Monday, February 26, 2007

A Note Found in a Bottle That Washed up on Shore in Oceanside, CA.

The note was scratched onto palm tree bark with a stick or some other such object.

To whomever finds this:

Contact customer service at Daegon Teleporters Inc.

Tell them customer Geraldine Mackovic from Wren Falls, MO is stranded on an island somwhere thanks to their lousy product. I can't remember the order number. I was only transporting to Chicago to help my daugter with her new baby.

I have no sunblock and I'm sick of eating fish and coconuts.

(Posted by Marcy)

Saturday, February 24, 2007

Polyports Sucks!

To: Polyports Corporate office – Terran Industries division

From: One pissed off Mutha F****-er

Hey you big genital lesions, you suck! I would come down there and rearrange your face right now but I can’t, you know why? ‘cause my teleporter don’t work for shit and my face got rearranged. My nose is upside down you worthless sons of rats. It rained yesterday and I nearly drowned!

One of my eyes is in the back of my head and I wake up every morning with a black eye. I can’t see in 3D any more you spawn of the oozing pus from a diseased yak scrotum!

If I ever get my hands on you I am going to do to you what you did to my dog. The front half of him juts out of the front of my house and the back half of him sticks out into the living room. That’s the wrong end facing inside, let me tell you and he barks at the neighbors all day long. I have to tear down my house to get him out!

You sons of a motherless goat deserve to die. I tried to get to one of your stores on Io, but you need a teleporter to get there! How can you sell a product like this which does not work? Don’t send me a new one, come here and fix all of your mistakes! Then when you are done I am going to teleport a big steaming pile of massive Nerf poop into your intestines and watch you squirm!

You are the embodiment of evil.

You deserve to die.

Respectfully,

Turrets Mosley III

Thursday, February 22, 2007

In the matter of your transporter, model number 08746

TO: Satish Mahalzat
c/o Syntech Transports

FROM: Cletus B.

RE: Transporter model 08746


Dear Mr. Mahalzat:

I purchased your home model of the E-Z Tranz personal transporter 30 days ago. I am writing to express my utter disappointment with your product and demand a full refund after your company puts my head back where it was.

I was using your product Wednesday to go from my house here in Farmington, N.Y. to the racetrack in Watkins Glen, N.Y. Previously I used the E-Z Tranz to make trips to the store, the lake, and Ghana, and after this week I would have used it to go to the doctor. But my sister drove me there in her pickup, as I can no longer sit in my own car. That’s because your product put my head where my rear should be, and vice versa.

Do you know what it’s like to fart burps? I don’t think you do, because if you did you would clearly put a warning on the box that this product may induce head and butt reversal, and as such make it difficult for users to sit or wear hats. As it is, I’ve had to endure taunts from the neighborhood kids who call me assface.

I sincerely hope you have a compensation plan in place for me, as I will undoubtedly sue you and your company until I’m blue in the face. Which, may I remind you, is just below my back.

My terms are thus: Make my body the way it was, plus compensate me for the anguish your product has caused. My lawyers and I determine that price is $1,000,000,000,000. Any less and I will see you in court. That is, unless you’re in front of me.

Thank you for your urgent attention to this matter.

Yours,

Cletus Buttheadski

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

Green blues

By Bryan

You are sixteen, prom time is nigh, and
your moss suit needs watering.
The way the light catches it, you swear
there are gold flecks in it. But it's been
getting browner since you first hung it
in the downstairs shower, away from the creeping
soap scum blanketing the bath between your room
and your sister's.
You've been spending all your time trying
to care for it but what the hell do you know
about horticulture?

Prom Transportation

By Marcy, who has been watching way too much "Super Sweet Sixteen" latey and thinks those spoiled girls need a dose of reality.

Rick Masters asked me to the prom – I was floored! I of course said yes and I skipped school the very next day to find a dress. Daddy gave me his credit card and told me to get whatever I want – like I wouldn’t anyway! I found the most awesome dress ever – it was deep purple satin with a barely there neckline by some designer I can’t pronounce. And I don’t care – I just loved it. It perfectly shows off my new boobs that Daddy gave me for Christmas. I found the perfect shoes to go with it – only $750, a real steal. And the jewelry – oh, god, the jewelry. Diamonds, that’s all I can say. $15,000 worth of sparkle, all on me! I wanted to wear something that would match the tiara when I won prom queen. And I knew they were going to vote me prom queen because I had thrown the most amazing Sweet Sixteen party and invited the entire school earlier that year. They owed me prom queen.

So prom night came, and I was getting dressed after a luxurious spa day to relax from school that week. Daddy had arranged for a Hummer Limo to pick up me and my friends - I was so stoked!! I put on my dress and my amazing jewelry, and my cheap shoes, and checked my hair one last time – making sure the updo had enough room for a tiara in front of it. And when I opened the door to my room …

…I don’t know how to describe it. It was like the house wasn’t even there. Instead there was a dark, torch lit cave. I looked back into my room, which looked perfectly normal. I thought maybe Daddy was playing some kind of practical joke on me, so I walked out and closed the door behind me. I called for him, but nothing changed. And when I turned around to go back in my room, the door was gone. It was just solid rock. I walked through the cave, crying off my mascara in the process. My heel broke on my cheap-ass shoes. I had to find the way out. And I didn’t get any cell phone reception wherever I was. But I have to say, my diamonds sparkled amazingly in the torchlight.

At last I found the mouth of the cave, and there were a group of scummy looking guys sitting around a fire. Three of them wore furs, and had large weapons sitting next to them. One of them wore a grey cloak, and looked at me as if he had seen a ghost. I told them who I was, that I was lost, and that I don’t know how to get home. They spoke in some sort of guttural language I didn’t understand. The scummy guys with the weapons looked like they were going to attack me, but the guy in the grey hood stopped them.

That was 5 years ago. I’m now 20 years old, and I don’t think I’ll ever make it home again. The tribe that adopted me claims I’m some sort of good luck omen. They feed me well and shelter me. I even understand their language now, mostly. But I miss Daddy, and my friends, and I wonder if Rick Masters thinks I stood him up. He had the prettiest green eyes.

Saturday, February 17, 2007

Nobody means maybe


When Lisa Hunt had politely told him maybe, he was sure that it meant no. It wasn’t just that he woke up thinking about her every day, day dreamed about her during all of his classes, thought of her before he went to sleep and then dreamed about her all night. It was that nobody said maybe unless they meant, “No, but don’t make a scene.” Why would she want to go with him any way? She was perfect and he was lame.

So he had agreed to DJ the dance. Looking at Senior Prom as a gig took some of the sting out of it. Instead of spending all of his money of corsages, overpriced dinners and a shared limo he would rake in a sizable bundle of cash which he could put toward that used Pontiac in the Autotrader. He might be able to snag the car just after he passed his drivers test. It wasn’t a complete disaster. He might even sneak in some Goth or Acid rock and freak out the yuppie clones.

The theme song from Trailer Park Boys wafted up from his hip and he looked down at his cell Text message? Who sent him text messages? Thumbing a few buttons he pulled it up. “Maybe = Yes!” he read with a bolt of adrenaline. She said yes! The girl of his dreams was going with him to Prom, this was the best day – his elation incinerated instantly – and I’m the DJ!

Shit!


-BriHack

Monday, February 12, 2007

Compound Eyes

A parody of Peter Gabriel's In Your Eyes
By Marcy

Bugs, we get so lost, sometimes
I’m stuck, in an office with only one door
though I want to fly away
I wound up on this wall
There’s a spider to my left
And a guy with a swatter down the hall

All my instincts, they return
A gazillion lights, in my eyes they burn
without a noise, without my pride
I stick to the wall’s side

Compound eyes
Fluorescent lights
Compound eyes
They burn so bright
Compound eyes
I see the doorway and a thousand doorknobs
Compound eyes
the resolution is so high definition
Compound eyes
If I look, I have a thousand feet
Compound eyes
oh, I want to make my retreat
Everywhere I look I have to see
With compound eyes

Lights, they cause me to see so much pain
I get so tired of working so hard for my survival
It’s all my fault for reading Kafka before going to sleep

All my instincts, they return
A gazillion lights, in my eyes they burn
without a noise, without my pride
I stick to the wall’s side

Compound eyes
Fluorescent lights
Compound eyes
They burn so bright
Compound eyes
I see the doorway and a thousand doorknobs
Compound eyes
the resolution is so high definition
Compound eyes
If I look, I have a thousand feet
Compound eyes
oh, I want to make my retreat
Everywhere I look I have to see
With compound eyes

Fly on the wall

By Bryan

ZZZhit! Why’s it so FRIGGIN cold in here?! Is it me? It must be me. Gotta get my wings de-iced. What’s this thermostat say? Crap! I can’t read! Gotta get someone to turn it up. Ooh – who’s that? The new guy? He’ll do. Now to buzz his ear – Whoa! He’s a quick one! Not to worry – the ol’ Dodge, duck, dip, dive and dodge trick evades ‘em every time. Better back off just in case.
Look up here, dude! Look! The thermostat! You know you wanna turn it up. You’re cold, man! You’re already rolling down your sleeves. Crank that heat! Crank it! Uh oh. Who’s this now? The blonde from accounting? Man, she works fast! She’s got him smiling now, though … good … now make some small talk … the weather … good, man – you’re almost there … How cold is it out? Cold enough to TURN UP THE HEAT! C’mon – be the man! Turn it up for her! Hurry! She’s walking away! Ugh. You blew it, dude.
Aha – you’ve go the temp on your computer screen! Look at your screen, man! No – not your folder – over here! I’ll just land on the weather report here … uh oh … my feet won’t stick … slipping … slipping … Aw nuts! I’m on a coffee ad?!? Wait … he’s getting up. Good! Now just go over to the – NO! Not the coffee machine!!! Wings .. frozen shut … can’t move … I’ll just have to rub my hands and try to stay warm. Gotta get off this screen. Too … cold … must move wings …

Thunk.

Thursday, February 08, 2007

Fly 007

Have you heard the latest buzz? He’s back! The Lord of the Flies, agent double-Oh-Wingus himself, Ormia Ochracea. As we catch up with our hero he clings precariously to a wall, listening in on the delicate negotiations between the Umboogoo tribe of lower Drekthia and the lung people from the planet sneeze. Apparently the Sneezians have great need of the special leaves grown only in the Drekthians coastal regions. The Drekthians are happy to trade their leaves; they just think that the Lungians are rude and hostile. To the Umboogoo wheezing is a sign of disrespect, similar to probing the inner lining of your nose in public or drinking from a stranger’s mocha-chino. Lungians sound like they are wheezing all the time, its just what happens when most of your body is composed on lung. Needless to say, negotiations are tense.

Man, I would kill for stucco, and I can, I have the license. Not on me, it’s too big, but at home I have a license to kill and I would totally use it right now… Good old irregular stucco, you don’t even have to cling to it, you just find a nice spot and settle in, but no… these negotiations always take place in rooms walled with smooth marble or a ba-zillion mirrors. Even some knotted pine would be OK. When I was a maggot we lived in some knotted pine, good stuff. It’s still decorative, yet easy to cling to. No one is impressed by marble and mirrors any more. Oh, crap, I’m slipping. What were they saying down there?

Tune in next week when we find out the thrilling conclusion to the adventures of our favorite fly guy. Will he learn the critical information? Will he be spotted? Will he find a rough surface which is easier to adhere to? Will we see the return of his arch nemesis Archibald C. Swatter? Stay tuned!


-BriHack

Tuesday, February 06, 2007

Bryan's contribution to this week's assignment

Having been hit by a preposterous proposal from one Samuel J. Ledley of Cambridge, who in his desire to explore the fashion trends of the Franco-Prussian war illuminated the many arguments of historians seeking to unearth the origins of buckled shoes (and whether the soles of which could be entirely fabricated from the cartilaginous gristle of discarded tendons found wholly in subsidized Scottish lowland farms), I was forced to promote a matrix within the relatively small social circle of Merovingian scholars at Saxonbury that directly correlated four points: that Portugese bluebills could, in fact, be indirectly related to sandpipers and as such prove a land link through evolution to exist much in the way some Galapagos species are thought to have similar lineage to more pedestrian mainland creatures; that the study of said species’ biology could also prove some link between cultures of the Andean foothills and their counterparts in other parts of Europe as they relate to how these animals were hunted and gathered; that the bird is, indeed, the word; and that subcutaneous ridges in their lower sedimenta and just below bluebills’ ankles could in fact prove that the utilization of these appendages could justify the cultures of 1650-1820s Prussia’s use of spats.

Monday, February 05, 2007

Marcy's Assignment for This Week


A poem by Sir Marcus Hambone Muzzlefoot
On the first day of spring
1602


Awakening with the dawn I sigh.
My eyes protest the intrusion of sun’s essence.
It is warm and golden,
But still I drag winter in my bones.

I step out into the morning
And in an instant I am Illuminated.
The equinox is upon the world.
The air smells of wet earth,
A muddy gristle of dirt and worms,
And a faint waft of hyacinths.

I walk to the beach, the sun stirring movement,
I can feel the blood of the trees slowly beginning
To move within their bark encrusted shells,
Sap flowing through soft plant matrix
I feel it too, as my bones warm.

A sandpiper chirps, my shoes sink in the wet sand.
Tide has moved out, and the sea has revealed
The morning’s treasures.
I pick up a seashell, pink and orange
Something’s home it was.
I breathe in the sun as the waves lap at my ankle.

And I thaw.

Friday, February 02, 2007

GOLLY

GOLLY

CHAPTER 1

Once upon a time – when we say once upon a time we are normally telling the reader that they are about to experience a fairy tale. That is misleading here because this is not a fairy tale, but the tale of a fairy. Um, it’s complicated by you’ll see. Where was I? Oh, yes. Once upon a time there was a little girl named Golly. Golly wasn’t exactly like other little girls her age. The difference between her and the others was always the source of her greatest happiness and her deepest disappointments.


In truth, her real name wasn’t Golly. Golly was just her nickname. In the place where she was born - and had lived up until yesterday - her full name was Galadreilea-bella-drucilla-bodilla-pickle-tumbler-bright-infinity- star, but both her mom and her dad had known that the kind of people she would meet in her new neighborhood would prefer calling her Golly.
Despite the vague fear all things new, Golly was excited to move into her new home. This was because of what she hoped to find in a new place and what she hoped to escape from the old. Despite being a happy and outgoing child, Golly had not fit in so well in her old neighborhood, but she had high hopes of fitting in better in her new one. That’s just how Golly was, always full of hope that things would turn out for the best. Golly managed to hope for the best, no matter what.

At least once a week Golly’s mother Goldie would say in her in a high melodious voice, “Galadreilea-bella-drucilla-bodilla-pickle-tumbler-bright-infinity- star you would honestly hope for a sun tan in a snow storm.” To which Golly would reply, “You never know!”

Golly’s father, Gordon who -at the best of times - only slightly distracted by his work would smile and pat Golly on the head saying, “That’s my girl.”

Golly made a big show of protesting when her father patted her on the head, “How rude!” She would mutter under her breath. But secretly Golly would imagine that she was a sleek black cat and enjoyed the pat on the head.

Wait a moment you might say at this point. Being the shrewd and thoughtful reader that you doubtlessly are, are Golly’s Mom and Dad really named Goldie and Gordon? Do they have longer real names too? Well done! Children are so smart these days. You are quite correct to be suspicious. In fact Goldie and Gordon are not their real names; however for the purpose of conserving paper and getting to sleep some time tonight, we will not spell them out here. Let’s just say that when Gordon proposed to Goldie using both their formal names it took three full days. Gordon squawked for over a week afterward his throat was so dry, but they were blissfully happy squawks for Goldie has agreed to marry him.

Soon after their marriage Gordon had thrown himself into his work, hoping to provide a good home for his new bride and before too long, his daughter. His job was a unique mix of sociologist, research scientist and explorer. His work often took him away from home and this pained Gordon in the extreme. He loved his family more than anything in the world, yet in order to provide for them he was constantly away. What was he to do?

It was Goldie who first suggested the wild idea. What if the family moved to where he worked? What if they came with him, then they would always be together. Gordon was stunned. It was audacious, preposterous, and ridiculous! It was dangerous, reckless and senseless. It was… perfect. They would move together.

That pretty much brings us up to now. The point where Golly, hopeful about her new neighborhood and anxious to begin her new life sits patiently on her family’s magic carpet as it speeds over the boundaries between worlds and circles lazily toward the track houses of South Urbaton. Oh, did I mention that Golly and her parents were pixies moving to a human community? Then I must not have told you that they were giant pixies! Goodness, how thoughtless of me. My sincere apologies. I shall fill in the gaps as we progress, but the carpet is coming in for a landing now and we need to move on to the next chapter.


-BRIHACK

Thursday, February 01, 2007

This Week's Writing Assignment

By Brian - AKA - "BriHack"

The wrinkled vellum of the illuminated scroll, matched the skin texture of the ancient man's gnarled hands painstakingly unfolding it. Would the old relic live to read the prophecy it contained?

How much could a boy pretending to be the musty mage's apprentices take?

Wilted greens and roast-beast shot through with gristle matrixes every day broken up by the weekend when the shriveled monks served up some kind of sandpiper jerky.

I ask you, would you eat it? It's enough to make me want to string the palate-dead cooks up by their ankles and roast them for dinner. Well, there would be time enough for that when all this was over. For now it was time to read the prophecy.