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|Thursday, August 26th, 2004|
|Sunday, March 7th, 2004|
(continued from page 1)
... as Tiffany burst into a rendition of "I think we're alone now" in a half-assed attempt to launch her come-back career. Several problems were inherent in this spontaneous desire for attention.
1. No one would even give her the time of day, much less welcome her back.
2. ...well, that was the main one.
Jerry and Sheila looked up in confusion at the bloated & dyed redhead (they could clearly see the truth of the curtains from their groundfloor view of the rug). And then quickly forgot about the entire outburst, as Jerry felt an impending outburst of his own. "Consarnit, I KNEW I should have moisturized after my bath!" he cried.
Jerry's colon and skin cells lost all cohesion as he literally shit himself to pieces. Sheila was taken aback, and then reoriented to her original position.
At the commotion of Jerry's discorporation, Tiffany looked down at the floor and squealed lustily at the be-tentacled pet Sheila. Sheila flopped over uselessly in the shag carpeting, in a sad attempt to flee Tiffany's claws. Tiffany triumphantly trapped the tentacled toad, and raised it to the level of her eyes.
"Well now, I have a hankering for..."
|Sunday, November 23rd, 2003|
And in a silent blissful ecstasy Sheila wraped her glistening pubic tentacles around him and breathed her acne venom into Jerry, as he writhed on the wet checkered linoleum floor. He gurgled and whistled as he came like a malfunctioning Dispose-all, which coincidentially was
malfunctioning in the sink next to him.
After it was all over, and Jerry's final shivers of surging hormonal spasms quelled at last, he began to realise that he was feeling rather winded. And his scales were feeling rather oily.
"Oh %$^& what I would do for a pair of lungs," he growled as he lit a Cuban and squirmed off across the floor, gyrating his tail to propel him until he reached the carpet.
In the living room, Jerry's "owners", Tiffany and Bert wer still going at each other on the rug. They had knocked over a sturdy mosaic vase of slightly whithered daffodils and a hand crafted bowl full of organic unsalted peanuts on their mahogany coffee table with three legs shorter than the other.
It was at this time that Bert, who was until this moment a convulsing beet-red mass of knot of semen and sweat, noticed that he too
had three legs shorter than the other.
This was unusual for a centaur.
"What's wrong?" murmured Tiffany, "You stopped."
"The comparitively bloated side of my right front quadricep seems to have resulted in My remaining three legs to be shorter than the other," he said with a puzzled look on his face, which was slowly returning to its normal non-orgasmic colour.
She peered at the huge muscular equine appendages for some time, tossed her greasy blonde curls and said, "I don't see what you're talking about. It's not that the three legs are shorter than the other, rather the one leg is longer than the other three."
Before Bert could say anything, Tiffany began to slowly bounce up and down on the couch, her face contorting and changing from pink to mauve and back again as her eye twitched compuslively as though her whole face was in a spasmatic tic.
"Wha- What is it--Tiff? Tiffany?!" Bert screamed, as Tiffany...........
|Wednesday, July 23rd, 2003|
(continued it is being)
"... [cough] LEPT OUT OF HIS BOWL?"
Jerry blinks, leaps out of the cereal bowl and plummets to the carpet without so much as a sigh. The director slaps his forehead in frustration and flings the script behind his head, cursing choppily in Turkish.
But this was no ordinary Turkish director. By night he was asleep, but by day he was OSTVALDO the Turk with a silent T in his Mexican name! Those not closest to OSTVALDO the Turk with a silent T in his Mexican name's entourage were infected with acne in obvious and well-publicized ways. Y'know like the time Sheila decided to like just tag along with that like one drummer to like see if she could like score some blow but she like ended up blowing his like drumstick-thing or whatever, y'know. Like she's so groddy, like how can she like live with herself, yknow?? Like God knows how she got acne in her gallbladder, she's so like funky and gross like that y'know.
"Like ugh," said Jerry when he came to on the linoleum. He flopped as well a fish out of water could flopped and managed to situate himself right smack in the middle of the linoleum -- in full view of the raving mad pussy that was now standing over him.
"IT'S SHEILA!!!" squealed Jerry the maniacal fish bent on world domination. "I DONT WANT ACNE!!!"
(i bet you thought i meant a pussy cat)
|Sunday, June 1st, 2003|
But this was no ordinary fish! What the unsuspecting couple didn't suspect, was just what the fish had suspected they wouldn't suspect. What did they not suspect you ask? That this fish was none other than Jerry the Harbinger of DOOM!
Completely unknown to the quarelling couple, the fish they had won at that shady Tiajuana bar a couple years ago was actually a maniacal fish with aspirations of world domination. Jerry's brain had been unnaturally altered by an alien, who, while attempting to turn a smelly cow inside out with his lazer, missed and hit a common fish, in a common pond. You'd think that that would have been the end of Jerry. A rather unusually messy end to a perfectly usual fish. But you'd be wrong. You see, the variance receptors, that make the alien's lazer work, are set to identify the DNA of a cow, and turn them inside out from the genetic level. however, this lazer happened to malfunction slightly, when the lazer hit the fish, and read it's DNA, it didn't turn him inside out, instead it altered Jerry's brain into that of a meglomaniacal supergenius, bent on world domination!
well, as the saying goes: even the smartest fish, bent on ruling the world, can fall prey to tequila. Jerry was running a whore house down in tiajuana to raise funds for his secret army, when a stranger walked into the bar.
This was no ordinary stranger. in fact, he was quite a bit stranger than your average stranger. this stranger was a human supremacist with a special hate of icthyo-americans. well, long story short, the stranger got Jerry quite drunk that night on mezcal tequila (jerry likes worms cause he's a fish, duh), and the next thing Jerry knew, he was in a fish bowl being lugged home by a not to civil couple.
Jerry had spent his many hours in that bowl, on that table, near that couple, planning his escape. and tonight was the night! Jerry gathered his courage, held his breath and lept out of his bowl...
to be continued...
(in a town not quite in northern california, but still well within the "far far away" range...)
She thinks: Oh this poor community. Almost a year gone by and no one wanted to take up the story. Pssh. Start another one then... ?
He reads and thinks: Pft. You're the one who left the last story. This one will be left alone as well. Why do you bother?
She flips him off. He grabs her in a headlock and noogies her. The spectacle would eventually turn into a full blown wrestling match (folding chairs included) ...had they not noticed their audience, the goldfish floating uselessly in its bowl. This in itself was nothing unusual, the damn fish always floated uselessly about in the bowl.
Just never lengthwise along the surface. Current Mood: amused
|Saturday, August 3rd, 2002|
After a moment, realization fell heavily upon Jill and nearly killed her.
Jill stamped her foot in anger. "Hey watch it buddy!"
"So sorry," murmured realization, paling at the near-miss as it slid back towards the shadows. Jill was a near-miss after all, still bore plain scars from the surgery.
"Right," Jill muttered, her voice cracking.
Jill sniffed the air indignantly, crouched low to the floor, and began to make successive somersaults for lack of an exercise wheel. Jill rolled her eyes and stuffed Jill into an empty Pringles can. Jill slapped the plastic lid over the lip and put the can in her purse.
"I'm going to school now Mom," she called out.
"You can't," answered her mom from somewhere within the house.
"Eh? Why not?"
"You locked your cage remember? How will you get out?"
Jill gasped and looked at the lock on the cage door. The key was not there. She took out the Pringles can with Jill wedged inside from her purse and rummaged for the key, but it was not there either. Jill grabbed the wrought iron bars and shook them madly.
"Curses! Foiled again!" Jill spat in disgust.
And then a phantom voice was heard, calling "Freedom is... a State of Mind...
|Saturday, July 20th, 2002|
The man gave Jill a large pot. It was a very large pot... of cookies.
"Have some," said the man.
Jill crawled in. The cookies were good.
So, there we have it. Jill lived in a large pot of cookies. She ate them one by one. As the moon set and the sun rose, she continued to eat cookies.
Actually that was Jill's pet rat who was also named Jill. Jill was actually distraught because she couldn't find Jill. Jill's mom said, "Jill, honey, maybe Jill ran away!"
"But Jill wouldn't run away," said Jill. "Jill wouldn't! I love her!"
Jill's mom didn't have anything more to say.
So Jill spent everyday 20 minutes before school, and several hours after school ransacking the house looking for Jill. She eventually found her in the cookie jar. By that time, poor Jill was dehydrated.
"You have to learn to lock your cage better," Jill's mom said. "This way, you can't get out."
"I will," said Jill and she promptly opened her purse, got out the key and locked her cage.
|Wednesday, July 10th, 2002|
Jill's Tale, Part one
Jill started running after the man who had her purse, chancing upon a little shop set into the wall of the alley.
She was drawn to the shop, completely forgetting about her purse.
As she opened the shop door, The man behind the counter called out her name.
"Hello Jill, I knew you would come. I have something for you"
"Er, Hi. How did you know my name?"
"That is one of the true mysteries of life. Plus, it's glowing above your head, take a look"
He offered her a mirror to look in.
She took a look and said,
" I can see something, but I can't read it."
"Here try this"
He hands her another mirror
"Oh!" she said, "Now I understand, the words are backwards in the mirror, so you can read them normally."
"So, do you want what I have for you?"
"Sure, what is it?"
To Be Continued...
|Tuesday, July 9th, 2002|
"Jack....Jack....you poor boy..." The old man's ocean blue eyes rested sadly upon Jack's. "I wish I could help you out with this..."
Jack looked at the old man. What the hell was going on? What was this guy talking about? "Who are you?", he asked impatiently. He wanted answers. "Ever since I shot that guy in Mr. Evil's office my life's been insane! I'm kidnapped, taken to work for some organization, taken AGAIN, almost DROWN-". The old man raised his hand and cut Jack off mid-sentence.
"Jack, your life is over. You're not dead, necessarily. You've just ceased to exist in the same way as you did before. See, your life's gotten out of hand, and nobody wants to continue it." The look of puzzlement on Jack's brow gave all the response the man needed. "The powers that be, Jack. They're tired of you. They don't want to continue your life, and so you cease to live. It's as simple as that."
Jack knew this to be the truth. In any other case he'd have called one who said such things insane. In this case, however, he knew the man was correct. What was going on?
"Are you God?", Jack asked desperately.
The old man let out a long chuckle, his laugh echoing from walls that weren't there. "I've been called many things, Jack. I've heard that name before. I've been called God, the Devil, and even been called a bad acid trip. Rest assured, though, my friend. I'm not here to hurt you. Here there is no pain or suffering, just an endless calm."
"Don't fret, Jack. Bring your chair closer to mine and look at this space between us." Jack did as he was told, and was greeted by an image that floated in the space. A young woman was walking down a crowded street. She was average height and weight, with brown hair and strikingly dark eyes. "Jack, this is Jill. Something is about to happen that will take her life in an entirely new and fantastic direction. Watch."
As the words left the man's mouth, Jack saw a man bump Jill, grab her bag, and break for an alley. "Watch with me, Jack. Watch Jill's story..."
|Monday, June 24th, 2002|
Jack opened his eyes, glancing nervously around the blackness into which he'd awoken. Was this part of his mission briefing? He couldn't see anything at all...only black...
Then the spotlight activated, shining brightly upon a spot some thirty feet in front of him to reveal an old, crooked man. Most of the hair from his head was gone, and his beard nearly reached his waist. He kept himself propped with an ancient looking cane, at the head of which there was a strange dark gem. It seemed to absorb the light around it, giving the appearance of a small, contained void. The man motioned to Jack, speaking with a voice that seemed to echo with a thousand pitches and accents...
"Sit down, m'boy." Only then did Jack notice the two wicker chairs sitting opposite one another in the spotlight. Had they been there before? He could not tell. He felt compelled to sit, though. Something about this old, mysterious man made him want to sit and listen to what he had to say. Unsure, he made his way to the chair opposite the old man's and did the only thing he could. He listened...
|Thursday, June 13th, 2002|
Jack looked left and right...There was no escape! No windows, no ventilation ducts. Trapped like a rat on a sinking ship! He realized there was no escape and, like the trained professional he was, did not panic, but pushed aside the broken robot and sat down, enjoying the smooth feel of a leather chair. "Mmm...when I die I'm asking God for one of these chairs." He looked around, noticing that, although the water was pouring in rapidly, it was not raising. He was confounded. Was this part of Mr. Evil's sick game? No wonder the secret agency that he did not work for wanted to kill the man. He heard shouting from the corridor...
"YOU FORGOT TO SEAL THE DOOR?! WHAT AM I PAYING YOU FOR? WHAT GOOD ARE EVIL MINIONS IF THEY'RE TOO STUPID TO SECURE A PROPER TRAP!" Jack looked down and sure enough, the water was flowing out under the door for just a moment before it burst open, revealing the burly guard who'd just kicked it in.
A man identical to the robot, though a tad older, stepped out from behind the guard, looking rather angry and flustered. "Ahem...Jack? Yes. I've decided to give you a second chance. Oh...wait a minute." He spun 180 degrees. "You have failed me, and now you die." He shot the guards in the chest, then returned to face Jack. "A bunch of idiots, really. Evil henchmen come cheaper by the dozen, but they're just not as high quality as they used to be. But this is no time for nostalgia. Jack, I am Mr. Evil. You've already met and, well...destroyed my robot duplicate, so I'm sure you recognized me."
Jack, dumbfounded by what he'd just seen, responded. "Wait. You just tried to kill me. And I just watched you kill five of your employees. Why would I want to work for you?"
"Oh. Them. Well no one really liked them anyway, so killing them was par on the good/evil scale, don't you think? But yes, you should work for me. If you refuse I can kill you right here. I'm not quite as thick-headed as some of my supervillain associates and will gladly shoot you here and now. If you accept, however, I will not only spare your life, but give you a fine employment opportunity with full retirement, 401k, a dental plan, and three weeks of paid vacations per year. And don't try to stab me like you did my robot. I'd take that as a 'no' and be forced to eliminate you."
Jack thought this over for a moment. The prospect of not being killed was very appealing at this point. "Alright. I accept. Explain what you need me for, and we'll work something out."
Mr. Evil grinned as Jack felt a sting in the back of his neck. "Just a tranquilizer, Jack. Don't worry. I'll explain when you wake up....."
Jack's world went black.
|Wednesday, June 5th, 2002|
'What?' Jack though, 'Here I haven't even received my mission details yet from a secret agency I didn't know I worked for, and I've already made contact with the enemy leader. Derf. Well, maybe this is part of the mission.'
"I'm listening," Jack responded to the receiver.
"My employees will escort you to my office," Mr. Evil responded. The phone clicked off as one of the six henchmen pulled a potato sack out of his pocket and thrust it over Jack's head.
"Ouch! You forgot one of the potatoes!" Jack yelled in a muffled voice. After an hours journey in what seemed suspiciously like an Amish horse drawn carriage, the sack was lifted from his head to reveal a round office decorated entirely in black leather. A dark handsome man with impeccable skin turned slowly in a swivel chair to face Jack.
"Ah! I see you have arrived," Mr Evil began, "I hope your voyage was pleasant. Now--you must be wondering why you have been brought here. The truth is, Jack, that I am currently undertaking a world-changing project and my research indicates that you alone possess skills vital for its success. The project itself involves a complex subterranean energy vortex with manatees and fruit smoothies playing essential roles. You understand, of course, that the full details will be revealed once you swear your allegiance. Will you assist?"
In response, Jack rushes over, and before Mr. Evil's bodygaurds can stop him, grabs a sharp silver letter opener from the desk and jams it into Mr. Evil's throat. Jack winced, expected an aortic blood flow to gush over his hand, however, was puzzled when only a few sparks were emitted from the wound. BZZZ. "That's right Jack. I am only a robot! You failed Mr. Evil's test!"
Jack turned to see that all of the henchman were gone. He raced to the door, only to find that it would not budge. As he pondered his next move, he noticed his feet felt unusually cold and wet. Glancing down, he was aghast to find that the room was slowing filling with water!
|Wednesday, May 29th, 2002|
"This is a really long hallway..." Jack thought to himself. He felt like these men had been dragging him for no less than 10 minutes. He was glad that his arm no longer hurt, but now his stomach pained him.
"Maybe I should have been less picky. Maybe I could have picked out the worms without their noticing....oooogh..." The guards chuckled as they heard a rather large growl escape his stomach.
The next growl was particularly loud and all but one guard laughed. They had not realized how near they were to the wild animal containment facility and the furthest man to the left had been caught across the head by a swiping tiger claw from the nearest cage. Seizing the opportunity for confusion Jack stole through the nearest open door.
Passing cubicle after cubicle he heard only one sound. A ringing phone. It was a Saturday and even secret corporations gave their secret employees the weekend to relax, so who would be calling a secret headquarters on a Saturday?
He reached for the phone and held it to his ear...
"H-Hello?", stuttered Jack.
"Good afternoon, Jack. This is Mr. Evil. You and myself have a great deal to discuss..."
|Friday, May 24th, 2002|
Jack spun around. There was Tricia McMilliam and another man. "Jack," she said. "I have a mission for you. But first you need to eat this."
Jack looked down. "It's a burrito," he said.
"Yes," she said. "Eat it."
"It doesn't look very good."
"Just eat it."
"It has worms crawling out of it."
"The worms kill bacteria. They also let us track where you are."
"That's it huh."
"Either you eat it, or we feed you to the worms. They also kill people who aren't loyal to us."
"Loyal to you?"
"Don't you know who we are? Didn't your employeer tell you anything?"
Tricia considered this. "Then it's probably a good thing. Better not to know anything. Eat it anyway."
"That's it," the burly man next to Tricia McMilliam said. "I've seen enough. Throw him out."
Six more burly guys came. They grabbed Jack by the arms and began to haul him down a long and dark corridor.
|Tuesday, May 21st, 2002|
strangely, headquarters was actually only two blocks down. jack looked up surprised at both the short length of the trip, and the sign in front of him.
"why are we at foot locker?"
she ignored his question, and he followed her into the store. immediately he was rushed by a large man dressed as a referee, and the last thing he saw was a needle being injected into his arm.
when he awoke his arm had been reattached and there was a strong smell of lavender in the air. he looked down to see himself completely exposed except for a brand new pair of puma tennis shoes secured on his feet. he was about to get up when he heard a noise behind him...
|Tuesday, May 14th, 2002|
"My name is Tricia McMilliam." She waited for a response, to see the light of recognition in his eyes. There was none. This guy is really dedicated to his cover, what an agent, she thought.
Jack continued to stare at her breasts thinking: she's looking at me like i should know her or something, i don't understand. My arm hurts.
After a rather uncomfortable silence, and a couple angry exclamations from the customers behind Jack, Tricia said, "Jack, follow me." She then made her way to the door in the back of the coffee house. Jack followed, blood trailing.
Jack followed the girl out the back door and into a dark and lonesome alley. His pulse quickened as he realized that she was going to take pity on him. He excitedly started unzipping his pants.
"The Crow Flies At Midnight!" Tricia boldly exclaimed. And, after no reaction she repeated, "The Crow Flies At Midnight! Are you ears hurt too?" You know, she thought to herself, he IS cute, but i'm tired of the agency sending these undertrained agents. Obviously annoyed, she took his hand away from his zipper and shouted, "Look! Stop playing with yourself, there's just no time! If we're going to save the world, we've got to get to it! Now, what is the code?!"
"My arm hurts," Jack replied.
Oh Shit! What orders did that mean? I can't remember, she thought. Was it to continue? or to stop and flub the mission? was it to head to the warehouse? i can't remember. oh shit oh shit oh shit. And i've been ordered to keep radio silence. What am I going to do?!
"Are you ok? I mean, I'm the one who should look upset here, my arm's off!" Women, jack thought, always so damned dramatic. "What was all that rot about saving the world? I mean, i'm interested, i love the world. Without it i'd have no place to live."
"Oh, nevermind the orders, come with me!" And with that said, she grabbed him by the arm, his good arm that is, started to drag him out to the street, and said: "OK! Lets go get your arm re-attached at the headquarters, figure out our orders, and save the world!"
Well, at least I have something to do for work now, jack thought. Whatever it is, it's gotta beat working for Mr. Evil. I wonder what will happen when she finds out I'm a different Jack.
They reaced the end of the alley, where it opens up to the street, jumped athleticly into her shiny black convertable, and drove off into the sunset, heading towards Mission HQ!...
Jack got a cramp and died.
He was shot in the head with a deagle. But the deagle was very heavy, and using .50 calibr so the guard's arm fell off. The guard was upset. He had to go to the doctor.
The doctor said, "Sorry, you chose to use this weapon. Your company doesn't cover it."
"Goddamnit!" the ex-guard said. "I quit!" He walked outside with his dangling arm. It hurt alot. He decided to go to a coffee house.
He stood in line, dripping blood. People avoided him. Someone who worked there came up and said,"Excuse me sir, you're dripping blood. I'm going to have to clean this up later. I hope you're happy!"
"Ha ha!" the ex-guard said. "Serves you right!" He went to the counter where a beautiful college girl worked. She winked at him.
Then she noticed his arm. "Ouch," she said. "That must bite."
"It does," The ex-guard said.
"What's your name?" she asked. The guard squinted at her breast for a nametag which was easy because he was looking there anyway.
"My name is Jack," said the guard.
"Hi Jack," said the coffee girl. "My name is Tricia McMilliam."
|Saturday, May 11th, 2002|
in fact there was but one guard all the way there. Jack ran through the office killing everyone in sight with his Deagle. He then jogged up the stairs and burst into the central room.
"Mr Evil! I have come for you!"
There was a large chair and Jack pulled it around to reveal a note.
Dear Jack, I have gone away for a little while. Please enjoy my present. Signed, Mr Evil.
Mr Evil, eh? Jack looked around and found a small blue box. He shook it a great deal and then opened it when it didnt explode. Inside was a bunch of sushi.
"Gosh," Jack said. "Whoever the sushi chef was didnt do a very good job." Indeed not, Jack, for the sushi was scattered everywhere, randomly lying about, dipped in this or that. Jack saved a piece for the lab boys to investigate. A veteran knows about these things. He trusts his instincts. And right now, Jack's stomach was growling.
So he ate it.
That was good. Nope, not evil at all. Jack wondered if Mr Evil might be slipping in his old age. Alas, Time to fight his way out.
Now there were guards everywhere. Jack stumbled around, jumping behind a desk and grabbing hold of some desks to use as shields. As he was fighting, he began to feel ill! OH NO! Mr Evil's subtle plot was working, Jack, on a full stomach was getting stomach cramps! Would this be the end of Jack?
... There was a time when Jack would have worried about such things... But that was a long, long time ago. The mission is now the greater good.
Of course the funny thing was is that Jack really did need to go to the bathroom. He made his way down the hall and to the right. Details aside, he finished his buisness.
As if serendipity struck twice in the same spot, There is a stairway next the the restrooms. Jack heads upwards and onwards.
Up one floor, weapon out, always expecting rivaly, he turns the corner. There is a sense, almost like a sixth sense, that gives the verteran the advantage, and Jack is a definate veteran.
It is the skill of foresight and intuition that allows Jack the first shot. In a gunfight, it's the first shot that counts, for even if a person is dealt a minor wound, it's enough to turn the tables. This day though, the tables are turned for Timmothy Howard, 2nd lieutennant, Armstrong Security. He goes down in a crumpled, confused heap, holding the hold in his chest seeping forth his lifeblood in incredulity. This can't be the end, mother, he thinks, I'm so young... There's so much I haven't see-m. . . I - can't - see... it's - so - cold...
Casualties are part of the buisness, it's better him than me thinks Jack as he runs up to the 14th floor. Funny that there was only one guard...