Saturday, July 2, 2011

I will return

It's been a while since I posted. Been busy with life, now that the nice weather is here I 've been getting out more often. But I will continue posting stuff. Here's something for today;

Part XXIV – Gaea’s Sentinel

“Storm’s comin’ in,” Dyer says, looking out over the plains, Kilimanjaro rising up through the clouds of the storm.
“It’s quite a sight.”
“Been a long time since I’ve seen somethin’ like this, or even felt real, clean rain.”
“Where you been, Dyer?”
“I live in Phoenix Arcodome now.  We don’t have real weather there; it’s all engineered.  But here, it’s beautiful.  Half the continent’s really a preserve?”
“Yep.  That’s what we fought the African Conflict for.  Those Farmtech bastards wanted to terraform hundreds of thousands of square kilometers, wipe out everything you can see, to engineer ‘better’ plants and animals.  We would’ve lost all this forever.”
“You think anyone else ever fought a war for nature before?”
“I don’t think anyone ever had to before.  This was one of the last places on Earth you could see it like it was; before people took over everything.  Before we needed a Gaea Liberation Front to wake people up.  Before the Earth Liberation Army was formed to stop those like Farmtech, and the Company, from taking away the last of Nature’s beauty.”
“It’s incredible you guys won.  Didn’t the E.L.A. nearly get wiped out?”
“A lot of lives were lost, on both sides, out here in the wild.  See that lone tree over there?”  He points.  “We lost over two hundred good men and women in the battle there.  We lost good friends and soldiers back then.  We were out to save the world.”
“Is that why you stayed out here?  Why you still live here?”
The tall, stocky man shoulders his old-style double-barrel slugrifle, and looks toward the approaching storm.
“This is the Earth as she was meant to be, my friend.  Now, c’mon; let’s go shoot some dinner, and maybe get you some native real animal skin souvenir of  your trip.”

Thanks for stopping by!

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

OMFG! Help out a great group of guys!

Ever wanted to get in on the ground floor of something awesome? NOW YOU CAN!!! Click the link to find out how YOU can help us make a toy dream come true! If you love me, you'll do it. ;)

 Outlandish Mini-Figure Guys!

The awesome poster!

The back of the card the figures will come on.

So help us out, and get a piece of toy history!  And stop by and let us know you support the project!
OMFG! - Forum Mini Figs - The Discussion Thread 

Thanks for stopping in!

Tuesday, June 7, 2011


Part XXIII – Nurse Cohen’s Part

“Are you feeling better now, Mr. Tone?” the voice on an intercom says.
“No.  Where’s Dr. Smith?”
“Dr. Smith has… other responsibilities.  He has asked me to handle your care.  My name is Doctor Jones.  I’ll be back later to check on your progress.”
“Progress would be letting me the fuck out of here!”  Rock shouts, wriggling in his restraint jacket.

“Did you know about Dr. Smith?”
“Yeah,” Nurse Cohen answers.  “Creepy; he died watching Mr. Tone’s nightmares.”
“Weird,” the other nurse says.
“The look on his face when we found him… horrifying.  Like something had scared him to death.”
“Do you think a dream could really scare someone to death?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Nurse Cohen lies to the other nurse, fearing she might sound crazy if she told the truth.  The truth that what Nurse Cohen saw on the screen in the monitor room, the mere seconds of twilight terror she could bear to witness, have invaded her own dreams.  She has slept little, and that restless the past two nights.  She cannot banish the dark vision of those horrible shadow-lurkers, dancing their otherworldly dance to a terrible, alien statue.  She cannot, no matter how she tries, forget the face of Rock Tone as those shadow-lurkers danced their cursed dance around that twilight statue he was bound to.  The terror in his eyes was like nothing she could ever have imagined.

Later that evening, as she lay in bed drinking hooch and smoking Syneshtia Flower, she thinks of Rock Tone again.
‘I’d go crazy, too, if I had nightmares like his.  I’m sure we’ll help him.’  She turns off her light, and out of the corner of her eye, she thinks she sees a shadowy figure slither itself behind her dresser.  ‘I at least hope we can do something for me.  I’m starting to lose it.’  She closes her eyes, exhausted, but dreading the twilight dreamscape awaiting her, and fearing the shadow-lurkers that will certainly invade her dreams again this night.

Saturday, June 4, 2011

I know, we all kinda look the same

I know to the untrained eye, all Orthodox Jewish men look the same; black suits, hats, and beards. But if you look at the details, it's pretty easy to tell the difference between certain sects. I'll tell you how to tell a Satmar from a Lubavitcher from a regular Orthodox when they're outside their own neighborhoods.
It's all in the face and the attitude. If he's nervous, a bit uptight, and clearly doesn't want to interact with you, he's a Satmar. If he's got a serious, businesslike expression and manner (and probably on his cellphone), he's Orthodox. If he's happy, maybe smiling, and has a cool, casual confidence about him, he's a Lubavitcher.
There's also the distinctive hats each group wears, but I'll get into that another time. Now you can tell the difference, and won't confuse me for a 'regular' Orthodox guy. You can tell by my smile. :)

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Back to our regularly scheduled program

Part XXII – Old War Buddies

“So what is it between you two?” the bald man asks after his partner leaves the room.
“What do you mean?” the blonde in the red dress asks back.
“I mean he’s very fond of you.  And you can’t really be old war buddies.  I mean, you’re what, twenty-one?”  He takes a swig of his hooch.
“I’m twenty-four, and yes, he knew me from the war.  Before then, even.  But I wasn’t in the war.  I was only sixteen.  But I wanted to be.”
“So how did you two get so close?”
“My father and him served together in the Syneshtan War, and before that when I was younger, in the African Conflict.  My father was killed in action in the War, so he and Aunt Sarah took care of me for a few years.  I feel horrible about Sarah and Zoe.  I haven’t been around for a few years.  I didn’t even know.  How has he been?  How did it happen?”
“He doesn’t talk about it.  A while back, he took off for a few days.  When he came back, he seemed better.  But then Declan got killed, and Rock’s in the hospital.  He seems fine, but I’m sure he…”
“Did you miss me?” he asks, sitting back in his chair.
“Terribly,” she replies sarcastically.
“We were doing just fine without you, don’t worry partner,” the bald man adds, drinking his hooch.
“Well don’t get any ideas about my niece here, old man.  She’s gonna settle down with a nice cyberdoc, or an offworld biologist, not some old merc like us.”
“Don’t worry, partner.  She’s way outta my league.”
“Why, thank you; I’m flattered,” she says, drinking her hooch from a glass.

It may be the hooch, or the distraction of a beautiful woman, but none of them notices the robotic fly in the room.  None of them suspect it has been observing them.  None of them even conceive the idea it could be a bomb, waiting to be swatted.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

I was abducted by aliens...

And I've accounted for the missing time, and am back on track now. They cloned me, and the clone went to work for me for the last few days. They took him with them, the bastards.

This is a post to let you know I'm back to posting. Trying to make it more regular, say three times a week. 

Only in NYC;
     A married couple on the train. He's Jewish, she's Chinese, they're speaking Russian.

     Two guys coming out of a restroom; 1st guy; Eeew, you didn't wash your hands? Gro-o-ooss.
         2nd guy; I keep rubbing alcohol in my pocket, I use that.
         1st guy; That's not rubbing alcohol, that's lube.
         2nd guy; Well if that's what you use for lube, no wonder you don't have a boyfriend.

Friday, May 13, 2011

Oh no, not again

Someone must get the reference in the title and the story. Someone must get this, I don't want to pass the Dennis Miller Ratio (3 in 100 people will get his references). I'll give you a prize, possibly a no-prize, if you get it right.
This is the third time I've written out this blog entry. Both other times, something went awry with Blogger, and the post was deleted. I hope this problem doesn't repeat itself. Or...Oh no, not again...

Part XXI – My Favorite Wilson

“Hurry up, they’re coming.”  Declan says, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“I’m working fast as I can,” says Wilson.  “This lock’s real tough.”  He’s jacked into the door, trying to crack it.  “Where’s the bald man and his partner?  They’re supposed to be here.”
“Don’t worry, Wilson.  They’ll be here.  They’ve never let me down before.”
“I’ve almost got it,” Wilson says, looking up.  “Here they come!”
Around the corner step three Securbots, rifles raised and ready to fire.  Declan runs into the group, vibro-sword swinging in a whirlwind blur of motion.  One bot’s gun is cut in half, another’s legs are chopped at the knee.  The third loses its head.  He finishes them off before they fire a single shot.
“Almost too easy,” Declan says, smiling.  A second later, he dives to the floor to avoid the bolter fire from the six Securbots coming down the hall.
“I can’t get the door!” Wilson shouts.  “I’ve been locked out!”
“Shit!” Declan shouts.
The six Securbots round the corner, rifles at the ready.
The door behind Declan and Wilson, the door that denied them entry, opens.
“Get in!” the bald man shouts.  He’s holding a single-missile launcher, ready to fire.
With Declan and Wilson in the lift, the doors begin to close, the Securbots begin to fire, and the bald man takes his one shot at the group of bots.  The whole lift, indeed the whole building, rocks with the explosion.  The lift stops suddenly on the thirtieth floor.
“Uh-oh,” Wilson grunts.  “Our vehicle’s on the twenty-fifth.”
“Mine’s on this floor.  I had to change the escape plan.  My partner’s driving,” the bald man explains.
“He can drive an aircar?”
The three of them exit the lift and run down the hall.  The bald man takes the lead, going into an office to their left.
“There’s no way out,” Declan remarks, looking around the room with only one door.
“Yes there is.”  The bald man sets small charges on the wall.  They blast a section clean out, allowing them access to the next room.  They climb through into the room with windows.  The bald man places explosives on a window, blasting a hole for them to escape through.
“Now what?” Declan remarks.
“Now we jump,” the bald man says, straight-faced.
“Serious?”  Wilson blurts out, surprised.
“It’s fine,” the bald man says.  “My partner’s waiting.  We’ve done this before.”
“You first,” Wilson gestures to the bald man.
“No.  All at once.”  He motions the other two toward the window.  Wilson moves slowly, still unsure.  This makes him the first the Securbots see when they come through the door, rifles ready.  Their bolters cut him down as he draws his pistol.
“Wilson!”  Declan yells as the bald man dives into him, taking them both out the hole in the window.

In the aircar on the way to Declan’s place on Level Two, he has his head in his hands, pulling at his short, black hair.
“Wilson,” he says.  “Dammit.  Shit!”
“Hey, I’m sorry Declan,” the bald man says, turning to his friend.  “We’ve all lost a buddy in battle.  I know it can hurt.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that.  Wilson’s a clone.  That was Wilson06.  I’ll just get another one.”
“Oh,” says the bald man, surprised.  “Then what’s wrong?”
“That particular Wilson had the data that we broke into that place to steal in his O.B.C.”
“He was my favorite Wilson,” the bald man’s partner chimes in, chuckling to himself.