Running on my treadmill, listening to the iPod. Good recipe for coming up with the crazy shite! Remember this one?
A line from Unforgiven II inspired this little snippet (Unforgiven III is my current favorite Metallica song though, this line is so wrenching to me- How can I blame you when it's me I can't forgive). Anyways.
She traced the outlines of his tattoos with her fingers. They always asked about the tattoos.
"What does this one say?" She pointed to the script on his chest.
"Black heart scarring darker still."
"Jesus."
"Fuck."
"What?"
"You say Jesus, I say fuck. It's like a blessing. The muslims do it, whenever someone mentions their prophet they always say 'Peace be upon him.' It's like that."
"Huh. Sounds more like a curse to me."
"Yeah. Exactly."
"Jesus."
"Fuck."
She giggled. He didn't. After a while she went on with her line of thought.
"So this tattoo around your heart . . . you have a black heart?"
"It's from a song. This guy sleeps with a girl and then kills her and leaves."
He felt her tense.
"It's just a song. A tattoo. I'm not gonna hurt you. Jesus."
"Fuck."
"Exactly."
She went on to explore his other tattoos.
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story. Show all posts
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
I'm reading Neil Gaiman's Fragile Things. Obviously it's fantastic. I love short stories. It's been a while since I read some, and even longer since I wrote one. But here's the first part of a story I wrote under Gaiminspiration. It's kind of a true story, I just fictionalized the particulars a bit.
It was his retirement tour. If he was honest with himself, it was his second retirement tour. The first time it was after he got married. No married man should be out hitch-hiking around, he told himself at the time. So just this one more trip. And a few years later when she told him she was pregnant, and after the euphoria settled down, he decided he should hit the road one more time before the baby came and he had to become responsible.
He grabbed his sleeping bag and hiking boots and quick! out the door. He left a note for his wife telling her how much he loved her and that he would be back in a few days. Most other wives would have been angry and she was no different but she would forgive him. She knew when she married him he was a wanderer. And so long as he wandered highways and not beds she could live with it, even if she worried.
He never worried, not really. Sometimes he got into peculiar situations, even times he might call Crazy Fucked Up Shit, but he always found his way home. And anyways he had a way with people. He could build a rapport without even trying. Most times he didn't try, actually, and his rides would open right up to him. He was a story sponge. He never told stories, he just absorbed them from the people who gave him rides. You're a good listener they would always say. Thanks for the ride he would say.
It took a couple of hours to get out of the city- it always did. He hated that part but it had to be done. Once out on the highway though it was better. Even when it took hours to get a ride it was better. He could think. This time he had a lot to think about. Being a dad. Talk about Crazy Fucked Up Shit. His thumb was out but he didn't really look at the passing cars. Someone would pull over eventually. Maybe sooner, maybe later.
This time it was sooner. He almost didn't notice, actually, all lost in thought. It was an 18 wheeler. Usually the big rigs didn't stop. Too dangerous. Against the rules. Insurance costs too much. You know. He had to approach casually, in case the driver had pulled over to check a map or something and hadn't meant to pick him up. But the driver waved him to hurry so he climbed in.
Middle-aged white guy, hair going grey. Thin. They greeted each other. Then from the sleeper he noticed two kids. Brothers, probably, though they were not both the same color. The younger one was metis, by the look of him. The driver asked where he was headed. Prince Rupert I think, he said. Maybe the Charlottes.
I can get you to Jasper at least.
Cool. Thanks.
Name's John. These are my sons. Matt. Luke.
He thinks to himself, Matthew Luke and John. Who's missing? Mark. But he says, pleased to meet you.
The boys are shy at first but their rambunctiousness wins out eventually. They are on an adventure with their dad, and strange hitch-hikers just add to the fun. They ask him all kinds of questions, and he answers them till their dad tells them to leave him alone. Luke, or maybe Matt, though, gets in one more before they comply. Do you have any kids?
Not yet. Wife's expecting, though.
John beams. No kidding? Congratulations man! Kids are the best thing ever happened to me.
Jasper is four hours away, and they spend the time telling jokes. The kids in the back love knock knock jokes. He tells them his favorite.
Knock knock.
Who's there? they both shout.
Bearp
Bearp who?
You just said bear poo!
They laugh, and then they discover the plenitude of permutations of this single joke, each more hilarious than the last. Cowp! Dogp! Giant Squidp! Gorillap! Tyrannosaurus Rexp!
John buys them all lunch in Edson. While the kids eat their burgers and giggle, John asks about the baby. When it's due. If he's excited. Scared yet?
Soon John starts talking about his own kids. He says being a trucker's hard on a marriage. So he takes the kids when he can. The wife doesn't ever come though. But at least he's still married.
Later, in Jasper, when John drops him off so he can turn south on the 95, he jumps out of the truck there on the side of the road. The kids are sleeping.
It was nice meeting you, man.
You too. Thanks for the ride.
Listen.
Yeah.
When your baby comes. You love that baby. Take care of him. Her. Whatever. They're the most precious gift god will ever give you.
I will. For sure.
Maybe you noticed Luke and Matt aren't full brothers.
No I never noticed.
Well, they aren't. Luke is my son. One time I came home early from a two week haul. There was a strange car in the driveway. Well, you know the story. But you know what? I believe in the bible and I forgave her. Matthew is my son and I love him. I'm a lucky man. I really am. And so are you.
John held out his hand and he shook it. John got back in his truck and drove away.
He stuck his thumb out.
It was his retirement tour. If he was honest with himself, it was his second retirement tour. The first time it was after he got married. No married man should be out hitch-hiking around, he told himself at the time. So just this one more trip. And a few years later when she told him she was pregnant, and after the euphoria settled down, he decided he should hit the road one more time before the baby came and he had to become responsible.
He grabbed his sleeping bag and hiking boots and quick! out the door. He left a note for his wife telling her how much he loved her and that he would be back in a few days. Most other wives would have been angry and she was no different but she would forgive him. She knew when she married him he was a wanderer. And so long as he wandered highways and not beds she could live with it, even if she worried.
He never worried, not really. Sometimes he got into peculiar situations, even times he might call Crazy Fucked Up Shit, but he always found his way home. And anyways he had a way with people. He could build a rapport without even trying. Most times he didn't try, actually, and his rides would open right up to him. He was a story sponge. He never told stories, he just absorbed them from the people who gave him rides. You're a good listener they would always say. Thanks for the ride he would say.
It took a couple of hours to get out of the city- it always did. He hated that part but it had to be done. Once out on the highway though it was better. Even when it took hours to get a ride it was better. He could think. This time he had a lot to think about. Being a dad. Talk about Crazy Fucked Up Shit. His thumb was out but he didn't really look at the passing cars. Someone would pull over eventually. Maybe sooner, maybe later.
This time it was sooner. He almost didn't notice, actually, all lost in thought. It was an 18 wheeler. Usually the big rigs didn't stop. Too dangerous. Against the rules. Insurance costs too much. You know. He had to approach casually, in case the driver had pulled over to check a map or something and hadn't meant to pick him up. But the driver waved him to hurry so he climbed in.
Middle-aged white guy, hair going grey. Thin. They greeted each other. Then from the sleeper he noticed two kids. Brothers, probably, though they were not both the same color. The younger one was metis, by the look of him. The driver asked where he was headed. Prince Rupert I think, he said. Maybe the Charlottes.
I can get you to Jasper at least.
Cool. Thanks.
Name's John. These are my sons. Matt. Luke.
He thinks to himself, Matthew Luke and John. Who's missing? Mark. But he says, pleased to meet you.
The boys are shy at first but their rambunctiousness wins out eventually. They are on an adventure with their dad, and strange hitch-hikers just add to the fun. They ask him all kinds of questions, and he answers them till their dad tells them to leave him alone. Luke, or maybe Matt, though, gets in one more before they comply. Do you have any kids?
Not yet. Wife's expecting, though.
John beams. No kidding? Congratulations man! Kids are the best thing ever happened to me.
Jasper is four hours away, and they spend the time telling jokes. The kids in the back love knock knock jokes. He tells them his favorite.
Knock knock.
Who's there? they both shout.
Bearp
Bearp who?
You just said bear poo!
They laugh, and then they discover the plenitude of permutations of this single joke, each more hilarious than the last. Cowp! Dogp! Giant Squidp! Gorillap! Tyrannosaurus Rexp!
John buys them all lunch in Edson. While the kids eat their burgers and giggle, John asks about the baby. When it's due. If he's excited. Scared yet?
Soon John starts talking about his own kids. He says being a trucker's hard on a marriage. So he takes the kids when he can. The wife doesn't ever come though. But at least he's still married.
Later, in Jasper, when John drops him off so he can turn south on the 95, he jumps out of the truck there on the side of the road. The kids are sleeping.
It was nice meeting you, man.
You too. Thanks for the ride.
Listen.
Yeah.
When your baby comes. You love that baby. Take care of him. Her. Whatever. They're the most precious gift god will ever give you.
I will. For sure.
Maybe you noticed Luke and Matt aren't full brothers.
No I never noticed.
Well, they aren't. Luke is my son. One time I came home early from a two week haul. There was a strange car in the driveway. Well, you know the story. But you know what? I believe in the bible and I forgave her. Matthew is my son and I love him. I'm a lucky man. I really am. And so are you.
John held out his hand and he shook it. John got back in his truck and drove away.
He stuck his thumb out.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
I entered a writing contest over at Stainless Steel Droppings- the object was to write a Tiny Story of exactly 100 words, without using any word more than once. The story could be about anything so long as it actually was a story and it followed those two guidelines. I tied for third! Yay! You can go to his blog to read all the entrants- I especially liked the winning entry, "Father".
Also, I wrote a poem for my DeviantArt friend Zimmy, (aka Emily Weber who has done some artwork for me in the past and whom I interviewed here) since she made me some giftart. You can read the poem where I bust up her characters' wedding day for no good reason here.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
I did a little writing exercise on the weekend- deviantArt's Kuroitora posted this painting of his character Bianca, and said the interpretation was up to us. So I came up with this.
It was fun. makes me want to do another one, maybe with some of you as a little challenge or something.
It was fun. makes me want to do another one, maybe with some of you as a little challenge or something.
Monday, March 12, 2007
My sister had her neurosurgery and is recovering well. She was sent home today, actually. We visited her yesterday and she looked great. The incision in her skull was pretty cool looking, with all the staples and stuff, and surprisingly long. I thought she kind of looked like one of Saruman's orcs but I decided to keep that observation to myself- I would take it as an immense compliment but she doesn't always see things the same way I do. She told some funny stories about being high on codeine, asking her nurse to hand her the Wiimote so she could turn off her drooling.
Anyways, I thought I would write her a little story to cheer her up:
Zach woke up feeling confused and disoriented. There was a septic smell, and he realized he was in a hospital. He sat up in alarm. Nightmarish, incoherent images flitted through his mind- but the only thing he clearly remembered was the ambulance. Pushing these thoughts aside, he took stock of his body. Three fingers on his right hand were missing, and he was pretty sure they had been there before. His head was wrapped in a big bandage, like a mummy. Perhaps most alarming of all, there was a very large discolored patch on his left leg.
A nurse came into the room. "You're awake!" she said. "How are you feeling?"
"What happened to me?" Zach asked.
"You had a very close call but you're going to be alright."
"Okay, but, what happened?"
The nurse stopped fiddling with his EKG and IV drip, and looked at Zach. "It's best if your doctor tells you directly. He's on the floor right now doing rounds so he should be here soon." She smiled at him. She had a nice smile, gentle and pleasingly assymetrical. Zach found her attractive and decided to trust her.
A distinguished looking gentleman entered the room. The nurse introduced him. "Zach, this is your physician, Dr. Moon."
"Hello Zach," Dr. Moon said.
"Doctor. Can you please just say what happened to me?" Zach didn't fail to notice the quick glance Dr. Moon exchanged with the nurse, whose name Zach realized he didn't know. She coughed and excused herself, and Zach wanted to call out and ask her her name. Anything to get her to stay. But he said nothing.
"Zach, you had a very close call, but you were lucky. I believe you will make a full recovery. Undoubtedly you've noticed your missing fingers- I had to cut them off. It seemed the best option. With your leg, we felt we could save it with some aggressive treatment, and it seems to be responding well. The vitasticizing regions are shrinking, and the Streptococcus pyogenes we applied are stabilizing the affected area nicely."
"Vitastisizing . . . I don't even . . . why won't anyone just tell me what happened?"
Dr. Moon sighed. Finally he said, "Alright. This will be hard for you to believe. Zach, you were exposed to a consecrated substance. Holy water. You were attacked by nuns."
"Nuns? That's ridiculous! There's no such thing as nuns. You're just messing with me, right?"
"I'm afraid not. A whole convent of nuns attacked Deadmonton yesterday in full daylight. They managed to resurrect and convert several zombies and vampires before they were contained. Your grave was one of the ones exhumed, but we were able to save you."
Zach tried to absorb this crazy news. His defingered hand went up to his brow, and touched the bandage there. "What about this, then? Why did you operate on my brain?"
"A CAT scan showed some activity in your cerebral cortex. We think you were exposed to a crucifix. We decided to lobotomize it to be safe. We saved some grey matter for you if you like, sometimes our patients like to celebrate their recovery by snacking on their brains."
Zach nodded, the enormity of the news still not totally sinking in. Brain snacks seemed like a minor matter compared to everything else he had learned. He looked down at the skin-colored portion of his leg, in such stark contrast with the greenish hue of the rest of his body. It was probably just his imagination, but it seemed like he could almost see the flesh-eating bacteria munching away. A beep sounded from across the room, and Dr. Moon excused himself to check on the other patient in the room. For the first time, Zach realized he wasn't alone. The zombie in the other bed looked to be in even better shape than he was, the poor bastard. His EKG beeped again. A third time.
Dr. Moon erupted into action, pressing the alarm button to call for help. "Code Blue! We have a heartbeat in 313."
In the flurry of activity, Zach took comfort in his own heart-rate monitor, which showed a nice, comforting flat line. In a world with nuns running around bringing zombies back to life, Zach was just happy to be undead.
THE END
Anyways, in keeping with the zombie theme, here is a zombear I asked a Deviant named FunkYeti to make for me. You might remember my Homie Bear poem, Lair of the Zombear. So there you see the Zombear in all his horror.
Anyways, I thought I would write her a little story to cheer her up:
Zach woke up feeling confused and disoriented. There was a septic smell, and he realized he was in a hospital. He sat up in alarm. Nightmarish, incoherent images flitted through his mind- but the only thing he clearly remembered was the ambulance. Pushing these thoughts aside, he took stock of his body. Three fingers on his right hand were missing, and he was pretty sure they had been there before. His head was wrapped in a big bandage, like a mummy. Perhaps most alarming of all, there was a very large discolored patch on his left leg.
A nurse came into the room. "You're awake!" she said. "How are you feeling?"
"What happened to me?" Zach asked.
"You had a very close call but you're going to be alright."
"Okay, but, what happened?"
The nurse stopped fiddling with his EKG and IV drip, and looked at Zach. "It's best if your doctor tells you directly. He's on the floor right now doing rounds so he should be here soon." She smiled at him. She had a nice smile, gentle and pleasingly assymetrical. Zach found her attractive and decided to trust her.
A distinguished looking gentleman entered the room. The nurse introduced him. "Zach, this is your physician, Dr. Moon."
"Hello Zach," Dr. Moon said.
"Doctor. Can you please just say what happened to me?" Zach didn't fail to notice the quick glance Dr. Moon exchanged with the nurse, whose name Zach realized he didn't know. She coughed and excused herself, and Zach wanted to call out and ask her her name. Anything to get her to stay. But he said nothing.
"Zach, you had a very close call, but you were lucky. I believe you will make a full recovery. Undoubtedly you've noticed your missing fingers- I had to cut them off. It seemed the best option. With your leg, we felt we could save it with some aggressive treatment, and it seems to be responding well. The vitasticizing regions are shrinking, and the Streptococcus pyogenes we applied are stabilizing the affected area nicely."
"Vitastisizing . . . I don't even . . . why won't anyone just tell me what happened?"
Dr. Moon sighed. Finally he said, "Alright. This will be hard for you to believe. Zach, you were exposed to a consecrated substance. Holy water. You were attacked by nuns."
"Nuns? That's ridiculous! There's no such thing as nuns. You're just messing with me, right?"
"I'm afraid not. A whole convent of nuns attacked Deadmonton yesterday in full daylight. They managed to resurrect and convert several zombies and vampires before they were contained. Your grave was one of the ones exhumed, but we were able to save you."
Zach tried to absorb this crazy news. His defingered hand went up to his brow, and touched the bandage there. "What about this, then? Why did you operate on my brain?"
"A CAT scan showed some activity in your cerebral cortex. We think you were exposed to a crucifix. We decided to lobotomize it to be safe. We saved some grey matter for you if you like, sometimes our patients like to celebrate their recovery by snacking on their brains."
Zach nodded, the enormity of the news still not totally sinking in. Brain snacks seemed like a minor matter compared to everything else he had learned. He looked down at the skin-colored portion of his leg, in such stark contrast with the greenish hue of the rest of his body. It was probably just his imagination, but it seemed like he could almost see the flesh-eating bacteria munching away. A beep sounded from across the room, and Dr. Moon excused himself to check on the other patient in the room. For the first time, Zach realized he wasn't alone. The zombie in the other bed looked to be in even better shape than he was, the poor bastard. His EKG beeped again. A third time.
Dr. Moon erupted into action, pressing the alarm button to call for help. "Code Blue! We have a heartbeat in 313."
In the flurry of activity, Zach took comfort in his own heart-rate monitor, which showed a nice, comforting flat line. In a world with nuns running around bringing zombies back to life, Zach was just happy to be undead.
THE END
Anyways, in keeping with the zombie theme, here is a zombear I asked a Deviant named FunkYeti to make for me. You might remember my Homie Bear poem, Lair of the Zombear. So there you see the Zombear in all his horror.
Friday, October 20, 2006
Here's a children's Hallowe'en story for you, based on a sketch Hermitchild drew me - she called it, "He Made it Himself". Enjoy:
Hallowe'en was approaching and all the cubs of Hudson Elementary School were excited to see the announcement on the school's bulletin board:
"Wow!" said Berg. "I'm gonna be a pirate! No, a cowboy! How about you, Cousin H?"
Little Homie Bear replied, "I don't know- how can I choose? I have this cool book at home of all these mythological creatures, I think I will be something from that."
"Like a dragon or something?"
"Yeah, something like that."
"Ooh, ooh, how about a troll or a demon or a zombie? I changed my mind I'm not gonna be a cowboy I'm gonna be a vampire! No, a ghost! I mean, a werewolf. Yeah . . ."
Little Homie Bear left Berg to his quandary and wandered home, deep in thought. He didn't even stop to chase all the little seals who all took a vasive action when they saw the polar bear cub approach. When he arrived home to the ice cave, he asked his mom if they had any sewing stuff. She showed him some old scraps and needles and stuff that was still lying around from the previous occupants of the cave, an Inuit family.
Little H got to work, putting on his red goggles like a welder pulling down his mask. Fabric flew and needles broke as he tried to get his big bear paws to do the delicate motions required, but Little Homie Bear's concentration never wavered, his tongue sticking out thoughtfully. Every day that week he would go straight home from school to work on his costume.
Finally Friday arrived, and Little Homie Bear proudly donned his costume and went to school. Berg and all his friends were there, all dressed up in a dramastick variety of costumes.
"Wow, Berg," said Little Homie Bear, "I thought you were going to be a werewolf."
"Changed my mind," said Berg. "I decided I would be Cruella DeVille."
"Oh. You look great," said Little Homie, as he took in Berg's dyed black fur on half of his head and his feather boa.
"Thanks! But what about you, what are you supposed to be?" But just then the bell rang and everyone rushed to their desks. No one liked to be late for Mr. Baffin's class because he was a mean old bear. But class was a little unruly as everyone was too excited about the Hallowe'en party and contest. At last the lunch bell rang and everyone rushed to the gymnasium.
Hudson School's principal, Mrs. Aurora, went from student to student, praising their costumes and passing out candy. She was the judge of the contest. When she got to Little Homie Bear, she was perplexed.
"And what have we here, dear?" she asked.
"I'm dressed up as my favorite mythological monster," Little Homie Bear proudly said. "Legends say this unfathomable creature lives upside down beneath us on the other side of the world, and it has wings but it can't fly cause it's upside down so it just walks for miles and miles and they make noises like this: SCREECH SQUAWK and they eat, well, I don't really know what they eat. Pixies, maybe. Or lemon-flavoured lemmings, which is my favorite too."
Mrs. Aurora was no match for this verbal onslaught, and she was impressed by the little cub's enthusiasm, if not his sewing skills. "Did your mom help you make this costume?"
"No, I made it myself!"
"Well, very good job. First prize!"
Little Homie Bear, dressed as the mysterious and mythological penguin, shared his lemon-flavoured lemmings with his whole class.
Hallowe'en was approaching and all the cubs of Hudson Elementary School were excited to see the announcement on the school's bulletin board:
Costume contest!
Win a bag of lemon-flavored lemmings
for the most creative costume of the year
Dress up as your favorite monster,
movie character or mythological figure!
Wear your costume to school on Friday
for the lunchtime Hallowe'en party
"Wow!" said Berg. "I'm gonna be a pirate! No, a cowboy! How about you, Cousin H?"
Little Homie Bear replied, "I don't know- how can I choose? I have this cool book at home of all these mythological creatures, I think I will be something from that."
"Like a dragon or something?"
"Yeah, something like that."
"Ooh, ooh, how about a troll or a demon or a zombie? I changed my mind I'm not gonna be a cowboy I'm gonna be a vampire! No, a ghost! I mean, a werewolf. Yeah . . ."
Little Homie Bear left Berg to his quandary and wandered home, deep in thought. He didn't even stop to chase all the little seals who all took a vasive action when they saw the polar bear cub approach. When he arrived home to the ice cave, he asked his mom if they had any sewing stuff. She showed him some old scraps and needles and stuff that was still lying around from the previous occupants of the cave, an Inuit family.
Little H got to work, putting on his red goggles like a welder pulling down his mask. Fabric flew and needles broke as he tried to get his big bear paws to do the delicate motions required, but Little Homie Bear's concentration never wavered, his tongue sticking out thoughtfully. Every day that week he would go straight home from school to work on his costume.
Finally Friday arrived, and Little Homie Bear proudly donned his costume and went to school. Berg and all his friends were there, all dressed up in a dramastick variety of costumes.
"Wow, Berg," said Little Homie Bear, "I thought you were going to be a werewolf."
"Changed my mind," said Berg. "I decided I would be Cruella DeVille."
"Oh. You look great," said Little Homie, as he took in Berg's dyed black fur on half of his head and his feather boa.
"Thanks! But what about you, what are you supposed to be?" But just then the bell rang and everyone rushed to their desks. No one liked to be late for Mr. Baffin's class because he was a mean old bear. But class was a little unruly as everyone was too excited about the Hallowe'en party and contest. At last the lunch bell rang and everyone rushed to the gymnasium.
Hudson School's principal, Mrs. Aurora, went from student to student, praising their costumes and passing out candy. She was the judge of the contest. When she got to Little Homie Bear, she was perplexed.
"And what have we here, dear?" she asked.
"I'm dressed up as my favorite mythological monster," Little Homie Bear proudly said. "Legends say this unfathomable creature lives upside down beneath us on the other side of the world, and it has wings but it can't fly cause it's upside down so it just walks for miles and miles and they make noises like this: SCREECH SQUAWK and they eat, well, I don't really know what they eat. Pixies, maybe. Or lemon-flavoured lemmings, which is my favorite too."
Mrs. Aurora was no match for this verbal onslaught, and she was impressed by the little cub's enthusiasm, if not his sewing skills. "Did your mom help you make this costume?"
"No, I made it myself!"
"Well, very good job. First prize!"
Little Homie Bear, dressed as the mysterious and mythological penguin, shared his lemon-flavoured lemmings with his whole class.
Friday, September 01, 2006
From A History of Robotics, Third Edition by Wei MeiDe, © 2074, 2081 Puffin Books, New York:
As we saw in the previous chapters, the Americans pioneered many of the foundational technologies that led to the rise of modern robotics. The Japanese refined and expanded on those technologies, so much so that by the early 21st century they were the world leaders in the field by a wide and inarguable margin. Thus it shocked the entire world when the first truly autonomous and sentient robot was built, not by the Japanese, the Americans or even the emerging Chinese powerhouse, but by bears.
The story is familiar to schoolchildren everywhere, so that we forget how truly singular and amazing it was when the first robot bear materialized out of the woods of the Canadian Rockies. In retrospect it is easy to villify the authorities who panicked and overreacted- the implications of which are perhaps better suited for a political science textbook than this humble history. Regardless, we now know that the UR-515 unit was initially built for a variety of purposes. It was given the capability, which long eluded its builders, of opening bear-proof garbage containers, and of using the garbage obtained therein for power. Having no need to hibernate, they were able to give bears year-round security.
Of course, its primary programming concerned scientific exploration and surveillance, as the grizzlys then were very concerned with their diminishing habitat. But as time wore on, we learned that it also possessed the more ominous ability of dealing with problem humans. Whenever such a person encroached on grizzly territory, they were targeted by a UR-515 sonic stunner, rendered unconscious, tagged with a satellite tracker (the PAN-da 2 SpySat launched from China the previous year was thought to have been created by the Chinese government but we now suspect it was built by the Wolong Sanctuary pandas. Of course their current crisis makes verification impossible) and released into the wild- usually a city hundreds of kilometers from the human's home.
It remains the holy grail of robot researchers to obtain an UR-515 for study, but we have never been able to, though there have been several ill-fated attempts to capture one. Human technology has never been able to attain the prowess of the robot bears, and perhaps never will.
It is small consolation that the bears' technological supremacy was only finally surpassed when British Colombian beavers engineered a rigorous nanotech industry.
__________________________________________
Special thanks to Shane Cheffins, the R3dEyeJedi, for doing such a great job with the robot bear you see to your right. Check out his Kraftworld site for more ninja/robot/alien goodness!
As we saw in the previous chapters, the Americans pioneered many of the foundational technologies that led to the rise of modern robotics. The Japanese refined and expanded on those technologies, so much so that by the early 21st century they were the world leaders in the field by a wide and inarguable margin. Thus it shocked the entire world when the first truly autonomous and sentient robot was built, not by the Japanese, the Americans or even the emerging Chinese powerhouse, but by bears.
The story is familiar to schoolchildren everywhere, so that we forget how truly singular and amazing it was when the first robot bear materialized out of the woods of the Canadian Rockies. In retrospect it is easy to villify the authorities who panicked and overreacted- the implications of which are perhaps better suited for a political science textbook than this humble history. Regardless, we now know that the UR-515 unit was initially built for a variety of purposes. It was given the capability, which long eluded its builders, of opening bear-proof garbage containers, and of using the garbage obtained therein for power. Having no need to hibernate, they were able to give bears year-round security.
Of course, its primary programming concerned scientific exploration and surveillance, as the grizzlys then were very concerned with their diminishing habitat. But as time wore on, we learned that it also possessed the more ominous ability of dealing with problem humans. Whenever such a person encroached on grizzly territory, they were targeted by a UR-515 sonic stunner, rendered unconscious, tagged with a satellite tracker (the PAN-da 2 SpySat launched from China the previous year was thought to have been created by the Chinese government but we now suspect it was built by the Wolong Sanctuary pandas. Of course their current crisis makes verification impossible) and released into the wild- usually a city hundreds of kilometers from the human's home.
It remains the holy grail of robot researchers to obtain an UR-515 for study, but we have never been able to, though there have been several ill-fated attempts to capture one. Human technology has never been able to attain the prowess of the robot bears, and perhaps never will.
It is small consolation that the bears' technological supremacy was only finally surpassed when British Colombian beavers engineered a rigorous nanotech industry.
__________________________________________
Special thanks to Shane Cheffins, the R3dEyeJedi, for doing such a great job with the robot bear you see to your right. Check out his Kraftworld site for more ninja/robot/alien goodness!
Friday, March 17, 2006
Bear Wars Epoosode 1
Homie Bear examined his hybrid time machine/spaceship with satisfaction. The Horribilis was mostly made out of logs, though its electronics, tires and wheel motors were all parts he had stolen from a nearby coal mine. It didn't look like much, but Homie thought it would make the Kessel Run in less than twelve parsecs. Well, maybe thirteen, but since parsecs were units of distance rather than time, it didn't really matter, as long as it sounded good.
Climbing into the cockpit, Homie donned his crash helmet and set the navicomputer for "a long time ago and a galaxy far, far away". Before long he was looking out at the gigantic grey sphere of the Death Star. He landed in Parking Lot 22A and ventured into the bowels of the gargantuan battle station. Soon he had plastered the walls with the poster he had made after that little robot had come up to him and played a strange hologram message the other day while he was fishing:
Missing
One Alderaanian Princess
Last Seen on Death Star
Reward: Your share of More Than You Can Imagine
Contact homiebear@pooinginthewoods.com
His job done, Homie headed back to the Horribilis, stopping only long enough to poo in the tractor beam room, which had conveniently deep plumbing. His parking paid for, he blasted off. There seemed to be an unusual amount of traffic around the Death Star, and Homie was surprised by how vehement some of the space rage seemed to be. One ship, a funny looking round pod with two wings bent into three panels each, was spinning wildly out of control and came within inches of hitting the Horribilis. Homie flipped his middle claw at the stupid sithhead and hustled out of there. Just as he was about to go to hyperspace, he looked in his rearview mirror and saw the Death Star blow up. "Awww!" Homie said out loud. "So much for my posters."
But just then his computer chimed- he had mail.
From: stoopytroopy08@empirenet.net
Subject: Alderaani@n Princess
Cc: bfett@slave1.org
The princess has been seen on Hoth. Watch out for wampas! xorz!!!! If you find her I want my share of the reward. Oops gotta go, there's a red alert. Probably more mynocks on the superlaser power cables again. LOL! ^.^
Homie Bear set a course for the Hoth System.
Tune in tomorrow for Epoosode 2!
Thursday, March 16, 2006
Bear Wars Epoosode 2
Ambush! As Homie Bear came out of hyperspace a scarred and battleworn ship immediately started firing lasers at him.
"Hey!" yelled Homie on his two-way radio. "Stop that!"
"This is the Slave 1. You must exit this star system immediately or be destroyed."
Homie Bear had no intention of running away, so he dropped some firewood as chaff. But it didn't fool whoever was behind the controls of the funny-looking ship. So he tried a different strategy. Clearing his throat, he keyed his mic once again.
"Slave 1, this is the, uh, Emperor. Um, we need your help to, you know, hunt some bounties and stuff, so . . . could you rendezvous with us over in that asteroid field over there please?"
The Slave 1 changed course almost immediately. It delayed just long enough to fire a seismic charge at the Horribilis. Homie took evasive maneuvers but just then he lost propel ("Damn electricians," he muttered) and the charge's blast grazed his ship. The explosion sent him plummeting to the icy planet below.
Staggering away from his burning ship, Homie soon succumbed to the cold and his injuries. He collapsed on a snow bank, resisting the urge to go into a state of perfect hibernation, deliriously calling out to his old friend the vampirenomad who would surely fetch him a medic. "Been!" he called. "Been!"
A blue apparition appeared, and said, "Luke! You must go to the Dagobah system!"
"Been?" Homie called.
"Ben, Luke. It's pronounced Ben. You must go to the Dagobah system, Luke, and seek out Yoda."
"But I'm not Luke, I'm Homie Bear. And I'm not seeking Yoda, I'm seeking the Alderaanian princess."
"Oh, my bad. She's over there, at the secret rebel base." The apparition pointed to the horizon and faded away. After a while Homie smelled an odd, distasteful lizardy odor. He tracked the scent and came across a dead four-nostrilled, bipedal, bighorn ram thing whose guts had fallen out of it for no apparent reason. Desperate, he scavenged the remains and regained a measure of strength. "Eww. I thought they smelled bad on the outside, but they taste even worse on the inside." Homie made sure to keep his eyes out for yellow snow and other surprises- he certainly didn't want to step into any poo made by that foul creature!
The beleaguered grizzly headed off in the direction of the secret rebel base. But before he could get there, a gigantic white creature, resembling an albino Sully from Monsters Inc, reared up from the snow with a mighty bellow. Homie sighed, reared up on his hind legs, and engaged the creature in paw-to-paw combat. They grappled. They wrestled. Claws slashed and teeth bit, and they both roared and snarled, but Homie's heart wasn't really in it. It had been a long day. He settled for biting off one of the creature's arms, sending it whimpering away to its cave. For a moment Homie thought he was seeing double, since it looked like there were two one-armed wampas, but he shook his head and turned away. He growled at the insectoid robot with all the bulbous eyelenses that had watched the fight, and it retracted an antenna and floated away.
"Bloody National Geographic photographers. Bet I never get any royalties. Wonder if I'll make the cover again?"
Start camping out now for the staggering conclusion to this epic poology, coming soon to this blog! Bigger budget, better special effects (seriously- way better)! Two-for-one admission if you preorder your tickets now!
Ambush! As Homie Bear came out of hyperspace a scarred and battleworn ship immediately started firing lasers at him.
"Hey!" yelled Homie on his two-way radio. "Stop that!"
"This is the Slave 1. You must exit this star system immediately or be destroyed."
Homie Bear had no intention of running away, so he dropped some firewood as chaff. But it didn't fool whoever was behind the controls of the funny-looking ship. So he tried a different strategy. Clearing his throat, he keyed his mic once again.
"Slave 1, this is the, uh, Emperor. Um, we need your help to, you know, hunt some bounties and stuff, so . . . could you rendezvous with us over in that asteroid field over there please?"
The Slave 1 changed course almost immediately. It delayed just long enough to fire a seismic charge at the Horribilis. Homie took evasive maneuvers but just then he lost propel ("Damn electricians," he muttered) and the charge's blast grazed his ship. The explosion sent him plummeting to the icy planet below.
Staggering away from his burning ship, Homie soon succumbed to the cold and his injuries. He collapsed on a snow bank, resisting the urge to go into a state of perfect hibernation, deliriously calling out to his old friend the vampirenomad who would surely fetch him a medic. "Been!" he called. "Been!"
A blue apparition appeared, and said, "Luke! You must go to the Dagobah system!"
"Been?" Homie called.
"Ben, Luke. It's pronounced Ben. You must go to the Dagobah system, Luke, and seek out Yoda."
"But I'm not Luke, I'm Homie Bear. And I'm not seeking Yoda, I'm seeking the Alderaanian princess."
"Oh, my bad. She's over there, at the secret rebel base." The apparition pointed to the horizon and faded away. After a while Homie smelled an odd, distasteful lizardy odor. He tracked the scent and came across a dead four-nostrilled, bipedal, bighorn ram thing whose guts had fallen out of it for no apparent reason. Desperate, he scavenged the remains and regained a measure of strength. "Eww. I thought they smelled bad on the outside, but they taste even worse on the inside." Homie made sure to keep his eyes out for yellow snow and other surprises- he certainly didn't want to step into any poo made by that foul creature!
The beleaguered grizzly headed off in the direction of the secret rebel base. But before he could get there, a gigantic white creature, resembling an albino Sully from Monsters Inc, reared up from the snow with a mighty bellow. Homie sighed, reared up on his hind legs, and engaged the creature in paw-to-paw combat. They grappled. They wrestled. Claws slashed and teeth bit, and they both roared and snarled, but Homie's heart wasn't really in it. It had been a long day. He settled for biting off one of the creature's arms, sending it whimpering away to its cave. For a moment Homie thought he was seeing double, since it looked like there were two one-armed wampas, but he shook his head and turned away. He growled at the insectoid robot with all the bulbous eyelenses that had watched the fight, and it retracted an antenna and floated away.
"Bloody National Geographic photographers. Bet I never get any royalties. Wonder if I'll make the cover again?"
Start camping out now for the staggering conclusion to this epic poology, coming soon to this blog! Bigger budget, better special effects (seriously- way better)! Two-for-one admission if you preorder your tickets now!
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Bear Wars Epoosode 3: Return of the Homie
Everywhere he looked it was chaos. Giant walking machines were shooting down little flying speeders, who were in turn doing their best to try and trip up the walkers. Ground troops were being shot and smushed, their laser artillery ineffective against the onslaught. A smaller, two-legged walker came into view. Homie Bear seized his chance, grabbed a conveniently passing snowspeeder's dangling tow-cable and swung onto the funny looking walker. He couldn't resist doing a Tarzan yell, thinking how clever he was and that he doubted anyone would ever do that again.
In less than a parsec he had burst through into the cockpit and disabled the crew. Then he walked it over to the now-overrun rebel base. "Hmm," he thought. "Now what?" He shook the walker pilot awake. "Hey! Wake up! Tell me where the Alderaanian princess is."
The crewman answered with a distinctly kiwi accent, "Nah. Lord Polar'd have a stink."
"Lord Polar can eat my poo. Where is the Princess?" Homie bared his fangs for extra emphasis.
"Right, then. Sweet as. She's in the Wop Wops, eh? Right over there in that cell."
"Thank you. One more thing- I'll need your uniform."
"Meh. I shoulda stayed home and had some fush and chups." But the trooper handed over his armour. It didn't fit Homie that well but at least the cloth face his his muzzle a bit. Homie was mighty pleased with himself. He headed over to the cell, glad that this little misadventure was finally coming to an end.
"Dum dum de dum, dum de dum, dum de dum," he hummed to himself. The cell was unguarded amidst all the confusion of the battle. So he walked right in, without even needing to cause a diversion, which was lucky, since diversions nearly always escalated into big trouble. Huddled on the icy floor was a beautiful princess, wearing a parka. She looked at Homie and said, "Aren't you a little hairy for a snowtrooper?"
"What . . ? Oh, the uniform. I'm Homie Bear, I'm here to rescue you."
"Who?"
"Homie Bear! You know, from Pooing in the Woods? Anyways, let's get you out of here. Are you all right? Did they mistreat you?"
"Yeah, I'm okay. They even gave me this parka, rather than making me wear some bikini or something, so that was nice of them."
"That reminds me, I brought you my old crash helmet for a disguise so we can sneak out of here. It's designed for a bear, but that's okay. I don't need it anymore, so you can keep it. Maybe it'll come in handy someday." The Princess took the brown two-toned helmet and they skedaddled.
Waiting for them outside in the Hothian twilight was a monstrous cyborg polar bear holding a red laser sword of some sort.
"Cool!" said Homie. He wished he had a red laser sword like that.
"Darth Polar. Only you could be so cold. I don't know how you can stand this weather." The Princess said in an accusing tone of voice.
"Don't play games with me, Your Highness. You know polar bears are ideally adapted for extreme cold. We have very thick fur and insulating layers of fat. But I'm glad we ran into you- it seems there's been a mistake. We were looking for someone who has the same DNA as you. You don't have any siblings, do you?"
"Not that I know of."
"Ah well. You may go. But I would have a word with your Ursine companion."
The Princess waved good-bye and ran to catch up with a Corellian freighter that was just then escaping the Imperials. Homie stayed behind, bewildered and a little irked that this had all been a wild gundark chase.
"Do you know what this is, Homie Bear?" asked Darth Polar, gesturing at his weapon. "It is a lightsaber, the weapon of a Sith Lord. If you sign up with the Sith today, one of these can be yours as a free gift."
"Yeah?" Homie was tempted- the lightsaber was awfully cool. "What do I have to do?"
"Not much really, just learn the ways of the Dark Side of the Force, and join me in ruling the galaxy. But you have to be evil, that's the only catch."
"Oh. No thanks. I'm not much for evil."
"What if I told you I was your father?"
"No, that's impossible! My pa lives in Edmonton. I just saw him the other day."
"Darn, that usually works. Fine then, you must die." And the Dark Lord of the Sith raised his glowing sabre to strike Homie down.
But Homie ducked and rolled, and prepared a secret weapon of his own while Polar advanced menacingly. "It is useless to resist," Polar said. Homie ignored him. Just as Darth Polar hoisted his weapon to cut Homie in two, Homie went on the offensive, launching a flurry of tightly packed snowballs. Darth Polar had never faced such a furious wallop. Stunned, he dropped his saber. Homie was on him in an instant. The magnificent bears were at each others' throats, but Polar's cybernetic parts had the advantage of never tiring out.
Homie was close to succumbing. Desperate, he reached for the lightsaber, forgotten in the melee. It was too far. He couldn't reach. "Homie! Use the Force!" a disembodied voice said. Good idea! The lightsaber flew into his hands just as he squirmed free of Darth Polar's killing bite. With the red beam at the Sith's throat, Homie said, "Now I have a deal for you, Darth. Come back with me to the Woods, and you can fish and hunt and eat as many berries as you can stand. You can hibernate all winter, or all summer if you prefer, and poo anywhere you want! It's a perfect life for a bear. No more evil! What do bears know about ruling galaxies, anyways?"
"Hmmm. A tempting offer. There aren't any gungans in these Woods, are there?"
"Gungans? What are those?"
"Deal!"
The bears shook a paw and then Darth Polar took Homie to his spaceship, the Ursith.
"Nice ship!" said Homie. "Mine was made out of wood. But it crashed."
"Thanks! It belonged to some other guy who was cut in half, so the Emperor let me have it." They climbed aboard and blasted off for the Woods, where they pooed in the woods, brought balance to the Force, and had lots and lots of fush and chups.
The End! Yay!
Written by Homie Bear
Directed by Homie Bear
Starring Homie Bear
Visual Sith Effects by Emily Weber
Please don't show George Lucas, he will just want to do yet another Special Edition to incorporate these startling revelations.
Everywhere he looked it was chaos. Giant walking machines were shooting down little flying speeders, who were in turn doing their best to try and trip up the walkers. Ground troops were being shot and smushed, their laser artillery ineffective against the onslaught. A smaller, two-legged walker came into view. Homie Bear seized his chance, grabbed a conveniently passing snowspeeder's dangling tow-cable and swung onto the funny looking walker. He couldn't resist doing a Tarzan yell, thinking how clever he was and that he doubted anyone would ever do that again.
In less than a parsec he had burst through into the cockpit and disabled the crew. Then he walked it over to the now-overrun rebel base. "Hmm," he thought. "Now what?" He shook the walker pilot awake. "Hey! Wake up! Tell me where the Alderaanian princess is."
The crewman answered with a distinctly kiwi accent, "Nah. Lord Polar'd have a stink."
"Lord Polar can eat my poo. Where is the Princess?" Homie bared his fangs for extra emphasis.
"Right, then. Sweet as. She's in the Wop Wops, eh? Right over there in that cell."
"Thank you. One more thing- I'll need your uniform."
"Meh. I shoulda stayed home and had some fush and chups." But the trooper handed over his armour. It didn't fit Homie that well but at least the cloth face his his muzzle a bit. Homie was mighty pleased with himself. He headed over to the cell, glad that this little misadventure was finally coming to an end.
"Dum dum de dum, dum de dum, dum de dum," he hummed to himself. The cell was unguarded amidst all the confusion of the battle. So he walked right in, without even needing to cause a diversion, which was lucky, since diversions nearly always escalated into big trouble. Huddled on the icy floor was a beautiful princess, wearing a parka. She looked at Homie and said, "Aren't you a little hairy for a snowtrooper?"
"What . . ? Oh, the uniform. I'm Homie Bear, I'm here to rescue you."
"Who?"
"Homie Bear! You know, from Pooing in the Woods? Anyways, let's get you out of here. Are you all right? Did they mistreat you?"
"Yeah, I'm okay. They even gave me this parka, rather than making me wear some bikini or something, so that was nice of them."
"That reminds me, I brought you my old crash helmet for a disguise so we can sneak out of here. It's designed for a bear, but that's okay. I don't need it anymore, so you can keep it. Maybe it'll come in handy someday." The Princess took the brown two-toned helmet and they skedaddled.
Waiting for them outside in the Hothian twilight was a monstrous cyborg polar bear holding a red laser sword of some sort.
"Cool!" said Homie. He wished he had a red laser sword like that.
"Darth Polar. Only you could be so cold. I don't know how you can stand this weather." The Princess said in an accusing tone of voice.
"Don't play games with me, Your Highness. You know polar bears are ideally adapted for extreme cold. We have very thick fur and insulating layers of fat. But I'm glad we ran into you- it seems there's been a mistake. We were looking for someone who has the same DNA as you. You don't have any siblings, do you?"
"Not that I know of."
"Ah well. You may go. But I would have a word with your Ursine companion."
The Princess waved good-bye and ran to catch up with a Corellian freighter that was just then escaping the Imperials. Homie stayed behind, bewildered and a little irked that this had all been a wild gundark chase.
"Do you know what this is, Homie Bear?" asked Darth Polar, gesturing at his weapon. "It is a lightsaber, the weapon of a Sith Lord. If you sign up with the Sith today, one of these can be yours as a free gift."
"Yeah?" Homie was tempted- the lightsaber was awfully cool. "What do I have to do?"
"Not much really, just learn the ways of the Dark Side of the Force, and join me in ruling the galaxy. But you have to be evil, that's the only catch."
"Oh. No thanks. I'm not much for evil."
"What if I told you I was your father?"
"No, that's impossible! My pa lives in Edmonton. I just saw him the other day."
"Darn, that usually works. Fine then, you must die." And the Dark Lord of the Sith raised his glowing sabre to strike Homie down.
But Homie ducked and rolled, and prepared a secret weapon of his own while Polar advanced menacingly. "It is useless to resist," Polar said. Homie ignored him. Just as Darth Polar hoisted his weapon to cut Homie in two, Homie went on the offensive, launching a flurry of tightly packed snowballs. Darth Polar had never faced such a furious wallop. Stunned, he dropped his saber. Homie was on him in an instant. The magnificent bears were at each others' throats, but Polar's cybernetic parts had the advantage of never tiring out.
Homie was close to succumbing. Desperate, he reached for the lightsaber, forgotten in the melee. It was too far. He couldn't reach. "Homie! Use the Force!" a disembodied voice said. Good idea! The lightsaber flew into his hands just as he squirmed free of Darth Polar's killing bite. With the red beam at the Sith's throat, Homie said, "Now I have a deal for you, Darth. Come back with me to the Woods, and you can fish and hunt and eat as many berries as you can stand. You can hibernate all winter, or all summer if you prefer, and poo anywhere you want! It's a perfect life for a bear. No more evil! What do bears know about ruling galaxies, anyways?"
"Hmmm. A tempting offer. There aren't any gungans in these Woods, are there?"
"Gungans? What are those?"
"Deal!"
The bears shook a paw and then Darth Polar took Homie to his spaceship, the Ursith.
"Nice ship!" said Homie. "Mine was made out of wood. But it crashed."
"Thanks! It belonged to some other guy who was cut in half, so the Emperor let me have it." They climbed aboard and blasted off for the Woods, where they pooed in the woods, brought balance to the Force, and had lots and lots of fush and chups.
The End! Yay!
Written by Homie Bear
Directed by Homie Bear
Starring Homie Bear
Visual Sith Effects by Emily Weber
Please don't show George Lucas, he will just want to do yet another Special Edition to incorporate these startling revelations.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Here is the first part of that dualism mythology story I promised the other day. I'll keep the "episodes" short and readable, to hopefully keep your interest. It's a little darker than, say, Homie Bear vs the Killer Whale, just so you know.
Uuuw’erruu awoke with nightmarish images fading from her consciousness. She had fleeting impressions of a dried and desiccated Wuurr, cast off by a gloating Krurk. Still groggy she shuddered and looked around. Dark, silent. As it should be, except . . . where was Rweruree? Alarmed now she grabbed her spear and jumped from the branch into the pond below. Her young scattered at her intrusion, then regrouped behind her. They seemed to be unmolested. Though, there was a faint trace of . . . she cursed. Goblin piss. Goblins always defiled birthing ponds. And if there were goblins around, then Rweruree’s absence was all the more ominous.
She followed the scent trail to land, where it was easy to pick up several sets of goblin footprints. She ran her spearhead over her venom glands, and took a deep breath to calm herself. Then she plunged into the jungle.
Before long she came upon a goblin corpse. Maybe Rweruree was alright. She kept going, and came to a clearing, all dark shadows and gloom. Scattered around were a few more goblin corpses, and Uuuw'erruu saw one living goblin bent over something she couldn't quite make out, though she knew what it was without seeing. She drove her powerful hind legs towards the goblin, letting out a furious wartrill as she propelled herself up over the startled goblin's head. The goblin swatted at her, but she twisted and released her spear just before she was sent sprawling. She landed softly, at the same time as the goblin thudded to the ground, her spear embedded in its eye.
Rweruree lay on his back, his throat sack inflating and deflating slowly. His breathing made a gurgling sound, and as Uuuw'erruu came closer she saw that his belly was open, his insides spilled on the ground. "Uuuw'. . . ," he rasped, but there was really nothing to say. Uuuw'erruu sat with her mate, crying, as his brilliant blue and yellow skin slowly faded, and he died.
Uuuw’erruu awoke with nightmarish images fading from her consciousness. She had fleeting impressions of a dried and desiccated Wuurr, cast off by a gloating Krurk. Still groggy she shuddered and looked around. Dark, silent. As it should be, except . . . where was Rweruree? Alarmed now she grabbed her spear and jumped from the branch into the pond below. Her young scattered at her intrusion, then regrouped behind her. They seemed to be unmolested. Though, there was a faint trace of . . . she cursed. Goblin piss. Goblins always defiled birthing ponds. And if there were goblins around, then Rweruree’s absence was all the more ominous.
She followed the scent trail to land, where it was easy to pick up several sets of goblin footprints. She ran her spearhead over her venom glands, and took a deep breath to calm herself. Then she plunged into the jungle.
Before long she came upon a goblin corpse. Maybe Rweruree was alright. She kept going, and came to a clearing, all dark shadows and gloom. Scattered around were a few more goblin corpses, and Uuuw'erruu saw one living goblin bent over something she couldn't quite make out, though she knew what it was without seeing. She drove her powerful hind legs towards the goblin, letting out a furious wartrill as she propelled herself up over the startled goblin's head. The goblin swatted at her, but she twisted and released her spear just before she was sent sprawling. She landed softly, at the same time as the goblin thudded to the ground, her spear embedded in its eye.
Rweruree lay on his back, his throat sack inflating and deflating slowly. His breathing made a gurgling sound, and as Uuuw'erruu came closer she saw that his belly was open, his insides spilled on the ground. "Uuuw'. . . ," he rasped, but there was really nothing to say. Uuuw'erruu sat with her mate, crying, as his brilliant blue and yellow skin slowly faded, and he died.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Wuurr and Krurk Part 2 of 2
Uuuw'erruu took Rweruree's body up into a tree, where it would be absorbed back into the jungle away from the putrid goblin corpses. She strongly considered pissing on those, but didn't want to stoop to their level. Once Rweruree's body was as safely hidden as she could make it, she climbed up to a higher branch to mourn, and to sing, and to pray.
The sun started its ascent, a slim sliver tinting the green canopy with a pinkish hue. Uuuw'erruu was deep in the Frogsong, transforming the notes of the melody Rweruree first sang to her as a mating call into a funeral dirge. She slowed the tempo, changed major keys to minor. Where Rweruree's song was bright, playful, and enticing, Uuuw'erruu's was dark, mournful,and aching.
She began to weave prayers into the song. Prayers to Wuurr, to lend Him strength and offer Him protection against Krurk's vile followers. She affirmed her dedication to serving Wuurr's cause, as the great bullfrog god continued his eternal struggle to swallow Krurk into Himself. The goblin god could claim a victory tonight, perhaps wresting his head a tiny bit out of Wuurr's relentless maw, but it would carry a heavy price, as Uuuw'erruu promised Wuurr to exact a fierce and bloody revenge.
The sun was no longer a sliver, but a sphere, and Uuuw'erruu arose. She inflated her throat sack to its fullest, blasting a terrible trumpet call of defiance, and went to serve her god.
(There! A dualist mythology. I had a dream the other night where I was fighting all these goblins, and for no reason at all there was this big frog thing swallowing a goblin. The goblin's head was in the frog's mouth, but the goblin was still struggling, trying to get free. The image stayed with me, I worked it a bit, and came up with this. PS- this is the kind of frog Uuuw'erruu is. A poison dart frog. Pretty.)
Uuuw'erruu took Rweruree's body up into a tree, where it would be absorbed back into the jungle away from the putrid goblin corpses. She strongly considered pissing on those, but didn't want to stoop to their level. Once Rweruree's body was as safely hidden as she could make it, she climbed up to a higher branch to mourn, and to sing, and to pray.
The sun started its ascent, a slim sliver tinting the green canopy with a pinkish hue. Uuuw'erruu was deep in the Frogsong, transforming the notes of the melody Rweruree first sang to her as a mating call into a funeral dirge. She slowed the tempo, changed major keys to minor. Where Rweruree's song was bright, playful, and enticing, Uuuw'erruu's was dark, mournful,and aching.
She began to weave prayers into the song. Prayers to Wuurr, to lend Him strength and offer Him protection against Krurk's vile followers. She affirmed her dedication to serving Wuurr's cause, as the great bullfrog god continued his eternal struggle to swallow Krurk into Himself. The goblin god could claim a victory tonight, perhaps wresting his head a tiny bit out of Wuurr's relentless maw, but it would carry a heavy price, as Uuuw'erruu promised Wuurr to exact a fierce and bloody revenge.
The sun was no longer a sliver, but a sphere, and Uuuw'erruu arose. She inflated her throat sack to its fullest, blasting a terrible trumpet call of defiance, and went to serve her god.
(There! A dualist mythology. I had a dream the other night where I was fighting all these goblins, and for no reason at all there was this big frog thing swallowing a goblin. The goblin's head was in the frog's mouth, but the goblin was still struggling, trying to get free. The image stayed with me, I worked it a bit, and came up with this. PS- this is the kind of frog Uuuw'erruu is. A poison dart frog. Pretty.)
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
The envelope was addressed to "Mr. H. Bear". Mail for him? Yay! The polar bear waved a massive paw at the departing mailman, whose snowshoes were crunching softly in the Arctic snow. Eagerly, he went back into his den to see what the mysterious package could be. The last time he got any mail was months and months ago, when Cousin Berg sent him a postcard from New Zealand.
He used a sleek sharp claw to slice the envelope open. Inside was . . . himself! A picture of him, surrounded by a yellow border. He was on the cover of a magazine! He was making his best menacing snarl, a pretty scary sight for sure. Attached to the magazine was a sticky note that read, "Hey man, thanks for being such a great model! My first cover!", signed by that nice photographer fellow he had met over a year ago. He had forgotten all about that guy. Now he was doubly glad he decided not to eat him. It had been fun taking all those pictures, posing and making faces. He had no idea he would make the cover of National Geographic!
There were more pictures of him inside, in the article on polar bears and PCB contamination. Yuck. He knew all about that, so he flipped through the rest of the magazine. A story called "In Search of the Giant Squid" caught his eye and he began reading. It was so interesting- this article said that squids have blue blood, since they use copper rather than iron to bind oxygen. And they have ammonia inside of 'em! Yuck! Almost as bad as PCBs. But the most intriguing thing about giant squids is that no one had ever seen one alive. Well, the article mentioned one guy in New Zealand (maybe Berg knows him)who caught a few larval ones, but no one had ever seen a big one. No people. And no bears either- until now! Mr. H. Bear decided to go and see a giant squid that very day.
Grabbing his goggles, he headed outside. Judging by the position of the sun in the sky, Bear estimated it was not quite midnight, so there should still be a few more hours of daylight. Plenty of time to go to that lead he had passed the other day, where, if he was lucky, that pod of whales might still be hanging around.
The lead, a large swath of open water that remains ice-free year round, was a short distance away, an easy walk for a polar bear. When he arrived, he was pleased to find some whales lounging about, feeding and resting. They were big, much too big to worry about being eaten by a bear, so Mr. H was able to approach without frightening them away. Selkies, seals and even belugas would never let him get so close.
"Hey there!" he called. "Hallo?" Most of the whales ignored him, or maybe just didn't realize he was talking to them, but one swam over to him. "Hi!" she said in a sort of whistly voice. "Who are you, silly bear?"
"I am Mr. H Bear."
"Well than I am Miss C Tacean. Esquire." She giggled. "What can I do for you?"
"Have you ever seen a giant squid?"
"All the time! Why, you don't want to eat one, do you?"
"No, I just want to see one. Will you take me to see one?"
"Well, since you have such nice goggles, I guess I will! But mostly I see squid around New Zealand or Newfoundland, not up here in the Arctic. And you have to go pretty deep, and it gets pretty dark and cold down there, so I doubt we'll see one today. But it'll be fun to look! Hop on!"
And so Mr. H carefully climbed on Miss C Tacean's back, just behind her dorsal fin, and took a deep breath. Although he swam pretty much every day, he had never dove much below a couple of meters. He was excited. "Ready?" C called.
"You betcha!" H answered, and down they went.
The water was cold, but of course polar bears aren't bothered by that. At first, it was clear, blue and familiar in the way the sunlight diffused into straight edges. He could hear whale song, and see vague shapes nearby. But as they went deeper, the water turned black, and Mr. H could feel the pressure increase steadily- his goggles seemed to be trying to suck his eyeballs out. He kept them open, though, not wanting to miss the hordes of giant squid he felt sure were down here. Still they went deeper. And deeper.
Deeper still- farther than any bear had ever gone. His lungs felt like they were on fire, and the pressure was threatening to turn him into a furry snowball. With one last look, he scanned all around, but couldn't see anything. Finally, he tapped Miss C Tacean's fin and she started the ascent. Slowly, so he wouldn't get the bends. It was agony, but Mr. H didn't really mind- what a great adventure! Even if it was a failure.
When they broke the surface, Mr. H rolled onto the snow, gasping for breath. He looked like some exotic new species of drowned Arctic rat, and Miss C Tacean laughed. "Are you alright, silly bear?"
"Yeah," he said, between breaths, "I'll be okay. Did you see any?"
"No, there weren't any down there. Just us whales."
"Oh well. Thanks for the ride! I'm going to go home now. Bye." And he turned for home. Despite not being successful in his quest, he was still excited to learn more about all the crazy things in this world. He loved that there were still things on Earth that no one had ever seen. Maybe someday he would be the first to meet a hitherto-unknown species. Wouldn't that be exciting?
Miss C Tacean watched the funny creature walk away. One of the calves in her pod of Longman's Beaked Whales swam up to her and asked, "I saw you underwater and there was some white alien or something on your back!!! What was it?"
"A polar bear. I bet as long as you live, you'll never see anything like a deep diving polar bear again."
"Wow, cool."
He used a sleek sharp claw to slice the envelope open. Inside was . . . himself! A picture of him, surrounded by a yellow border. He was on the cover of a magazine! He was making his best menacing snarl, a pretty scary sight for sure. Attached to the magazine was a sticky note that read, "Hey man, thanks for being such a great model! My first cover!", signed by that nice photographer fellow he had met over a year ago. He had forgotten all about that guy. Now he was doubly glad he decided not to eat him. It had been fun taking all those pictures, posing and making faces. He had no idea he would make the cover of National Geographic!
There were more pictures of him inside, in the article on polar bears and PCB contamination. Yuck. He knew all about that, so he flipped through the rest of the magazine. A story called "In Search of the Giant Squid" caught his eye and he began reading. It was so interesting- this article said that squids have blue blood, since they use copper rather than iron to bind oxygen. And they have ammonia inside of 'em! Yuck! Almost as bad as PCBs. But the most intriguing thing about giant squids is that no one had ever seen one alive. Well, the article mentioned one guy in New Zealand (maybe Berg knows him)who caught a few larval ones, but no one had ever seen a big one. No people. And no bears either- until now! Mr. H. Bear decided to go and see a giant squid that very day.
Grabbing his goggles, he headed outside. Judging by the position of the sun in the sky, Bear estimated it was not quite midnight, so there should still be a few more hours of daylight. Plenty of time to go to that lead he had passed the other day, where, if he was lucky, that pod of whales might still be hanging around.
The lead, a large swath of open water that remains ice-free year round, was a short distance away, an easy walk for a polar bear. When he arrived, he was pleased to find some whales lounging about, feeding and resting. They were big, much too big to worry about being eaten by a bear, so Mr. H was able to approach without frightening them away. Selkies, seals and even belugas would never let him get so close.
"Hey there!" he called. "Hallo?" Most of the whales ignored him, or maybe just didn't realize he was talking to them, but one swam over to him. "Hi!" she said in a sort of whistly voice. "Who are you, silly bear?"
"I am Mr. H Bear."
"Well than I am Miss C Tacean. Esquire." She giggled. "What can I do for you?"
"Have you ever seen a giant squid?"
"All the time! Why, you don't want to eat one, do you?"
"No, I just want to see one. Will you take me to see one?"
"Well, since you have such nice goggles, I guess I will! But mostly I see squid around New Zealand or Newfoundland, not up here in the Arctic. And you have to go pretty deep, and it gets pretty dark and cold down there, so I doubt we'll see one today. But it'll be fun to look! Hop on!"
And so Mr. H carefully climbed on Miss C Tacean's back, just behind her dorsal fin, and took a deep breath. Although he swam pretty much every day, he had never dove much below a couple of meters. He was excited. "Ready?" C called.
"You betcha!" H answered, and down they went.
The water was cold, but of course polar bears aren't bothered by that. At first, it was clear, blue and familiar in the way the sunlight diffused into straight edges. He could hear whale song, and see vague shapes nearby. But as they went deeper, the water turned black, and Mr. H could feel the pressure increase steadily- his goggles seemed to be trying to suck his eyeballs out. He kept them open, though, not wanting to miss the hordes of giant squid he felt sure were down here. Still they went deeper. And deeper.
Deeper still- farther than any bear had ever gone. His lungs felt like they were on fire, and the pressure was threatening to turn him into a furry snowball. With one last look, he scanned all around, but couldn't see anything. Finally, he tapped Miss C Tacean's fin and she started the ascent. Slowly, so he wouldn't get the bends. It was agony, but Mr. H didn't really mind- what a great adventure! Even if it was a failure.
When they broke the surface, Mr. H rolled onto the snow, gasping for breath. He looked like some exotic new species of drowned Arctic rat, and Miss C Tacean laughed. "Are you alright, silly bear?"
"Yeah," he said, between breaths, "I'll be okay. Did you see any?"
"No, there weren't any down there. Just us whales."
"Oh well. Thanks for the ride! I'm going to go home now. Bye." And he turned for home. Despite not being successful in his quest, he was still excited to learn more about all the crazy things in this world. He loved that there were still things on Earth that no one had ever seen. Maybe someday he would be the first to meet a hitherto-unknown species. Wouldn't that be exciting?
Miss C Tacean watched the funny creature walk away. One of the calves in her pod of Longman's Beaked Whales swam up to her and asked, "I saw you underwater and there was some white alien or something on your back!!! What was it?"
"A polar bear. I bet as long as you live, you'll never see anything like a deep diving polar bear again."
"Wow, cool."
Thursday, February 10, 2005
"I think I'm being voodooed," said Ammit, the Egyptian devourer of souls who was actually just a robot who had sold his soul to the devil once and named himself Ammit.
"By who?" I asked.
"I do not know. I had hoped that you might."
I had only known one houngan in my life (and no mambos), and I was pretty sure he had passed away peacefully in Denmark a few years ago. I couldn't think of anyone that had recently taken up the Haitian death magic. "Maybe it's the devil, getting some revenge on you for ripping him off?" I suggested.
"No, he's not mad about that- he tried to rip me off first, so we called it even and laughed it off."
Just then the papertiger came and delivered the morning news. The headline proclaimed, "Mayor Delves Into Voodoo, Hopes It Will Balance Budget". Ammit and I exchanged surprised looks. We decided to pay a visit to city hall.
The unemployed hockey players who guarded the entrance to city hall blocked our way with their sticks, but Ammit just made his eyes glow red like he does when people get in his way, and they let us pass. I guess they think he has a death beam or something but really his eyes just light up. Ask him to show you sometime.
Mayor Mainott was in his office, which was decorated in a very Haitian style, though Mayor Mainott had never been there, preferring to holiday instead in Denmark. There was a beautiful tanbou in the middle of the office, decorated with a scene of elephants parading in E-Town . Mayor Mainott had been an elephant trainer before he was mayor, and thought it was a good use of budgetary funds to herd elephants down Main Street. He greeted us warmly, even though it looked as if he was quite busy with the budget and his voodoo rituals.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
"Have you been voodooing Ammit?" I got right to the point, a useful tactic in dealing with politicans, I had often found.
"No, I never voodoo constituents. That would be a good way to lose votes. I may or may not voodoo non-constituents, for example the mayor of C-Town, but certainly not our own good citizens." He held up a voodoo doll of a suit-and-tie-guy wearing a cowboy hat.
"Hmmm," said Ammit. "Then who could it be?"
"How do you know you are being voodooed?" asked Mayor Mainott.
"My servomotors often act of their own accord. And I get a strange sensation as if someone was poking me with pins and needles."
The mayor nodded thoughtfully. "Well, if you like, I can perform a ritual to see if we can find out."
"No rituals," said Ammit. "Voodoo creeps me out." My old houngan friend would have been offended by this comment, but I could sympathize with Ammit. He was being voodooed after all, and that is enough to creep anyone out.
"Okay, no problem. How about this? I can pass a bill in council making it illegal to not admit it if you are the one voodooing Ammit."
"Do you think that would work?" asked Ammit. I was a little skeptical myself.
"Well, depends if we could enforce it or not. There are quite a few hockey enforcers that need jobs right now, though many of them are in Denmark playing with the minor leagues . . . " In the old days the police force would have handled such a thing, but they had all been fired for putting in too much Overtime. At any rate, the thought of 30 hockey goons running through the streets of E-Town knocking down doors and terrorizing the populace didn't sit too well with me.
"Wouldn't that cost you votes?" I asked.
"Oh yeah, you're probably right. Well, I could form a committee to see if they can determine who is voodooing Ammit." Ammit just rolled his eyes.
"How about if I grant you diplomatic immunity from being voodooed?" Ammit's eyes started to glow.
"Okay, okay, don't shoot. Here's a grant for $30,000." He handed us a moneybag with a dollar sign on it. "Figure it out on your own. Now my budget's shot."
So we used two grand of our grant to buy a voodoodetector, and found out it was just some kid who was trying to build her own remote control robot, and the signals were interfering with Ammit's subprocessors. We gave her fifty bucks so she could get a better RC unit.
Then we used the rest of the grant money to take an extended holiday in Denmark. It was fun.
"By who?" I asked.
"I do not know. I had hoped that you might."
I had only known one houngan in my life (and no mambos), and I was pretty sure he had passed away peacefully in Denmark a few years ago. I couldn't think of anyone that had recently taken up the Haitian death magic. "Maybe it's the devil, getting some revenge on you for ripping him off?" I suggested.
"No, he's not mad about that- he tried to rip me off first, so we called it even and laughed it off."
Just then the papertiger came and delivered the morning news. The headline proclaimed, "Mayor Delves Into Voodoo, Hopes It Will Balance Budget". Ammit and I exchanged surprised looks. We decided to pay a visit to city hall.
The unemployed hockey players who guarded the entrance to city hall blocked our way with their sticks, but Ammit just made his eyes glow red like he does when people get in his way, and they let us pass. I guess they think he has a death beam or something but really his eyes just light up. Ask him to show you sometime.
Mayor Mainott was in his office, which was decorated in a very Haitian style, though Mayor Mainott had never been there, preferring to holiday instead in Denmark. There was a beautiful tanbou in the middle of the office, decorated with a scene of elephants parading in E-Town . Mayor Mainott had been an elephant trainer before he was mayor, and thought it was a good use of budgetary funds to herd elephants down Main Street. He greeted us warmly, even though it looked as if he was quite busy with the budget and his voodoo rituals.
"What can I do for you?" he asked.
"Have you been voodooing Ammit?" I got right to the point, a useful tactic in dealing with politicans, I had often found.
"No, I never voodoo constituents. That would be a good way to lose votes. I may or may not voodoo non-constituents, for example the mayor of C-Town, but certainly not our own good citizens." He held up a voodoo doll of a suit-and-tie-guy wearing a cowboy hat.
"Hmmm," said Ammit. "Then who could it be?"
"How do you know you are being voodooed?" asked Mayor Mainott.
"My servomotors often act of their own accord. And I get a strange sensation as if someone was poking me with pins and needles."
The mayor nodded thoughtfully. "Well, if you like, I can perform a ritual to see if we can find out."
"No rituals," said Ammit. "Voodoo creeps me out." My old houngan friend would have been offended by this comment, but I could sympathize with Ammit. He was being voodooed after all, and that is enough to creep anyone out.
"Okay, no problem. How about this? I can pass a bill in council making it illegal to not admit it if you are the one voodooing Ammit."
"Do you think that would work?" asked Ammit. I was a little skeptical myself.
"Well, depends if we could enforce it or not. There are quite a few hockey enforcers that need jobs right now, though many of them are in Denmark playing with the minor leagues . . . " In the old days the police force would have handled such a thing, but they had all been fired for putting in too much Overtime. At any rate, the thought of 30 hockey goons running through the streets of E-Town knocking down doors and terrorizing the populace didn't sit too well with me.
"Wouldn't that cost you votes?" I asked.
"Oh yeah, you're probably right. Well, I could form a committee to see if they can determine who is voodooing Ammit." Ammit just rolled his eyes.
"How about if I grant you diplomatic immunity from being voodooed?" Ammit's eyes started to glow.
"Okay, okay, don't shoot. Here's a grant for $30,000." He handed us a moneybag with a dollar sign on it. "Figure it out on your own. Now my budget's shot."
So we used two grand of our grant to buy a voodoodetector, and found out it was just some kid who was trying to build her own remote control robot, and the signals were interfering with Ammit's subprocessors. We gave her fifty bucks so she could get a better RC unit.
Then we used the rest of the grant money to take an extended holiday in Denmark. It was fun.
Saturday, January 22, 2005
"What did you guys do with the lake that was here?" asked Lord Chamberlain Vivvle, with a fair amount of astonishment, alarm and anger in his voice as he looked down into the huge gaping chasm that had been a beautiful pristine lake just yesterday.
"You said we could use it for the moat," said the foreman, or rather, foreorc, pointing towards the construction site, where two frost giants had placed the lake, along with its foundation, off to the side to await completion of the moat. The giants had frozen the lake to prevent it from sloshing while they moved it, and now they watched lazily as two iron-jawed dragons excavated the moat with their mighty mouths.
Vivvle stomped his steel-toed boots and threw his hardhat on the ground. "I meant you could use some of the water to fill the moat, not rip the lake off its hinges and pour it all in! Put it back immediately!"
The foreorc, whose name Vivvle could never remember, said, "Well, alright, but it will have to wait till tomorrow now- Gront and Biphk are going home- they already put in a couple hours overtime moving the lake over there. Had some problems with the feeder creeks. Got it all sorted out now, but I guess that doesn't matter . . ."
Inwardly, Vivvle rolled his eyes. For the millionth time he wished he had heeded his predecessor's advice about always hiring the second cheapest bidder. Monster Construction worked cheap enough- preferring livestock and land concessions (as long as there were villages to plunder) to gold, but they needed close supervision. Stooping down, he picked up his hardhat, which he thought was stupid and made him look like one of the king's soldiers rather than the Lord Chamberlain, especially combined with all the other safety gear he had to wear to tour the construction site- steel-toed boots and safety gauntlets. Worst of all were the strips of phosphorescent moss he wore as a safety vest-the Occupational Safety demons brought them up from their subterranean lairs, but didn't have to wear the stupid things themselves since they already glowed in the dark supernaturally.
He moved on to the actual castle lot, ignoring the hundreds of small fire-lizards busily welding support girders for the interior. The first of the stone trolls were just arriving on shift now, since the sun had set. Obviously the troll masons could only work the nightshift since they would be turned to stone themselves if they were exposed to the sun- and Vivvle had no desire to have a bunch of troll statues littering the king's new castlegrounds. All statuary was already subcontracted out to the faeries anyways- Vivvle would have liked to hire them to do the whole thing but they can't wear any iron safety gear.
Suddenly there was a commotion- one of the trolls had tripped and knocked another one down, and the two had started fighting. One was sent sprawling into some scaffolding, knocking it down. Vivvle's stomach lurched as the huge latticework teetered and began to fall- "Please don't knock down the wall please don't knock down the wall" he prayed . . . to no avail. Ogres and harpies scattered as the whole thing crashed to the ground. Vivvle was apoplectic. But the foreorc was already cussing out the trolls, firing the clumsier one on the spot, and so there was no one to vent his wrath upon. Deciding he had seen enough for the day, he asked one of the workorcs to fetch his chariot.
Vivvle had more than professional interest in making sure the project went smoothly- if the king failed to reutrn from his silly battles, Vivvle would get the castle, at least until the whiny brat prince came of age. Not that he was a treasonous fellow- just very pragmatic.
A workorc interrupted his musings to sheepishly inform him that one of the dragons had eaten his horses.
"Fine." Said Vivvle in a strained voice. "Just . . . get the castle done." And he turned and walked towards the village. He never got there, however, as Gront had realized he had forgotten his lunchbox and had come back to get it, and accidentally stepped on the Lord Chamberlain.
Some months later, when the king had returned from his campaigns abroad, he was absolutely delighted with the end product, which had been finished on time and under budget, and gave Monster Construction a healthy bonus. He did have one question, however, which he put to the foreorc.
"What did you guys do with the lake that was here?"
(This was inspired by a question I heard at work today, which became the first and last sentence of the story.)
"You said we could use it for the moat," said the foreman, or rather, foreorc, pointing towards the construction site, where two frost giants had placed the lake, along with its foundation, off to the side to await completion of the moat. The giants had frozen the lake to prevent it from sloshing while they moved it, and now they watched lazily as two iron-jawed dragons excavated the moat with their mighty mouths.
Vivvle stomped his steel-toed boots and threw his hardhat on the ground. "I meant you could use some of the water to fill the moat, not rip the lake off its hinges and pour it all in! Put it back immediately!"
The foreorc, whose name Vivvle could never remember, said, "Well, alright, but it will have to wait till tomorrow now- Gront and Biphk are going home- they already put in a couple hours overtime moving the lake over there. Had some problems with the feeder creeks. Got it all sorted out now, but I guess that doesn't matter . . ."
Inwardly, Vivvle rolled his eyes. For the millionth time he wished he had heeded his predecessor's advice about always hiring the second cheapest bidder. Monster Construction worked cheap enough- preferring livestock and land concessions (as long as there were villages to plunder) to gold, but they needed close supervision. Stooping down, he picked up his hardhat, which he thought was stupid and made him look like one of the king's soldiers rather than the Lord Chamberlain, especially combined with all the other safety gear he had to wear to tour the construction site- steel-toed boots and safety gauntlets. Worst of all were the strips of phosphorescent moss he wore as a safety vest-the Occupational Safety demons brought them up from their subterranean lairs, but didn't have to wear the stupid things themselves since they already glowed in the dark supernaturally.
He moved on to the actual castle lot, ignoring the hundreds of small fire-lizards busily welding support girders for the interior. The first of the stone trolls were just arriving on shift now, since the sun had set. Obviously the troll masons could only work the nightshift since they would be turned to stone themselves if they were exposed to the sun- and Vivvle had no desire to have a bunch of troll statues littering the king's new castlegrounds. All statuary was already subcontracted out to the faeries anyways- Vivvle would have liked to hire them to do the whole thing but they can't wear any iron safety gear.
Suddenly there was a commotion- one of the trolls had tripped and knocked another one down, and the two had started fighting. One was sent sprawling into some scaffolding, knocking it down. Vivvle's stomach lurched as the huge latticework teetered and began to fall- "Please don't knock down the wall please don't knock down the wall" he prayed . . . to no avail. Ogres and harpies scattered as the whole thing crashed to the ground. Vivvle was apoplectic. But the foreorc was already cussing out the trolls, firing the clumsier one on the spot, and so there was no one to vent his wrath upon. Deciding he had seen enough for the day, he asked one of the workorcs to fetch his chariot.
Vivvle had more than professional interest in making sure the project went smoothly- if the king failed to reutrn from his silly battles, Vivvle would get the castle, at least until the whiny brat prince came of age. Not that he was a treasonous fellow- just very pragmatic.
A workorc interrupted his musings to sheepishly inform him that one of the dragons had eaten his horses.
"Fine." Said Vivvle in a strained voice. "Just . . . get the castle done." And he turned and walked towards the village. He never got there, however, as Gront had realized he had forgotten his lunchbox and had come back to get it, and accidentally stepped on the Lord Chamberlain.
Some months later, when the king had returned from his campaigns abroad, he was absolutely delighted with the end product, which had been finished on time and under budget, and gave Monster Construction a healthy bonus. He did have one question, however, which he put to the foreorc.
"What did you guys do with the lake that was here?"
(This was inspired by a question I heard at work today, which became the first and last sentence of the story.)
Saturday, May 08, 2004
This is the conclusion to the robot story- scroll down to the previous poost to read the first part.
All kinds of ideas were swirling through my mind as I caught up with the robot. There had to be a way to beat the devil at his own game. Some kind of robot virus that would mutate the soul, so that Satan wouldn't be able to recognize it; or maybe he used nanocyte ink that would disappear or even alter the contract to make it null and void. There had to be a way.
"The devil tricked you! You already have a soul!" I said, without even a greeting.
"How is that possible?" Reading robot expressions was hard, but he didn't seem to be alarmed, just curious.
"Well, I heard a fable once when I was a kid- about a lion who was concerned that he didn't have a soul. So he asked a wise man how he could know whether he had one or not, and the wise man told him, 'The fact that you are concerned that you have a soul is proof of its existence.' Maybe it's something like that. You grew your own soul from wanting one so bad!"
"I still haven't chosen a name. Can you help me?"
"What the hell are you talking about? Who cares about your name? We have to figure out a way to get your soul back from the devil!"
"I think something from Egyptian mythology might be cool. What was the name of the creature who would eat your soul if it weighed less then the golden feather? Ammit, wasn't it? I think I will be named Ammit from now on."
"Dammit Ammit! This is serious! Focus, we have to save your soul here!" I felt like screaming. I did scream. "Gaaaaarrrgghhhhh!!!" But "Ammit" just kept blathering on as if he didn't even hear me.
"Yes, Ammit. The devourer of souls. I like it. It's much better than Robby the Robot. I'm glad you and the devil wouldn't let me be Robby. Of course, I was so sure my name was going to be Robby that I'm afraid I signed Lucifer's little contract under that name."
I was still screaming so it took a second or two for that statement to sink in. "Wha . .? You mean . . ."
"I must confess that I sold Robby the Robot's soul to the devil. I hope he doesn't mind. Since he is an inanimate object collecting dust in a studio warehouse somewhere I think I can safely assume he won't. The devil will probably be angry, but he'll have to take it up with Robby."
I never kissed a robot before, and I wouldn't recommend it since they are cold and metallic, but it was definitely appropriate on this occasion. Then we danced- the Robot, of course.
All kinds of ideas were swirling through my mind as I caught up with the robot. There had to be a way to beat the devil at his own game. Some kind of robot virus that would mutate the soul, so that Satan wouldn't be able to recognize it; or maybe he used nanocyte ink that would disappear or even alter the contract to make it null and void. There had to be a way.
"The devil tricked you! You already have a soul!" I said, without even a greeting.
"How is that possible?" Reading robot expressions was hard, but he didn't seem to be alarmed, just curious.
"Well, I heard a fable once when I was a kid- about a lion who was concerned that he didn't have a soul. So he asked a wise man how he could know whether he had one or not, and the wise man told him, 'The fact that you are concerned that you have a soul is proof of its existence.' Maybe it's something like that. You grew your own soul from wanting one so bad!"
"I still haven't chosen a name. Can you help me?"
"What the hell are you talking about? Who cares about your name? We have to figure out a way to get your soul back from the devil!"
"I think something from Egyptian mythology might be cool. What was the name of the creature who would eat your soul if it weighed less then the golden feather? Ammit, wasn't it? I think I will be named Ammit from now on."
"Dammit Ammit! This is serious! Focus, we have to save your soul here!" I felt like screaming. I did scream. "Gaaaaarrrgghhhhh!!!" But "Ammit" just kept blathering on as if he didn't even hear me.
"Yes, Ammit. The devourer of souls. I like it. It's much better than Robby the Robot. I'm glad you and the devil wouldn't let me be Robby. Of course, I was so sure my name was going to be Robby that I'm afraid I signed Lucifer's little contract under that name."
I was still screaming so it took a second or two for that statement to sink in. "Wha . .? You mean . . ."
"I must confess that I sold Robby the Robot's soul to the devil. I hope he doesn't mind. Since he is an inanimate object collecting dust in a studio warehouse somewhere I think I can safely assume he won't. The devil will probably be angry, but he'll have to take it up with Robby."
I never kissed a robot before, and I wouldn't recommend it since they are cold and metallic, but it was definitely appropriate on this occasion. Then we danced- the Robot, of course.
Thursday, May 06, 2004
A robot of my acquaintance sold his soul to the devil. The deal was, Old Nick would provide my robot friend with a soul, and in return the robot would sell that soul back to him. I tried to talk him out of it- I mean, I hardly ever use my soul, so what did he need one for- but he was pretty determined. You know how hard it can be trying to talk a robot out of something once he has made up his mind. All the same, I figured I better go with him to meet the Prince of Darkness.
Satan was a lot like I imagined he would be- a class act, but indescribably evil at the same time. He wasn't actually doing anything evil, exactly, but you could just feel those vibes emanating from his Versace suit. We met in an uppercrust retro-20s jazz club uptown. I introduced myself as the robot's attorney. It was a lie, of course, and the devil knew it, but that just meant I had earned his respect.
The robot wanted to get straight down to business, but I steered the conversation back to small talk. Shooting the breeze with the devil is surprisingly easy. If you ask just the right questions, he will tell you some of the most amazing stories you'll ever hear. Just don't be ingratiating- he hates that. And it probably goes without saying that you shouldn't talk religion with him. Politics, though- he's all over that. Anyways, after a few drinks (I had beer, hellboy drank highballs and the robot is a teetotaller) we were ready to discuss terms.
"My client wishes, against my advice, to obtain a soul from you. In return, he will pledge that soul back to you. Upon his demise the soul shall revert back to your ownership."
"Agreed," said the devil. He produced a contract from his inside pocket, signed it and handed it to the robot to sign. Then I witnessed it and it was official. Done. Robot had a soul and, well, so did the devil.
"Now that I have a soul I can give myself a name!" said the robot. "I think I will be . . . Robby."
"No," I said. Satan agreed.
"Why not? I like the sound of it."
"Trust me, you don't want to be Robby the Robot. Pick another name."
The devil said, "I'll sell you a name." I shushed him. Not everyday you can do that to the Evil One.
"What would you suggest?" he asked me.
"Ah man, I don't know. Choose something that has meaning for you. Maybe you should try and 'find' yourself first, now that you have a soul and all."
So he got up and left without even saying good-bye. Protocol wasn't his primary function, apparently.
I turned back to Satan. "So what's your scam?"
"No scam. I always honor my deals."
"If you could just make souls out of thin air then you could have as many souls as you wanted and wouldn't need to make deals for them."
"I like the challenge of obtaining them this way. I am an afficionado."
"I still don't buy it. I think you're lying."
"I encourage that vice in others, but find little need for it myself."
I raised my eyebrow at him, and stared him in the eye. A dangerous gambit, but I sensed the devil kind of liked me so I risked it.
"Fine," he grinned. "You are correct- I can not manufacture a soul from nothing. But your friend does indeed possess one- I did not lie about that. It is not my fault if he was ignorant of this fact before he came to me. I merely gave him the necessary impetus to be able to believe. Call it the Dumbo Effect, if you will."
"And all you charged for this service was his eternal soul."
"Yes."
I was angry, and I had to get away to think. The wheels in my head were spinning, but not nearly as fast as a robot's would. I needed to find "Robby" or whatever the hell he was calling himself. We needed to figure a way out of this contract. I excused myself.
"Let me get the check," said Lucifer. "It's the least I can do. And here's my card- call me if you ever want to sell your soul."
Satan was a lot like I imagined he would be- a class act, but indescribably evil at the same time. He wasn't actually doing anything evil, exactly, but you could just feel those vibes emanating from his Versace suit. We met in an uppercrust retro-20s jazz club uptown. I introduced myself as the robot's attorney. It was a lie, of course, and the devil knew it, but that just meant I had earned his respect.
The robot wanted to get straight down to business, but I steered the conversation back to small talk. Shooting the breeze with the devil is surprisingly easy. If you ask just the right questions, he will tell you some of the most amazing stories you'll ever hear. Just don't be ingratiating- he hates that. And it probably goes without saying that you shouldn't talk religion with him. Politics, though- he's all over that. Anyways, after a few drinks (I had beer, hellboy drank highballs and the robot is a teetotaller) we were ready to discuss terms.
"My client wishes, against my advice, to obtain a soul from you. In return, he will pledge that soul back to you. Upon his demise the soul shall revert back to your ownership."
"Agreed," said the devil. He produced a contract from his inside pocket, signed it and handed it to the robot to sign. Then I witnessed it and it was official. Done. Robot had a soul and, well, so did the devil.
"Now that I have a soul I can give myself a name!" said the robot. "I think I will be . . . Robby."
"No," I said. Satan agreed.
"Why not? I like the sound of it."
"Trust me, you don't want to be Robby the Robot. Pick another name."
The devil said, "I'll sell you a name." I shushed him. Not everyday you can do that to the Evil One.
"What would you suggest?" he asked me.
"Ah man, I don't know. Choose something that has meaning for you. Maybe you should try and 'find' yourself first, now that you have a soul and all."
So he got up and left without even saying good-bye. Protocol wasn't his primary function, apparently.
I turned back to Satan. "So what's your scam?"
"No scam. I always honor my deals."
"If you could just make souls out of thin air then you could have as many souls as you wanted and wouldn't need to make deals for them."
"I like the challenge of obtaining them this way. I am an afficionado."
"I still don't buy it. I think you're lying."
"I encourage that vice in others, but find little need for it myself."
I raised my eyebrow at him, and stared him in the eye. A dangerous gambit, but I sensed the devil kind of liked me so I risked it.
"Fine," he grinned. "You are correct- I can not manufacture a soul from nothing. But your friend does indeed possess one- I did not lie about that. It is not my fault if he was ignorant of this fact before he came to me. I merely gave him the necessary impetus to be able to believe. Call it the Dumbo Effect, if you will."
"And all you charged for this service was his eternal soul."
"Yes."
I was angry, and I had to get away to think. The wheels in my head were spinning, but not nearly as fast as a robot's would. I needed to find "Robby" or whatever the hell he was calling himself. We needed to figure a way out of this contract. I excused myself.
"Let me get the check," said Lucifer. "It's the least I can do. And here's my card- call me if you ever want to sell your soul."
Friday, October 31, 2003
Ever wonder what kind of ghost story would frighten a grizzly? Gather around the campfire, my friends, and I will tell you a tale . . .
One day as I was hunting I met an old grey wolf who was guarding a fresh kill. Since he was on my territory I didn't hesitate to assert my rights to the kill, and was about to dispatch the wolf when he asked me to spare him.
"Why should I?" I asked, thinking I might get a good laugh at whatever pathetic excuse he came up with.
"Because I know something which might be of interest to you- I know where there is a horde of gold!"
"Gold?? What do I care about gold?"
"You can use it to buy this entire forest from the humans so that they will never chop it down ever and there won't be any hunting here!"
"Hmm. Alright- where is this gold?"
"It's in a cabin down by the Kisikak River. Do you know it?"
"Yes, I fish near there often. How did gold come to be in that cabin?"
"It's a long story of intrigue, betrayal and murder involving humans."
"Oh. Never mind, then. I couldn't care less what humans do to each other."
"Actually, the murder wasn't committed by humans."
This caught my interest. "Then who?"
"The humans were poachers. Fur traders. They shot beavers, coyotes, wolves, and bears. The story goes that they shot and killed the mightiest grizzly bear this forest has seen in generations. "
"They couldn't have- I'm still alive."
"Well, anyways, the story has it that this bear came back."
"What do you mean, came back?"
"Like, he was a ghost and he came back and took care of the hunters. And now the poachers' gold is there just waiting to be dug up."
"The poachers had gold?
"They were also pirates."
"Uh-huh. And how do you know this?"
"I just do. Take me with you, and if it's not true, you can kill me."
"Alright, let's go see it."
The wolf led me down to Kisikak River and the 'haunted' cabin. The door was broken, open to the elements, and there were animal skulls scattered all over the grounds. I didn't see any ghosts, though. The wolf led me into the cabin, which was dark and dusty, and full of mice poo. Suddenly my paw was caught in a steel-tooth trap! The bastard wolf set me up! I swiped at him with my free paw, but he was out of reach, and laughing at me. Laughing!!
"You may be stronger than me, brother bear, but I am much smarter! There's no gold and the poachers are long gone. I am too, so enjoy yourself- maybe if you go into hibernation now someone can get you out of this trap before you starve. Farewell!" And with a howl, he was gone, leaving me to my fate.
I considered my options- I could chew my paw off, but I would be as good as dead without the ability to hunt even if I did. Hibernation would just expose me to scavengers, and delay the inevitable- I would starve.
And so I did. It took a long time, and it was painful. But when my time finally came to take my place with my ancestors amidst the stars of the Great Bear, I chose another road.
There is a ghost haunting the cabin of Kisikak River- me!
One day as I was hunting I met an old grey wolf who was guarding a fresh kill. Since he was on my territory I didn't hesitate to assert my rights to the kill, and was about to dispatch the wolf when he asked me to spare him.
"Why should I?" I asked, thinking I might get a good laugh at whatever pathetic excuse he came up with.
"Because I know something which might be of interest to you- I know where there is a horde of gold!"
"Gold?? What do I care about gold?"
"You can use it to buy this entire forest from the humans so that they will never chop it down ever and there won't be any hunting here!"
"Hmm. Alright- where is this gold?"
"It's in a cabin down by the Kisikak River. Do you know it?"
"Yes, I fish near there often. How did gold come to be in that cabin?"
"It's a long story of intrigue, betrayal and murder involving humans."
"Oh. Never mind, then. I couldn't care less what humans do to each other."
"Actually, the murder wasn't committed by humans."
This caught my interest. "Then who?"
"The humans were poachers. Fur traders. They shot beavers, coyotes, wolves, and bears. The story goes that they shot and killed the mightiest grizzly bear this forest has seen in generations. "
"They couldn't have- I'm still alive."
"Well, anyways, the story has it that this bear came back."
"What do you mean, came back?"
"Like, he was a ghost and he came back and took care of the hunters. And now the poachers' gold is there just waiting to be dug up."
"The poachers had gold?
"They were also pirates."
"Uh-huh. And how do you know this?"
"I just do. Take me with you, and if it's not true, you can kill me."
"Alright, let's go see it."
The wolf led me down to Kisikak River and the 'haunted' cabin. The door was broken, open to the elements, and there were animal skulls scattered all over the grounds. I didn't see any ghosts, though. The wolf led me into the cabin, which was dark and dusty, and full of mice poo. Suddenly my paw was caught in a steel-tooth trap! The bastard wolf set me up! I swiped at him with my free paw, but he was out of reach, and laughing at me. Laughing!!
"You may be stronger than me, brother bear, but I am much smarter! There's no gold and the poachers are long gone. I am too, so enjoy yourself- maybe if you go into hibernation now someone can get you out of this trap before you starve. Farewell!" And with a howl, he was gone, leaving me to my fate.
I considered my options- I could chew my paw off, but I would be as good as dead without the ability to hunt even if I did. Hibernation would just expose me to scavengers, and delay the inevitable- I would starve.
And so I did. It took a long time, and it was painful. But when my time finally came to take my place with my ancestors amidst the stars of the Great Bear, I chose another road.
There is a ghost haunting the cabin of Kisikak River- me!
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