handed me a long list that read:
Welcome to Jasmine Island! Here are a few rules to help you settle in
1) Jasminelings must never leave the island
2) Violence to cats is punishable by death
3) Other violence is an encouraged recreational activity
4) Jasminelings are to have fantastic sex every day (multiple times a day if there is time)
…
“What about the strait Jasminelings?” I asked. Since everyone I had seen on the island was female I wondered how Jasmine’s purely straight characters got by
The matron laughed, “There is a very, very small resort where Jasmine’s male characters go. I think they call it Spa Damian? Anyway they don’t do much but have sex all day long, what with the huge needs of the female characters. Poor dears.”
I laughed too, I doubted that the ‘poor dears’ suffered very much.
I continued reading the list and grew more horrified
…
45) Jasminelings must be physically perfect at all times
46) Jasminelings may not alter their appearance/character
…
“I can’t alter my appearance?” I asked, horrified, “but my story is over?“
“That doesn’t matter, why would you want to anyway?” The matron asked airily, “We’re all the way we’re supposed to be.”
She left, waving to me over her shoulder, “Call if you need anything, I’ll be up on the top floor.”
I just stood watching a cat rolling on my floor, unable to wrap my head around it. I couldn’t change my appearance? But I was just like them; I wanted to be different, I wanted to be me.
I fell to the floor, tearing at my long blonde hair. I didn’t care! I would dye my hair black, I would cut it! I would talk with an accent and pretend to be terrible in bed!
I would be different!
-M
Monday, September 12, 2011
Buterbug: Contagious
I am the shiny spot on a raindrop,
falling to the ground at high speeds.
I am the cocoa taste of a freshly twisted oreo,
you went to get from the pantry to fulfill your needs.
I am the bumblebee that stung you but didn’t die,
whom pollinated the garden flowers in mid-July.
I am the grease on the cogs of your car’s insides,
dragging your crap through town with pride.
I am the lover of your soul and the hand you hold,
if I were a pen, you’d be writing in BOLD.
Beautiful, satisfying, strong-willed, perseverant, and courageous,
I’m much better than before and freaking contagious.
-S
Sunday, July 24, 2011
That guy: Urban Insanity 1
The Mona Lisa.
The Fur Elise.
E.T.
Everyone has their masterpiece. Their crowning glory.
To all of us, there was none greater than Urban Assault, as it had been haphazardly named. Bob had no other gauntlet, no test more perfect. He had built the perfect beast. And he knew it. Only the end level students were allowed to participate, and you only got one shot. It was a two man exercise, unusual for Bob’s games. There was no pass or fail. You were evaluated on performance and longevity alone. No one who went through UA was allowed to talk about it, and whispers and rumors spun wildly around. Not even the sub-instructors knew what it was. Bob alone sat in the throne of knowledge, changing details every year, so that even if there was chatter, it would be wrong come the test.
The tension was palpable in the small conference room. Bob stood there, soaking in it. Between him and us was a battered old table with a rattle cooking pot sitting on it. He held out his hand. Popsicle sticks. This really was a game to him. He tossed all of the sticks, each one with one of our names on it into the pot. None of us knew what was ahead, so apprehension was extreme during the stick draw.
Matt and I drew each other. From across the room, we nodded at each other slightly. Once the pairings were made, Bob dismissed us.
The elegance of this masterpiece was in its simplicity.
Capture the fucking flag…
The next morning we were dropped off at a motel in the heart of the city. We had been briefed, and the premise was straightforward.
The ‘flag’ was somewhere on the 21st story of a high-rise building we were given the address to. We had one week to prepare however we saw necessary. There were 3 2-person teams. Each team had been dropped off at a different location surrounding the high-rise. The game would begin at exactly 2am on Monday.
It had been named Urban Assault by someone.
But everyone who ever went through the program knew that the final test was really called Urban Insanity...
The Fur Elise.
E.T.
Everyone has their masterpiece. Their crowning glory.
To all of us, there was none greater than Urban Assault, as it had been haphazardly named. Bob had no other gauntlet, no test more perfect. He had built the perfect beast. And he knew it. Only the end level students were allowed to participate, and you only got one shot. It was a two man exercise, unusual for Bob’s games. There was no pass or fail. You were evaluated on performance and longevity alone. No one who went through UA was allowed to talk about it, and whispers and rumors spun wildly around. Not even the sub-instructors knew what it was. Bob alone sat in the throne of knowledge, changing details every year, so that even if there was chatter, it would be wrong come the test.
The tension was palpable in the small conference room. Bob stood there, soaking in it. Between him and us was a battered old table with a rattle cooking pot sitting on it. He held out his hand. Popsicle sticks. This really was a game to him. He tossed all of the sticks, each one with one of our names on it into the pot. None of us knew what was ahead, so apprehension was extreme during the stick draw.
Matt and I drew each other. From across the room, we nodded at each other slightly. Once the pairings were made, Bob dismissed us.
The elegance of this masterpiece was in its simplicity.
Capture the fucking flag…
The next morning we were dropped off at a motel in the heart of the city. We had been briefed, and the premise was straightforward.
The ‘flag’ was somewhere on the 21st story of a high-rise building we were given the address to. We had one week to prepare however we saw necessary. There were 3 2-person teams. Each team had been dropped off at a different location surrounding the high-rise. The game would begin at exactly 2am on Monday.
It had been named Urban Assault by someone.
But everyone who ever went through the program knew that the final test was really called Urban Insanity...
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Doug: Things I wish I could tell my child now
By the time you are twenty, one of your friends will be dead. It will seem like a god damn waste, and it will be. It is not, however, the end of the world. Live for those that are dead, and remember them. For if they are remembered they are not truly gone.
By the time your are sixteen, you will have fallen in love. It will seem terribly important and pressing and amazing and you will feel like all of you is alive and about to burst from your skin. This is normal. It is also normal for it to hurt like hell when it is over.Don't worry, this is also not the end of the world, though it seems so. Time will give you perspective, and at sixteen, you have a lot of time.
By the time you are eighteen you will in all likelihood be so sick of school that the mere sight of a math problem will make you sick to your stomach. THIS IS OKAY. I don't care what anyone tells you. It's normal to hate school. You've been in it for more than half of your life. It's reasonable to want to do something else. However. You will soon forget that you hate everything school related and begin to truly value your education, weather you choose to continue it or not. One of the most frustrating and wonderful facts of life is this: weather we like it or not we never stop learning.
There will be times when you think that I'm an old fool, and occasionally there will be times when I actually am an old fool. That being said, I do have years of life experience on you, so occasionally I might just know what the Hell I'm talking about.
By the time you are twenty you will have a good idea of what is right and what is wrong. This knowledge is a gift given to you by everyone you know and love. Do not squander this gift. It makes you human. Live what you know is right. Fight what you know is wrong. To do otherwise is to do a disservice to yourself and those who taught you right from wrong. It shames you, and them.
By the time you are nineteen you will have some kind of responsibility. Breathe. Weather you are responsible for a squad in combat or simply getting to work on time half the battle is telling yourself that you can do it. and you can. The rest will follow.
By the time you are legally an adult you will probably have done something you are truly ashamed of. If you haven't, I congratulate you. Keep up the good work. If you have, well, it sucks, there is no two ways about it. Still, apologize, do penance, and don't let it happen again. This is all you can do. It is, or it may not be, enough. But it is all you can do. And that is what matters.
You will, at some point, not do your best. This is fine. We all can't do our best all the time. Still, do try to do your best on the important stuff. You'll regret it later if you don't. Trust me, one of those experience things.
You will, at some point, hate me and your mother. I'm sure we'll have done something unreasonably unfair and hopelessly cruel. This too will pass. You may hate us. But we love you kiddo, get over it.
Remember this above all else: your life is yours, to do with what you will. It's too short and fragile to live with fear and regret. Live for something, not despite it. I love you. Go forth and take on your dreams.
By the time your are sixteen, you will have fallen in love. It will seem terribly important and pressing and amazing and you will feel like all of you is alive and about to burst from your skin. This is normal. It is also normal for it to hurt like hell when it is over.Don't worry, this is also not the end of the world, though it seems so. Time will give you perspective, and at sixteen, you have a lot of time.
By the time you are eighteen you will in all likelihood be so sick of school that the mere sight of a math problem will make you sick to your stomach. THIS IS OKAY. I don't care what anyone tells you. It's normal to hate school. You've been in it for more than half of your life. It's reasonable to want to do something else. However. You will soon forget that you hate everything school related and begin to truly value your education, weather you choose to continue it or not. One of the most frustrating and wonderful facts of life is this: weather we like it or not we never stop learning.
There will be times when you think that I'm an old fool, and occasionally there will be times when I actually am an old fool. That being said, I do have years of life experience on you, so occasionally I might just know what the Hell I'm talking about.
By the time you are twenty you will have a good idea of what is right and what is wrong. This knowledge is a gift given to you by everyone you know and love. Do not squander this gift. It makes you human. Live what you know is right. Fight what you know is wrong. To do otherwise is to do a disservice to yourself and those who taught you right from wrong. It shames you, and them.
By the time you are nineteen you will have some kind of responsibility. Breathe. Weather you are responsible for a squad in combat or simply getting to work on time half the battle is telling yourself that you can do it. and you can. The rest will follow.
By the time you are legally an adult you will probably have done something you are truly ashamed of. If you haven't, I congratulate you. Keep up the good work. If you have, well, it sucks, there is no two ways about it. Still, apologize, do penance, and don't let it happen again. This is all you can do. It is, or it may not be, enough. But it is all you can do. And that is what matters.
You will, at some point, not do your best. This is fine. We all can't do our best all the time. Still, do try to do your best on the important stuff. You'll regret it later if you don't. Trust me, one of those experience things.
You will, at some point, hate me and your mother. I'm sure we'll have done something unreasonably unfair and hopelessly cruel. This too will pass. You may hate us. But we love you kiddo, get over it.
Remember this above all else: your life is yours, to do with what you will. It's too short and fragile to live with fear and regret. Live for something, not despite it. I love you. Go forth and take on your dreams.
-Dad
P.S. I don't care how big you are, you call me "Doug" and i'm going to spank you.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
That guy: Cash or credit
Leaves billow, the wind whipping them to and fro in patterned chaos, encircling me. Dust whimpers, trembles, and flees in my wake. This once populated highway is now carnage. The pinnacle of destruction. Asphalt torn asunder from its frame, steel beams strewn across the once hearty lane of commute. All around me are the abandoned remains of high rises. Mans attempt to reach the heavens, to free himself from the earthly bond, crumble in step with the soft padding of my worn, slave produced coverings. Each placement of my feet brings the culmination of a civilizations struggle down around me. The sky is an uncanny shade of vibrant red, although it goes almost unnoticed with the layer of heavy, choking clouds pouring in, black as the heart of the master they serve, engulfing what little light remained. I stop in the middle of the road, pure ruin surrounding me, and i blink. Even with my eyes closed, in the microseconds it takes for them to snap open again, i can feel him in front of me, waiting. My eyes open, and of course, there he is.
Balder.
Satan.
Cthulu.
Balkoth.
Zalgo.
Whatever name you give him stands unneeded. His presense alone permeates me. Swallows me. The endless cold, the rampant devastation around me.
He reaches a gnarled hand out.
I feel my arm lifting from my side, gently, gingerly moving to accept his offer....
"Sir?"
My head whips around. The sudden light hurts my eyes.
"Sir, are you ok? You've been standing there for almost an hour..."
I turn back. The full length mirror shows only me, and the glaring colors of reflection from the storefront.
"Sir, if you're not alright, I can have an ambulance here in a few minutes..."
I wave him off. He wanders away to go attend to someone else.
I stare into the mirror, searching for a vision, a glimpse, anything. But all I see is me, and my shiny new shoes.
I place my old shoes ceremoniously in the new box, gently tuck it under my arm, and walk up to the counter.
"Did you find what you were looking for, sir?"
I knod, and step back, pointing to the new shoes on my feet.
"I'll take these ones. They're gonna take me far."
"Thats wonderful, sir. Cash or credit?"
Balder.
Satan.
Cthulu.
Balkoth.
Zalgo.
Whatever name you give him stands unneeded. His presense alone permeates me. Swallows me. The endless cold, the rampant devastation around me.
He reaches a gnarled hand out.
I feel my arm lifting from my side, gently, gingerly moving to accept his offer....
"Sir?"
My head whips around. The sudden light hurts my eyes.
"Sir, are you ok? You've been standing there for almost an hour..."
I turn back. The full length mirror shows only me, and the glaring colors of reflection from the storefront.
"Sir, if you're not alright, I can have an ambulance here in a few minutes..."
I wave him off. He wanders away to go attend to someone else.
I stare into the mirror, searching for a vision, a glimpse, anything. But all I see is me, and my shiny new shoes.
I place my old shoes ceremoniously in the new box, gently tuck it under my arm, and walk up to the counter.
"Did you find what you were looking for, sir?"
I knod, and step back, pointing to the new shoes on my feet.
"I'll take these ones. They're gonna take me far."
"Thats wonderful, sir. Cash or credit?"
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Meghan: Inspiration
I had decided that I wanted to write. Excited with this new goal fresh in my mind I sat the computer in my lap, set a hot cup of tea at my elbow, and opened a blank new word document. Unfortunately, I had no idea what I wanted to write. I was like one of those individuals who went to a tattoo parlor and told the artist that they had decided that they were ready for a tattoo but had no idea what image they wanted permanently fixed to their bodies. So instead of searching for a topic, I decided to search for inspiration in the form of a person.
Sex and the city’s Carrie was the first to pop into my head. After spending hours curling my hair I slipped into a slinky dress and lay down on my bed with my laptop and a pack of smokes. Soon the room was hazy with the fog of inspiration, but my mind was just…hazy. My arms were cramping from typing while stretched out on my belly and trying to keep the ashes from my cigarette from flicking onto the bed. Eventually I decided I’d had enough and needed to get some Carrie-style inspiration. I called up three girlfriends and asked them to meet me at a nearby club, where we would discuss sex and the downfalls of men. I had been sipping my cosmopolitan at the club’s bar for fifteen minutes when the girls showed up.
“How many of those have you had?” Sarah asked warily.
“Aren’t you supposed to be writing?” Jasmine questioned me further
I quickly explained that I had had three drinks and described my plan of action for filling my brain with fertile writing material.
“But I’m a boy…” Alex said dubiously.
I ignored this minor flaw in my plan and ordered a round of cosmos for everyone.
After a hazily remembered night of feather boas and brightly colored drinks I woke in my bed with a raging headache and no ideas. How did Carrie do it? Perhaps it was due to her fictionality.
Next I would try a real-live writer. Perhaps one I loved and admired personally (some would say on a psychotic level); David Sedaris. After gulping down some aspirin I went to find Jasmine where she was sprawled across the couch with a cat licking her forehead. I woke her up to the bright, bright world and tossed her in the car with an icepack and some coffee as we drove off to enact my second inspiration-seeking plan.
“I’m telling you this is a bad idea.” Jasmine muttered as she sucked coffee from a huge mug. Dark glasses hid her face and she huddled down into the car seat.
“It’s a brilliant idea. I can already feel my inspiration coming.” I pulled a ski mask down over my face, “Pass me the dart gun.” She sighed and passed me the weapon that was leaning next to her. The target was walking right in the desired direction, innocently passing by the car. It only took a minute, a dart shot in his general torso area and he successfully passed out with a look of surprise. I stopped the car next to him, yelling loudly in case anyone was suspicious,
“Oh no, a sudden collapse! We must get him to a hospital.” When a passerby tried to help me with my prize I batted at his arms and hissed at him. Jasmine rolled her eyes from the passenger’s seat. When we were finally victoriously driving away I glanced back so much that we almost crashed several times. Jasmine finally threatened to knock me unconscious and set Sedaris free so I kept my attention more focused. But I couldn’t help but gush a little.
“Did you see him? It’s David Sedaris! Sedaris! Have you read his books? Have you read the one with the—“ Jasmine clutched her head and groaned.
I gasped, “I hope he doesn’t hate me, do you think he will hate me?”
“Well we kidnapped him, so probably.”
“I have to make this up to him right now.”
David Sedaris regained consciousness tied to a wooden kitchen chair and smelling something delicious. His eyes widened in fear as they landed on the objects in front of him; a tea set.
“I’m so terribly sorry about all of this.” a girl’s voice murmured from his left.
He jerked away from it but couldn’t get far because of the restraints. Hands came into view to pour tea into a china cup that was set in front of him. A chocolate cupcake was then set down on a napkin next to the tea.
“I hope the food is apology enough.”
He just blinked at her and hoped he wasn’t about to be eviscerated by the psychotic who had kidnapped him and was now serving him tea in a sunny kitchen.
“Oh of course, you’ll need your hands.” She carefully untied his hands then picked up a gun from the table. He made a gurgling noise and she waved the gun at his panicked face.
“No, no it’s just a dart gun, see?” She shot a fluffy black cat that had been creeping toward his cupcake and the feline gave a startled meow before falling into dreamland.
“Meghan can I have a cupcake?” a voice called from the other room.
The girl’s eyes widened, “Excuse me.” she said politely, before she hurried off into the next room.
He picked up his cupcake and sniffed it, wondering if it was safe to take a bite.
“Use the code names.” He heard the girl, Meghan, hiss from the other room.
“I’m sorry, Megatron, can I have a cupcake?”
“Sure. Maybe I should have made something else; he doesn’t seem to like them.”
“Will you please wrap this up? We have to meet our friends this afternoon and—“
“I know, I know.”
The two girls belonging to the voices came in with a plate of cupcakes and pained smiles.
“We’re so sorry for the terrible misunderstanding.” They started to untie the bindings that held him to the chair.
“That’s it?” he asked, suspicious.
“Yes,” They led him to the door, pressing cupcakes into his hands ‘for the road’.
“Oh, one more thing.” One of the girls ran back into the house and came back with one of his books in her hands, “Would you sign this?”
“Sure.” He rapidly penned some script, “Can I please go now?”
“Yes. It was nice meeting you. Bye.” The door shut behind him and he left as quickly as he could.
“What does the signature say?” Jasmine asked.
“To my most psychotic fan, may we never meet again. Thanks for the cupcakes.” Meghan stared dreamily off into the distance. “I think I feel some inspiration coming.”
“Good,” Jasmine said, “don’t ever lose it because I’d hate to see what else we’d have to do to inspire you again.”
-M
Sex and the city’s Carrie was the first to pop into my head. After spending hours curling my hair I slipped into a slinky dress and lay down on my bed with my laptop and a pack of smokes. Soon the room was hazy with the fog of inspiration, but my mind was just…hazy. My arms were cramping from typing while stretched out on my belly and trying to keep the ashes from my cigarette from flicking onto the bed. Eventually I decided I’d had enough and needed to get some Carrie-style inspiration. I called up three girlfriends and asked them to meet me at a nearby club, where we would discuss sex and the downfalls of men. I had been sipping my cosmopolitan at the club’s bar for fifteen minutes when the girls showed up.
“How many of those have you had?” Sarah asked warily.
“Aren’t you supposed to be writing?” Jasmine questioned me further
I quickly explained that I had had three drinks and described my plan of action for filling my brain with fertile writing material.
“But I’m a boy…” Alex said dubiously.
I ignored this minor flaw in my plan and ordered a round of cosmos for everyone.
After a hazily remembered night of feather boas and brightly colored drinks I woke in my bed with a raging headache and no ideas. How did Carrie do it? Perhaps it was due to her fictionality.
Next I would try a real-live writer. Perhaps one I loved and admired personally (some would say on a psychotic level); David Sedaris. After gulping down some aspirin I went to find Jasmine where she was sprawled across the couch with a cat licking her forehead. I woke her up to the bright, bright world and tossed her in the car with an icepack and some coffee as we drove off to enact my second inspiration-seeking plan.
“I’m telling you this is a bad idea.” Jasmine muttered as she sucked coffee from a huge mug. Dark glasses hid her face and she huddled down into the car seat.
“It’s a brilliant idea. I can already feel my inspiration coming.” I pulled a ski mask down over my face, “Pass me the dart gun.” She sighed and passed me the weapon that was leaning next to her. The target was walking right in the desired direction, innocently passing by the car. It only took a minute, a dart shot in his general torso area and he successfully passed out with a look of surprise. I stopped the car next to him, yelling loudly in case anyone was suspicious,
“Oh no, a sudden collapse! We must get him to a hospital.” When a passerby tried to help me with my prize I batted at his arms and hissed at him. Jasmine rolled her eyes from the passenger’s seat. When we were finally victoriously driving away I glanced back so much that we almost crashed several times. Jasmine finally threatened to knock me unconscious and set Sedaris free so I kept my attention more focused. But I couldn’t help but gush a little.
“Did you see him? It’s David Sedaris! Sedaris! Have you read his books? Have you read the one with the—“ Jasmine clutched her head and groaned.
I gasped, “I hope he doesn’t hate me, do you think he will hate me?”
“Well we kidnapped him, so probably.”
“I have to make this up to him right now.”
David Sedaris regained consciousness tied to a wooden kitchen chair and smelling something delicious. His eyes widened in fear as they landed on the objects in front of him; a tea set.
“I’m so terribly sorry about all of this.” a girl’s voice murmured from his left.
He jerked away from it but couldn’t get far because of the restraints. Hands came into view to pour tea into a china cup that was set in front of him. A chocolate cupcake was then set down on a napkin next to the tea.
“I hope the food is apology enough.”
He just blinked at her and hoped he wasn’t about to be eviscerated by the psychotic who had kidnapped him and was now serving him tea in a sunny kitchen.
“Oh of course, you’ll need your hands.” She carefully untied his hands then picked up a gun from the table. He made a gurgling noise and she waved the gun at his panicked face.
“No, no it’s just a dart gun, see?” She shot a fluffy black cat that had been creeping toward his cupcake and the feline gave a startled meow before falling into dreamland.
“Meghan can I have a cupcake?” a voice called from the other room.
The girl’s eyes widened, “Excuse me.” she said politely, before she hurried off into the next room.
He picked up his cupcake and sniffed it, wondering if it was safe to take a bite.
“Use the code names.” He heard the girl, Meghan, hiss from the other room.
“I’m sorry, Megatron, can I have a cupcake?”
“Sure. Maybe I should have made something else; he doesn’t seem to like them.”
“Will you please wrap this up? We have to meet our friends this afternoon and—“
“I know, I know.”
The two girls belonging to the voices came in with a plate of cupcakes and pained smiles.
“We’re so sorry for the terrible misunderstanding.” They started to untie the bindings that held him to the chair.
“That’s it?” he asked, suspicious.
“Yes,” They led him to the door, pressing cupcakes into his hands ‘for the road’.
“Oh, one more thing.” One of the girls ran back into the house and came back with one of his books in her hands, “Would you sign this?”
“Sure.” He rapidly penned some script, “Can I please go now?”
“Yes. It was nice meeting you. Bye.” The door shut behind him and he left as quickly as he could.
“What does the signature say?” Jasmine asked.
“To my most psychotic fan, may we never meet again. Thanks for the cupcakes.” Meghan stared dreamily off into the distance. “I think I feel some inspiration coming.”
“Good,” Jasmine said, “don’t ever lose it because I’d hate to see what else we’d have to do to inspire you again.”
-M
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Doug: The Island of Lost Socks
“Where did your mate go?” Two thick, well lined brown brutes of dress asked the small white athletic.
The athletic sighed, she had gotten this question six times after being thrown into the hamper. “He escaped to the Island.”
“And left you behind?” the dark rumble of the dress asked. Apparently, the normally strong silent types were all questions today.
“The Fairy could only take one of us.” A piece of lint dripped down the Athletic’s ankle. “I told him to go. Made him, really.”
Softer now, one of the dress mutters in sympathy: “I’ve always wondered why he always only takes one. It’s against our nature to be apart.” The other rumbled in agreement.
“Truly it is so. In all our months we have yet to see the Fairy take mates. If he takes many, he takes none of the same. What will you do?”
“I will not mate with another!” the athletic trembled, her dark heel becoming darker at the thought. “I would rather shine shoes!”
A thin black dress, one of the unmated ones that had been listening quietly until now broke into unkind laughter. “That is not for you to decide little one.” It wheezed and coughed, and his loose and used skin shook. “Since the Fairy took my mate I have had almost every one like me.”
The athletic trembled with fear and sadness.
“Fear not little one.” The black dress leered closer. “It is not so bad. Perhaps you’ll find a new mate.”
“Never.” She whispered.
“We shall see.”
“SILENCE.” The paired thick brown dress demanded. “Why do you share such unkindness? Go back to the lint from which you spawned.”
The thin black hissed and curled back on itself. “I do not obey you. You may be thick but you will soon be worn, with holes the size of quarters. I will remain forever, as is my right.”
“Maybe so, but today you are weak, and alone, and we could crush you, so you will hold your silence and let the little one be.” The pair loomed over the thin black, who curled back in spite of its bold claims.
“We shall see.” It hissed, before slithering off to its old corner.
A short time passed, and lint fell like rain from the athletic. Finally, it looked up at the pair. “Thank you. You are noble dress.”
“It is in our nature to cushion.” The thick browns answered as one. “Fear not little one. The Laundry Fairy will come soon to bear you away to the Island of Lost Socks, where your mate resides.”
“Do you really think so?” There was such hope in her voice.
“Of course.” The thick brown dress socks lied together, as they had so many times before. “Of course my dear. Now chin up. Here come some more from the Laundry!”
Leagues away, on a small island somewhere tropical, a single male athletic looked up at the sky and wished for his mate.
-Doug
The athletic sighed, she had gotten this question six times after being thrown into the hamper. “He escaped to the Island.”
“And left you behind?” the dark rumble of the dress asked. Apparently, the normally strong silent types were all questions today.
“The Fairy could only take one of us.” A piece of lint dripped down the Athletic’s ankle. “I told him to go. Made him, really.”
Softer now, one of the dress mutters in sympathy: “I’ve always wondered why he always only takes one. It’s against our nature to be apart.” The other rumbled in agreement.
“Truly it is so. In all our months we have yet to see the Fairy take mates. If he takes many, he takes none of the same. What will you do?”
“I will not mate with another!” the athletic trembled, her dark heel becoming darker at the thought. “I would rather shine shoes!”
A thin black dress, one of the unmated ones that had been listening quietly until now broke into unkind laughter. “That is not for you to decide little one.” It wheezed and coughed, and his loose and used skin shook. “Since the Fairy took my mate I have had almost every one like me.”
The athletic trembled with fear and sadness.
“Fear not little one.” The black dress leered closer. “It is not so bad. Perhaps you’ll find a new mate.”
“Never.” She whispered.
“We shall see.”
“SILENCE.” The paired thick brown dress demanded. “Why do you share such unkindness? Go back to the lint from which you spawned.”
The thin black hissed and curled back on itself. “I do not obey you. You may be thick but you will soon be worn, with holes the size of quarters. I will remain forever, as is my right.”
“Maybe so, but today you are weak, and alone, and we could crush you, so you will hold your silence and let the little one be.” The pair loomed over the thin black, who curled back in spite of its bold claims.
“We shall see.” It hissed, before slithering off to its old corner.
A short time passed, and lint fell like rain from the athletic. Finally, it looked up at the pair. “Thank you. You are noble dress.”
“It is in our nature to cushion.” The thick browns answered as one. “Fear not little one. The Laundry Fairy will come soon to bear you away to the Island of Lost Socks, where your mate resides.”
“Do you really think so?” There was such hope in her voice.
“Of course.” The thick brown dress socks lied together, as they had so many times before. “Of course my dear. Now chin up. Here come some more from the Laundry!”
Leagues away, on a small island somewhere tropical, a single male athletic looked up at the sky and wished for his mate.
-Doug
Monday, May 23, 2011
Doug: From My Father Learned
From my father I learned. My surname is Wood, and my father fits it. From my earliest memory he has been strong as Ironwood. They say that fathers will always be giants in the eyes of their children. I believe this is so. Indomitable, unwavering, and patient, my father is the heart tree. The dynast of all other trees in the forest.
From my father I take Strength, Patience, Honor. I learned to be still, and strong, and silent and in that silence find the wisdom to listen.
From my brother I learned. His surname is Hanssen, Son of Hans. His ancestors tamed the seas and built trade routes. Burned villages and saw foreign shores. From my earliest memory he has been restless. Yet his restlessness means more than an inability to sit still. His is an ability to dream of something and realize it. He sees what he wants and takes it, crossing oceans and continents to do so. But his goals are mere air and sand. They interest him not. It is his journey that matters, not where you go in life but the story you weave while going there. My brother is like the water, a well of a thousand stories and adventures.
From my brother I take Restlessness, Adventure and Accomplishment. I learned to dream and tell stories, and in those dreams and stories find my own goals and reach them.
From my mother I learned. My mother’s surname is Persons, and it means little to me. Her given name describes her better. Eve. Eve took the apple because she wanted to know good from evil. From my earliest memory my mother has taught me right from wrong. My mother is the hearth fire, without her the home is not. My mother taught me to love others, to believe the best in man even when they prove you wrong. My mother taught me empathy, to make my loved ones pain my own, and in doing so lessen theirs. My mother taught me to be human.
From my mother I take Empathy, Kindness, and Family. I learned that no man is below me, and to make those that deserve it my family, blood or no.
From my friends I learned. I learned things innumerable. Their names are Legion, their traits as vast as the stars. I will name some closest. From the Queen’s daughter I learned the power of God, and the meaning it had for others as well as me. The power of belief is a force of nature, and even when brought low one can find some meaning. From the father of nations I learned acceptance of things that you can change, and things that you can’t. I learned that there are some people that will stick by you until the end. Not because it’s the right thing to do or even the smart thing to do, but it is what you choose to do. From the Pearl I learned consideration. There are a thousand paths in every moment, but what you choose has meanings beyond yourself. The Pearl has shown me this in ways she can’t imagine, and I thank her for it.
From the Princess I take Faith, in all its power and danger. From the Father I take Loyalty, in all of its weakness and strength. From the Pearl I take Consequence; in all of its unknown and known forms.
From peace I learned. I learned that one day I’m going to have to beat this sword into a plow and let someone younger do the fighting. Before I knew peace I didn’t know that I could ever want to do that. Peace taught me that life was worth living and worth protecting. Peace can be left behind, but never forgotten. These are the things that peace taught me.
From peace I take Love, and don’t regret it for a second.
These among others have made me. Love, Loyalty, Consequence, Faith, Kindness, Family, Empathy, Restlessness, Adventure, Accomplishment, Patience, Strength, Honor. Shards of a mirror, facets of how I came into being. They exist in me because others have taught them to me, and for this I am eternally grateful.
I will take your lessons, your knowledge.
I will use them for good.
To this I swear my Sacred Honor, from my Father learned.
-Doug
From my father I take Strength, Patience, Honor. I learned to be still, and strong, and silent and in that silence find the wisdom to listen.
From my brother I learned. His surname is Hanssen, Son of Hans. His ancestors tamed the seas and built trade routes. Burned villages and saw foreign shores. From my earliest memory he has been restless. Yet his restlessness means more than an inability to sit still. His is an ability to dream of something and realize it. He sees what he wants and takes it, crossing oceans and continents to do so. But his goals are mere air and sand. They interest him not. It is his journey that matters, not where you go in life but the story you weave while going there. My brother is like the water, a well of a thousand stories and adventures.
From my brother I take Restlessness, Adventure and Accomplishment. I learned to dream and tell stories, and in those dreams and stories find my own goals and reach them.
From my mother I learned. My mother’s surname is Persons, and it means little to me. Her given name describes her better. Eve. Eve took the apple because she wanted to know good from evil. From my earliest memory my mother has taught me right from wrong. My mother is the hearth fire, without her the home is not. My mother taught me to love others, to believe the best in man even when they prove you wrong. My mother taught me empathy, to make my loved ones pain my own, and in doing so lessen theirs. My mother taught me to be human.
From my mother I take Empathy, Kindness, and Family. I learned that no man is below me, and to make those that deserve it my family, blood or no.
From my friends I learned. I learned things innumerable. Their names are Legion, their traits as vast as the stars. I will name some closest. From the Queen’s daughter I learned the power of God, and the meaning it had for others as well as me. The power of belief is a force of nature, and even when brought low one can find some meaning. From the father of nations I learned acceptance of things that you can change, and things that you can’t. I learned that there are some people that will stick by you until the end. Not because it’s the right thing to do or even the smart thing to do, but it is what you choose to do. From the Pearl I learned consideration. There are a thousand paths in every moment, but what you choose has meanings beyond yourself. The Pearl has shown me this in ways she can’t imagine, and I thank her for it.
From the Princess I take Faith, in all its power and danger. From the Father I take Loyalty, in all of its weakness and strength. From the Pearl I take Consequence; in all of its unknown and known forms.
From peace I learned. I learned that one day I’m going to have to beat this sword into a plow and let someone younger do the fighting. Before I knew peace I didn’t know that I could ever want to do that. Peace taught me that life was worth living and worth protecting. Peace can be left behind, but never forgotten. These are the things that peace taught me.
From peace I take Love, and don’t regret it for a second.
These among others have made me. Love, Loyalty, Consequence, Faith, Kindness, Family, Empathy, Restlessness, Adventure, Accomplishment, Patience, Strength, Honor. Shards of a mirror, facets of how I came into being. They exist in me because others have taught them to me, and for this I am eternally grateful.
I will take your lessons, your knowledge.
I will use them for good.
To this I swear my Sacred Honor, from my Father learned.
-Doug
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Meghan: The real cause of the common cold
I cracked open my eyes to the bright light of day, hoping to go directly to my desk and study for my upcoming finals until I passed out. But what I saw perched on the bedspread stopped me cold; there was a tiny chicken in my bed.
“Shit, shit…” I cursed softly as the little creatures hopped down my chest. I reached with one hand to the side table for the book I had fallen asleep reading and shook Jasmine awake with the other.
“Uhh?” She groaned blearily and turned my way. The tiny chicken sensed her breath and darted for her open mouth, but I was too quick. With one hand I sealed Jasmine’s mouth safely shut and with the book in the other hand I smashed the tiny chicken flat.
“Damn things, I thought the cats got all of them.” I muttered. Jasmine was wide awake now and happily scraped the tiny chicken off the bedspread, murmuring something about specimen jars.
“It didn’t get you did it?” She asked, concerned.
“I don’t think so…” I carefully felt my nose, ears, and mouth searching for some evidence that a tiny chicken had been there.
But then I felt it. That telltale popping that can mean only one thing; a tiny chicken has laid its eggs in your head.
“Uuuuggghhhh…” I groaned, leaning forward onto the bed. Jasmine patted me sympathetically on the back, setting a box of Kleenex down beside me as the eggs popping in my head dripped their mucus down through my nasal passages and out through my nose.
Several days later I was curled in a blanket on the couch with a bowl of mint ice cream for my throat. The egg-mucus had worked its magic and I felt miserable from the neck-up.
“You know, milk and sugar only make the tiny chickens stronger.” Jasmine told me as she plopped down next to me. I glared at her and licked another glorious spoonful down. I didn’t care if my tiny chickens came out green and minty fresh, the ice cream felt wonderful on my ravaged throat. Jasmine had started carrying around various smashing tools and sleeping with a sealed helmet. All was in preparation for the eventual emersion of my fully grown tiny chickens. Personally, I was hoping that they were all eaten by our cats, I didn’t quite trust her smashing skills; but Jasmine wanted to be prepared. I felt a sneeze building from a long way off and grabbed a tissue. When I finally sneezed it was such a huge relief I almost didn’t feel the thing that flew out of my left nostril. My own home-grown tiny chicken landed with a little splat on the coffee table and fluffed out its wings. Jasmine and I just stared at it in shock, but the cats were not so frozen. When the tiny feathered thing hopped off the table it was a mad dash to see which cat could devour the thing first.
“Okay.” Jasmine handed me a pickle jar, “sneeze out another one.”
“I don’t need to sneeze.”
“Then just hang onto that until you do. They’re supposed to come out at about the same time, right?”
“Yes, but—“ And then I sneezed, my eyes crossing with the force of it. With all the concentration and precision of a person catching her girlfriend’s tiny chickens in a pickle jar (which is quite a lot), she caught what launched from my face and slammed the lid down.
“Oooohhh…” I groaned, sliding down on the couch.
“Ohh! Twins!” Jasmine held the jar up to the light, “Congratulations mama.”
“Shut…up…”
She laughed at me and went to make me tea.
I dragged myself up and looked into the jar. The little chickens were pecking and scratching around aimlessly, trying to get up the sloping glass sides, “What do you want them for anyway?”
“Oh…things.” Jasmine set a steaming mug down in front of me
“Things?” I asked archly.
“Just some people I want to…you know…I doubt I’ll ever use them.”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Shhh.” She clicked on the TV and the theme from Buffy the vampire Slayer echoed in the house. “You’re sick; we’ll talk about it when you’re better.”
“Actually I’m feeling a lot better now that the tiny chickens are gone—“
“Shhh…”She smoothed my hair back from my face, “Poor, sick Meghan.”
I resisted the urge to punch her in the kidneys and settled in to watch many vampires turn to dust. The episode was briefly interrupted when I sneezed and another tiny chicken burst from my nose to be chased by cats and Jasmine waving a jar. I almost felt sorry for the poor thing.
Just another normal day.
-M
“Shit, shit…” I cursed softly as the little creatures hopped down my chest. I reached with one hand to the side table for the book I had fallen asleep reading and shook Jasmine awake with the other.
“Uhh?” She groaned blearily and turned my way. The tiny chicken sensed her breath and darted for her open mouth, but I was too quick. With one hand I sealed Jasmine’s mouth safely shut and with the book in the other hand I smashed the tiny chicken flat.
“Damn things, I thought the cats got all of them.” I muttered. Jasmine was wide awake now and happily scraped the tiny chicken off the bedspread, murmuring something about specimen jars.
“It didn’t get you did it?” She asked, concerned.
“I don’t think so…” I carefully felt my nose, ears, and mouth searching for some evidence that a tiny chicken had been there.
But then I felt it. That telltale popping that can mean only one thing; a tiny chicken has laid its eggs in your head.
“Uuuuggghhhh…” I groaned, leaning forward onto the bed. Jasmine patted me sympathetically on the back, setting a box of Kleenex down beside me as the eggs popping in my head dripped their mucus down through my nasal passages and out through my nose.
Several days later I was curled in a blanket on the couch with a bowl of mint ice cream for my throat. The egg-mucus had worked its magic and I felt miserable from the neck-up.
“You know, milk and sugar only make the tiny chickens stronger.” Jasmine told me as she plopped down next to me. I glared at her and licked another glorious spoonful down. I didn’t care if my tiny chickens came out green and minty fresh, the ice cream felt wonderful on my ravaged throat. Jasmine had started carrying around various smashing tools and sleeping with a sealed helmet. All was in preparation for the eventual emersion of my fully grown tiny chickens. Personally, I was hoping that they were all eaten by our cats, I didn’t quite trust her smashing skills; but Jasmine wanted to be prepared. I felt a sneeze building from a long way off and grabbed a tissue. When I finally sneezed it was such a huge relief I almost didn’t feel the thing that flew out of my left nostril. My own home-grown tiny chicken landed with a little splat on the coffee table and fluffed out its wings. Jasmine and I just stared at it in shock, but the cats were not so frozen. When the tiny feathered thing hopped off the table it was a mad dash to see which cat could devour the thing first.
“Okay.” Jasmine handed me a pickle jar, “sneeze out another one.”
“I don’t need to sneeze.”
“Then just hang onto that until you do. They’re supposed to come out at about the same time, right?”
“Yes, but—“ And then I sneezed, my eyes crossing with the force of it. With all the concentration and precision of a person catching her girlfriend’s tiny chickens in a pickle jar (which is quite a lot), she caught what launched from my face and slammed the lid down.
“Oooohhh…” I groaned, sliding down on the couch.
“Ohh! Twins!” Jasmine held the jar up to the light, “Congratulations mama.”
“Shut…up…”
She laughed at me and went to make me tea.
I dragged myself up and looked into the jar. The little chickens were pecking and scratching around aimlessly, trying to get up the sloping glass sides, “What do you want them for anyway?”
“Oh…things.” Jasmine set a steaming mug down in front of me
“Things?” I asked archly.
“Just some people I want to…you know…I doubt I’ll ever use them.”
“Mmmhmm.”
“Shhh.” She clicked on the TV and the theme from Buffy the vampire Slayer echoed in the house. “You’re sick; we’ll talk about it when you’re better.”
“Actually I’m feeling a lot better now that the tiny chickens are gone—“
“Shhh…”She smoothed my hair back from my face, “Poor, sick Meghan.”
I resisted the urge to punch her in the kidneys and settled in to watch many vampires turn to dust. The episode was briefly interrupted when I sneezed and another tiny chicken burst from my nose to be chased by cats and Jasmine waving a jar. I almost felt sorry for the poor thing.
Just another normal day.
-M
Friday, May 6, 2011
Doug: This Blog
This blog is fucking awesome.
This blog is everything Jasmine wants it to be.
This blog is everything I want it to be.
This blog is witty, cynical, insightful, whimsical, senseless, wise, mediocre, irreverent, bitter, cheerful, inspiring, and everything else it should be.
This blog is the moon landing. This blog is a genocide in some foreign country no one who reads this has ever heard of or will give a shit about for more than the next fifteen seconds.
This blog is important.
This blog is irrelevant.
This blog makes a statement and says nothing.
This blog means I miss you, all of you, even the ones who won't/don't speak to me. It also means I want to fucking strangle the lot of you.
This blog is going nowhere. Fast. Like a bullet train from the deserts of Nevada to the jungles in Congo. Nothing worth anything at either end.
This blog is angry, and sad. This blog is hungry, not for food or drink but words and feelings and sensations like sunlight dripping over your skin like a shower of light.
This blog wants to resonate inside you and make you so angry at your loss that you want to do everything, anything to get back those bonds you lost.
This blog wants nothing more than your complete, absolute, and full attention. Because whatever you are doing right now is not as important as this blog. Nothing, not homework, not real work, not boyfriends not girlfriends, not food, not taking a shit, not camping trips, not parents visiting, not the mundane, boring life that we've pounded ourselves into, none of it, is as important as this blog is right now.
This blog has your full attention.
This blog will now state its demands.
This blog wants more.
This blog wants you to pick up the phone and call it.
This blog wants to go on a camping trip together.
This blog wants to be what it once was. Whole, complete, better than itself.
This blog once heard a story about apple pie. All the ingredients of apple pie are good on their own. The apples, the pastry, the butter, the cinnamon, the sugar; they're all good. But with a little bit of effort, all those pieces come together to become more than the sum of their parts. The apples, the pastry, the butter, the cinnamon, the sugar all combine to make something that is greater than the sum of it's parts. Something more than just it's component pieces.
This blog wants to be an apple pie.
This blog is sick of your bullshit. And yours. Yours too. And especially YOURS.
This blog is sick of it's own bullshit, and is feeling pretentious.
This blog doesn't give a fuck.
This blog wants to talk about Bin Laden, or Libya, or North Korea, or camping trips, or fantasy worlds, or star ships, or biochemistry, or vampires, or werewolves, or nonsensical dreams or angry rants. This blog wants to BE. To EXIST.
This blog wants to fight for its life on the stormy seas of Cyberspace.
This blog wants to be at rest in a field of digital flowers.
This blog wants to scheme to take over the internet.
This blog wants to dream of electric sheep and other things unimaginable to lesser blogs.
This blog just wants to love, and be loved in return. Because that is what that blog holds dear.
This blog is the sum of many blogs, and yet greater than it's own self.
This blog is.
-Doug
This blog is everything Jasmine wants it to be.
This blog is everything I want it to be.
This blog is witty, cynical, insightful, whimsical, senseless, wise, mediocre, irreverent, bitter, cheerful, inspiring, and everything else it should be.
This blog is the moon landing. This blog is a genocide in some foreign country no one who reads this has ever heard of or will give a shit about for more than the next fifteen seconds.
This blog is important.
This blog is irrelevant.
This blog makes a statement and says nothing.
This blog means I miss you, all of you, even the ones who won't/don't speak to me. It also means I want to fucking strangle the lot of you.
This blog is going nowhere. Fast. Like a bullet train from the deserts of Nevada to the jungles in Congo. Nothing worth anything at either end.
This blog is angry, and sad. This blog is hungry, not for food or drink but words and feelings and sensations like sunlight dripping over your skin like a shower of light.
This blog wants to resonate inside you and make you so angry at your loss that you want to do everything, anything to get back those bonds you lost.
This blog wants nothing more than your complete, absolute, and full attention. Because whatever you are doing right now is not as important as this blog. Nothing, not homework, not real work, not boyfriends not girlfriends, not food, not taking a shit, not camping trips, not parents visiting, not the mundane, boring life that we've pounded ourselves into, none of it, is as important as this blog is right now.
This blog has your full attention.
This blog will now state its demands.
This blog wants more.
This blog wants you to pick up the phone and call it.
This blog wants to go on a camping trip together.
This blog wants to be what it once was. Whole, complete, better than itself.
This blog once heard a story about apple pie. All the ingredients of apple pie are good on their own. The apples, the pastry, the butter, the cinnamon, the sugar; they're all good. But with a little bit of effort, all those pieces come together to become more than the sum of their parts. The apples, the pastry, the butter, the cinnamon, the sugar all combine to make something that is greater than the sum of it's parts. Something more than just it's component pieces.
This blog wants to be an apple pie.
This blog is sick of your bullshit. And yours. Yours too. And especially YOURS.
This blog is sick of it's own bullshit, and is feeling pretentious.
This blog doesn't give a fuck.
This blog wants to talk about Bin Laden, or Libya, or North Korea, or camping trips, or fantasy worlds, or star ships, or biochemistry, or vampires, or werewolves, or nonsensical dreams or angry rants. This blog wants to BE. To EXIST.
This blog wants to fight for its life on the stormy seas of Cyberspace.
This blog wants to be at rest in a field of digital flowers.
This blog wants to scheme to take over the internet.
This blog wants to dream of electric sheep and other things unimaginable to lesser blogs.
This blog just wants to love, and be loved in return. Because that is what that blog holds dear.
This blog is the sum of many blogs, and yet greater than it's own self.
This blog is.
-Doug
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Meghan: writing with left hand
attention and sleep sleep sleep in the cerebellum cerebellum unpure dopamine serotonin fast gets messy mood affective not so much these days depending on what are motivates you sometimes motivation is internal my motivation is that can you recognize these variables motivations is a need or desire nobody wants to kiss when theyre hungry abraham maslew's theory arousal theory your esteem everything everything begins to fit into a pattern there are lots of variations want to write with mmy other had need lotion for my legs. arousal theory do something to reduce drie (hunger/boredom) instinct of salmon to migrate upstream animal behavior is useful and interesting in itself, not useless konrad lorenz was bird mommy grooming swimming. this teacher lis babies too much the longer you live as a species the less instinctual behaviors these kinds of stimuli are based on hunger pairs.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Jasmine: All the smells of the rainbow
Putrefaction and Autolysis, sigh, just those two words send my nose all tingly and a smile across my face. Things that happen to the body after death has been the theme in my forensic anthropology class for some time now and a few days ago my teacher got down to the actual decomposition of the materials. Yay!
Autolysis, not to be confused with autothysis, is the natural breakdown of the cells in our body. When we stop breathing, essentially living, we stop being able to produce lots and lots of ATP (energy) with that oxygen. But our body, though dead, continues to produce the ATP, and by doing so ends up producing lots and lots of lactic acid. Those of you who remember glycolysis and the kreb cycle should know this. If you don’t or never knew it, lactic acid is what causes your muscles to burn when you exercise hard, this is because you are exercising so fast that the oxygen you take in can’t be used for ATP fast enough and so lactic acid is built up.
This build of lactic acid degrades the cell and actually degrades the cell to cell connections. If you were alive you would heal this before it got this far. Organs sort of liquefy, and coagulate into a thick sticky, kinda mushy chunky fluid. The brain actually liquefies to a grey soup. The skin stays intact mostly for a while and we become a bag of smelly fluid. When the cells degrade, sulfur containing amino acids methionine and homocysteine and possibly others, degrade into hydrogen sulfide which reacts with iron from the blood to create black ferrous sulfide. Blood vessels close to the surface are visible as black lines. This gives off a marbling effect. We become a marble smelly bag of fluid!
Secondly Putrefaction, it’s the better known aspect of decomposition, or at least more often mentioned. All over and all inside our bodies are bacteria. The human body actually contains more bacterial cells then human cells a lot of them are even necessary to human survival. These live primarily in our intestines. While our body is alive it keeps all of these bacteria at bay. The moment we stop living and fighting them, they eat us alive. One of the products of the bacteria eating us is methane gas. It accumulates in the body hugely bloating the body including swelling the tongue out of the mouth as the gas tries to find a way to escape. The swelling continues until the maggot mass (another lovely aspect of dying) eats through the abdominal wall releasing the gasses.
I don’t know why I felt the urge to blog this. I know I find it interesting and I will forever and ever, but many of you readers will probably be disgusted. Because this will happen to all of you unless you take precautions. I urge you, find a vampire, make friends, convince them to turn you into one of their kind. That or go the Egyptian route and mummify that body. Or cremation. Okay there are lots of routes. I prefer the vampire one but I’m not going to force my opinion on you.
Autolysis, not to be confused with autothysis, is the natural breakdown of the cells in our body. When we stop breathing, essentially living, we stop being able to produce lots and lots of ATP (energy) with that oxygen. But our body, though dead, continues to produce the ATP, and by doing so ends up producing lots and lots of lactic acid. Those of you who remember glycolysis and the kreb cycle should know this. If you don’t or never knew it, lactic acid is what causes your muscles to burn when you exercise hard, this is because you are exercising so fast that the oxygen you take in can’t be used for ATP fast enough and so lactic acid is built up.
This build of lactic acid degrades the cell and actually degrades the cell to cell connections. If you were alive you would heal this before it got this far. Organs sort of liquefy, and coagulate into a thick sticky, kinda mushy chunky fluid. The brain actually liquefies to a grey soup. The skin stays intact mostly for a while and we become a bag of smelly fluid. When the cells degrade, sulfur containing amino acids methionine and homocysteine and possibly others, degrade into hydrogen sulfide which reacts with iron from the blood to create black ferrous sulfide. Blood vessels close to the surface are visible as black lines. This gives off a marbling effect. We become a marble smelly bag of fluid!
Secondly Putrefaction, it’s the better known aspect of decomposition, or at least more often mentioned. All over and all inside our bodies are bacteria. The human body actually contains more bacterial cells then human cells a lot of them are even necessary to human survival. These live primarily in our intestines. While our body is alive it keeps all of these bacteria at bay. The moment we stop living and fighting them, they eat us alive. One of the products of the bacteria eating us is methane gas. It accumulates in the body hugely bloating the body including swelling the tongue out of the mouth as the gas tries to find a way to escape. The swelling continues until the maggot mass (another lovely aspect of dying) eats through the abdominal wall releasing the gasses.
I don’t know why I felt the urge to blog this. I know I find it interesting and I will forever and ever, but many of you readers will probably be disgusted. Because this will happen to all of you unless you take precautions. I urge you, find a vampire, make friends, convince them to turn you into one of their kind. That or go the Egyptian route and mummify that body. Or cremation. Okay there are lots of routes. I prefer the vampire one but I’m not going to force my opinion on you.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Jasmine: Self Destructive Behavior
I haven’t blogged in 57 days, Abe hasn’t blogged in 64 days, Sarah hasn’t blogged in 54 days Doug hasn’t blogged in 42 days, and Meghan is winning with a grand total of 22 days since her last blog
But I don’t blame any of you, I actually can’t without casting heaps of blame onto myself which I am incapable of doing so I will wait until after this has posted and then point and glare from my high ground where the grass is green and the fruits are sweet.
Mostly I don’t blame you because I’ve been incredibly busy, and everyone I talk to also seems to be busy. This week in particular is going to be a kind of hell, but I figured if I had time to watch vlog brothers I have time to write a blog, so I’m trying.
I have an essay due this Thursday, I had to research a topic in deviance and I chose suicide in the elderly. My mind likes to wander and make interesting associations where it will, and this combined with a vlogbrothers video on power moves of the animal kingdom led me to do some random interesting research on some of the destructive behaviors the vlog brothers described as power moves
Autothysis
It’s a process where an animal suicides by exploding some part of itself! When carpenter ants battle and it seems like they’re not going to win, they contract muscles in their abdomens exploding two mandibular glands along the sides of their bodies which sprays a glue like poison in all directions. This both immobilizes their prey and kills them. Several species of termites are also capable of this minus the poison glue. They explode their bodies in tunnels to block entrances and protect a colony from invasion.
Trichobatrachus robustus
Common name the hairy frog, also known as WOLVERINE FROG! There is a bone in its foot that acts like a cat’s claws minus the keratin, and retractability and they have to break their own bones in order to push it through the skin! When threatened they indeed break bones in their back feet and claws extend.
The frog led me to another amphibian
The Spanish ribbed newt when attacked with rotate its ribcage forward and contract is body forcing the sharp spiny ends of the ribs through its skin (there are no ready made holes it cuts its skin) and into its attacker.
I thought these self destructive behaviors were pretty cool and I shared them with you. Credit where credit is due, the vlogbrothers got me started on this with a video and mentioned the carpenter ants and the hairy frog
But I don’t blame any of you, I actually can’t without casting heaps of blame onto myself which I am incapable of doing so I will wait until after this has posted and then point and glare from my high ground where the grass is green and the fruits are sweet.
Mostly I don’t blame you because I’ve been incredibly busy, and everyone I talk to also seems to be busy. This week in particular is going to be a kind of hell, but I figured if I had time to watch vlog brothers I have time to write a blog, so I’m trying.
I have an essay due this Thursday, I had to research a topic in deviance and I chose suicide in the elderly. My mind likes to wander and make interesting associations where it will, and this combined with a vlogbrothers video on power moves of the animal kingdom led me to do some random interesting research on some of the destructive behaviors the vlog brothers described as power moves
Autothysis
It’s a process where an animal suicides by exploding some part of itself! When carpenter ants battle and it seems like they’re not going to win, they contract muscles in their abdomens exploding two mandibular glands along the sides of their bodies which sprays a glue like poison in all directions. This both immobilizes their prey and kills them. Several species of termites are also capable of this minus the poison glue. They explode their bodies in tunnels to block entrances and protect a colony from invasion.
Trichobatrachus robustus
Common name the hairy frog, also known as WOLVERINE FROG! There is a bone in its foot that acts like a cat’s claws minus the keratin, and retractability and they have to break their own bones in order to push it through the skin! When threatened they indeed break bones in their back feet and claws extend.
The frog led me to another amphibian
The Spanish ribbed newt when attacked with rotate its ribcage forward and contract is body forcing the sharp spiny ends of the ribs through its skin (there are no ready made holes it cuts its skin) and into its attacker.
I thought these self destructive behaviors were pretty cool and I shared them with you. Credit where credit is due, the vlogbrothers got me started on this with a video and mentioned the carpenter ants and the hairy frog
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Meghan: Microsoft
Send this information to help Microsoft improve proofing tools.
The information listed below is from your use of the spelling checker, grammer checker, thesaurus, and hyphenation tool. If this information is sent to Microsoft it will be used only to improve our software and services.
Review the list below, you can delete any lines you do not wish to send.
Or something
His parents' basement).
Maybe.
"Mrrrr
mrrr
The cat cried sadly, wavint it's paws.
"Uhhhgghhhrrhh
(translation: "WTF?!
(translation: "WTF?!
hellspawn
HOW DARE YOU TRESPASS ON OUR LANDS!?!"
(translation: "We value our cats.
(translation: "We value our cats.
(translation: "I come for revenge!)
(translates to the same)
"Oh, one more thing."
0 It would be nice if such a simple definition covered all of the twists and turns of leadership.
Niccolo
Karamchand
ibn
vs
Better to be Feared?
Niccolo
Follow the Leader 0/0/00
Follow the Leader 0/0/00
0 It would be nice if such a simple definition covered all of the twists and turns of leadership.
Niccolo
Karamchand
ibn
Niccolo
Bentz
"Goddess accept the sacrifice I offer."
summoner
summoner
summoner
Where?"
"Aah
I frowned, "It's blood.
"The neighbors were complaining, you know we couldn't keep them."
Send report now?
Send
-M
The information listed below is from your use of the spelling checker, grammer checker, thesaurus, and hyphenation tool. If this information is sent to Microsoft it will be used only to improve our software and services.
Review the list below, you can delete any lines you do not wish to send.
Or something
His parents' basement).
Maybe.
"Mrrrr
mrrr
The cat cried sadly, wavint it's paws.
"Uhhhgghhhrrhh
(translation: "WTF?!
(translation: "WTF?!
hellspawn
HOW DARE YOU TRESPASS ON OUR LANDS!?!"
(translation: "We value our cats.
(translation: "We value our cats.
(translation: "I come for revenge!)
(translates to the same)
"Oh, one more thing."
0 It would be nice if such a simple definition covered all of the twists and turns of leadership.
Niccolo
Karamchand
ibn
vs
Better to be Feared?
Niccolo
Follow the Leader 0/0/00
Follow the Leader 0/0/00
0 It would be nice if such a simple definition covered all of the twists and turns of leadership.
Niccolo
Karamchand
ibn
Niccolo
Bentz
"Goddess accept the sacrifice I offer."
summoner
summoner
summoner
Where?"
"Aah
I frowned, "It's blood.
"The neighbors were complaining, you know we couldn't keep them."
Send report now?
Send
-M
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Meghan: Roosters
“Goddess accept the sacrifice that I offer.”
Moonlight gleamed on the sacrificial cleaver as it descended on the hapless rooster’s neck. There was surprisingly little blood as the body jerked in its death throes. The woman in the graveyard pressed it into the dirt, trying to direct what blood there was onto the correct grave, mixing growls of frustration with Latin. As the last phrase left her lips a hand broke free from its cover of dirt. A long dead corpse dug its way free from the ground to stand gaping in front of the woman who had summoned it.
“Excellent.” She breathed, scrubbing her bloody hands on her shirt as she walked around the undead. It was an old woman, still wearing the flowery dress she had been buried in, now ripped and torn from her journey. Her white wispy hair was caked with dirt and fell out in patches. Her blue eyes were milky and vacant, focused vaguely on the summoner. The summoner hopped up and down a few times with excitement before she could contain herself, looking around rapidly to see if anyone had seen. But the graveyard was empty in the moonlight.
“All right,” The summoner murmured striding over to a pen where one more rooster eyed her warily, “Let’s try another one.”
I stirred oatmeal as it cooked on the stove, the repetitive motions making me sleepy. Jasmine was curled up at the kitchen table, her head resting on folded arms. I set out bowls and poured oatmeal into them, adding a handful of strawberries, then tapped Jasmine on the head. She started awake and blinked at her oatmeal. I almost expected her to set her face in it like a squishy warm pillow. Thankfully this did not happen. Looking more awake as she ate, she started talking about a test we had that week.
“You have some strawberry on your cheek.”
“What? Where?” She patted her face.
“There.” I playfully kissed and licked her cheek.
“Aah gross, stop.” She pushed me off, rubbing at her face.
I frowned, “It’s blood. Why is there blood?”
Her face froze, “Uh…”
And then I realized what had been different that morning. What I hadn’t heard.
I raced to the backyard.
I made it to the door before Jasmine slammed into me, taking me to the floor.
“Calm down, calm down.” She said soothingly, which wasn’t very soothing as she was pinning my wrists and torso.
“Calm down!?” I hissed, rolling her across the floor, “What did you do to them?”
“The neighbors were complaining, you know we couldn’t keep them.”
“But…” I curled against her chest, suddenly wanting to be comforted more than wrestled to the ground, “I feel like I should have done it.”
She tucked her chin over my head, “You couldn’t even kill baby rats for your snake.”
I punched her lightly in the chest, “Neither could you.”
“Well I had a greater cause.”
I snorted, “And what was that?”
“I’m going to start the zombie apocalypse.”
-M
Moonlight gleamed on the sacrificial cleaver as it descended on the hapless rooster’s neck. There was surprisingly little blood as the body jerked in its death throes. The woman in the graveyard pressed it into the dirt, trying to direct what blood there was onto the correct grave, mixing growls of frustration with Latin. As the last phrase left her lips a hand broke free from its cover of dirt. A long dead corpse dug its way free from the ground to stand gaping in front of the woman who had summoned it.
“Excellent.” She breathed, scrubbing her bloody hands on her shirt as she walked around the undead. It was an old woman, still wearing the flowery dress she had been buried in, now ripped and torn from her journey. Her white wispy hair was caked with dirt and fell out in patches. Her blue eyes were milky and vacant, focused vaguely on the summoner. The summoner hopped up and down a few times with excitement before she could contain herself, looking around rapidly to see if anyone had seen. But the graveyard was empty in the moonlight.
“All right,” The summoner murmured striding over to a pen where one more rooster eyed her warily, “Let’s try another one.”
I stirred oatmeal as it cooked on the stove, the repetitive motions making me sleepy. Jasmine was curled up at the kitchen table, her head resting on folded arms. I set out bowls and poured oatmeal into them, adding a handful of strawberries, then tapped Jasmine on the head. She started awake and blinked at her oatmeal. I almost expected her to set her face in it like a squishy warm pillow. Thankfully this did not happen. Looking more awake as she ate, she started talking about a test we had that week.
“You have some strawberry on your cheek.”
“What? Where?” She patted her face.
“There.” I playfully kissed and licked her cheek.
“Aah gross, stop.” She pushed me off, rubbing at her face.
I frowned, “It’s blood. Why is there blood?”
Her face froze, “Uh…”
And then I realized what had been different that morning. What I hadn’t heard.
I raced to the backyard.
I made it to the door before Jasmine slammed into me, taking me to the floor.
“Calm down, calm down.” She said soothingly, which wasn’t very soothing as she was pinning my wrists and torso.
“Calm down!?” I hissed, rolling her across the floor, “What did you do to them?”
“The neighbors were complaining, you know we couldn’t keep them.”
“But…” I curled against her chest, suddenly wanting to be comforted more than wrestled to the ground, “I feel like I should have done it.”
She tucked her chin over my head, “You couldn’t even kill baby rats for your snake.”
I punched her lightly in the chest, “Neither could you.”
“Well I had a greater cause.”
I snorted, “And what was that?”
“I’m going to start the zombie apocalypse.”
-M
Monday, March 7, 2011
Doug: Wounds
I need to write a 7 page paper. But I'm going to do this instead, because this is the disquiet that follows my soul, and the paper is but a shadow on my mind.
A woman slept on me today. This is neither exciting nor new. Many girls and women have slept on me, with me or in my presence. Some have been friends. Some have been more than friends. Some have been both.
As I watched the soft female body beneath me slip into the twilight of dreams, I found myself thinking back to others that have done so. I found myself thinking of a mop of blonde hair, a sharp contrast to the rich chestnut flowing over my arm. I found myself thinking of a much smaller frame, with narrow eyes that changed color with her mood. I found myself thinking of someone else.
The one who slept on me today does not know that this is who I thought of. I do not know what she thinks. I'm not sure that I care.
I am angry. In an exhausted way. I'm convinced I made the right decision, but not particularly pleased with it. This is the way of things.
It will be this way for some time I feel. A ghost or two will haunt my quiet moments. It is the way of things, when you have lost something you love.
But what scares me, in the only way I can be scared anymore, is that no matter how hard I try I can't seem to forget the way she smells, the way she smiles, the look in her eyes when she's afraid.
The look in her eyes when she's in love.
God damn it. I hate it when the only option is to lose.
-Doug
"It was all or nothing. I wanted her to love me, and me alone. But I knew if I made her choose that she'd grow to hate me for forcing her. So I made the decision for her."
"And now she hates you anyway."
"No. And that's the worst part about it."
A woman slept on me today. This is neither exciting nor new. Many girls and women have slept on me, with me or in my presence. Some have been friends. Some have been more than friends. Some have been both.
As I watched the soft female body beneath me slip into the twilight of dreams, I found myself thinking back to others that have done so. I found myself thinking of a mop of blonde hair, a sharp contrast to the rich chestnut flowing over my arm. I found myself thinking of a much smaller frame, with narrow eyes that changed color with her mood. I found myself thinking of someone else.
The one who slept on me today does not know that this is who I thought of. I do not know what she thinks. I'm not sure that I care.
I am angry. In an exhausted way. I'm convinced I made the right decision, but not particularly pleased with it. This is the way of things.
It will be this way for some time I feel. A ghost or two will haunt my quiet moments. It is the way of things, when you have lost something you love.
But what scares me, in the only way I can be scared anymore, is that no matter how hard I try I can't seem to forget the way she smells, the way she smiles, the look in her eyes when she's afraid.
The look in her eyes when she's in love.
God damn it. I hate it when the only option is to lose.
-Doug
"It was all or nothing. I wanted her to love me, and me alone. But I knew if I made her choose that she'd grow to hate me for forcing her. So I made the decision for her."
"And now she hates you anyway."
"No. And that's the worst part about it."
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Meghan:From the internet, with love
In response to Homosexuality is a sin:
So is not treating your body like a temple. And ladies should have their heads covered. And in Deuteronomy, a marriage is only valid if the woman is a virgin, and she should be executed if she is not...and that anyone who commits adultery should be stoned to death. In Mark, divorce is prohibited.
I assume for homosexuality, you're referring to Leviticus 18:6: "You shall not lie with a male as one lies with a female. It is an abomination." A similar verse occurs two chapters later, in Leviticus 20:13: "A man who sleeps with another man is an abomination and should be executed." Leviticus is a holiness code written 3,000 years ago. It also includes prohibitions against round haircuts, tattoos, working on the Sabbath, wearing garments of mixed fabrics, eating pork or shellfish, getting your fortune told, and even playing with the skin of a pig. (There goes football!). I believe in morality, which is doing right regardless of what I am told... not in religion, which is doing what I am told regardless of what is right. You're welcome to your own interpretation of the Bible and of politics, of course, but for me, I need more than "the Bible says so" to justify certain things in this world and certainly to judge them.
-L
Not by me, but I wish it were
So is not treating your body like a temple. And ladies should have their heads covered. And in Deuteronomy, a marriage is only valid if the woman is a virgin, and she should be executed if she is not...and that anyone who commits adultery should be stoned to death. In Mark, divorce is prohibited.
I assume for homosexuality, you're referring to Leviticus 18:6: "You shall not lie with a male as one lies with a female. It is an abomination." A similar verse occurs two chapters later, in Leviticus 20:13: "A man who sleeps with another man is an abomination and should be executed." Leviticus is a holiness code written 3,000 years ago. It also includes prohibitions against round haircuts, tattoos, working on the Sabbath, wearing garments of mixed fabrics, eating pork or shellfish, getting your fortune told, and even playing with the skin of a pig. (There goes football!). I believe in morality, which is doing right regardless of what I am told... not in religion, which is doing what I am told regardless of what is right. You're welcome to your own interpretation of the Bible and of politics, of course, but for me, I need more than "the Bible says so" to justify certain things in this world and certainly to judge them.
-L
Not by me, but I wish it were
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Sarah: Under the Influence of A Merlot
Alright - You, who reposts that same post from the Buterblog, dear God - Stop! I hear your pleas for me to post, and your crazy attempts to force me to. Seriously, please, I beg of thee, just text me next time or tell Meghan as you walk in the door and she'll tell me. But in the name of the holiest of holies, do not force the readers of this blog to endure another repetition of my last post from a completely different blog and era. Thank you.
On that note I have many discoveries -
1. Being a part of something is more than doing your part.
2. Infatuation and love are completely different. Love isn't work, but to show your love requires understanding your loved ones' "language of love." There are five - acts of service, gifts, words of affirmation, physical touch, and quality time. Read Gary Chapman's "The Five Love Languages" for enlightenment.
3. I am not searching for love from somebody else, I am searching for how to love myself.
4. Wanting a dream and fulfilling it are two different ball games.
5. Never give advice you wouldn't take.
6. Merlot is good, champagne is better.
7. Practicing homosexuality is not in accordance with God's laws. None of us are living in accordance with God's laws.
8. I will drag Casey to the beach for his birthday this year. Like, nothing will stop me.
9. As of right now, there are two things I want out of my life: a great dane named Condor and a house.
10. Meghan, don't judge me: a Hello Kitty tatoo was and is a perfectly splendid idea.
11. Best Quote Ever = Having a Kid is like getting a tatoo on your face, before you go through with it you should be sure you are committed.
12. It is okay to let someone go. To stop trying to be the glue, the fix-it family-man. Sometimes its better.
And now that the wine glass is empty and I am slow at spelling words...I am going to leave you with all of that.
Sincerely,
Happy Valentines Day,
Sarah
On that note I have many discoveries -
1. Being a part of something is more than doing your part.
2. Infatuation and love are completely different. Love isn't work, but to show your love requires understanding your loved ones' "language of love." There are five - acts of service, gifts, words of affirmation, physical touch, and quality time. Read Gary Chapman's "The Five Love Languages" for enlightenment.
3. I am not searching for love from somebody else, I am searching for how to love myself.
4. Wanting a dream and fulfilling it are two different ball games.
5. Never give advice you wouldn't take.
6. Merlot is good, champagne is better.
7. Practicing homosexuality is not in accordance with God's laws. None of us are living in accordance with God's laws.
8. I will drag Casey to the beach for his birthday this year. Like, nothing will stop me.
9. As of right now, there are two things I want out of my life: a great dane named Condor and a house.
10. Meghan, don't judge me: a Hello Kitty tatoo was and is a perfectly splendid idea.
11. Best Quote Ever = Having a Kid is like getting a tatoo on your face, before you go through with it you should be sure you are committed.
12. It is okay to let someone go. To stop trying to be the glue, the fix-it family-man. Sometimes its better.
And now that the wine glass is empty and I am slow at spelling words...I am going to leave you with all of that.
Sincerely,
Happy Valentines Day,
Sarah
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Jasmine: pValac
So today I have a presentation in my biology lab. We were to choose an article from somewhere and then present that article so that people with very little biology knowledge could understand what was being talked about. Finding the article was simple, trying to make words like adenalation and transfection into humanspeak is slightly less so.
So my article was called a new plasmid vector for DNA delivery using lactococci. after reading the article I find that this title is actually a very accurate summary.
The purpose of the researchers was to find a safer way to deliver specific DNA sequences into human cells. They targeted "mucosal epithelium," which means the lining of the digestive system and other various organs. They chose this because it is usually the first thing in the body to come into contact with various illnesses, and their ultimate goal is to use this DNA carrier as a vaccine that your own cells will produce.
Plasmids are what bacteria use to deliver DNA between eachother, sort of a little pod of DNA they send off into the world. Previously when they used bacteria they used somewhat dangerous ones like salmonella which could suddenly give you salmonella. Lactococci causes the fermentation of cheese, and in humans lactic acid build up. less dangerous. Other things they used to make their plasmid were herpes and E coli...
They tested it using a gene origionally found in jellyfish that glows green when placed under blue light. and it worked great in the lining of pig kidneys, somewhat less great in the lining of human intestines. but it worked well enough to warrent further experimentation.
I thought this was pretty interesting and so I shared it with all of you guys.
So my article was called a new plasmid vector for DNA delivery using lactococci. after reading the article I find that this title is actually a very accurate summary.
The purpose of the researchers was to find a safer way to deliver specific DNA sequences into human cells. They targeted "mucosal epithelium," which means the lining of the digestive system and other various organs. They chose this because it is usually the first thing in the body to come into contact with various illnesses, and their ultimate goal is to use this DNA carrier as a vaccine that your own cells will produce.
Plasmids are what bacteria use to deliver DNA between eachother, sort of a little pod of DNA they send off into the world. Previously when they used bacteria they used somewhat dangerous ones like salmonella which could suddenly give you salmonella. Lactococci causes the fermentation of cheese, and in humans lactic acid build up. less dangerous. Other things they used to make their plasmid were herpes and E coli...
They tested it using a gene origionally found in jellyfish that glows green when placed under blue light. and it worked great in the lining of pig kidneys, somewhat less great in the lining of human intestines. but it worked well enough to warrent further experimentation.
I thought this was pretty interesting and so I shared it with all of you guys.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Meghan: lists...
Fun facts I have learned from psychology and wished to share:
WARNING: the content viewed herein contains violent and/or sexual references. You are warned.
Fact 1: If you sever a cat’s brainstem from the rest of its brain the animal will still live, breathe, run, climb, and groom. However it will not purposefully run or climb to get food. If you perform this same fun experiment with a human they will only maintain their ability to breath and maintain a heartbeat.
So how do you tell a common housecat from one whose brainstem has been severed?
Fact 2: When humans go into the REM cycle of their sleep males will experience an erection and females will experience increased vaginal lubrication and clitoral engorgement, regardless of whether the dream’s content is sexual (Karacan et al.,1966) That’s right, I have references.
Fact 3: Psychologists have performed some terrible experiments with cats
Fact 4: Individuals who have had their Corpus callosum (fibers that connect the right and left sides of the brain) severed to prevent seizures end up with essentially two separately functioning brains. They occasionally find their left hand unbuttoning a shirt while they are trying to button it with their right hand.
Fact 5: During daylight savings time the frequency of vehicular accidents increases on the day when everyone gets one less hour of sleep and decreases on the day when everyone gets an extra hour of sleep.
Fact 6: one in twenty people who snores is actually suffering from sleep apnea. Basically these poor people stop breathing during sleep and after a minute or so decreased blood oxygen will wake them up enough for them to snort in a small lungful of air. Sleep apnea often makes the sufferers irritable or depressed from lack of sleep. Fortunately there are wonderful snorkeler-looking devices that a doctor can prescribe to keep your airway open at night.
Fact 7: fish do not dream
Fact 8: Horses can sleep standing but must lie down for REM sleep
Fact 9: Dolphins, porpoises, and whales sleep with one side of their brain asleep at a time.
-M
WARNING: the content viewed herein contains violent and/or sexual references. You are warned.
Fact 1: If you sever a cat’s brainstem from the rest of its brain the animal will still live, breathe, run, climb, and groom. However it will not purposefully run or climb to get food. If you perform this same fun experiment with a human they will only maintain their ability to breath and maintain a heartbeat.
So how do you tell a common housecat from one whose brainstem has been severed?
Fact 2: When humans go into the REM cycle of their sleep males will experience an erection and females will experience increased vaginal lubrication and clitoral engorgement, regardless of whether the dream’s content is sexual (Karacan et al.,1966) That’s right, I have references.
Fact 3: Psychologists have performed some terrible experiments with cats
Fact 4: Individuals who have had their Corpus callosum (fibers that connect the right and left sides of the brain) severed to prevent seizures end up with essentially two separately functioning brains. They occasionally find their left hand unbuttoning a shirt while they are trying to button it with their right hand.
Fact 5: During daylight savings time the frequency of vehicular accidents increases on the day when everyone gets one less hour of sleep and decreases on the day when everyone gets an extra hour of sleep.
Fact 6: one in twenty people who snores is actually suffering from sleep apnea. Basically these poor people stop breathing during sleep and after a minute or so decreased blood oxygen will wake them up enough for them to snort in a small lungful of air. Sleep apnea often makes the sufferers irritable or depressed from lack of sleep. Fortunately there are wonderful snorkeler-looking devices that a doctor can prescribe to keep your airway open at night.
Fact 7: fish do not dream
Fact 8: Horses can sleep standing but must lie down for REM sleep
Fact 9: Dolphins, porpoises, and whales sleep with one side of their brain asleep at a time.
-M
Jasmine: goslave
putitthereputittherenoherehereyesyesyes
I saw, more than felt my hand pick up the smooth white stone. A quiet voice in my head giggled and clapped its hands together.
notdoneyettakethemTAKETHEM!
The hand, my hand? moved again gathering four black stones, leaving behind an empty hole on the board. It was a go board. Why was I, or someone else using my body, playing go? I couldn't remember getting here, the last thing I remembered was feeding Loki a piece of cheese from the sandwich I had been eating. Now I was a marionette for an invisible go player.
A man I didn't recognize sat across from me visibly dismayed by his loss in territory. He scratched his head and then bit the ends of his fingers. I wondered if there were tasty lice in his hair and if I was safe from him as long as I stayed on my side of the board. Eventually he reached for a black stone and placed it on the board.
theretheretheregothere
I wasn't sure where there was, but my hand seemed to know and I watched fascinated as it once again retrieved a white stone from the bowl on my side and placed it on the board carefully begining the enclosure of another pod of black pieces.
Me and the lice man went back and forth. at times I tried to take back control of my arm but I simply couldn't. There was no sensation, no tingling like it had fallen asleep, no vague sense that I might have an arm somewhere, like an amputee. I basically had no arm, and yet it continued to move to and from my bowl of stones, and what's more, it was winning.
Giving up on regaining the mastery of my arm for the moment, I began to take joy in the gross lice begotten fool who decided he could beat us. I figured the faster we won the faster I might possibly get my arm back. And slowly the board filled with white.
almosttherealmostyes!
The last possible excisement of black pieces was performed. It had been obvious some time ago that black had no chance against the marvelous team that was made up of my arm and some unknown go god, and black had begun to play more and more poorly, towards the end taking no territory for himself at all. And now it was done. I rejoiced even though I'd really had nothing to do with the victory.
I woke up on the couch laying with my right arm beneath my head. I stretched the arm, it tingled and burned as sensation and blood flowed back to it. Loki stared at me guiltilly from the coffee table, pieces of my sandwich strewn across the surface with little kitty nibbles taken from each piece except for the spinach which was eaten entirely. He made his little meh meh sound that he only makes when he knows he's been bad then staring longingly at a piece of cheese stuck to the surface of the glass table with cat saliva he jumped down and ran down the hall to hide in the bedroom.
I saw, more than felt my hand pick up the smooth white stone. A quiet voice in my head giggled and clapped its hands together.
notdoneyettakethemTAKETHEM!
The hand, my hand? moved again gathering four black stones, leaving behind an empty hole on the board. It was a go board. Why was I, or someone else using my body, playing go? I couldn't remember getting here, the last thing I remembered was feeding Loki a piece of cheese from the sandwich I had been eating. Now I was a marionette for an invisible go player.
A man I didn't recognize sat across from me visibly dismayed by his loss in territory. He scratched his head and then bit the ends of his fingers. I wondered if there were tasty lice in his hair and if I was safe from him as long as I stayed on my side of the board. Eventually he reached for a black stone and placed it on the board.
theretheretheregothere
I wasn't sure where there was, but my hand seemed to know and I watched fascinated as it once again retrieved a white stone from the bowl on my side and placed it on the board carefully begining the enclosure of another pod of black pieces.
Me and the lice man went back and forth. at times I tried to take back control of my arm but I simply couldn't. There was no sensation, no tingling like it had fallen asleep, no vague sense that I might have an arm somewhere, like an amputee. I basically had no arm, and yet it continued to move to and from my bowl of stones, and what's more, it was winning.
Giving up on regaining the mastery of my arm for the moment, I began to take joy in the gross lice begotten fool who decided he could beat us. I figured the faster we won the faster I might possibly get my arm back. And slowly the board filled with white.
almosttherealmostyes!
The last possible excisement of black pieces was performed. It had been obvious some time ago that black had no chance against the marvelous team that was made up of my arm and some unknown go god, and black had begun to play more and more poorly, towards the end taking no territory for himself at all. And now it was done. I rejoiced even though I'd really had nothing to do with the victory.
I woke up on the couch laying with my right arm beneath my head. I stretched the arm, it tingled and burned as sensation and blood flowed back to it. Loki stared at me guiltilly from the coffee table, pieces of my sandwich strewn across the surface with little kitty nibbles taken from each piece except for the spinach which was eaten entirely. He made his little meh meh sound that he only makes when he knows he's been bad then staring longingly at a piece of cheese stuck to the surface of the glass table with cat saliva he jumped down and ran down the hall to hide in the bedroom.
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Doug: Shh
08:14 AM on a Saturday is a weird time. Not many people have work, so the streets are mostly dead. No one else in the house is up, not even the guy I’m supposed to take to Kirkland to get his car fixed. It’s raining, the drizzly, Seattle rain that doesn’t quite soak you, but is still an annoyance. The sun isn’t really up either. I know sunrise is sometime around 0730, but it doesn’t matter, the clouds hovering over the city add a hazy unreality to the light of my universe, and it seems like I’m having trouble focusing on any one thing.
Still, it’s quiet. An almost foreign state for our house. Usually there’s a million and a half people here, all of them talking, laughing, watching movies, playing games, cooking, studying. Living. Right now it’s just me, the silence, and the house. I like it.
In a few minutes I’m going to have to take Anthony to deal with is jacked up car. But right here, right now, it’s quiet.
-Doug
Still, it’s quiet. An almost foreign state for our house. Usually there’s a million and a half people here, all of them talking, laughing, watching movies, playing games, cooking, studying. Living. Right now it’s just me, the silence, and the house. I like it.
In a few minutes I’m going to have to take Anthony to deal with is jacked up car. But right here, right now, it’s quiet.
-Doug
Friday, February 4, 2011
Jasmine: Perfume
like to eat angels
They make you love forever
such a good perfume
or
Who could that man be?
What's he dumping on his head?
Lets eat the angel!
Does it make sense to you? If it does then watch the movie and decide if it still makes sense. If it still makes sense give me a call.
Earlier tonight Meghan and I watched a strange, very long movie. Perfume: The Story of a Murder. It's more like fourteen murders, possibly fifteen, I'm not sure about one of them. It's graphic in a lot of different ways, some of them enough to make me cringe if only for a moment before I check to make sure that no one saw my wide shocked eyes. Because nothing shocks me. I don't want to describe it any further because I want you guys to watch it. It's on netflix for an instant play. Two and a half hours long. Maybe it's too long, but I don't regret having watched it.
(I credit Abe with the inspiration for the poetry at the beginning of this)
They make you love forever
such a good perfume
or
Who could that man be?
What's he dumping on his head?
Lets eat the angel!
Does it make sense to you? If it does then watch the movie and decide if it still makes sense. If it still makes sense give me a call.
Earlier tonight Meghan and I watched a strange, very long movie. Perfume: The Story of a Murder. It's more like fourteen murders, possibly fifteen, I'm not sure about one of them. It's graphic in a lot of different ways, some of them enough to make me cringe if only for a moment before I check to make sure that no one saw my wide shocked eyes. Because nothing shocks me. I don't want to describe it any further because I want you guys to watch it. It's on netflix for an instant play. Two and a half hours long. Maybe it's too long, but I don't regret having watched it.
(I credit Abe with the inspiration for the poetry at the beginning of this)
Thursday, February 3, 2011
That guy: Climate Survey
You want a post? I got a post for ya'll right here.
Every year, my company conducts what is called the yearly Climate Survey. It's 51 multiple choice questions asking us how we feel about our managers productivness, and wether we like the new color scheme for the fucking bathrooms, or some shit. As you people may or may not know, I feel rather strongly about this company, and many of the decisions they've made have not been ones I would have made. So without further adeu, I present to you my copy and pasted response to the only actual question on the survey. Enjoy.
-That guy
What would you recommend to make FedEx Office a better place to work?
---------------------------------
Less corporate bullshit. Dallas is a corporate fucking clowncar. Its a fantastic trick the first time you see it, but after that, you realize its the same shit spewing forth over and over and over. For the sake of brevity, I'm only going to cover a few points.
1.
According to http://news.van.fedex.com/fedex_office, FedEx spent a mind boggling $891 MILLION dollars to rebrand FedEx Kinkos to FedEx Office to somehow get the message across that we offer both printing and shipping. Whoever was responsible for this terrible decision should be forced to stand outside in the current -12 degree temperature outside my store to sell fucking cookies and hot chocolate in an attempt to earn this astronomical sum back for the company. At the height of a recession, corporate FedEx decided that instead of sticking with a product label that everyone and their mother were familiar with (Kinkos), we should try to change it up on people to change their vision of the company. Just like Q-Tips, Kleenex, Coke, ChapStick, Band-Aids, Tylenol, Spam, Bubble Wrap, Taser, Jacuzzi, Rollerblades, Velcro, Frisbee, Clorox, and any of the other hundreds of products that are brand names synonymous with the products they cover, Kinkos changed to Office. Oh wait. Not a single one of those products changed their names to better represent what they are. BECAUSE THE NAME ALREADY REPRESENTS THE PRODUCT. The dumbshit corporate think team that pushed this fucking brilliant idea to strip people of recognition came at the best time possible, spending more money that I would have if i won the current Powerball lottery 17 TIMES. Not only was I forced to answer the inane question 'FedEx Office? Do you guys still make copies?' well into the hundreds of times a day, but the extreme cost of this extremely retarted manuver took many other things from me as well.
2. Just because corporate bigwigs think a rebrand is the answer to more and more people doing everything digitally and desperatly hanging on to a dying paper based industry does not mean I should suffer as well. While it is true I am an employee of this company, just because the powers that be wasted more money than I'll see in my lifetime, my 401k shouldn't be matched, me and my co-workers should be required to be janitors as well as copy monkeys, and inane buisness plans should be thrown at us every step of the way. Everyone is feeling the effects of the recession. When I don't get a bonus on my paycheck because our largest contract client only wants $70,000 worth of copies instead of the usual $80,000, my morale and self motivation do not go up, as seemed to be belived by corporate. No. I get pissed that I don't get a bonus. I'm sorry the corporate bottom line is messed up because we didn't make an aditional $10,000, but my bottom line is messed up as well, which means instead of spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, I get flash frozen mac-n-cheese with 'textured beef patty crumble.' I'm sorry the CFO doesn't get a new yacht. I'll sell more over priced flash drives to make sure it doesn't happen again.
3. The inane business practices I mentioned earlier. Clean and Bright was a pile of hippo shit. In order to make every store the same, we had to strip the store down, modify everything that had been in the store working as is, and build it back to a specific corporate guidline, in order to make everything uniform. In addition to my normal center, I cover shifts at 4 different centers in the city. I'm not even going to touch on the lack of staffing. At these 5 centers, with the Clean and Bright process, I should be able to navigate each store with my eyes closed. Instead, I can't find a fucking thing. Each store has an individual floorplan, layout, and specific services they do more of. This means when I work at another store, I am flying blind. I look like a fool stumbling around thinking everything should be in the same place, when I couldn't be more wrong. And how bout that Blue Book? Dictating what needed to be done every month for the center. Even kindly breaking it down by week. We had specific tasks, spots to sign off, and more and more and more shit to print and waste supplies on every month. This asshole idea floundered for a year or so and has finally fizzled out into the aptly titled 'New Publication: Team Member Edition.' It contains no more information than the emails my district mananger sends and the Front and Center Newsletter that comes through from our beloved CEO. The delicious catch is that we get to name the Publication, carving our fantastic wit into the memories of all team members to come, making us famous forver. I think it should remain 'New Publication' for the sole reason that upon the next brilliant brainstorming session corporate has, and the next brilliant concept that replaces the current New Publication, the name can stay the same, and no money gets wasted on designing a new product, and forcing it down our throats.
4. New machinery. This one is gonna be short. How about instead of changing every god-damned copier in the store, you simply replace the ancient ones we have, run to the ground, new parts going in twice a week with brand new versions of the same machine. No more learning curve. No stupendous change in quality for those customers foolish enough to think they're gonna get a reasonbly similar experience each visit.
5. $891 million dollars. Really? And now you're spending even more money to put up window signs because "Our customers feedback revealed that many still connect 'Kinko's' with copying and printing? How about catching yourself in the middle of this clusterfuck instead of slogging forward? Too late. How about next time when you want to spend $891 million dollars you give me and my co-workers more than a sickingly low 2% max raise? Better yet, start by NOT cutting salaried employees paychecks past a district level, and then spend the $891 million dollars to give us all 'Sorry you had to put up with our idiocy' bonuses so I don't have to work two jobs to make sure my girlfriend and I still have food to eat and a crappy overpriced apartment while she recovers from her double ankle surgery while Fred Smith makes $8.67 million a year.
To sum all of this up, since employee contributions are clearly getting through to you guys, I see a very bleak future for FedEx Office, and a better place to work would mean making it a very differernt place to work, and that might cost money, so forget it.
Good day.
-------------------------------------
If you actually made it all the way through that, they do ask one other question after that one.
What do you most enjoy about working at FedEx Office?
My response?
Free coffee.
Thanks for reading.
Every year, my company conducts what is called the yearly Climate Survey. It's 51 multiple choice questions asking us how we feel about our managers productivness, and wether we like the new color scheme for the fucking bathrooms, or some shit. As you people may or may not know, I feel rather strongly about this company, and many of the decisions they've made have not been ones I would have made. So without further adeu, I present to you my copy and pasted response to the only actual question on the survey. Enjoy.
-That guy
What would you recommend to make FedEx Office a better place to work?
---------------------------------
Less corporate bullshit. Dallas is a corporate fucking clowncar. Its a fantastic trick the first time you see it, but after that, you realize its the same shit spewing forth over and over and over. For the sake of brevity, I'm only going to cover a few points.
1.
According to http://news.van.fedex.com/fedex_office, FedEx spent a mind boggling $891 MILLION dollars to rebrand FedEx Kinkos to FedEx Office to somehow get the message across that we offer both printing and shipping. Whoever was responsible for this terrible decision should be forced to stand outside in the current -12 degree temperature outside my store to sell fucking cookies and hot chocolate in an attempt to earn this astronomical sum back for the company. At the height of a recession, corporate FedEx decided that instead of sticking with a product label that everyone and their mother were familiar with (Kinkos), we should try to change it up on people to change their vision of the company. Just like Q-Tips, Kleenex, Coke, ChapStick, Band-Aids, Tylenol, Spam, Bubble Wrap, Taser, Jacuzzi, Rollerblades, Velcro, Frisbee, Clorox, and any of the other hundreds of products that are brand names synonymous with the products they cover, Kinkos changed to Office. Oh wait. Not a single one of those products changed their names to better represent what they are. BECAUSE THE NAME ALREADY REPRESENTS THE PRODUCT. The dumbshit corporate think team that pushed this fucking brilliant idea to strip people of recognition came at the best time possible, spending more money that I would have if i won the current Powerball lottery 17 TIMES. Not only was I forced to answer the inane question 'FedEx Office? Do you guys still make copies?' well into the hundreds of times a day, but the extreme cost of this extremely retarted manuver took many other things from me as well.
2. Just because corporate bigwigs think a rebrand is the answer to more and more people doing everything digitally and desperatly hanging on to a dying paper based industry does not mean I should suffer as well. While it is true I am an employee of this company, just because the powers that be wasted more money than I'll see in my lifetime, my 401k shouldn't be matched, me and my co-workers should be required to be janitors as well as copy monkeys, and inane buisness plans should be thrown at us every step of the way. Everyone is feeling the effects of the recession. When I don't get a bonus on my paycheck because our largest contract client only wants $70,000 worth of copies instead of the usual $80,000, my morale and self motivation do not go up, as seemed to be belived by corporate. No. I get pissed that I don't get a bonus. I'm sorry the corporate bottom line is messed up because we didn't make an aditional $10,000, but my bottom line is messed up as well, which means instead of spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, I get flash frozen mac-n-cheese with 'textured beef patty crumble.' I'm sorry the CFO doesn't get a new yacht. I'll sell more over priced flash drives to make sure it doesn't happen again.
3. The inane business practices I mentioned earlier. Clean and Bright was a pile of hippo shit. In order to make every store the same, we had to strip the store down, modify everything that had been in the store working as is, and build it back to a specific corporate guidline, in order to make everything uniform. In addition to my normal center, I cover shifts at 4 different centers in the city. I'm not even going to touch on the lack of staffing. At these 5 centers, with the Clean and Bright process, I should be able to navigate each store with my eyes closed. Instead, I can't find a fucking thing. Each store has an individual floorplan, layout, and specific services they do more of. This means when I work at another store, I am flying blind. I look like a fool stumbling around thinking everything should be in the same place, when I couldn't be more wrong. And how bout that Blue Book? Dictating what needed to be done every month for the center. Even kindly breaking it down by week. We had specific tasks, spots to sign off, and more and more and more shit to print and waste supplies on every month. This asshole idea floundered for a year or so and has finally fizzled out into the aptly titled 'New Publication: Team Member Edition.' It contains no more information than the emails my district mananger sends and the Front and Center Newsletter that comes through from our beloved CEO. The delicious catch is that we get to name the Publication, carving our fantastic wit into the memories of all team members to come, making us famous forver. I think it should remain 'New Publication' for the sole reason that upon the next brilliant brainstorming session corporate has, and the next brilliant concept that replaces the current New Publication, the name can stay the same, and no money gets wasted on designing a new product, and forcing it down our throats.
4. New machinery. This one is gonna be short. How about instead of changing every god-damned copier in the store, you simply replace the ancient ones we have, run to the ground, new parts going in twice a week with brand new versions of the same machine. No more learning curve. No stupendous change in quality for those customers foolish enough to think they're gonna get a reasonbly similar experience each visit.
5. $891 million dollars. Really? And now you're spending even more money to put up window signs because "Our customers feedback revealed that many still connect 'Kinko's' with copying and printing? How about catching yourself in the middle of this clusterfuck instead of slogging forward? Too late. How about next time when you want to spend $891 million dollars you give me and my co-workers more than a sickingly low 2% max raise? Better yet, start by NOT cutting salaried employees paychecks past a district level, and then spend the $891 million dollars to give us all 'Sorry you had to put up with our idiocy' bonuses so I don't have to work two jobs to make sure my girlfriend and I still have food to eat and a crappy overpriced apartment while she recovers from her double ankle surgery while Fred Smith makes $8.67 million a year.
To sum all of this up, since employee contributions are clearly getting through to you guys, I see a very bleak future for FedEx Office, and a better place to work would mean making it a very differernt place to work, and that might cost money, so forget it.
Good day.
-------------------------------------
If you actually made it all the way through that, they do ask one other question after that one.
What do you most enjoy about working at FedEx Office?
My response?
Free coffee.
Thanks for reading.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Doug: Awesome Dreams are Awesome
White House, Washington, DC.
“Sir! We have a situation.”
President Barack Obama glanced over his reading glasses at the man in front of him. The White House aid was flushed from running from one end of the building to the other. Sweat dripped from his brow and his tie was loosened. His breath came in wheezing gasps as his lungs tried to compensate for the taxing he had put them through. It would have been faster to call, but one does not simply call the President to inform him of things; even news of this magnitude.
“Go on.”
The aid paused, unsure of how to put this delicately, then decided there really wasn’t a way. “Sir, the Joint Chiefs are on their way here, but there isn’t much time. Six minutes ago several massive objects appeared in near earth orbit. Three minutes ago they launched a series of smaller ships, each roughly about the size of a Ford class aircraft carrier.”
The President blinked, looking vaguely like a deer caught in the headlights of a Mack Truck. “What?”
“It appears Sir,” the aid gulped down fear, “that we’re being invaded by an alien force of unknown composition and origin.”
“This isn’t a joke.”
“No sir.”
“Shit.”
“Yes sir.”
Obama leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in thought. After a moment he looked up at the aid. “All right, deploy all our forces to meet this threat. Call in the reserves, pull in everybody, I want our full combat capability to be up and ready to fight as soon as possible.”
“What if they’re friendly?”
“They’re not.”
Presidential Bunker, ½ a mile below the surface
Six hours later, it was all over. The alien aircraft carriers had released hundreds of smaller ships to destroy all weapons systems brought to bear, while the fleet in orbit had used massive lasers to reduce military bases worldwide to ashes. The Chinese had attempted to bring nuclear weapons to bear early on in the game, but when the dust cleared, they had simply succeeded in irradiating a large portion of the atmosphere. France had attempted to surrender two hours in, but the Aliens had responded to this by using their laser systems to level the entire country, burning it out of existence. Similar things had happened to Iran, North Korea, and the Alien force was currently in the process of burning Russia out of existence.
The President watched all of this in high definition, wall to wall big screen in the bunker located beneath the White House. As he had six hours earlier he leaned back in his seat and folded his hands. “Well. Shit.”
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs muttered something into a red phone, then hung up and turned to the President. “Sir, the fleet that destroyed Western Russia has begun to cross the Pacific. They’ll be over American soil in an hour.”
Obama nodded. “Well then. I think it’s time we stopped fucking around.” He leaned forward, staring at the carnage in front of him. “Initiate plan PATRIOT.”
There were gasps around the room. “But sir, the American people won’t stand for it!” the Secretary of the Army said.
“We’ve no choice.” Obama’s voice was grim. “All true Americans will understand.”
There was a long silence and then the men gathered in the room all picked up their respective phones, moving the machinery that would initiate America’s last ditch defense, only called upon in her most dire of hours…
Seattle, Washington State.
The government Witch Doctor added a few more dashes of powder to the cauldron in front of him. Special Agent Robert Johnson of the Secret Service watched with some skepticism. “Is that really going to work?”
“Yes.” The witch doctor was covered head to foot in tattoos, clashing horribly with the suit and tie that all governmental agencies required their employees to wear. He didn’t bother to look at Johnson, his attention was totally focused on the evil brew bubbling before him.
“It seems kind of ridiculous.”
“So does Aliens dropping from the sky and invading the planet. Shut up. If I don’t get the mix exactly right then the summoning will be less than complete. I might even raise the entire cemetery.”
Johnson glanced around at the graves that surrounded them, thinking this was a terrible idea. Even if this worked, there was a less than ten percent chance that the individual they were about to raise from the dead would be actually useful. Still, it was their last option.
A few minutes later the Witch Doctor stood up. “It’s ready.”
“Should I say a prayer?” Johnson asked.
“NO.” Firmly. “It is unwise to call the attention of the Gods when you seek to defy their laws.”
“Right. Just do it then.”
The witch doctor muttered a few dark sounding phases in a language most people never knew existed, and then kicked over the cauldron onto the grave. He then took a few careful steps back. “You might ready your sidearm. We may or may not have just started the Zombie Apocalypse.”
“Great.”
The earth heaved and a rotted hand burst out of the ground in front of the tomb stone. The two government workers looked around frantically, but this was the only grave whose occupant had awoken. The hand felt around, then began to pull the body out behind it. A head and then a torso appeared, and after a minute or so, the entirety of the body was above ground. The half rotted skull looked trough sightless sockets, head cocked ever so slightly in what seemed to be confusion.
“He’s not trying to eat us.”
“No.”
“So it worked.”
“It looks that way, yes.”
Johnson took a deep breath and stepped forward, addressing the corpse directly. “How are you feeling?”
“Who summons me man?” The voice was that of a young African American man, though the vocal chords had long rotted away. “I was sleeping all peaceful like.”
“Mr. Hendrix, I’m afraid to tell you that you’ve been drafted… again. Your country needs you, son.”
Installation 04, Colorado Rockies two hundred feet below the surface.
“Are we prepared?” Air Force Colonel Jack O’Neill asked the tech before him.
“Yes sir.” The tech replied, double checking his control console. “All boards read green, give the order and the equipment will be raised.”
“Very well, do it.”
“Yes sir.” The tech flipped a few switches, and the ground began to rumble.
Two hundred feet directly up the top had begun to slide off the mountain they were inside. Several minutes passed as the massive piece of earth moved out of the way, revealing a secret hidden from the public eye for nearly forty years.
The tech flipped a few more switches, and massive speakers the size of aircraft carriers rose into the cold mountain air. O’Neill nodded in satisfaction, glancing over at the map of the United States that showed all the other installations raising their speakers simultaneously. Hundreds of lights winked from red to green all over the country, each signifying massive speakers rising from the ground, only a small, but key part of plan PATRIOT.
Presidential Bunker
“Sir, all pieces are on the board.”
Obama nodded, he seemed lost in thought. One of his aids leaned over and said. “Sir, it’s not too late to call this mad scheme off.”
The president shook his head violently. “A great man once said that “there is nothing to fear but fear itself”. He clearly did not have to deal with Aliens falling from the goddamn sky. Initiate plan PATRIOT.”
***
All across the country Americans looked up to the skies in alarm, knowing their doom was coming. But suddenly, as if from everywhere, a sound arose. The faint strains of an electric guitar, an eerily familiar tune rising in volume and tempo, until it seemed to fill the whole world.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g_3uHYd7pV0
Hearts round the country swelled as people began to recognize the tune of their great nation’s anthem. But this was not the familiar Francis Scott Key version, this was the true glory of the tune, the mad dream of that Master of the Axe, Jimi Hendrix, raised from the dead in the time of his country’s most desperate need.
And as all these Americans listened to the anthem of their great nation, expressed in the voice of its greatest musician, they began to glow as if filled with an inner light, and they began to float off the ground. Their muscles grew as if by magic, and all of them were filled with the urge to bring battle to the certain doom bearing down on them.
Feral grins broke out, suburban, urban, and rural Americans became the predators they were meant to be, and raced forward to fight the invaders of their planet. Streaks of light filled the sky, the people of lesser nations looked up in awe as the American people brought down their enemies with their bare hands, punching holes in spaceships, hurling ships into the sea, and kicking the alien menace into the next solar system. In mere minutes, the hidden power of America brought quiet to a battle thought hopeless mere moments before.
As the last strains of the Anthem faded into the sunrise, the Americans came home, settling back down, accepting once again the surly bonds of earth. There was rebuilding to be done, but the power that had filled them before had faded, as it was only to be called upon in times of most dire need.
***
“Why did we not do that six hours sooner?” The White House aid asked, incredulous. He personally had destroyed a hundred alien ships, but his hands showed no sign of it. Nor had he even broken a sweat.
“Because it was a terrible thing to do, son.” Obama hung his head in shame.
“That wasn’t terrible, that was fucking awesome!”
“It was awesome,” The president paused, “and a terrible, terrible, sin. You see, now that we’ve raised Jimi Hendrix from the dead to motivate the entire country to go Super-Sayan to battle alien invaders, we’ve peaked. The world will simply never be that awesome again.”
-Doug
This was a dream I had. It was indeed, very awesome.
“Sir! We have a situation.”
President Barack Obama glanced over his reading glasses at the man in front of him. The White House aid was flushed from running from one end of the building to the other. Sweat dripped from his brow and his tie was loosened. His breath came in wheezing gasps as his lungs tried to compensate for the taxing he had put them through. It would have been faster to call, but one does not simply call the President to inform him of things; even news of this magnitude.
“Go on.”
The aid paused, unsure of how to put this delicately, then decided there really wasn’t a way. “Sir, the Joint Chiefs are on their way here, but there isn’t much time. Six minutes ago several massive objects appeared in near earth orbit. Three minutes ago they launched a series of smaller ships, each roughly about the size of a Ford class aircraft carrier.”
The President blinked, looking vaguely like a deer caught in the headlights of a Mack Truck. “What?”
“It appears Sir,” the aid gulped down fear, “that we’re being invaded by an alien force of unknown composition and origin.”
“This isn’t a joke.”
“No sir.”
“Shit.”
“Yes sir.”
Obama leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in thought. After a moment he looked up at the aid. “All right, deploy all our forces to meet this threat. Call in the reserves, pull in everybody, I want our full combat capability to be up and ready to fight as soon as possible.”
“What if they’re friendly?”
“They’re not.”
Presidential Bunker, ½ a mile below the surface
Six hours later, it was all over. The alien aircraft carriers had released hundreds of smaller ships to destroy all weapons systems brought to bear, while the fleet in orbit had used massive lasers to reduce military bases worldwide to ashes. The Chinese had attempted to bring nuclear weapons to bear early on in the game, but when the dust cleared, they had simply succeeded in irradiating a large portion of the atmosphere. France had attempted to surrender two hours in, but the Aliens had responded to this by using their laser systems to level the entire country, burning it out of existence. Similar things had happened to Iran, North Korea, and the Alien force was currently in the process of burning Russia out of existence.
The President watched all of this in high definition, wall to wall big screen in the bunker located beneath the White House. As he had six hours earlier he leaned back in his seat and folded his hands. “Well. Shit.”
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs muttered something into a red phone, then hung up and turned to the President. “Sir, the fleet that destroyed Western Russia has begun to cross the Pacific. They’ll be over American soil in an hour.”
Obama nodded. “Well then. I think it’s time we stopped fucking around.” He leaned forward, staring at the carnage in front of him. “Initiate plan PATRIOT.”
There were gasps around the room. “But sir, the American people won’t stand for it!” the Secretary of the Army said.
“We’ve no choice.” Obama’s voice was grim. “All true Americans will understand.”
There was a long silence and then the men gathered in the room all picked up their respective phones, moving the machinery that would initiate America’s last ditch defense, only called upon in her most dire of hours…
Seattle, Washington State.
The government Witch Doctor added a few more dashes of powder to the cauldron in front of him. Special Agent Robert Johnson of the Secret Service watched with some skepticism. “Is that really going to work?”
“Yes.” The witch doctor was covered head to foot in tattoos, clashing horribly with the suit and tie that all governmental agencies required their employees to wear. He didn’t bother to look at Johnson, his attention was totally focused on the evil brew bubbling before him.
“It seems kind of ridiculous.”
“So does Aliens dropping from the sky and invading the planet. Shut up. If I don’t get the mix exactly right then the summoning will be less than complete. I might even raise the entire cemetery.”
Johnson glanced around at the graves that surrounded them, thinking this was a terrible idea. Even if this worked, there was a less than ten percent chance that the individual they were about to raise from the dead would be actually useful. Still, it was their last option.
A few minutes later the Witch Doctor stood up. “It’s ready.”
“Should I say a prayer?” Johnson asked.
“NO.” Firmly. “It is unwise to call the attention of the Gods when you seek to defy their laws.”
“Right. Just do it then.”
The witch doctor muttered a few dark sounding phases in a language most people never knew existed, and then kicked over the cauldron onto the grave. He then took a few careful steps back. “You might ready your sidearm. We may or may not have just started the Zombie Apocalypse.”
“Great.”
The earth heaved and a rotted hand burst out of the ground in front of the tomb stone. The two government workers looked around frantically, but this was the only grave whose occupant had awoken. The hand felt around, then began to pull the body out behind it. A head and then a torso appeared, and after a minute or so, the entirety of the body was above ground. The half rotted skull looked trough sightless sockets, head cocked ever so slightly in what seemed to be confusion.
“He’s not trying to eat us.”
“No.”
“So it worked.”
“It looks that way, yes.”
Johnson took a deep breath and stepped forward, addressing the corpse directly. “How are you feeling?”
“Who summons me man?” The voice was that of a young African American man, though the vocal chords had long rotted away. “I was sleeping all peaceful like.”
“Mr. Hendrix, I’m afraid to tell you that you’ve been drafted… again. Your country needs you, son.”
Installation 04, Colorado Rockies two hundred feet below the surface.
“Are we prepared?” Air Force Colonel Jack O’Neill asked the tech before him.
“Yes sir.” The tech replied, double checking his control console. “All boards read green, give the order and the equipment will be raised.”
“Very well, do it.”
“Yes sir.” The tech flipped a few switches, and the ground began to rumble.
Two hundred feet directly up the top had begun to slide off the mountain they were inside. Several minutes passed as the massive piece of earth moved out of the way, revealing a secret hidden from the public eye for nearly forty years.
The tech flipped a few more switches, and massive speakers the size of aircraft carriers rose into the cold mountain air. O’Neill nodded in satisfaction, glancing over at the map of the United States that showed all the other installations raising their speakers simultaneously. Hundreds of lights winked from red to green all over the country, each signifying massive speakers rising from the ground, only a small, but key part of plan PATRIOT.
Presidential Bunker
“Sir, all pieces are on the board.”
Obama nodded, he seemed lost in thought. One of his aids leaned over and said. “Sir, it’s not too late to call this mad scheme off.”
The president shook his head violently. “A great man once said that “there is nothing to fear but fear itself”. He clearly did not have to deal with Aliens falling from the goddamn sky. Initiate plan PATRIOT.”
***
All across the country Americans looked up to the skies in alarm, knowing their doom was coming. But suddenly, as if from everywhere, a sound arose. The faint strains of an electric guitar, an eerily familiar tune rising in volume and tempo, until it seemed to fill the whole world.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g_3uHYd7pV0
Hearts round the country swelled as people began to recognize the tune of their great nation’s anthem. But this was not the familiar Francis Scott Key version, this was the true glory of the tune, the mad dream of that Master of the Axe, Jimi Hendrix, raised from the dead in the time of his country’s most desperate need.
And as all these Americans listened to the anthem of their great nation, expressed in the voice of its greatest musician, they began to glow as if filled with an inner light, and they began to float off the ground. Their muscles grew as if by magic, and all of them were filled with the urge to bring battle to the certain doom bearing down on them.
Feral grins broke out, suburban, urban, and rural Americans became the predators they were meant to be, and raced forward to fight the invaders of their planet. Streaks of light filled the sky, the people of lesser nations looked up in awe as the American people brought down their enemies with their bare hands, punching holes in spaceships, hurling ships into the sea, and kicking the alien menace into the next solar system. In mere minutes, the hidden power of America brought quiet to a battle thought hopeless mere moments before.
As the last strains of the Anthem faded into the sunrise, the Americans came home, settling back down, accepting once again the surly bonds of earth. There was rebuilding to be done, but the power that had filled them before had faded, as it was only to be called upon in times of most dire need.
***
“Why did we not do that six hours sooner?” The White House aid asked, incredulous. He personally had destroyed a hundred alien ships, but his hands showed no sign of it. Nor had he even broken a sweat.
“Because it was a terrible thing to do, son.” Obama hung his head in shame.
“That wasn’t terrible, that was fucking awesome!”
“It was awesome,” The president paused, “and a terrible, terrible, sin. You see, now that we’ve raised Jimi Hendrix from the dead to motivate the entire country to go Super-Sayan to battle alien invaders, we’ve peaked. The world will simply never be that awesome again.”
-Doug
This was a dream I had. It was indeed, very awesome.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Meghan: Revenge?
My name is Thomas Hernandez, and on this day I will enact my revenge.
This insult cannot be left to fade into the murky depths of human history.
I will make the very female race shake with the power of my rage.
…
Or something.
It was a bright sunshiny day when Thomas stalked down to his dark chambers (aka. His parents’ basement). Scowling the blackest of scowls he got out his deepest cauldron began mixing a spell for the wenches he was fixing to curse. His spell would summon a demon from the fiery pits of hell to bring these women down. The powders were mixed, the fires lighted, the animals sacrificed (poor Fluffy…) but when he plunged his hands into the bubbling brew no demon appeared to his summons. Looking around nervously, he tried swirling his hands around in the goo to no avail. Then he began to feel a little strange; his insides twisted, his joints screamed, and his skin bubbled. When the change was complete he looked rather like the monster he had been trying to summon.
“Crap…” he muttered, but it came out sounding more like:
“SATAN IS MY MASTER UGRAHDSBLOOD!!!”
He quickly flipped through his demon magic book, poking small holes in the pages with his claws. When he came again to the page of his spell he read the small insignificant warning sign he had missed before:
WARNING: if the caster is too weak to pull the demon into this dimension the spell may instead turn on the castor turning him/her into a demon. Don’t worry, you’ll eventually turn back. Maybe.
Thomas slammed the book shut and paced angrily, trying to think. This could still work in his favor; he would just have to act out his revenge himself. Nodding decidedly, he wrapped himself in a spare cloak and glided up the stairs.
“Do you want some cookies honey?” his mother called after his retreating form.
“I WILL CRUSH YOUR SKULL AND EAT YOUR EYEBALLS, PUNY MORTAL!!!!” he replied, (translation: ‘No thank you, I’m going out and will be back late, don’t wait up.’)
“That boy gets stranger every day…” his father murmured as Thomas stalked out of the front door.
Thomas parked his car in the large apartment parking lot and tried to concentrate on being invisible, which was one of the powers his demon form should have. An elderly woman walking by was startled to see his car door open and close by itself, but he paid no attention. As he slipped into the complex he saw the janitorial staff fixing a smashed light fixture. One man’s keys gleamed temptingly as they dangled precariously from his pocket. Thomas’ hands were sweaty as he slid behind the man and inched the keys from his pocket. When he finally had them, he clutched them to his thudding heart and ran to the girls’ apartment. He had looked up their information earlier and knew the route. Once he had used the janitor’s master key to softly click the lock open he threw the keys in the general direction of the man he had taken them from, hoping to forestall any possible alarm-raising that might occur. Thomas gently eased open the door a crack and looked through. Seeing no one he slipped inside and shut the door quickly behind him. Relief at not having been seen was quickly followed by the horror that he had been seen, but not by any human. Four pairs of eyes stared up at him through the dark. He made urgent shooing motions with his hands but that did nothing to dissipate the crowd of cats who began fawning at his feet, obviously able to see through his invisibility. He tried to walk through them and promptly tripped as two began twining through his ankles. Were they trying to kill him in defense of their home? One was sharpening his claws in obvious preparation for such actions. Thomas shuddered and crept through the front room, trying his best to ignore the cats. The light was on in the bathroom so he slid along the wall until he could see inside. One of THEM was in there, brushing her hair and staring vaguely at a foggy mirror. Thomas grinned predatorily, and moved forward a touch so that if she were to swipe her hand across the mirror to clear it, she would see his reflection behind her. She shook her short hair out and did just as he predicted, carefully wiping her hand across the mirror so she could see. He grinned wickedly, eyes rolling, teeth gnashing, guaranteed to get a scream of terror from anyone. But nothing happened. He frowned and stared at her intently as she continued brushing her hair. Was she blind? As she leaned in nose to nose with her reflection to apply eyeliner, he saw a pair of glasses on the counter and sighed internally. Her prescription must be even worse than his. Already bored, he wandered into the kitchen to wait until she could see and be properly terrified. He opened their fridge contemplatively; if he was going to take his revenge in full than he should eat their food too, right? He pulled out some cold cuts to make a sandwich. As he was laying slices of bread out on the counter he heard a curious yowling noise behind him. He turned to find a striped cat staring at him expectantly; or more specifically, the food in his hand.
“DEMON SPAWN YOU ARE NOT WANTED HERE!!!” he tried to whisper quietly (translation: ‘shoo’)
“Mrrrr, mrrr…” The cat cried sadly, waving it’s paws.
Thomas ground his teeth together and picked up the cat by the scruff, intending to stuff it somewhere quiet, when a brilliant idea came to him. He could leave his revenge-message through the cats. They were quite adorable, and he was sure that they were treasured by those detestable girls. He carried his furry bundle to the main room, practically dancing with glee at his plan. He was so excited he almost didn’t notice that there was a second person in the room until something very hard hit his head. And then there was just pain and dark.
When he woke up he was very thoroughly tied up in a variety of bondage gear. For some reason his chest hurt.
“Uhhhgghhhrrhh” He groaned as he stirred.
“Is he awake?” A cold voice asked.
“I’m not sure, should I do it again?” a higher pitched voice answered.
“Sure.”
Thomas kept his eyes closed, determined to fake sleep and ignoring the ripping noises of what was probably more duct tape. He was somewhat confused when he felt a hand slip down his chest, then there was a ripping noise and fire blazed across his skin, causing him to scream and writhe in agony. His eyes were open now; he saw one of his potential victims staring icily down at him and petting the striped cat he had tried to sacrifice. The other held a piece of duct tape between her hands which was covered with what looked suspiciously like demon chest hair.
“YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS, DEMON WENCHES!!! MY MASTER IS GREAT AND POWERFUL!!!!” (translation: ‘WTF?! My poor chest hairs! It’s just a cat!’)
The one petting the cat scowled and opened her mouth but the other raised a hand to stop her,
“Allow me, I speak fluent hellspawn.” She cleared her throat,”I WILL RIP YOUR STILL BEATING HEART FROM YOUR CHEST AND WEAR YOUR RIBCAGE FOR A HAT!!! HOW DARE YOU TRESPASS ON OUR LANDS!?!” (translation: ‘We value our cats. Why are you here? If you do not tell me there may be more unpleasantness
Thomas swelled out his chest and tried to look as impressive as he could while tied up.
“I WILL EAT YOUR BABIES AND DESTROY YOUR HOME!!! BLOOD WILL REIGN!!!” (translation: ‘I come for revenge!)
The girl interviewing him blinked a few times before replying in English, “Revenge? Who are you again?”
“I AM YOUR ARCH NEMESIS THOMAS!!!! YOU WILL RUE THE DAY WE MET!!!” (translates to the same)
The interviewer turned to her companion, “Do you know him?”
The other girl shook her head, “Never seen him before.”
Thomas’ eyes bulged, “I WILL RIP YOU LIMB FROM LIMB!!! YOUR BODIES WILL BE MY PLAYTHINGS!!! I WILL FEED YOUR ORGANS TO YOUR CATS!!!!” etc., etc., etc.
His former interviewer stared at him, her eyes round, “He has an impressive list of threats. I feel like I should take notes.”
The other girl snorted and stood, walking over to their bookshelf. She scanned it briefly with her eyes before pulling out a thick volume. Seeing the word ‘Demonology’ written in fancy script across the cover, Thomas began to sweat; obviously he hadn’t researched these two enough.
The girl flipped through its pages until she came to the one she wanted, “This will send him back to where he came from.”
“What if he’s not an actual demon? The other girl asked.
“Then it’ll send him back to wherever his creepy home is, I don’t care.”
Thomas prayed very hard that he wasn’t about to be sent to a hell dimension.
“Oh, one more thing.” The girl with the book leaned down until he was close enough to feel her breath on his cheek, “If you ever threaten my cat again I will cut your balls off and feed them to him, clear?”
Thomas nodded frantically, trying to look very helpless and cat-friendly.
“Good.” She sat back and started chanting.
Thomas was very thankful when he woke up human and in his parents’ basement. He was less thankful when his mother found him a day later naked and still trying to get out of the chains and handcuffs that the girls had bound him in. She screamed and called for his father, who sat down then and there to give his son a talking to about where his life was going. Later that week Thomas was booted out of the nest and out into the bright world with fresh revenge plans for the girls who had screwed up his life. Unfortunately they still had no idea who he was.
-M
This insult cannot be left to fade into the murky depths of human history.
I will make the very female race shake with the power of my rage.
…
Or something.
It was a bright sunshiny day when Thomas stalked down to his dark chambers (aka. His parents’ basement). Scowling the blackest of scowls he got out his deepest cauldron began mixing a spell for the wenches he was fixing to curse. His spell would summon a demon from the fiery pits of hell to bring these women down. The powders were mixed, the fires lighted, the animals sacrificed (poor Fluffy…) but when he plunged his hands into the bubbling brew no demon appeared to his summons. Looking around nervously, he tried swirling his hands around in the goo to no avail. Then he began to feel a little strange; his insides twisted, his joints screamed, and his skin bubbled. When the change was complete he looked rather like the monster he had been trying to summon.
“Crap…” he muttered, but it came out sounding more like:
“SATAN IS MY MASTER UGRAHDSBLOOD!!!”
He quickly flipped through his demon magic book, poking small holes in the pages with his claws. When he came again to the page of his spell he read the small insignificant warning sign he had missed before:
WARNING: if the caster is too weak to pull the demon into this dimension the spell may instead turn on the castor turning him/her into a demon. Don’t worry, you’ll eventually turn back. Maybe.
Thomas slammed the book shut and paced angrily, trying to think. This could still work in his favor; he would just have to act out his revenge himself. Nodding decidedly, he wrapped himself in a spare cloak and glided up the stairs.
“Do you want some cookies honey?” his mother called after his retreating form.
“I WILL CRUSH YOUR SKULL AND EAT YOUR EYEBALLS, PUNY MORTAL!!!!” he replied, (translation: ‘No thank you, I’m going out and will be back late, don’t wait up.’)
“That boy gets stranger every day…” his father murmured as Thomas stalked out of the front door.
Thomas parked his car in the large apartment parking lot and tried to concentrate on being invisible, which was one of the powers his demon form should have. An elderly woman walking by was startled to see his car door open and close by itself, but he paid no attention. As he slipped into the complex he saw the janitorial staff fixing a smashed light fixture. One man’s keys gleamed temptingly as they dangled precariously from his pocket. Thomas’ hands were sweaty as he slid behind the man and inched the keys from his pocket. When he finally had them, he clutched them to his thudding heart and ran to the girls’ apartment. He had looked up their information earlier and knew the route. Once he had used the janitor’s master key to softly click the lock open he threw the keys in the general direction of the man he had taken them from, hoping to forestall any possible alarm-raising that might occur. Thomas gently eased open the door a crack and looked through. Seeing no one he slipped inside and shut the door quickly behind him. Relief at not having been seen was quickly followed by the horror that he had been seen, but not by any human. Four pairs of eyes stared up at him through the dark. He made urgent shooing motions with his hands but that did nothing to dissipate the crowd of cats who began fawning at his feet, obviously able to see through his invisibility. He tried to walk through them and promptly tripped as two began twining through his ankles. Were they trying to kill him in defense of their home? One was sharpening his claws in obvious preparation for such actions. Thomas shuddered and crept through the front room, trying his best to ignore the cats. The light was on in the bathroom so he slid along the wall until he could see inside. One of THEM was in there, brushing her hair and staring vaguely at a foggy mirror. Thomas grinned predatorily, and moved forward a touch so that if she were to swipe her hand across the mirror to clear it, she would see his reflection behind her. She shook her short hair out and did just as he predicted, carefully wiping her hand across the mirror so she could see. He grinned wickedly, eyes rolling, teeth gnashing, guaranteed to get a scream of terror from anyone. But nothing happened. He frowned and stared at her intently as she continued brushing her hair. Was she blind? As she leaned in nose to nose with her reflection to apply eyeliner, he saw a pair of glasses on the counter and sighed internally. Her prescription must be even worse than his. Already bored, he wandered into the kitchen to wait until she could see and be properly terrified. He opened their fridge contemplatively; if he was going to take his revenge in full than he should eat their food too, right? He pulled out some cold cuts to make a sandwich. As he was laying slices of bread out on the counter he heard a curious yowling noise behind him. He turned to find a striped cat staring at him expectantly; or more specifically, the food in his hand.
“DEMON SPAWN YOU ARE NOT WANTED HERE!!!” he tried to whisper quietly (translation: ‘shoo’)
“Mrrrr, mrrr…” The cat cried sadly, waving it’s paws.
Thomas ground his teeth together and picked up the cat by the scruff, intending to stuff it somewhere quiet, when a brilliant idea came to him. He could leave his revenge-message through the cats. They were quite adorable, and he was sure that they were treasured by those detestable girls. He carried his furry bundle to the main room, practically dancing with glee at his plan. He was so excited he almost didn’t notice that there was a second person in the room until something very hard hit his head. And then there was just pain and dark.
When he woke up he was very thoroughly tied up in a variety of bondage gear. For some reason his chest hurt.
“Uhhhgghhhrrhh” He groaned as he stirred.
“Is he awake?” A cold voice asked.
“I’m not sure, should I do it again?” a higher pitched voice answered.
“Sure.”
Thomas kept his eyes closed, determined to fake sleep and ignoring the ripping noises of what was probably more duct tape. He was somewhat confused when he felt a hand slip down his chest, then there was a ripping noise and fire blazed across his skin, causing him to scream and writhe in agony. His eyes were open now; he saw one of his potential victims staring icily down at him and petting the striped cat he had tried to sacrifice. The other held a piece of duct tape between her hands which was covered with what looked suspiciously like demon chest hair.
“YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS, DEMON WENCHES!!! MY MASTER IS GREAT AND POWERFUL!!!!” (translation: ‘WTF?! My poor chest hairs! It’s just a cat!’)
The one petting the cat scowled and opened her mouth but the other raised a hand to stop her,
“Allow me, I speak fluent hellspawn.” She cleared her throat,”I WILL RIP YOUR STILL BEATING HEART FROM YOUR CHEST AND WEAR YOUR RIBCAGE FOR A HAT!!! HOW DARE YOU TRESPASS ON OUR LANDS!?!” (translation: ‘We value our cats. Why are you here? If you do not tell me there may be more unpleasantness
Thomas swelled out his chest and tried to look as impressive as he could while tied up.
“I WILL EAT YOUR BABIES AND DESTROY YOUR HOME!!! BLOOD WILL REIGN!!!” (translation: ‘I come for revenge!)
The girl interviewing him blinked a few times before replying in English, “Revenge? Who are you again?”
“I AM YOUR ARCH NEMESIS THOMAS!!!! YOU WILL RUE THE DAY WE MET!!!” (translates to the same)
The interviewer turned to her companion, “Do you know him?”
The other girl shook her head, “Never seen him before.”
Thomas’ eyes bulged, “I WILL RIP YOU LIMB FROM LIMB!!! YOUR BODIES WILL BE MY PLAYTHINGS!!! I WILL FEED YOUR ORGANS TO YOUR CATS!!!!” etc., etc., etc.
His former interviewer stared at him, her eyes round, “He has an impressive list of threats. I feel like I should take notes.”
The other girl snorted and stood, walking over to their bookshelf. She scanned it briefly with her eyes before pulling out a thick volume. Seeing the word ‘Demonology’ written in fancy script across the cover, Thomas began to sweat; obviously he hadn’t researched these two enough.
The girl flipped through its pages until she came to the one she wanted, “This will send him back to where he came from.”
“What if he’s not an actual demon? The other girl asked.
“Then it’ll send him back to wherever his creepy home is, I don’t care.”
Thomas prayed very hard that he wasn’t about to be sent to a hell dimension.
“Oh, one more thing.” The girl with the book leaned down until he was close enough to feel her breath on his cheek, “If you ever threaten my cat again I will cut your balls off and feed them to him, clear?”
Thomas nodded frantically, trying to look very helpless and cat-friendly.
“Good.” She sat back and started chanting.
Thomas was very thankful when he woke up human and in his parents’ basement. He was less thankful when his mother found him a day later naked and still trying to get out of the chains and handcuffs that the girls had bound him in. She screamed and called for his father, who sat down then and there to give his son a talking to about where his life was going. Later that week Thomas was booted out of the nest and out into the bright world with fresh revenge plans for the girls who had screwed up his life. Unfortunately they still had no idea who he was.
-M
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Meghan: duct tape is silver
Jasmine was taken from her work place in an unmarked car, then bound and gagged in the back while it drove away.
Abe curled around a plate of poisoned cookies at FedEx, only to be lifted into a van by friendly looking people in black.
Doug was smashed over the head by what looked like a laptop then towed away similarly.
And finally Sarah felt a needle bite into her neck while she was doing laundry and fell unconscious.
They all woke up in very similar positions duct-taped to chairs, their arms wrapped from wrist to elbow and tape across their mouths. Their eyes slid furtively from side to side, seeking perhaps an escape route or explosive but all they saw was me sitting in a chair across from them. Unfortunately I had fallen asleep waiting for them to wake up, so I was not there to witness Abe’s furious eye rolling, Doug’s mildly worried look, Jasmine’s muted screams (something along the lines of ‘not again’ or ‘why does this always happen to me’), and Sarah’s relieved sigh (muffled by duct tape). Eventually the noise woke me and I sat up in my chair, scrubbing at my face and looking around.
“What?” three pairs of angry eyes glared at me and I winced, “Oh yeah, I forgot I didn’t mean to do the mouths, sorry.”
I peeled Sarah’s gag off slowly and set it aside.
“No biting.” I said firmly as I gripped the edge of Jasmine’s tape. I peeled it off and she promptly chomped down on my wrist. I collapsed to my knees with moans of ecstasy but managed to yank the limb free.
“Ow, ow, ow.” I chanted softly as I quickly ripped off Abe’s and Doug’s.
“Okay, now that we’re all here,” I clapped my hands to bring their focus from their possibly dire situation to the purpose of the gathering, “we can blog.”
They all looked equally confused.
“We’ve all been very bad at blogging continuously for the past few months so I thought we’d all take some quality time and blog.” While I spoke I wheeled their chairs to circle a large table equipped with computers.
“I know that it will be difficult for you to type with your arms taped together but I believe in you.”
They all still looked slightly disbelieving as I bent over my own computer and began typing. But after a few minutes more slow clicking joined the sound of mine.
That month there were many blogs.
The end
-M
Abe curled around a plate of poisoned cookies at FedEx, only to be lifted into a van by friendly looking people in black.
Doug was smashed over the head by what looked like a laptop then towed away similarly.
And finally Sarah felt a needle bite into her neck while she was doing laundry and fell unconscious.
They all woke up in very similar positions duct-taped to chairs, their arms wrapped from wrist to elbow and tape across their mouths. Their eyes slid furtively from side to side, seeking perhaps an escape route or explosive but all they saw was me sitting in a chair across from them. Unfortunately I had fallen asleep waiting for them to wake up, so I was not there to witness Abe’s furious eye rolling, Doug’s mildly worried look, Jasmine’s muted screams (something along the lines of ‘not again’ or ‘why does this always happen to me’), and Sarah’s relieved sigh (muffled by duct tape). Eventually the noise woke me and I sat up in my chair, scrubbing at my face and looking around.
“What?” three pairs of angry eyes glared at me and I winced, “Oh yeah, I forgot I didn’t mean to do the mouths, sorry.”
I peeled Sarah’s gag off slowly and set it aside.
“No biting.” I said firmly as I gripped the edge of Jasmine’s tape. I peeled it off and she promptly chomped down on my wrist. I collapsed to my knees with moans of ecstasy but managed to yank the limb free.
“Ow, ow, ow.” I chanted softly as I quickly ripped off Abe’s and Doug’s.
“Okay, now that we’re all here,” I clapped my hands to bring their focus from their possibly dire situation to the purpose of the gathering, “we can blog.”
They all looked equally confused.
“We’ve all been very bad at blogging continuously for the past few months so I thought we’d all take some quality time and blog.” While I spoke I wheeled their chairs to circle a large table equipped with computers.
“I know that it will be difficult for you to type with your arms taped together but I believe in you.”
They all still looked slightly disbelieving as I bent over my own computer and began typing. But after a few minutes more slow clicking joined the sound of mine.
That month there were many blogs.
The end
-M
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Doug: Resolutions
A little late, but I'll take it:
Goodbye 2010. I'm not sure I'll miss you. It's been good in some places, shit in others. Lost some friends. Gained a few. Went to Italy, Israel, Jordan. Saw the world, the big stuff, and the small stuff. Got a new boss. Turned 21, had a few drinks, had a few laughs. Had a few laughs because of the drinks. Got into a house. Bought a car. Bought a 1911. Learned ASL, barely, learned Hebrew... kind of. Built some bridges. Burned a few. Lived. Loved.
Hello 2011. Boy have I got plans for you.
-Doug
"Climb highest mountain, punch the face of god."
-Courage Wolf
Goodbye 2010. I'm not sure I'll miss you. It's been good in some places, shit in others. Lost some friends. Gained a few. Went to Italy, Israel, Jordan. Saw the world, the big stuff, and the small stuff. Got a new boss. Turned 21, had a few drinks, had a few laughs. Had a few laughs because of the drinks. Got into a house. Bought a car. Bought a 1911. Learned ASL, barely, learned Hebrew... kind of. Built some bridges. Burned a few. Lived. Loved.
Hello 2011. Boy have I got plans for you.
-Doug
"Climb highest mountain, punch the face of god."
-Courage Wolf
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