February 3, 2018 at 3:00 pm #149565
Today, my morning run along the fiord to the job you promised me had ‘nothing dangerous’ about it, was interrupted. A half-kilo out, I saw my car was torn in half. Rooting through the wreckage was a troll. He had a height of eight feet, shoulder span of about five, nose width about two. He saw me and gave chase till he realized sunrise was imminent.
He ran back to the shack, attempting to get under it, but smashed through it completely, along with the entire inventory, save a single beach umbrella and five packs of salted nuts. I would have took a picture with my cellphone, but I have no space left. My family photos are much more important as they have passed on.
He was looking for cold medicine, as one of his victims had had a cold. He sneezed out a booger as big as my head, which turned to feldspar. In doing so, he nearly dropped the umbrella that was keeping his upper third safe, save most of an ear and his left arm. I demanded payment for your business and my car. He refused, explaining he wouldn’t buy anything broken. I realized his home was probably under the old bridge another hundred meters past my parking place. I told him he could give me all his gold or give me the umbrella back. He agreed and told me how to enter his lair. After I had a look at the other items in his possession and took a partial deposit, I demanded all his stored possessions in exchange for not phoning the quarry before sunset. I demonstrated by calling the realty company for the value of the building just destroyed and the approximate value of a gravel-covered lot in its place. He agreed, though angrily. I called a cab. I went to town. I hired an armored truck, began your insurance claim, requested a tax reassessment and a large dumpster, and personally visited a rental car agency, a department store, a bank, and the quarry.
I made him agree not to come after me or send anyone or anything after me in exchange for four tubes of sunblock, which I applied with a long-handled mop. He ate the mop, the umbrella, and the nuts afterwards in exchange for loading the dumpster with all the debris he didn’t wish to eat with his then-free arm. With the armored truck and the dumpster full, I drove off as the quarry workers arrived, ready to hose off some sunblock and harvest some stone. I had several more stops to make with my rental, including the bank, the police, and the post to send you this notice.
You will see I am not heartless, as I opened a business account in your name for the retail amount of the inventory I could verify, the till amount minus my coming net pay, and a sizeable deposit for a new business location. The police now have several missing persons’ belongings and a story they don’t believe. Your cousin? The one with the cold? They verified for me he was working the shack when he disappeared. They’ll ask you some questions, no doubt. Since I didn’t move to this frozen wasteland till after he was eaten, they didn’t do more than check my passport history and listen to me claim I ‘found’ their stuff under a bridge.
Don’t try to find me. He told me how to call trolls to eat my enemies. I’m retiring somewhere sunny with very few bridges.
Harry BrownFebruary 10, 2018 at 7:59 pm #149641
My master and I were sailing his fishing boat further out when came upon an inky-black part of the sea. He had been teaching me the second lesson in judo recently, and so we went ashore to practice on a rust-brown sandy beach.
The thing that attacked us he called an ‘ork’ later. He swung a spiked ball on a chain riveted and plated to where his left hand should have been and had an odd scimitar in his right hand.
He hit the stump of a tree as I dodged. My master pushed a dagger into the chain and twisted. As the chain broke, the ork swung his blade. My master dodged, and the blade cleaved the old stump, but lodged there. My master put a thumb-lock on the ork, and it TORE LOOSE OF ITS OWN THUMB. In spinning to attack my master again, it caught its right foot under its own blade and tore it off. Roaring, it limped after us down the beach. We reached the boat without issue. I asked my master whether we should kill it out of mercy.
My master pointed at it wedging a boulder loose from the muddy shore, and asked, “Mercy for it or for its next foe?”
It heaved that boulder over fifteen man-lengths in our direction. It landed a mere hand-span from our boat and nearly capsized us. We sailed on. *orcsFebruary 17, 2018 at 6:09 pm #149727
Shown here with two nymphets (one naiad, one dryad,) this is the Faunz!
*Fauns-winnahFebruary 24, 2018 at 5:02 pm #149884
“When Pete Caught A Pair Of Clamshells”
*March 17, 2018 at 1:55 pm #150105
“Theros was a center of trade, a peaceful people as any viewglass will show. When the serpent awakened and emerged to hunt, there were only three survivors out of seven thousand. The serpent retired once more to its thousand-year sleep. The heirs are willing to trade half their inherited lands for proof the serpent will not return. Its head being the size of a hundred men closely gathered, their representative will travel to where it is killed for a homestead of the heirs choosing. The Poison Swamps remain not for sale or trade.”March 17, 2018 at 6:22 pm #150116
“Dear? Be sure to wear your Deluxe SuperFilter tonight! The toxin level is at an eighty-two!”
*Winnah! cityscape contestMarch 31, 2018 at 1:42 pm #150317
Part of the Minotaur story not focused upon in legend: An angry King Minos, on discovering his wife had cheated on him with the Cretan Bull, smashed the wooden cow she’d had made for the ‘event’ and bloodied her with a savage beating. Legends do say the Minotaur had an appetite for blood, but do not agree on where it learned to consume it. With mother’s milk would be one way, certainly. Perhaps its first bassinet was the broken wooden headpiece of the cow? At birth it would have cloven feet, stubs for horns, and light gray skin, as the cattle on Crete are a breed ranging from dark gray to charcoal gray, unlike the white of the unique Cretan Bull.
It was hated and feared and taught every negative thing it could have been taught. It takes a man to not become a monster.
*minotaurApril 7, 2018 at 6:06 pm #150429
Sometimes it seems like the whole world is a bad fit.
*CentaurApril 22, 2018 at 5:54 am #150567
The press have been shut out. Witnesses won’t talk. Police won’t give a statement. Fifty-one bad shots by yours truly and ONE good picture of this nutjob leapin’ over a wall. By the TATTLE! Dumb rag got lucky. All anybody knows is that ‘Southpaw’ slices up people born in the year of the Rat and the year of the Ox that graduated from St. Paul High School. An Asian studies expert was hired. Alls they know is that it’s somebody with a grudge . . . who can get custom-forged metal claws, order high-quality ninja shoes off the net, and stitch together old silk pajamas and fake fur.
Nutjob’s victims have moved all over. Havin’ trouble trackin’ ’em down for protection.April 28, 2018 at 6:22 pm #150638
That lamebrain thought I wrote down EmCZ. That’s my name now. Never mind, it sounds rapper-cool enough and I get free cubic zirconiums in my fan mail. My strength and flight are one and the same, really. Forcefields. The muscles I get from focusing my body on what I want the fields to do. Figures though, that I get the ONE journalist can’t read a physics equation or listen to simple instructions. I WANTED them to call me ‘Curie.’ It’s all right . . .June 23, 2018 at 3:20 pm #151290
Low-level Mystique / Elastigirl, but male and villainous. Here, he conceives of a lotto scam.August 17, 2018 at 8:49 pm #152177
“And for the following, bids will start at three meals, one backscratch. A prototype from a protohuman, Unga’s Bunga was not sold previously because Unga was clubbed to death by a rival for the affections of a certain other attractive protohuman, who shall remain nameless in this exchange. Had Unga been holding this weapon, painstakingly flint-knapped by Dorg Of The Steady Hands, instead of the attractive protohuman’s hair, the incident would have had a much different outcome. It is shaped explicitly for Unga’s hand, but any of your tribe’s healthy members should have a good grip. Unga’s Bunga is suitable for melee combat, crushing nuts, hammering stakes or pikes around a campsite, tenderizing meat, or assuring an attractive protohuman’s compliance.
Do we have an opening bid?”September 3, 2018 at 7:18 am #152377
This Artist-themed chess set is base-cast in resin, details factory carved, and individually sealed with Certanium-brand sealant to reduce fragility. 1. The pawns are figures of elderly men whittling. Some variance occurs within the hair and hand posing.
Available by internet sale only, 229.99 USD.September 30, 2018 at 6:29 am #152714
Cornelius belongs to that normally un-named clique, the Manipulators or the Framers. One of his favorite gags? Do something showy and stupid, claiming that someone threatened to beat him if he didn’t. Some of the teachers don’t believe him, especially that a bully might “tear off his [skinny jeans] pants” but somehow leave on his sneakers, but would rather play along than have to hand-write HIS full name on the detention slip.November 4, 2018 at 4:54 am #153131
I’d forgotten about ‘Mae’ for years. A man came to me and explained that if his pregnant wife was ‘good and rested up’ that the doctor said she could go trick or treating with their niece. They’d lost their home in a fire, and her estranged mother, dead a few months, had willed them her home.
. . . So I came in and visited two to three hours at a time as I could, giving them direction. The old lady was a chemo survivor, so her wig and her makeup went right on the papier mache headpiece, which was balanced and supported by a padded backpack. ‘Executioner-mask mesh’ made a great mask mouth and look-through. Mae’s own hair in a loose topknot for add’l padding and a few locks out through the mesh mouth. The good news is that though she went into premature labor the kid was born fine. The bad news is that the unused headpiece was destroyed when the kid flooded the garage as he started crawling. More good news? We found out as they cleaned up that it’s a good thing we didn’t go. The next door neighbors had a son go missing the Halloween before wearing an identical costume to the one we cut up for the arm and leg. More bad news? We bought it at Goodwill, and the police had no way of tracing what we gave them. Luckily our alibis checked out.
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