Writing spews!
Oops, I have been submitting espressostories but sometimes they are slow to approve and upload so none of those to show off... I have however let the wordspews fall behind... I owe you five so I'll try to do a few a day till I catch up, aren't you lucky?
One:
Buck Chucknick was slammed back into the acceleration couch like an invisible hand had decided he was garlic and the chair was a fine metal mesh good for smashing garlic through. Buck wondered briefly what kind of sauce the hand intended to make, or if perhaps he would be spread over toast. He didn't have long to think though because in an instant his trusty rocket, the XG-99, was in the thick of the fight!
He fought against the acceleration and won, his hamlike mitts closed over the control stick and firing controls and gripped them like a drowning man might grip a thing that would help him be less drowning. He began weaving in a half chaotic path that was as much zig-zag as it was spiral, lasers and heat rays dancing in the darkness around him. Buck thumbed the release on the XG-99s weapons hard enough to crack plastic and was rewarded by a deep but growing whine he could feel in his spine. He threw the rocket into a tight arc and squeezed the triggers spraying a fan of death into the enemy saucers.
"That's for Burbank you puce blooded bastards!" he shouted through clenched teeth and stomped down on the retrorockets hard. The saucer that was gunning for him overshot, lancing energy death into his compatriot who was coming in to try to flank Buck and the XG-99. He laughed heartily and jammed the rocket into full blast once again, feeling blood vessels burst in his eyes with the strain. He once again gripped the trigger in his all american death grip and the saucer flew apart into bright glowing pieces rapidly cooling in the merciless cold of space. "Now let's talk about all those cows!"
Two:
"Oh hello" she said.
My heart melted. It always melted around her for some reason, which is why long ago I invested in a case of the things that we could leave at her house. I also carried a couple spares about my person just in case we ran into each other in town. I don't know why she has this particular effect on my heart, I suspect some kind of low frequency radiation she gives off or maybe an arcane aura about her person, the result of some long ago curse placed upon her line or the botched results of some scientific endeavor gone rather south. Whatever the cause, the effect is quite real and quite pronounced. Had I not, in fact, invested in a modular heart in my youth, and had I not, in fact, happened to be carrying a spare at the time, I fear our first meeting would have been the end of our story.
As it happens though I fell madly in love with her, though she not with I. It is a tragedy as old as time itself to be smitten with one who sees you only as a loyal and trustworthy friend, and I have embraced this tragedy in full. For some twenty years now I have been sending her spare hearts by post and then contriving various errands that might take me near her house. At every turn I arrange to have lunch or diner with her, often with some suitor or another in tow. She trusts me, you see, to judge them and find them worthy or not. And I fear I am a most harsh judge. In conversation I draw from them their worst natures and parade them about the table for her to see. I squelch any attempt at nobility or civility and force to the surface their goblins and boogymen. There has never been a closet I couldn't find a skeleton in... until last week when I was introduced to her newest suitor... and my heart melted.
"Hi there" I replied
And Three:
AH GOD MONKEYS! And so it begins as it always begins, not in fire or in earthquake but in monkeys. All kinds of monkeys, big ones, little ones, indeterminately sized ones, and those odd monkeys that do not entirely exist inside space or time as we know them and are the cause of lost socks, bad punctuation in advertising, and migraine headaches.
God I hate those monkeys.
But what the tide of the universe dumps on our heads it is not our will that is strong enough to pick and choose so LO! There are monkeys.
I tried just getting along with them at first, but they just kept coming and never seemed to leave at a decent hour. Not to mention the fortune I was spending on cheap wine and mixed nuts, trying to be a decent host you see. I was being driven mad with lack of sleep, poor wit the constant expense, and friends and family avoided me because I smelled like monkeys. It was a horrible life.
So I tried murder.
I began inviting the monkeys in and just killing the little bastards. It didn't improve the smell any to be sure, and my sleep actually got worse with images of their screaming, pleading faces haunting my dreams. But at least it gave me a chance to be creative and it was substantially cheaper. The only problem was the increasing number of monkey corpses filling my basement.
I invested in a tree-shredder and at least I could make them more compact. And you know the old saying "What's more fun than a barrel of monkeys?" Well as it turns out... not much! But those piled up and made navigating the house quite difficult so I had to try other things.
Of my various and creative solutions Monkey Pie was the winner. I could use the slurry previously created and bolster it's texture with larger chunks of monkey. I then cut up vegetables and yes, Bananas, and baked them in small single serving pies.
I still smell terrible, and I haven't had a full nights sleep in weeks. But with the pies leaving my house by the van-load and at $5 a pie... I say Bring on the monkeys!
That will do for today.
One:
Buck Chucknick was slammed back into the acceleration couch like an invisible hand had decided he was garlic and the chair was a fine metal mesh good for smashing garlic through. Buck wondered briefly what kind of sauce the hand intended to make, or if perhaps he would be spread over toast. He didn't have long to think though because in an instant his trusty rocket, the XG-99, was in the thick of the fight!
He fought against the acceleration and won, his hamlike mitts closed over the control stick and firing controls and gripped them like a drowning man might grip a thing that would help him be less drowning. He began weaving in a half chaotic path that was as much zig-zag as it was spiral, lasers and heat rays dancing in the darkness around him. Buck thumbed the release on the XG-99s weapons hard enough to crack plastic and was rewarded by a deep but growing whine he could feel in his spine. He threw the rocket into a tight arc and squeezed the triggers spraying a fan of death into the enemy saucers.
"That's for Burbank you puce blooded bastards!" he shouted through clenched teeth and stomped down on the retrorockets hard. The saucer that was gunning for him overshot, lancing energy death into his compatriot who was coming in to try to flank Buck and the XG-99. He laughed heartily and jammed the rocket into full blast once again, feeling blood vessels burst in his eyes with the strain. He once again gripped the trigger in his all american death grip and the saucer flew apart into bright glowing pieces rapidly cooling in the merciless cold of space. "Now let's talk about all those cows!"
Two:
"Oh hello" she said.
My heart melted. It always melted around her for some reason, which is why long ago I invested in a case of the things that we could leave at her house. I also carried a couple spares about my person just in case we ran into each other in town. I don't know why she has this particular effect on my heart, I suspect some kind of low frequency radiation she gives off or maybe an arcane aura about her person, the result of some long ago curse placed upon her line or the botched results of some scientific endeavor gone rather south. Whatever the cause, the effect is quite real and quite pronounced. Had I not, in fact, invested in a modular heart in my youth, and had I not, in fact, happened to be carrying a spare at the time, I fear our first meeting would have been the end of our story.
As it happens though I fell madly in love with her, though she not with I. It is a tragedy as old as time itself to be smitten with one who sees you only as a loyal and trustworthy friend, and I have embraced this tragedy in full. For some twenty years now I have been sending her spare hearts by post and then contriving various errands that might take me near her house. At every turn I arrange to have lunch or diner with her, often with some suitor or another in tow. She trusts me, you see, to judge them and find them worthy or not. And I fear I am a most harsh judge. In conversation I draw from them their worst natures and parade them about the table for her to see. I squelch any attempt at nobility or civility and force to the surface their goblins and boogymen. There has never been a closet I couldn't find a skeleton in... until last week when I was introduced to her newest suitor... and my heart melted.
"Hi there" I replied
And Three:
AH GOD MONKEYS! And so it begins as it always begins, not in fire or in earthquake but in monkeys. All kinds of monkeys, big ones, little ones, indeterminately sized ones, and those odd monkeys that do not entirely exist inside space or time as we know them and are the cause of lost socks, bad punctuation in advertising, and migraine headaches.
God I hate those monkeys.
But what the tide of the universe dumps on our heads it is not our will that is strong enough to pick and choose so LO! There are monkeys.
I tried just getting along with them at first, but they just kept coming and never seemed to leave at a decent hour. Not to mention the fortune I was spending on cheap wine and mixed nuts, trying to be a decent host you see. I was being driven mad with lack of sleep, poor wit the constant expense, and friends and family avoided me because I smelled like monkeys. It was a horrible life.
So I tried murder.
I began inviting the monkeys in and just killing the little bastards. It didn't improve the smell any to be sure, and my sleep actually got worse with images of their screaming, pleading faces haunting my dreams. But at least it gave me a chance to be creative and it was substantially cheaper. The only problem was the increasing number of monkey corpses filling my basement.
I invested in a tree-shredder and at least I could make them more compact. And you know the old saying "What's more fun than a barrel of monkeys?" Well as it turns out... not much! But those piled up and made navigating the house quite difficult so I had to try other things.
Of my various and creative solutions Monkey Pie was the winner. I could use the slurry previously created and bolster it's texture with larger chunks of monkey. I then cut up vegetables and yes, Bananas, and baked them in small single serving pies.
I still smell terrible, and I haven't had a full nights sleep in weeks. But with the pies leaving my house by the van-load and at $5 a pie... I say Bring on the monkeys!
That will do for today.