Book Club: I got a question: Why they Hatin' on me?
Book Club: The collective has consumed three novels since it's inception earlier this year. You may have missed it.
You may have lingered, over there, in your fear of Book Club. In your incomprehension at the intangible but binding web of lust that is Book Club.
But Book Club loves and wants you to understand what Book Club has done. You do not know of Nethereland, by Joseph O'neill. You have not tasted of Bandits, by Elmore Leonard. You have not yet sullied yourself with the pretense of Thomas Pynchon's The Crying of Lot 49. You have dreamed of but never read the words of The Road by Cormac Mccarthy
But you want Book Club. This, Book Club knows, before you even think it, before the thought makes its way up from the bottom depths of your psyche.
So, Book Club will give you these Books as they have become inside of Book Club.
Book Club helps. Book Club Reveals Below a story for those of you outside of Book Club.
Read it, and Read on. Book Club Presents: The Underground Society of Darker Types Who Do the Crime in a Postmodern Nightmare, by Book Club.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Jack Skillet laughed at the empty concrete streets in front of the corporation. The streets were manufactured by technology, but they were desolate of life.
The boy said "Those streets?"
"Yeah, I reckon."
He took the dusty old Iphone out from his frayed pocket to check the google maps app. It made him think of Juanita, who had showed him the wild side of life, with wondrous fragrances of mate, pisco sour, and Ma Po Doufu. Juanita, who took away the point of his existence, and replaced it with another.
The door to the corporation's office was about several yards in the distance. The clouds overhead had nothing to say to them, in this dark world.
The boy shuffled his feet nervously. "They gonna rape us up somethin' awful, I 'spect."
"They ain't gon' do nothin'"
"They ain't?"
"They ain't."
"Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay."
He went on up the path. The tangles of vines along the walls of the corporation's office twisted all over the place, unable to work out a choerent message,in a world devoid of meaning.
Next to him, he moved the bicycle along the path. His strong hands gripped the handlebars as his long, model-like body moved sinuously towards the door.
Juanita had left him and the boy, left them to keep going down the path. It had been on a cold night, when the camp fire sent smoke up into the godless sky, that answered no prayers.
She had come to him, in a womanly way, with her mocha brown skin fraying his nordic restraint. And after, as they lay in a barren land, listening to the drinking songs of cannibals, as they drank the blood of their children, she had whispered to him.
"Me voy."
"Why?"
"Jewelry heist."
"Who?"
"The guy at the computer company."
"Which one?"
"The one that symolizes the dislocation of modernity."
"How?"
"Loose cannon help. Web of contravening plots."
"Motivation?"
"For who?"
"For you, loose cannon,me."
"Hard to tell."
And that was the way it was. Things were hard to tell, when you got down to it. Things were just hard to tell nowadays.
They proceded along the path. He could make out more detail of the corporation's office now.
There was a click behind him and he froze.
The boy froze too. "That a gun?"
"Uh hunh."
"Somebody hurt me?"
"Nobody hurt you."
The man with the gun asked them to to turn around. Jack Skillet could tell by the sound of the man with the gun's voice that he was crazy and unstable.
As he turned, he thought of his life before the fall, he thought of the big city, all the crazy characters. He was just a futures analyst back them, prioritizing amortization tables for international financiers who dabbled in the funds derivatives assets.
He had been just another tall, stiff, blond, European type. With eyes of blue that expressed no emotion or unpleasant social truth.
Then he had met Juanita. At the top of the empire state building, she had been so excited at her arrival in the land of dreams, as all immigrants were, that she had danced a native, festive dance. He had seen her as she swirled her dress, hoop earrings dangling wildly, with spicy passion.
And she had shown him the other side of the city. A world of hustlers and cheats, dreamers and womanizers. Free of the chains of morality and decency that trapped Jack.
He finished turning and faced the wild eyed man with the gun. There was a look of desperation in his eyes. He was drunk, and his clothes were brown with dirt, and hung in tatters over his skinny shoulders.
"Ain't gon' do it." He told them.
"Ain't gon' what?"
"Ain't gon' steal jewelries first, 'fore Juanita does it."
"Why?"
"'Cause i 'gon' get it."
"How?"
"Point gun, not let you go."
"Who are you?"
"Erasmus Deleterius, part of secret society."
"What it do, sercret society?"
"Can't tell. Read book: Plays of Aeschylus. Go civc center, see performance."
"You gonna shoot me, mister?"
"No."
He motioned for them to move behind him. They did. As they moved behind him, Jack could see the grass clippings on the side of the lawn. Juanita had been a gardener. The clippings lay dead on the dead concrete, cut off from their life, killed for encroaching on the man-made world.
Erasmus Deleterius ran to the door and went inside.
The boy too thought of Juanita. "She my momma?"
"Mm."
"Momma come home?"
"Mm nnh."
Jack knew he had to get to the door and open it up. he would do anything to keep the boy safe, and get back the mother the boy had lost.
He went on up the path and arrived at the door.
From inside there were loud yells and gunshots. He shoved the boy to the side, yanked open the door, and rushed in.
Erasmus Deleterius lay dead. Juanita was on the desk, shot, jibbering in her native tongue, praying to pagan gods.
He looked around the office, a bunch of desks laid out, where people spent most of their lives.
He saw the man with the jewelry. He saw the pirate who had tried to get the jewelry, dead and hung on the wall with his own hooked hand. He felt nothing. He looked atJuanita.
"Get the nekclace."
"No. Help you."
Then the man with the jewelry shot him. The boy came in. The man with the jewelry said "I take care of you?"
The boy said to Jack "You die now?"
"Unh."
"I go with other man?"
"Unh."
Jack skillet a man made by secular philosophy, technology and Sartre, looked up at the ceiling as the dark red pool of blood spread over his chest. The boy had a new dad, but would he do a better job? Was there any progress? Or was it all just decadence.
"Hope good." he said.
"Yeah." Juanita said.
They both died. The man with the jewelry put the necklace over the boy's head and they headed back outside, back down the path.
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Fiction: Finally, they were divorced. pt 1 a choose My own Adventure Tragedy
After some delay due to jealousy on the part of rivals such as Wallis, Jimmy's Decipheration of Speech, Pre-School Edition was published.
Conversations, thoughts, and scheduling related to publication often coincided with him discovering and figuring out how to excise little bits of Rayleen from the apartment.
When his friend called to ask him to come a party where the agent who might be interested in representing would be available to receive a good impression, Jimmy had happened to glance down behind the toilet, where the rust and barely spatters of urine gathered, to see a black hair clip. With insect wings and long curved teeth that opened on close on one's hair.
She had left so many hair clips, or scrunchees or bands. And bras too. Under the sofa of the cushion, he found the padded black one that she had brought in a state of emergency discomfort. They had been in Yiwu, going from factory to factory, with all the other vendors, buying mass produced tourist junk that would become, at it's final point of sale, a hand made craft reflecting a towns heart and soul.
One of the products they had gotten there, were little, crappy wooden swords that they had sold to an hunched old lady in communist era blue shirt and pants, up on a mountain village near Hangzhou, where you could hike through wet green leaves and clear water running down all around your feet, scurrying to the lake at the bottom.
He had tossed the wooden sword into the pile of stuff that was mostly Rayleen's. He was either going to try to contact her, wait till she contacted him and then tell her she needed to pick this stuff up, just throw it away and lete he bitch. She wouldn't really care about this stuff. she didn't care enough to take it with her.
He could just throw it away, cleaning up. Now that it was accumulated in a convenient piel. H could just bring in a large plastic bag and it would ready for the big trash barrel outside in under two minutes.
The bras were hidden around in corners, under books, behind the t.v., like they were part of an Easter egg hunt.
At the though of this, of getting rid of the last bits of Rayleen, the dull sens of loss moved around in him, like a vase teetering over a tile floor. And it made him want to turn his pain into violence. It made him feel like this was the reasonable progression from this dull pain. To swing out and kick at the legs of the table, knocking them out of their joints. To bring his fist down on the table top, fracturing, transmitting his pain onto something real, given it life.
But he just couldn't rationalize any violence. It was too late. For so long he had retained this constant need to let loose his violence. But there just weren't any deserving targets. He couldn't pretend that people deserved to be hit, or that destroying his table, sofa and refrigerator would make him better off. But he still wanted it. Wanted the simplicity of breaking, of ruined piles that could only then be thrown out, not discussed and repaired.
What do I do?
continue to mull over nature of my sadness, page 21
call Rayleen , page 322
throw her stuff out, 422
Conversations, thoughts, and scheduling related to publication often coincided with him discovering and figuring out how to excise little bits of Rayleen from the apartment.
When his friend called to ask him to come a party where the agent who might be interested in representing would be available to receive a good impression, Jimmy had happened to glance down behind the toilet, where the rust and barely spatters of urine gathered, to see a black hair clip. With insect wings and long curved teeth that opened on close on one's hair.
She had left so many hair clips, or scrunchees or bands. And bras too. Under the sofa of the cushion, he found the padded black one that she had brought in a state of emergency discomfort. They had been in Yiwu, going from factory to factory, with all the other vendors, buying mass produced tourist junk that would become, at it's final point of sale, a hand made craft reflecting a towns heart and soul.
One of the products they had gotten there, were little, crappy wooden swords that they had sold to an hunched old lady in communist era blue shirt and pants, up on a mountain village near Hangzhou, where you could hike through wet green leaves and clear water running down all around your feet, scurrying to the lake at the bottom.
He had tossed the wooden sword into the pile of stuff that was mostly Rayleen's. He was either going to try to contact her, wait till she contacted him and then tell her she needed to pick this stuff up, just throw it away and lete he bitch. She wouldn't really care about this stuff. she didn't care enough to take it with her.
He could just throw it away, cleaning up. Now that it was accumulated in a convenient piel. H could just bring in a large plastic bag and it would ready for the big trash barrel outside in under two minutes.
The bras were hidden around in corners, under books, behind the t.v., like they were part of an Easter egg hunt.
At the though of this, of getting rid of the last bits of Rayleen, the dull sens of loss moved around in him, like a vase teetering over a tile floor. And it made him want to turn his pain into violence. It made him feel like this was the reasonable progression from this dull pain. To swing out and kick at the legs of the table, knocking them out of their joints. To bring his fist down on the table top, fracturing, transmitting his pain onto something real, given it life.
But he just couldn't rationalize any violence. It was too late. For so long he had retained this constant need to let loose his violence. But there just weren't any deserving targets. He couldn't pretend that people deserved to be hit, or that destroying his table, sofa and refrigerator would make him better off. But he still wanted it. Wanted the simplicity of breaking, of ruined piles that could only then be thrown out, not discussed and repaired.
What do I do?
continue to mull over nature of my sadness, page 21
call Rayleen , page 322
throw her stuff out, 422
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
FICTION: OF ALL THEY COULD'VE LEFT US
First someone would have to find the clue. Under all that dirt in the desert, is one little piece of technology. But that little piece is far from where anyone comes. Nobody comes there, but it wasn't planned to be this way. It's just that nobody happened to set up any residence near the area in the two million years since they went away.
And now, it's far from any inhabited areas in Nevada or California. If anyone found it, and could reverse engineer it, there would surely be at least five or six reasonable scientists who debated that it was a human made object. The creation scientists would use this as an argument for intelligent design, its structure right on the line between organic and inorganic.
That's because the material used to build it closely resembles the behavior and biology of slime moulds. This was because the people who had invented it based it on slime moulds. They lived in a world, much as we do, surrounded by ingenious mechanisms proceeding through history blind to anything but eating fighting reproducing and dying. They were as blind to the world they lived as was the history that had produced them.
But those people were not blind. They saw far clearer than we have, and they saw it a lot sooner.
The reason for this was, in principle, the same reason that the slime mould achieved such novelty. They called it history, we called it evolution.
Their history is mostly the same as ours. Right up until a group of hominids, south coast of Africa, started spending more time in water than their neighbors. They were the victims of psychological warfare. Over a few millenia, their neighbors were producing an ever greater number of individuals who could contort their faces in ways that frightened the hominids living near the beach. These guys were superior swimmers.
Whenever these face contorters would spring out of the forest, screaming and making the scariest of faces, these guys would swim out far enough and wait for their attackers to leave.
Sometimes the face guys would attack at night. Many of the water guys were sleeping, and thus easily killed. But the ones who weren't sleeping and the ones who woke up fast enough fought back. And since it was dark they couldn't see the frightening faces of their enemies. The face guys, being used to their advantage, would be unprepared and were easily killed by the water guys. When morning came around and the water guys would see the dead enemy, they realized that fighting at night was the way to win.
This meant that the individuals who could stay up later, or sleep only in small naps and be ready to wake up faster had a greater chance of reproducing.
So, these two groups reached a little balance for awhile, the face guys became trickier in attacking the water guys, and the water guys became more nocturnal, better fishers, and better swimmers.
But, as the face guys became better at chasing the water guys into deeper and deeper waters, the water guys started dealing with the predators on their other side, mostly sharks and, sometimes, killer whales.
More and more they were sandwiched into shallow waters. They became fatter and fatter in comparison to their freaky faced neighbors. Their females got used to giving birth in the ocean.
They water guys also became stronger, as spending most of their time in the water required more muscle.
This process continued until they lived almost exclusively in the water. Their enemies had gotten much smarter, and much better at articulating their facial muscles. They lived farther from their water dwelling neighbors, now, moving into the grasslands and out of the forest.
And now, it's far from any inhabited areas in Nevada or California. If anyone found it, and could reverse engineer it, there would surely be at least five or six reasonable scientists who debated that it was a human made object. The creation scientists would use this as an argument for intelligent design, its structure right on the line between organic and inorganic.
That's because the material used to build it closely resembles the behavior and biology of slime moulds. This was because the people who had invented it based it on slime moulds. They lived in a world, much as we do, surrounded by ingenious mechanisms proceeding through history blind to anything but eating fighting reproducing and dying. They were as blind to the world they lived as was the history that had produced them.
But those people were not blind. They saw far clearer than we have, and they saw it a lot sooner.
The reason for this was, in principle, the same reason that the slime mould achieved such novelty. They called it history, we called it evolution.
Their history is mostly the same as ours. Right up until a group of hominids, south coast of Africa, started spending more time in water than their neighbors. They were the victims of psychological warfare. Over a few millenia, their neighbors were producing an ever greater number of individuals who could contort their faces in ways that frightened the hominids living near the beach. These guys were superior swimmers.
Whenever these face contorters would spring out of the forest, screaming and making the scariest of faces, these guys would swim out far enough and wait for their attackers to leave.
Sometimes the face guys would attack at night. Many of the water guys were sleeping, and thus easily killed. But the ones who weren't sleeping and the ones who woke up fast enough fought back. And since it was dark they couldn't see the frightening faces of their enemies. The face guys, being used to their advantage, would be unprepared and were easily killed by the water guys. When morning came around and the water guys would see the dead enemy, they realized that fighting at night was the way to win.
This meant that the individuals who could stay up later, or sleep only in small naps and be ready to wake up faster had a greater chance of reproducing.
So, these two groups reached a little balance for awhile, the face guys became trickier in attacking the water guys, and the water guys became more nocturnal, better fishers, and better swimmers.
But, as the face guys became better at chasing the water guys into deeper and deeper waters, the water guys started dealing with the predators on their other side, mostly sharks and, sometimes, killer whales.
More and more they were sandwiched into shallow waters. They became fatter and fatter in comparison to their freaky faced neighbors. Their females got used to giving birth in the ocean.
They water guys also became stronger, as spending most of their time in the water required more muscle.
This process continued until they lived almost exclusively in the water. Their enemies had gotten much smarter, and much better at articulating their facial muscles. They lived farther from their water dwelling neighbors, now, moving into the grasslands and out of the forest.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
FICTION: THE SECOND, REASONABLE, COMING
The second, reasonable, coming
Last week, Jesus just got tottally fed up with everybody not believing in him, especially me. I was like the most non-believer of anybody. I had super non-belief power. I could disbelieve anything, like I could just be all, like, “Hey best friend, I do not believe you really like me.” or “I don't think I'm not myself”
So, Jesus, was all thinking, “In the war on disbelief, this guy's ground zero, numero uno!”
So he descended, arms at his side, robe/dress outfit not riding up despite the wind resistance.
When he landed in front of me, I was in the act of disbelieving my own Momma. She was trying to tell me that if I didn't get rid of the cat, the fecal matter around the catbox would endanger my health. Didn't even faze me.
But then I was all like “Aw damn, finally I'm getting the recognition I deserve!” See, I'm a pretty remarkable person, but often times I don't get my props like what I was guaranteed by my basic rights.
So Jesus looks at me and he's all “I heardeth you do not believe in me. What do you have to say for yourself.” I was taken aback by his eloquence of speech. And I was delayed in the cool answer that I momentarily later gave to him: “Well, you know what I heardeth? I heardeth that you hath not given reason to me to believeth.”
Jesus stroked his goatee and chewed over my sentiments for a moment. Then, he was like “Fair enough, I'm willing to listen to you.”
I didn't see that coming, so I just let him have it. I was all “First, even if I see you here all magical, that doesn't mean that you are the same dude from the bible. And, even if you are the dude from the bible, how do I know you are still the same dude from the bible.”
Jesus shook his head. “It ought to be perfectly clear to honest people that I made the bible books all confusing to you because I wanted to see how loyal you were gonna be. And now that you see me, all you gotta do is believe in me, don't get it all twisted up.”
Well played, and, moreover, played with utter smoothity. But, in all and complete honesty, I have seen better. “If I simply believe in you, like, that there's a dude who flew down here right now and he says he's Jesus, I can believe that, but, if you're telling me I gotta believe, based on seeing you drop in her, that you are the dude from the bible, and that you all implicated in all this tripartate god stuff and you're mom didn't bone anybody to have you and all that, then theres a lot of separate stuff I gotta believe one by one.”
As I was talking, Jesus was flapping his hands all about like he didn't want to hear anything else I had to say. He's all “I can just make you believe.” Then he waved his right hand slowly across my eyes and the I saw a brilliant, yet dazzling and luminous burst of light. It left me stunned and suddenly I believed in Jesus. But then, I was all like, hey, just a minute ago, I didn't believe in Jesus, now I do. He must have did some kind of mutant power thing on me.
I was all, totally “Brenda said she loved me, but then she said she only thought she loved me and I even picked her up from work, like seven times, and she works in freakin Compton. So, just cause you tricked me into believing you, doesn't mean that I even know what I am believing.”
I could see the look on his face as he realized he was losing the struggle for dominance. “So, I'm just gonna go ahead and not believe in my own belief that you are the Jesus from the Bible.”
Then he just totally lost and went all hardcore Job-style on me.
As I lay on the ground with pimples and open sores all up on my junk, I noticed something suspicious. Off to the side, behind Jesus, was another guy with a goatee. He was sitting on a stool, with one leg crossed over the other. It was Satan himself! This really was like the Job thing.
I told him if he was doing this all cause of the devil and he was just like “Maybe. So.”
Then, even though I sounded like a frog because my throat was stinging and dried up, I was all “There's one thing I believe, is that you're getting fooled by the Devil himself!”
He shook his head “You don't know shit, man. You don't know what it's like.”
But I was just, “No, that's where you're wrong. I had abuse issues with methamphetamines for ten years, trust me, bro, I know what it's like when all your friends are telling you to do shit and it's all you know and you just cant resist or you'll feel like a pussy.”
Suddenly, the truthiness of what I was putting down was picked up by the Jesus. With a mighty roar he then smote the Devil and put him back in Hell.
He magically healed all the Job-style wounds on my body and nether regions and then took me out for cheesecake. We said we'd stay in touch, but, you know, like, people always say that shit.
At least now, even though I still don't believe all the stuff people say about Jesus. I know he has powers. And, I know he has peer pressure, just like you. And just like me.
Amen. Peace out.
Last week, Jesus just got tottally fed up with everybody not believing in him, especially me. I was like the most non-believer of anybody. I had super non-belief power. I could disbelieve anything, like I could just be all, like, “Hey best friend, I do not believe you really like me.” or “I don't think I'm not myself”
So, Jesus, was all thinking, “In the war on disbelief, this guy's ground zero, numero uno!”
So he descended, arms at his side, robe/dress outfit not riding up despite the wind resistance.
When he landed in front of me, I was in the act of disbelieving my own Momma. She was trying to tell me that if I didn't get rid of the cat, the fecal matter around the catbox would endanger my health. Didn't even faze me.
But then I was all like “Aw damn, finally I'm getting the recognition I deserve!” See, I'm a pretty remarkable person, but often times I don't get my props like what I was guaranteed by my basic rights.
So Jesus looks at me and he's all “I heardeth you do not believe in me. What do you have to say for yourself.” I was taken aback by his eloquence of speech. And I was delayed in the cool answer that I momentarily later gave to him: “Well, you know what I heardeth? I heardeth that you hath not given reason to me to believeth.”
Jesus stroked his goatee and chewed over my sentiments for a moment. Then, he was like “Fair enough, I'm willing to listen to you.”
I didn't see that coming, so I just let him have it. I was all “First, even if I see you here all magical, that doesn't mean that you are the same dude from the bible. And, even if you are the dude from the bible, how do I know you are still the same dude from the bible.”
Jesus shook his head. “It ought to be perfectly clear to honest people that I made the bible books all confusing to you because I wanted to see how loyal you were gonna be. And now that you see me, all you gotta do is believe in me, don't get it all twisted up.”
Well played, and, moreover, played with utter smoothity. But, in all and complete honesty, I have seen better. “If I simply believe in you, like, that there's a dude who flew down here right now and he says he's Jesus, I can believe that, but, if you're telling me I gotta believe, based on seeing you drop in her, that you are the dude from the bible, and that you all implicated in all this tripartate god stuff and you're mom didn't bone anybody to have you and all that, then theres a lot of separate stuff I gotta believe one by one.”
As I was talking, Jesus was flapping his hands all about like he didn't want to hear anything else I had to say. He's all “I can just make you believe.” Then he waved his right hand slowly across my eyes and the I saw a brilliant, yet dazzling and luminous burst of light. It left me stunned and suddenly I believed in Jesus. But then, I was all like, hey, just a minute ago, I didn't believe in Jesus, now I do. He must have did some kind of mutant power thing on me.
I was all, totally “Brenda said she loved me, but then she said she only thought she loved me and I even picked her up from work, like seven times, and she works in freakin Compton. So, just cause you tricked me into believing you, doesn't mean that I even know what I am believing.”
I could see the look on his face as he realized he was losing the struggle for dominance. “So, I'm just gonna go ahead and not believe in my own belief that you are the Jesus from the Bible.”
Then he just totally lost and went all hardcore Job-style on me.
As I lay on the ground with pimples and open sores all up on my junk, I noticed something suspicious. Off to the side, behind Jesus, was another guy with a goatee. He was sitting on a stool, with one leg crossed over the other. It was Satan himself! This really was like the Job thing.
I told him if he was doing this all cause of the devil and he was just like “Maybe. So.”
Then, even though I sounded like a frog because my throat was stinging and dried up, I was all “There's one thing I believe, is that you're getting fooled by the Devil himself!”
He shook his head “You don't know shit, man. You don't know what it's like.”
But I was just, “No, that's where you're wrong. I had abuse issues with methamphetamines for ten years, trust me, bro, I know what it's like when all your friends are telling you to do shit and it's all you know and you just cant resist or you'll feel like a pussy.”
Suddenly, the truthiness of what I was putting down was picked up by the Jesus. With a mighty roar he then smote the Devil and put him back in Hell.
He magically healed all the Job-style wounds on my body and nether regions and then took me out for cheesecake. We said we'd stay in touch, but, you know, like, people always say that shit.
At least now, even though I still don't believe all the stuff people say about Jesus. I know he has powers. And, I know he has peer pressure, just like you. And just like me.
Amen. Peace out.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Fiction大论's冒险的很journey pt.4 pg. 23
(darrens perilous journey: a choose my own adventure story. screw that trip, play it safe and investigate the submarine pg. 23)
You know what fool, when it comes down to it, I have had just about enough of this mysterious danger for one day, alright!?
Looking at the old merlyn guy, I was totally all like, ch, you know, this is just your basic case of information overload! Im going on brain freeze right now.
Merlyn, through his magic, majestic, knack for intuition, guessed all that was in my heart then, in but a single glance. He was all "You know what they say about pigeons and unicorns, right?" He gave a scholarly and hearty chuckle.
"What do they say?" I asked trepidaciously, fearing a big getting moded coming on.
He twirled his sword around and inserted it smoothly into the soft warmth of his scabber. "They say," he said teasingly, lifting the sword out of its scabber and pushing it back in unconsciously. "When the unicorn tires of this life, it is such a tragedy, but when a pigeon feels that even being the early bird is far too much to even jest, it doesnt even seem like a problem."
Aww double shnap! That was not very lol, yo! I cocked my head an raised my eyebrow, all hard and stuff. Was this guy calling me some kind of pigeon? Aww, fooey, i thought. Let his mockery come. I could bear it after all. I simply turned the cheek on him and went about spelunking this submerged vessel.
Instead of taking the bait of his demeaning commentary, i was just like, "Have fun at the Underwater Kingdom, hope you dont get jacked, dick."
He chuckled wistfully, stroking his beard and tugging at his wise gray hair with his other hand. He walked toward the hatch and opened it. Over my head, i looked up to see above me was a huge room, made of marble and china. Whoa! these guys must have been into to serious dough alright.
But, not wanting to be seduced by the temptation, i forced my eyes to tear themselves from the amazing vista above.
He climbed out and closed the hatch behind him. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and got down to checking out what was really going on around here! There was two doors behind me. I went into the second one and saw a hallway with a bunch of other doors. I went down to the third door and opened it.
I was utterly amazed and stunned at the vision before me. This must be the magic room, i thought. For inside of the room, it was all cluttered up messily with wondrous enchanting objects, suggestive of magic and the times of yore!
On the table in the middle of the room could be seen human skulls with jeweled necklaces snaking in and out of them. Hanging from the walls were black capes, and velvet ones too. Above the capes I could make out witches hats.
But, once again, fate just wouldnt let me chill. A huge rocking motion shook the boat and a loud boom made a huge sound.
We were under attack. I made my back down the hall. A guy with a black and white striped shirt and a red bandanna over his brow, stumbled out and fell down dead right in front of my own eyes, for all the world to see.
As soon as I got back to the main control room, i realized what had to be done. The shots had been called, and now I had to put my nuts on the line. I shook my head wanly, how quickly things change in a persons life!
Calling on my expert navigation skills that i had garnished from my experience, i quickly scanned the control panels, noting the function of every switch with cutthroat accuracy. Then, i saw the weapons panel. Alright, these guys wanna play dirty, then lets get it on to the break of dawn, bitch. I pressed a button on the weapons panel entitled "Tomahawk Cruisers" Lets just see what this can do about it.
There was a great sound of explosion, like the thing that attacked me was blowing up. Then i heard a beeping urgently coming from the communication panel and flicked the switch. "Mayday, mayday, Hey Merlyn, i know we just tried to take you guys prisoner, but you gotta just go ahead and let bygones and bygones, for the sake of our lives." My face grinned sadistically, grimacing in the cruel evil that i was gonna do.
You know what fool, when it comes down to it, I have had just about enough of this mysterious danger for one day, alright!?
Looking at the old merlyn guy, I was totally all like, ch, you know, this is just your basic case of information overload! Im going on brain freeze right now.
Merlyn, through his magic, majestic, knack for intuition, guessed all that was in my heart then, in but a single glance. He was all "You know what they say about pigeons and unicorns, right?" He gave a scholarly and hearty chuckle.
"What do they say?" I asked trepidaciously, fearing a big getting moded coming on.
He twirled his sword around and inserted it smoothly into the soft warmth of his scabber. "They say," he said teasingly, lifting the sword out of its scabber and pushing it back in unconsciously. "When the unicorn tires of this life, it is such a tragedy, but when a pigeon feels that even being the early bird is far too much to even jest, it doesnt even seem like a problem."
Aww double shnap! That was not very lol, yo! I cocked my head an raised my eyebrow, all hard and stuff. Was this guy calling me some kind of pigeon? Aww, fooey, i thought. Let his mockery come. I could bear it after all. I simply turned the cheek on him and went about spelunking this submerged vessel.
Instead of taking the bait of his demeaning commentary, i was just like, "Have fun at the Underwater Kingdom, hope you dont get jacked, dick."
He chuckled wistfully, stroking his beard and tugging at his wise gray hair with his other hand. He walked toward the hatch and opened it. Over my head, i looked up to see above me was a huge room, made of marble and china. Whoa! these guys must have been into to serious dough alright.
But, not wanting to be seduced by the temptation, i forced my eyes to tear themselves from the amazing vista above.
He climbed out and closed the hatch behind him. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and got down to checking out what was really going on around here! There was two doors behind me. I went into the second one and saw a hallway with a bunch of other doors. I went down to the third door and opened it.
I was utterly amazed and stunned at the vision before me. This must be the magic room, i thought. For inside of the room, it was all cluttered up messily with wondrous enchanting objects, suggestive of magic and the times of yore!
On the table in the middle of the room could be seen human skulls with jeweled necklaces snaking in and out of them. Hanging from the walls were black capes, and velvet ones too. Above the capes I could make out witches hats.
But, once again, fate just wouldnt let me chill. A huge rocking motion shook the boat and a loud boom made a huge sound.
We were under attack. I made my back down the hall. A guy with a black and white striped shirt and a red bandanna over his brow, stumbled out and fell down dead right in front of my own eyes, for all the world to see.
As soon as I got back to the main control room, i realized what had to be done. The shots had been called, and now I had to put my nuts on the line. I shook my head wanly, how quickly things change in a persons life!
Calling on my expert navigation skills that i had garnished from my experience, i quickly scanned the control panels, noting the function of every switch with cutthroat accuracy. Then, i saw the weapons panel. Alright, these guys wanna play dirty, then lets get it on to the break of dawn, bitch. I pressed a button on the weapons panel entitled "Tomahawk Cruisers" Lets just see what this can do about it.
There was a great sound of explosion, like the thing that attacked me was blowing up. Then i heard a beeping urgently coming from the communication panel and flicked the switch. "Mayday, mayday, Hey Merlyn, i know we just tried to take you guys prisoner, but you gotta just go ahead and let bygones and bygones, for the sake of our lives." My face grinned sadistically, grimacing in the cruel evil that i was gonna do.
"Damn fool" I exacerbated. "Looks like you just got your just desserts!"
Then I just all like hit the button. Suddenly, there was a noisy booming akin to explosion. I just thought like shit I gotta get outta here before this really hits the roof.
I surreptitiously looked around for the exit hatch. Then I stopped. Maybe I didn't have to bust out with the evacuation procedure quite so fast. After all, how enemies could the ole guy have after all?
Then I chuckled in a realization of humour. I was just chickening out on this! I just didn't want to go out and get ragged on by those racist Atlanteans.
Aww shucks, I been grudging this on my shoulders for far too long, time to be a man and face the sounds of music like a real man do. After all, hadn't I just proved my martial prowess by demonstrating such merciless destruction that I visited on my eneym, and just in the Nick a tie too!
I ardently climbed the ladder and pushed with arduous strength. Guess those curls and and reps paid off.
When I climbed up on out of the sub and took a gander at the spectacular scene that lay before me, I was amazed at its wondrous appearance, which was glorious in nature.
In front of me was a huge, super huge room, it looked I was inside a crystal ball, but one made from real crystal, or amethyst. It was the most beautiful side I had ever seen. I was fascinated.
But then another question pertinently occupied my old noggin. Just where in fact had old Merly got to. As i stepped off the submarine and onto the wool carpet of the crystal amethyst room, I saw before me two paths. One led to a group of stairs going up real high. The other led to a pair of doors. In front of the stairs was a sign that read אַ שפּראַך איז אַ דיאַלעקט מיט אַן אַרמיי און פֿלאָט . Similarly, a sign in front of the double doors read Cenedl heb iaith, cenedl heb galon. Hmm... I pondered curiously.
Seemed like the signs were trying to tell me the two dissimilar paths were nothing more than two sides of the same choice-coin.
Well, since the first one was the tried and true Yiddish saying that a language is just a dialect with an army behind or what not, and the second was Welsh for 'A nation without language is a nation without a heart.
Well, well, well. Looks like they trying to flip the script on me. I came here looking for Merlyn, but now i gotta use a bit of the old fashioned
Well they had flipped it on me, and I wanted to flip it back onto them. Cause at that point in my adventure, I just completely lost the plot.
I didn't what to do, it was as if I had just been totally pwnd.
All I wanted to do was to get this hagriographing done and get my boat. To do that of course, I would have to find out King Arthur's hamartia.
Screw it I said, all of a sudden not caring which of the paths I chose. I walked to the double doors and kicked them open.
Then, suddenly, without any forewarning, I was shocked at the sight before me.
It was nothing less than an old school round table Knight grub fest. It was like all these Knight dudes in medieval armor grubbing on chicken and raw potatoes like they used to back in the way back when. I was all like what?!?
I saw Merlyn instantly and could see right away that the big guy sitting next to one that was all cut and swole up had to be none other than the badass fool that I was fonna hagriaphy.
So, I didn't even sweat, because of my expert skills and how I had proved my mettle by blowing up that other sub just now before i came here.
I just walked up to Merlyn and tapped him on the shoulder. He was so impressed that by my daring boldness that he didn't even rag on me for interrupting the meal.
King Arthur chuckled sagely and stook his giant macho hand out to shake hands with me.
I gave a firm shake, and even he was all strong, I could see him flinch a tiny bit because I put all my qi into that shake.
"So, my fair liege, you seem to be in need of a hagriographer. " I stoutly declared.
"Well, it doth seem to be the case that I beith in need of some ornate skill, be thee worthy of mine request?" He boldly inquired.
Suddenly, I looked around me to see in fact that the large throng of Knights gathered 'round the table were straight up mad dogging me.
Them one of them asked "Young Sire, be thee of the mongoloid race, or be thee of the negroid race? "
Another one of them asked "Me thinks ye be a Mohommedan!"
Then all of them stood up. Even the mighty and wise Merlyn was intimated and didn't say "jack."
So, they had found out. Of course I wasn't no arab, but then on the other hand, nor was I a Christian. How would they respond to my proud embracing of my mother's Jewish heritage. Should I deny my faith and spit on thousands of years of history? Or should I bravely and defiantly make my stand, regardless of if it ruined my chances of getting my mitts on that dope boat?
P.234 I tell them I'm a heeb.
P.324 I lie and betray my God
P.44 Run like a mutha yo!
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
FICTION: 大论's冒险的很journey pt.3 pg. 17
(Darrens perilous journery part 3 a choose my own adventure joint)go with him because he's all merlyn looking p. 17
So I was just all like: Que Sarah, do it to it! The voices on the megaphone loudly called out for us to halt and cease are activities, but, the beneficial opportunity to get my hands on this killer babe of a boat was just to irresistible that i couldn't refuse.
The medieval guy with the beard and the owl on his shoulder could ascertain a certain assenting facial expression so he just lifted his majestic hand into the air and waved me for me to follow him.
Whoa! Seems like the merlyn man really was a force to be reckoned with, giving his knack for intuition of peoples feelings without them even saying shit, damn!
So, not even knowing where I had been mysteriously kidnapped to, except for it was a boat. (and what a boat it was!) I could do nothing but follow my abductor out of the cabin room and out onto the top part of the boat. I didnt see the guys who were yelling with the megaphones, so i guessed they had to be on the back of the ship. So when I saw the ocean and no boats, it seemed my detective skills were not so rusty after all.
Then, all my expectations were overturned as the guy produced from his pocket a remote control in his hand. He held it and pressed the red button.
From out of the depths of the ocean AKA blue lagoon, came bubbling up a shiny black submarine.
He pushed me in the back to get onto it so i got onto the submarine. He got on too and opened the hatch and we went inside. As soon as he closed the hatch, he exhaled heavily and breathed a sigh of relief. As for myself, personally, i couldnt even sigh, because i was so worked up into a sweat over the aforementioned excitement.
Finally, I calmed down enough to talk. "So, oh wise one. Whom is it I shalt be hagriographing? "
He shook his head negatingly, but i pressed on further, "What?! Hey! I think I have a right to know."
The old fool just shook his grey and shaggy head again, as if dispelling the sayings of a novice. Well, I wasn't about to be taken for some novice, after all, I had my own street creds to be reckoned with.
He then turned away from me with the keys to the sub, he keyed the ignition and gunned the subs engines. Then he shifted down and we descended abscondingly into the fathoms of the deep.
"Take the wax out of your ears and show a little respect moan cap n' tone" I barked harshly. At last, the guy payed attention to me with earnest concentration showing gravely on his lined face.
He looked at me seriously and uttered: "Since you're so anxious to know just who,
I Shall give thee an opurunity to guess the name of the one thou art to hagriahpy. Here this riddle, thee: Whot hath man fewe in the eie but more in the ere? That gret in the heved, is fewe in the bred? For man yhernes rimes forto here, yet men yernen iestes for to here."
Having said all of this, and being finished he withdrew a sword out of a scabber on his belt. The sword flashed brilliantly in the lights reflection. He beemed at its gleeming luminescence patiently.
"Pshaw!" I exclaimed. Who was this guy think he was fooling with? Like I can do all old school too, when i want to be. Obviously, his so called riddle was nothing but a pun on word plays that could be deduced for the answer at a moments notice.
"Dig on this," I told him. "First part: getting hair on your eye is a bigger problem than the hair in your ear, so the answer to that is Hair Trouble. Second, Hair on the head is not troublesome, as much as hair on your bread, so boom. Second part: Hair trouble. The last thing, you said, men want to hear rhymes. So, "here" and "ere" are "hear" and "ear" but in the olden tongue of yesteryear they soundeth much akin to rhyming with "hair."
He stroked his greying beard, and began to interject, but he before he even could, i just continued on all smoothly: "Furthermore, since you are quoting from the revered Cursor Mundi in its southern and northern versions, and therefore, the obvious trick is that you want me to find the word that rhymes with "trouble", since there's no rhyming word in your riddle itself. If I remember correctly the rhyming word from the text of the Cursor Mundi, the accurate word that rhymes is "abul", or maybe "tabul" as in the round table! I knew it! "
Suddenly it dawned me just why this guy was so convincingly medieval looking in dress and appearance and such. After all, it turned out that this guy was indeed a merlyn kind of magician like i had suspected! Kudos to me! So, it looked like I was going to be hagriaphying none other than the legendary King Arthur himself, and that was for damn sure.
Or was I, a nagging suspicion in the back of my mind tugged at my doubt strings. But before i could seek my hard earned clarification, things got all haywire on me.
From the other rooms in the big submarine, a voice unexpectedly called from afar: "Ahoy, all ye on the starboard plank, ships arrived! "
Merlyn, still stroking his beard and admiringly gazing at the sword which he held, said unto me: "Young liege of the realm, dont get all excited just yet. At least not until i tell you of my lords' hamartia. Besides, it seems like you guessed enough for now. We just arrived at the Underwater Kingdom, i gotta stop and get some stuff. If you want, you can tag a long with me, but I have to in fact warn you, they dont like black guys there. "
Aww damn, what a dis! I'm not even black, but people also misrepresent me because of my jewish and korean ancestry! But, then what if the denizens of the Underwater Kingdom didn't even give a hoot and just judged me based on my supposed racial features.
But, shoot, pass up a chance to check out this foreign and exotic local which i never could have conceived before the miraculous events of today?
go with him to check out the Underwater Kingdom pg. 64
screw that trip, play it safe and investigate the submarine pg. 23
this is getting out of control, Im gonna jack this sub and head for safety pg. 89
So I was just all like: Que Sarah, do it to it! The voices on the megaphone loudly called out for us to halt and cease are activities, but, the beneficial opportunity to get my hands on this killer babe of a boat was just to irresistible that i couldn't refuse.
The medieval guy with the beard and the owl on his shoulder could ascertain a certain assenting facial expression so he just lifted his majestic hand into the air and waved me for me to follow him.
Whoa! Seems like the merlyn man really was a force to be reckoned with, giving his knack for intuition of peoples feelings without them even saying shit, damn!
So, not even knowing where I had been mysteriously kidnapped to, except for it was a boat. (and what a boat it was!) I could do nothing but follow my abductor out of the cabin room and out onto the top part of the boat. I didnt see the guys who were yelling with the megaphones, so i guessed they had to be on the back of the ship. So when I saw the ocean and no boats, it seemed my detective skills were not so rusty after all.
Then, all my expectations were overturned as the guy produced from his pocket a remote control in his hand. He held it and pressed the red button.
From out of the depths of the ocean AKA blue lagoon, came bubbling up a shiny black submarine.
He pushed me in the back to get onto it so i got onto the submarine. He got on too and opened the hatch and we went inside. As soon as he closed the hatch, he exhaled heavily and breathed a sigh of relief. As for myself, personally, i couldnt even sigh, because i was so worked up into a sweat over the aforementioned excitement.
Finally, I calmed down enough to talk. "So, oh wise one. Whom is it I shalt be hagriographing? "
He shook his head negatingly, but i pressed on further, "What?! Hey! I think I have a right to know."
The old fool just shook his grey and shaggy head again, as if dispelling the sayings of a novice. Well, I wasn't about to be taken for some novice, after all, I had my own street creds to be reckoned with.
He then turned away from me with the keys to the sub, he keyed the ignition and gunned the subs engines. Then he shifted down and we descended abscondingly into the fathoms of the deep.
"Take the wax out of your ears and show a little respect moan cap n' tone" I barked harshly. At last, the guy payed attention to me with earnest concentration showing gravely on his lined face.
He looked at me seriously and uttered: "Since you're so anxious to know just who,
I Shall give thee an opurunity to guess the name of the one thou art to hagriahpy. Here this riddle, thee: Whot hath man fewe in the eie but more in the ere? That gret in the heved, is fewe in the bred? For man yhernes rimes forto here, yet men yernen iestes for to here."
Having said all of this, and being finished he withdrew a sword out of a scabber on his belt. The sword flashed brilliantly in the lights reflection. He beemed at its gleeming luminescence patiently.
"Pshaw!" I exclaimed. Who was this guy think he was fooling with? Like I can do all old school too, when i want to be. Obviously, his so called riddle was nothing but a pun on word plays that could be deduced for the answer at a moments notice.
"Dig on this," I told him. "First part: getting hair on your eye is a bigger problem than the hair in your ear, so the answer to that is Hair Trouble. Second, Hair on the head is not troublesome, as much as hair on your bread, so boom. Second part: Hair trouble. The last thing, you said, men want to hear rhymes. So, "here" and "ere" are "hear" and "ear" but in the olden tongue of yesteryear they soundeth much akin to rhyming with "hair."
He stroked his greying beard, and began to interject, but he before he even could, i just continued on all smoothly: "Furthermore, since you are quoting from the revered Cursor Mundi in its southern and northern versions, and therefore, the obvious trick is that you want me to find the word that rhymes with "trouble", since there's no rhyming word in your riddle itself. If I remember correctly the rhyming word from the text of the Cursor Mundi, the accurate word that rhymes is "abul", or maybe "tabul" as in the round table! I knew it! "
Suddenly it dawned me just why this guy was so convincingly medieval looking in dress and appearance and such. After all, it turned out that this guy was indeed a merlyn kind of magician like i had suspected! Kudos to me! So, it looked like I was going to be hagriaphying none other than the legendary King Arthur himself, and that was for damn sure.
Or was I, a nagging suspicion in the back of my mind tugged at my doubt strings. But before i could seek my hard earned clarification, things got all haywire on me.
From the other rooms in the big submarine, a voice unexpectedly called from afar: "Ahoy, all ye on the starboard plank, ships arrived! "
Merlyn, still stroking his beard and admiringly gazing at the sword which he held, said unto me: "Young liege of the realm, dont get all excited just yet. At least not until i tell you of my lords' hamartia. Besides, it seems like you guessed enough for now. We just arrived at the Underwater Kingdom, i gotta stop and get some stuff. If you want, you can tag a long with me, but I have to in fact warn you, they dont like black guys there. "
Aww damn, what a dis! I'm not even black, but people also misrepresent me because of my jewish and korean ancestry! But, then what if the denizens of the Underwater Kingdom didn't even give a hoot and just judged me based on my supposed racial features.
But, shoot, pass up a chance to check out this foreign and exotic local which i never could have conceived before the miraculous events of today?
go with him to check out the Underwater Kingdom pg. 64
screw that trip, play it safe and investigate the submarine pg. 23
this is getting out of control, Im gonna jack this sub and head for safety pg. 89
Thursday, July 5, 2007
NONFICTION building up the froth of appreciation.
I was just listening to a lecture on Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse 几号？ i forgot which number. The lecturer described the author's 'insertion of himself into the text' as putting himself into the 'very warp and weave of the story' something like that.
It reminded me of an idea I had a couple years ago, that is, the way in which people take the object of their affection, such as music, movies, or literature, and talk them around in the head so much that a top layer of froth is churned up, which is then regarded as insight, instead of foam.
In fact this ever novel insertion of the author into his own text is nothing more than a step in a progressive series of experimenting and tricks with the novel. Structural novelties that allow the novelist to feel as if he is doing something new.
Further, i completely empathize with Vonneguts portrayal of himself in that novel.
Its just, how do you differentiate between your capacity to manipulate words for the enchantment and entertainment of yourself, and your capacity to whip yourself up in a froth of ecstasy for the beauty and deep down deep meaning of your own words?
That is, how does the bullshiter not busllshit himself about how great his own bullshit is?
It reminded me of an idea I had a couple years ago, that is, the way in which people take the object of their affection, such as music, movies, or literature, and talk them around in the head so much that a top layer of froth is churned up, which is then regarded as insight, instead of foam.
In fact this ever novel insertion of the author into his own text is nothing more than a step in a progressive series of experimenting and tricks with the novel. Structural novelties that allow the novelist to feel as if he is doing something new.
Further, i completely empathize with Vonneguts portrayal of himself in that novel.
Its just, how do you differentiate between your capacity to manipulate words for the enchantment and entertainment of yourself, and your capacity to whip yourself up in a froth of ecstasy for the beauty and deep down deep meaning of your own words?
That is, how does the bullshiter not busllshit himself about how great his own bullshit is?
Thursday, June 21, 2007
FICTION 待轮的冒险旅行 PT 2 p. 88 i talk to the guy to find out whats the deelio
Alright, cool beans! I'm just going to wait for that foolio to bust up in this room and then I'm gonna get the facts straight on it.
So the guy turns the knob and proscenes to open the door. And I dont even trip, I just all stand there, like, whats the what man?
He goes "Good, my young scholar, you're all awake and shit." When he bravely spoke these words I was completely taking a back! How could i be called a scholar! I'm just a brass tax down to earth total head! But, I was so intrigued by his words that I decided to listen on.
The guy, who was all british looking with a white beard, medieval knight armor, and an owl on his shoulder, said "I'm quite sorry for your painfulness at the rude way we absconded you, but unfortunately we had to be secret about it, because you're so important. You see, we need you to be the hagriographer for a very special someone."
I was speechless and dumbfloundered, i slacked my jaw and asked "Whats a hagriographer? Even somebody of my erudite learning doesn't know it all!"
The guy chuckled good naturedly and then gave me a good natured wink. "Well, liege, a hagriographer is like the men of old who trainscribed the glorious deeds of the kings of the realm!" As he said this he sweapt his arm high in the air.
Whoa! Trip out on that shit! What about my boat. As if he was psycically reading my mind's thoughts, he goes "
"Ha Ha Ha , i know what you're thinking of and its quite lol! But, true be told, if you make it big time, burn the midnight elbow grease and hunger down, I promise you that I am going to give you this very boat you have been abducted onto." Then he stroked his beard thoughtfully.
I wasn't no dumbass, so i was all like "Hey man, what kind of boat is this anyways, huh?"
Still stroking it, he said "Nothing but a 45TX with a 22 mv sinker and hull beepers. Not bad, yeah?"
I could only nod, he had me. "All right, who shall I be hagriographing? "
But before he could answer a loud voice was heard from outside the cabin "Evildoers, prepare to be boarded."
What!?! I was on a boat with evildoers? This guy might be a liar!
"Quickly my fair young liege, we must away from here!!" He motioned to me with his arms by waving them. But, could i trust him?
go with him because he's all merlyn looking p. 17
escape on your own p.55
stay in the room and hide p64
So the guy turns the knob and proscenes to open the door. And I dont even trip, I just all stand there, like, whats the what man?
He goes "Good, my young scholar, you're all awake and shit." When he bravely spoke these words I was completely taking a back! How could i be called a scholar! I'm just a brass tax down to earth total head! But, I was so intrigued by his words that I decided to listen on.
The guy, who was all british looking with a white beard, medieval knight armor, and an owl on his shoulder, said "I'm quite sorry for your painfulness at the rude way we absconded you, but unfortunately we had to be secret about it, because you're so important. You see, we need you to be the hagriographer for a very special someone."
I was speechless and dumbfloundered, i slacked my jaw and asked "Whats a hagriographer? Even somebody of my erudite learning doesn't know it all!"
The guy chuckled good naturedly and then gave me a good natured wink. "Well, liege, a hagriographer is like the men of old who trainscribed the glorious deeds of the kings of the realm!" As he said this he sweapt his arm high in the air.
Whoa! Trip out on that shit! What about my boat. As if he was psycically reading my mind's thoughts, he goes "
"Ha Ha Ha , i know what you're thinking of and its quite lol! But, true be told, if you make it big time, burn the midnight elbow grease and hunger down, I promise you that I am going to give you this very boat you have been abducted onto." Then he stroked his beard thoughtfully.
I wasn't no dumbass, so i was all like "Hey man, what kind of boat is this anyways, huh?"
Still stroking it, he said "Nothing but a 45TX with a 22 mv sinker and hull beepers. Not bad, yeah?"
I could only nod, he had me. "All right, who shall I be hagriographing? "
But before he could answer a loud voice was heard from outside the cabin "Evildoers, prepare to be boarded."
What!?! I was on a boat with evildoers? This guy might be a liar!
"Quickly my fair young liege, we must away from here!!" He motioned to me with his arms by waving them. But, could i trust him?
go with him because he's all merlyn looking p. 17
escape on your own p.55
stay in the room and hide p64
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