Wednesday, January 31, 2007
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Monday, January 29, 2007
"Um... Nothing." She tired to hide whatever it was behind her back. "Absolutely nothing. Bored out of my mind here."
"For some strange reason, I don't believe you. Why are you wearing a welding mask?"
"It's a fashon statement. It says 'I could be a serial killer and you'd never even know it.' I think that's an area seriously ignored in the world of high fashon."
"Again, I don't believe you."
"And again, I don't see why."
"Really. Because I could have sworn you were building something."
"Nope. You really think I'd try that after what happened last time?"
A moments pause ensued. "True. But still, those firefighters would be mad if that happened again."
"So why are you doing it again?"
"Then why are you holding a blowtorch?"
"The one in your hand."
"Um... Oh, this blowtorch. No reason."
"For the third time today, I don't believe you."
"Saw that coming," she mumbled.
"So what are you doing with the blowtorch?"
"Um... Most certainly not building a flying racecar."
"You're building a flying racecar?!"
"May I ask why?"
"May I ask why not?"
"Do I really have to answer that?"
"If I have to answer you, you have to answer me."
"Why am I even having this conversation..."
"You know, you really shouldn't hit your head on the wall like that. It can't be good for you."
Again, I just randomly started typing a story, and this is what I got. Enjoy, and then give suggestions. Or else.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Perhaps I should explain. I was going home from work, just I do every day, and I had to go through an alleyway to get to my car. It was a dark, damp one, the exact kind where you're just waiting to get mugged.
"Don't move," came the voice from behind me. "Put your hands on your head." The barrel of a gun pressed into my back.
"Alright, alright, just don't shoot." I was a little alarmed. Can you blame me?"
"Hand over your money."
I obeyed without question, pulling my wallet out and holding it behind me. A gloved hand snatched it from mine. Then another grabbed my shoulder and turned me around to face my attacker.
"Goodbye," the masked woman snarled, pressing the gun to my forehead. I closed my eyes, waiting for the shot. I could almost feel her finger on the trigger, waiting for the exact moment to pull it.
So I was a little suprised when she shot me with a water gun.
"Congratulations. You're dead."
"I'm serious. You're dead. Here." She handed me a folder filled with papers. "Body found in an alleyway near 6th and Mullberry, all valuables missing. Give that to the police." She pulled out a purple marker and started drawing a circle on my forehead. "Shot once through the head with a small caliber gun. Witnesses report hearing a shot around...." She checked her watch. "6:13 PM."
"Um...." I tried to think of something to say. "Why?"
"I'm not telling you my motive so you can't tell the police. Remember, you're dead. Dead people don't tell the police who shot them."
"Can I have my wallet back?"
"Oh, sure. Just remember, give that folder to the police as soon as possible." She handed me my wallet. "Or I'll just keep killing people." The water gun came to my forehead again. "Like you."
It's late, I'm tired, and I had a story in my head, so I typed it out, and here you go. Enjoy.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
Jared fell, tripping over a root. A moment later, he lay upon the ground holding his head and pondering why on earth trees hurt so much. He glanced up at the source of his injury, and decided to name it.
“Hello, Bill the Evil Tree.” It didn't answer. “You seem to have given me a severe headache, Bill. Care to explain why?”
Bill the Evil Tree shook in the wind, dumping about 8 inches of snow on him.
“Thank you, Bill. I've always wanted to be a snowman.” He stood up, brushing himself off. Then he noticed something square nailed to Bill the Evil Tree. “Bill, you seem to have a painting stuck to you.”
Bill dumped three more inches on him.
“Why do you hate me?” He felt the wind picking up again. “Don't answer that.” He pondered the painting for a moment more. A table and a few chairs in a simple stone room. Why on earth was it nailed to a tree in the middle of nowhere?
He reached out to touch it on impulse.
His hand went through.
For once in his life, Jared was completely and totally speechless.
Hurrah! It's a random bit of a story! The story it's from is called "Paint" and this is somewhere in the middle. I enjoyed writing this bit, so I hope you enjoy reading it.
Friday, January 26, 2007
What fills the night and every room till a window is opened to chase out the gloom?
I wind my way through hills and plains
and go as do the falling rains
the mountains high are where I start
Where I am born from winters heart
And all the world knows where I go
through valley wide to ocean low
What Am I?
The light I bring is rivaled not
by stars, by moon, by earth
and by me have the ancients sought
the measure of their worth
I shine by day, I sleep by night
Though clouds may hide my face
Naught shall disturb my ancient flight
Above the sky in blackest space
What Am I?
Thursday, January 25, 2007
"Well, the camp is on fire..."
"And there's a gigantic something that wants to eat us in the forest..."
"Another good point."
"And all the food is burning with the camp..."
"Your hair is on fire."
"Oh, right. And my hair is on fire."
"Might wanna do something about that."
"Wait, my hair is on fire?"
"Augh! It burns! It burns! Put it out!"
"Looks like it's going out on it's own."
"Actually, that was me, beating myself on the head."
"Right. So what were you saying?"
"I was saying that we're probably going to die."
"So why did it matter that your hair was on fire?"
"Because pain hurts. Now what will we do about finding shelter?"
"We could live in trees."
"If things that wanted to eat us weren't already occupying the trees."
"We could dig a big hole in the ground and live in that."
"If we had a shovel, which we don't, because it burned."
"We could find a cave."
"Get eaten by bats. Wonderful idea!"
"Well, excuse me Captain Negative."
I tried to write a serious blog post, but it didn't work out. So I let my brain talk to itself and this is what I got. Enjoy! Or at the very least, don't take seriously.
Wednesday, January 24, 2007
Tell me why
Tell me why
Do we live beneath the sky
Envying the birds that fly
And we hope
And we wish
That our joy could be like this
But the birds
Do they see
Those down here like you and me
And then wish that they could be
Here in our reality?
Do they long
Do they cry
To leave life up in the sky
And join us in lonely sighs
As we stare up asking why?
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
So basically I was trying to win the highlighter racing championship, and Angry guy was on my team, along with some other people. He was very angry, but he was nice none the less. But another team was after the prize (which was very important, though I can't remember what it was now) and they weren't going to let us win. So of course, they cheated. It wasn't cartoon cheating, it was remove-the-fuel-so-they-crash cheating. So some of the people on my team died. In fact, a lot of them died, until only me and Angry guy were left. And of course, manager dude, but he doesn't count cause all he did was freak out.
So we were in the finals, and manager dude was freaking out and angry guy was yelling at him, and the three bad guys that I remember came up and started talking to us. They told us that they'd rigged the stadium to blow up so we'd better lose. Angry guy was angry about this, and manager dude freaked out, and then the race started. Unfortunately for them, they messed up on sabotaging our highlighters, and sabotaged their own. So they were flying in odd little circles and hops and it was pretty funny, cause Sarcastic and Evil managed to land, but French was still in the air. Sarcastic said something about "Well this turned out well" and Evil said something nasty and then French said, and I quote, "Ze place, Ze place, et will blow!" So then they were freaking out and somehow angry guy had somehow saved all the people in the stadium, and then they crashed and the bomb blew up but nothing bad happened. So then we were trying to finish the race and we were almost to the finish line (the race was still important cause sarcastic and evil guy didn't crash) and I woke up.
I'm pretty sure angry guy won, though.
Monday, January 22, 2007
Don't shoot a water rocket off beneath power lines.
Never walk into a head-height electric fence.
Don't apply nail polish to your elbows.
Don't eat straight hoisen sauce.
Never eat a quarter.
Sandpaper is not intended for use on skin.
Don't burn pencils.
Lip gloss and lego people are not a good combination.
Nail polish remover melts Barbies.
Sunday, January 21, 2007
I don't really understand what digg.com is, but apparently the front page is the internet equivlant of a major newspaper. Unfortunately, his site went down because of all the traffic, so now he's edgy about that too. But anyway, apparently this is cool, and you should all go see it when his site is back up. Or when he calms down. Either way works.
Saturday, January 20, 2007
Space station 3's lone inhabitant stared bleakly as the red numbers flashed in the dark room. A cruel beep echoed off the metal walls, and a unnecessarily cheery voice announced, “Five minutes until detonation. Please evacuate now.” The girl glanced unbelieving at the speaker mounted in the ceiling, and shook her head.
Silently, the small box mounted on her belt flashed to life. A figure emerged from the beams of light it emanated. Tall and handsome, the young man sat down next to her, leaning against a pillar that cast an eerie shadow on the floor.
“No luck?” she asked quietly, hardly even looking at him.
“None. This place is as tight as they come. No way out, the shuttles are gone. I tried disabling the bomb, too, but... No override.”
She looked at the hard, floor beneath them. “Ah well,” she said quietly. “At least we got everyone else out safely. This could have been a disaster.”
“It still is.” She looked at him, trying to read what he meant in his face. He hid his eyes behind his black bangs, a tear running down his cheek. “I'm losing you. Isn't that a disaster?”
“I'm losing you too,” she said sadly. “The explosion will kill us both.” The girl started crying quietly, tears flowing freely from her hazel eyes. Her companion moved to hold her, knowing his touch would console him just as much as it would her. His hand dissolved as it touched her skin, just as it always did. She glanced down as he pulled it back and it reformed. She gave a small, sad smile. “Heh. Even in our last moments the rules don't change.”
“Eternally together...” he began, hoping for a response.
“Eternally apart,” she said softly.
The computerized beep once again resounded through the empty hallways, filling the stillness for only a second before the echo faded away.
“Do you think...” Her voice braved the silence, heavy with sadness. “that once we cross over, we can touch?”
He looked up at her, his dark eyes meeting hers. “That would be nice.” A smile formed on his face.
“But do you think it'll happen?”
“I don't know.” His attention returned to the floor. “But... If we can...”
She smiled, understanding. “I know. I wish for it just as much as you do.”
They looked each other in the eyes for a moment, still crying but smiling all the same.
“You know... all this time we've been together, I've wanted to tell you something.” He blushed in the dim light as he spoke, looking away a little.. “Now is the best chance I'll get, I suppose.”
“Me too.” She scooted as close as she could without dematerializing him. “You first.”
“I...” he struggled to find words. Why? He had waited, longed, torn his heart apart to say these words, and now he couldn't. “I... love you.”
The air in the station hung heavy as he waited for her response.
“Me too. I mean... I love you too."
The cheery voice interrupted them again. “One minute until detonation. Evacuate immediately. Have a nice day!”
They laughed, the sad mood lifted.
She looked at him, laughter still dancing in her eyes. “It's such a wonderful feeling, isn't it?”
“You know what?”
“I think we will be able to touch.”
“Of course we will.”
Hey all! It's late, and I couldn't think of anything to rant about, so here's a random story that I wrote a long time ago! It's on my old blog too, but I still like it.
Friday, January 19, 2007
What got me thinking, though, is the "Pacci" bit. Who exactly was Pacci, and what did he do to deserve having a stick that turns stuff upside down named after him? Did he invent it? If so, why?
What was so essential about turning stuff upside down? I mean, if it's just named after him, he had to be some sort of nutcase. Did he randomly turn things upside down, just for fun? Did he walk on his hands consistantly? I know these kinds of questions are extremely pointless, but I still wonder.
Of course, this kind of questioning brings up all sorts of odd questions about that game. Like, why did the mayor build his cabin in the middle of a lake that you have to dig through a series of caves to access? Or if Vaati (the bad guy) had the magical wish-granting hat, why didn't he just use that to take over the world? And of course, what happens when Ezlo eats something? (He's Link's hat, by the way. The physical details of how he got that way both puzzle and disturb me.)
I'll never know the answers to any of this, but it's still fun to think about.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
so I will write in haiku.
That assumes, of course,
you don't know what haiku is.
It's a poem type.
Count the syllables.
They should be five seven five.
If they're not, it's wrong.
I annoy people
by speaking this way sometimes.
They send me death threats.
These haiku do not
have traditional subjects.
Most speak of nature.
In the intrests of
maintaining a semblance of
tradition, here's one.
"Gentle floating clouds
descend to earth so softly;
no one expects fog."
There, are you happy?
I've written a real haiku.
Now I'll go to bed.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Or I could go to bed. I think I'll do that.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
You think it's easy being the villain? Well, I'm telling you, it's anything but. You do just as much work as the hero, running around gathering minions, robbing banks, even building death rays, but everyone hates you anyway. And I should know.
Oh, I seem to have forgotten to introduce myself. My name is Andrea Smith, but most people know me better as Thorn. I'm one of those over-dramatic psychos who regularly gets beat up by a “defender of justice” just as psychotic and dramatic as myself while you all cheer. For him, not me. Him, generally speaking, is a guy in a white cape and mask who talks like he's just gotten his degree from overused-dramatic-cliche university. He calls himself Climax. I call him Oedipus, because he doesn't know what it means but it's plenty insulting anyway, if you know your Greek tragedies. I don't think he knows what his own name means, but I digress. Climax is a thoroughly annoying person. I remember one time when he was particularly bad. I'd kidnapped the mayor and was holding him for ransom in one of those standard variety abandoned warehouses. Of course, I'd left a note for the police, so I was expecting someone. Now, in my mind, there's nothing particularly wrong with ransoming a corrupt government official, right? It's just a little bit off the top from those bribes they get on a regular basis. Well, Oedipus doesn't exactly share my opinion. For some reason, he acted like I'd just dropped the atomic bomb on a box of puppies. Puppies are almost as annoying as he is, what with the fuzziness and the yapping and the big eyes. Give me a giant squid any day. Now that's cute. But I digress.
Climax came bursting through the skylight in full-blown dramatic pose mode and said, I kid you not, “Ah-ha! So we meet again, you villainous vixen! I have discovered your dastardly plot, so release the mayor now, and maybe I won't have to hurt you.” Of course, he struck about seven different dramatic poses while he spoke, so any hope he had of seeming like a serious threat was lost.
How he really thought that discovering my “dastardly plot” was impressive is beyond me. I mean, I gave the police the address to drop of the money at, although I was keeping the mayor somewhere else, and it's no great thing to follow a robot that's been sent to pick up the money. Good thing I had it put the money somewhere else before leading Oedipus to the warehouse. But I digress.
I asked him how his mother was. If you know your Greek tragedies, this would be a terribly insulting thing to ask someone who you call Oedipus. Unfortunately, he doesn't know, so it was wasted. In any case, it confused him quite a bit, but he promptly recovered and responded with one of his famous witty comebacks.
“Keep my mother out of this, you dastardly diva! Release the mayor now!” Three more poses accompanied his statement. If I was being nice, I'd say I didn't see that coming, but that would make me a lier.
I considered telling him to make me. Past experience and common sense told me that this might be a bad idea, so I decided just to get it over with. I went with the standard villain, “Nevah! Muahahahaha!” Of course, that was the end of the “witty” banter (note the quotation marks) and we commenced with the fighting. He won, I escaped, the mayor was free to go accept bribes and trod upon the poor, and the day was saved. I did get away with a few hundred thousand, so it wasn't a total loss.
Anyway, he's annoying when he's being a super-zero. But, it's much better than when he's not. Normally he's one of my co-workers.
Oh, right, I've forgotten to tell you. I work as a sketch artist for a newspaper, when I'm not endangering lives, of course. It's not the best job in the world, but hey, it provides it's share of alibis. Unfortunately, there's the little matter of Climax, aka Terrence Mason. He works there too, as a journalist. He's pretty bad at it though. Apparently journalism is a prerequisite for superheroism. Anyway, he writes fairly biased accounts of our battles, and I am generally called upon to illustrate them, given that I've taken great care never to be captured on film. I often use this opportunity to balance the bias of the article, so it's not so bad in that respect. I like to get little details of his costume wrong and watch him struggle not to tell me for fear of giving himself away, like making his logo pink instead of orange. It gives him a feminine touch, in my opinion, but I digress.
The problem isn't really that I have to work with him. The problem is that he likes me.
And that's all there is, folks. Tune in next time for me being back!
Suggestions, especially those for a title, would be appreciated.
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
“I think vaporization would be appropriate, don't you?”
“At least we know the engine hasn't fallen out!”
“It's good to see you too, but why are you taped to the ceiling?”
“Prepare for your sock-filled doom!”
“See, that's the reason we don't let her stay up this late.”
Monday, January 08, 2007
Sunday, January 07, 2007
Of course, fate spotted me doing this and said: "Oh, you think it's gonna be easy or something? Well, I've got one little word for you: PWN'D!" And then it proceeded to frustrate me to the point where I felt like chucking my keyboard through my monitor. I could not type the web adress right! It was like "theartofobervation" or "thartorvation" and even when I finally got "theartofobservation" it STILL wasn't right!
And then I remembered those little henchmen of fate. That's right, Hyphens. I know I was the one that put them in that web adress in the first place, but I obviously wasn't thinking straight at the time. I was probably thinking "Hmm, how can I frustrate myself and others in the future? Let's put hyphens in the... Ooh, tv."
But I now propose that all websites that allow hyphens in the name put a warning label next to the "What do you want the web adress to be" box. It would go a little something like
"Hey you! Yeah, you! You with the bright ideas about putting hyphens in the name to make sure everyone understands the spacing of the words! Guess what? You don't need them! In fact, you negatively need them, in that they'll spend the rest of their days taunting you with their hard-to-type-correctly little lineness! And yes, that is a word! It's a word because I said so! So don't put hypens in your URL!"
This kind of warning could drastically decrease the rate of hyphen-induced keyboard/monitor double murders, which plauge my brain today. Also, it could make me feel dumber than I already do for putting those stupid hyphens in the name. Oh well.
I didn't have any new comments anyway...
Saturday, January 06, 2007
That happens to me all the time. So now I've decided to post a couple of my favorites, and if any more come up that I happen to really like, I'll post those too.
“What are you doing?”
“You're hiding behind a bush with a garden hose because of science?”
“Yes. Now go away before you blow my cover.”
“Conclusion: Water does not actually melt witches. Wizard of Oz was wrong. Next experiment: falling houses.”
“I can tell you've never been slapped upside the head with a 400 page coloring book.”
“If box growls, DO NOT OPEN.”
Aaand that's it for now! Tune in next time for me ranting about something else, and maybe more quotes!
Friday, January 05, 2007
Anyhoo, I was thinking about suspiciousness. Like, what makes someone seem suspicious? Squinty eyes? Furtive movements? Ketchup-and-cheese sandwiches? Well, I was thinking about it, and thanks to a story that I'm pretty sure I can't post until it's been judged, I've decided that hats are a deciding factor in suspiciousness. Yes, I'm serious.
Let me prove it to you. Think of a generic suspicious person. Now think of what that generic suspicious person is wearing. There's a hat in there, right? Now think of your suspect without the hat. Unless they have very suspicious hair, of which I cannot think of an example, a good bit of the suspiciousness is lost.
So, now that we've established that hats can enhance suspiciousness considerably, are there any hats that are more suspicious than others? Like, a wide brimmed hat, other than something along the lines of a pink sombrero, will be very suspicious because it hides most of the suspects face. A mickey mouse hat? Not so much. In fact, that kinda detracts from the suspiciousness. Would you arrest someone in a mickey mouse hat? No. You'd stare at them, and maybe snicker, but you wouldn't arrest them, unless you're a member of the fashon police.
Given that I've spent several hours watching crime shows over the past few weeks, I'd call this topic researched, in a very loose sense of the word. And my quote-on-quote research proves my point. About seventy-five percent of the suspects eventually arrested were wearing a hat (and generally sunglasses) at some point during the show, and maybe half of those at the time of their arrest. I do know that crime shows don't show actual statistics, but they do show people's perspective of what makes people suspicious. And from what I see, hats are a big part of it.
Anyone else got an opinion on this?
Thursday, January 04, 2007
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Tuesday, January 02, 2007
A name that to the world inspires fear
A name as grandiose as sky above
A name so soft to wipe away a tear
A name as coolly elegant as love
And once upon a time I had this name
That once upon a time was all I knew
But it was sold through magic's cruel game
And then my once upon a time was through
So now my fate's decreed, this wandering
From world to world and town to town I go
And while I travel I've been pondering
How do I find this name I used to know?
And only this name ever will suit me
And when I have my name I will be free.