Welcome to day five of BLOGSHORTS: a ten day, ten story, 110 word writing extravaganza.
Each participating blogger chooses a pooch a day from a list of dogs, thunk-up by our fearless leader BLOGDRAMEDY, and then writes a short story featuring their dog of choice.
Each story is 110 words in length and can feature as much or as little of our canine friend as we like.
Day five features a visit from everyone’s favorite proper pooch, Eddie. Or is he?
EDDIE THE EXPATRIATE
“You are one lucky mutt,” Rover said as he lounged back in his doggy bed. “Archon is the best master a dog could want. Warm beds, plenty of kibble; he even lets us chase Ladyryl’s cats around every Sunday. I’m telling ya, Eddie. This is the life.”
“Anything’s better than living with Frasier,” Eddie said. “Man was a fancyboy. Nothing but bottled water and vegan kibble. Even my bed was organic.”
“You’ll love this. Come here.” Rover led Eddie to his water dish and the two began to drink.
After a few laps Eddie’s eyes opened wide. “Oh my God, is that Molson?”
“Yes it is. Welcome to Canada, Eddie.”
Revisit these soon to be canine classics:
BLOGSHORTS DAY ONE: Tea Cup Cujo
BLOGSHORTS DAY TWO: Toto’s Ruby Red Booty
BLOGSHORTS DAY THREE: Lassie Learns the Truth
BLOGSHORTS DAY FOUR: Fluffy’s Fateful Faux Pas
TAKE YOUR BLOG FOR A WALK AND THROW THESE GUYS A BONE:
RETURN TOMORROW FOR A VISIT WITH THE ORIGINAL SNOOP DOG: SNOOPY!
I met Neil Gaiman.
That’s right; I met honest to goodness Neil Gaiman at a book signing for his latest creation:
I, along with about 100 other lucky individuals, sat enraptured for two hours listening to him speak about his new book and his old books and what it means to be a writer. I gladly waited another three hours in line just to have him sign my copy of American Gods- three hours I spent rehearsing what it was I would say to him when I finally, after twenty years of fandom so intense it is almost embarrassing, had the chance. Here’s how it went:
NEIL: [reading the post-it with my name on it stuck to my book] “So you are H.E. Ellis, then?”
[Neil begins to sign book. Silence ensues]
NEIL: “It is wonderful to see people using initials again.”
[Neil hands me my book]
NEIL: “There you are.”
ME: “Thank you.”
[I turn and walk away]
I am sure there was drool involved, not to mention I’d been sweating inside a church for five hours and probably smelled like Texas roadkill.
Even if he were offended, I am sure he would never say. Neil Gaiman is without a doubt the most soft-spoken and humble celebrity I have ever encountered. This man makes himself available to those who come out to see him (those who don’t become catatonic at the sight of him anyway) and never behaves like the diva he has earned the right to be. I harbor no delusions that my writing will ever receive the acclaim his has, but I will tell you with certainty that I will do my best to, “Make good art,” simply because I was blessed with the opportunity to receive his advice.
Return tomorrow for a blog post about what I did the NEXT day. Until then, MAKE GOOD ART.
THE ADVENTURES OF HELLIS IN BLOGGERLAND
Judging from the actors, your movie is a rom-com-buddy cop movie, with Edward Hotspur as the alien no one understands. Hilarity ensues as Edward, separated from the mother ship, is lost and adrift in dark foreboding Canadia. Kayjai, president of Canadia, takes pity on him and drives him (in a fast car, and apparently very few clothes) southeast to the wilds of New England, where for some reason, his gadgets are telling him to go.
Trask Avenue, a member of Canadia’s equivalent of the CIA (the dreaded MSF – Moose Syrup Fanatics), follows in hot pursuit. At the border, bored Border Guard, El Guapo, decides to leave his job and accompany the two star-crossed travellers on their journey. At one point, he distracts Trask from his pursuit while Kayjai and Hotspur escape. He is last seen (until the finale) telling a confused Trask (who has just arrested him) “Hey, if you can’t beat em, confuse em!”
Our story continues through the wilds of Nebraska and Ohio. They stop off at an empty diner, run by BestBathroomBooks for some food. He dispenses wit and wisdom along with hot coffee and huevos rancheros. They continue on their drive, stopping at an Ohio crossing to let the freight train pass. A badass in a mustang pulls up, none other than GingerSnaap. Hotspur reminds her of the frog who done her wrong (no, really, an actual frog) all those years ago, and there is a spectacular heart stopping chase through the cornfields (are there cornfields in Ohio?) of Ohio.
Kayjai and Hotspur manage to escape, heading east toward the dawning of a new day. They are exhausted and pull over to rest. While sleeping, Kayjai is visited by Sandylikeabeach, who sums up what has already happened, and hints about what may happen next – but she does it all in one long sentence that even includes her trademarked asides. And it’s all in Charo’s voice!!! (Seriously, this is my favorite scene of the movie!)
As they come out of the wilds and into the bigger cities, Trask Avenue is closing in. But Hotspur uses his magic to convince unbelievably sexy companions Sparklebumps and Megan that he is the good guy. They use their not inconsiderable wiles to slow down Trask while Kayjai and Hotspur escape.
Finally, closing in on the snow filled bus lots of New England, the two stop at the tire yard, and ask a shirtless, sweaty HR Nightmare (wearing a green shoulder mounted bikini thong)(because that’s how he rolls) where they can find the magic moose of Massachusetts – which is the only thing that can save Hotspur now.
(Sorry – earths environment is slowly killing Hotspur. What? I’m sitting at my desk writing this thing, cut me some slack. We good? Ok, moving on.)
HR points down a snow filled trail. Kayjai slowly eases the car down the path. We see Trask (in his gov’t issue Crown Victoria) speeding toward them. In the back seat, El Guapo rises, swinging a ski pole at the back of Trasks head. Trask yanks the wheel and Guapo flies out of the car, landing on a plank and, with a “WOOHOO” snowboards into the distance.
But while Trask was distracted, a blue Charger comes rocketing along the road. “SHINY!!!” bellows GingerSnaap, as she races along, bumping mercilessly into Trask in an attempt to drive him off the road. BestBathroomBooks, in the car with her, calmly calls out reasons to Trask why he should surrender. Trask grits his teeth and continues pounding down the road.
Into a clearing.
Where Sparklebumps, Sandylikeabeach and Megan all dance gracefully on an empty patch of land.
A bright light suddenly engulfs the beautiful ladies as Kayjai and Hotspur glide to a halt, Trask pulling up behind them. Arms spread, Hotspur steps into the circle of light, as Trask raises his gun. Sparklebumps flashes him to distract him, but surprisingly, that only works for a moment. Hotspur turns, and in the language of his people, yells “Unicorn! Palindrome lyric poem! Innuendo!”
Trasks weapon flies from his hand, and bewildered, he, with everyone else, watch the circle of bright light condense into a pinpoint beam of rainbow as Hotspur floats gently up to the mothership.
Kayjai strolls over to Trask. “For fucks sake.” she says.
Trask raises an eyebrow.
Apologies to everyone slandered in this, and if you’ve made it this far, next round is on me. Really, you earned it.
When I first chose to review HAREM MASTER I was concerned I’d find nothing more than a glorified Penthouse Forum article. Yes, it does involve a middle-aged man who is “entertained” by a self-appointed harem of females ranging from employees to contemporaries to nymphets. And yes, it is at times raunchy and raw and sexually charged. But R.B. Hatch’s development of the narrator, a man simply known as “John,” is well written and highly entertaining.
As a reader I found myself simultaneously repulsed by and sympathetic toward John’s actions that form the relationship between him and his “harem.” In “John” Hatch has created an “everyman” whose wit, intelligence and sense of mystery utterly charm the women around him into willingly becoming his objects of desire. It’s Hatch’s ability to endear John to the reader that helps to create a world that is not only plausible, but downright believable.
More than just erotica, HAREM MASTER is a plot-driven novel that delves into the mind and motives of its protagonist and speaks with a voice that will please its readers.
Every so often there comes a moment when we see ourselves through another person’s eyes. Determining whether that’s good or bad depends entirely on what we see. Most of my epiphanies are delivered in the form of my sister telling me my ass looks fat in my jeans, whether I ask for her opinion or not.
Commentary on my fat ass or bad breath I can handle, but what I wasn’t prepared for was the reality of personal feedback in the form of reviews for my novella, Reapers With Issues.
Before I begin I’d like to state that every reader who reviewed my work negatively did not condemn me personally for what I’d written, despite not particularly enjoying the book. I’ve read reviews of other books where the reviewer took the author to task, and I am happy to say I’ve been blessed with a classy group of readers who didn’t feel the need to blast me.
I guess what confounds me most is that I expected there to be more blow back for subject matter. Portraying Jesus as a closet homosexual and writing a scene where Genghis Khan violates a shi-tzu wasn’t going to win me an audience with the Pope, and I knew that going in. I also prepared myself for a critique of the quality of the writing itself, which as it turns out I didn’t receive much of. What I did get was essentially the same question, asked in so many words, of what kind of person could conceive of the Reapers idea at all. Again, good or bad depends entirely on what we see.
[enter the dreaded introspection process]
The first thing I did was try to answer the question of what kind of person I am. Despite an obscene amount of navel-gazing I am no closer to that answer now than I was when I began. My motivation to write Reapers With Issues was just as strong and the subject matter just as easy to conceptualize as Gods of Asphalt’s was, so identifying a specific default in thinking didn’t pan out. The truth is that I’ve got a hundred different stories buzzing around in my head; everything from harmless children’s stories to British comedies to even more Reapers sequels (oddly there’s nothing milling around in there that remotely smacks of Erotica, but that’s a post for another day after an hour on a couch).
So after an even more shameless bought of self-contemplation I began to ask myself a different question, “Why do any of us write what we write?”
Do we choose our genre or subject matter because of who we are, or because of what we make of the world around us? I imagine it’s no coincidence that Reapers With Issues was written during the darkest hours of a friend’s battle with cancer, or that Gods of Asphalt was written while stuck in bed, listening to my two teenaged sons bicker amongst themselves and argue with their father.
It is also not lost on me that I wrote Reapers With Issues from a third-person point-of-view, allowing me to observe at a distance the story of a Reaper whose best efforts to gather souls are thwarted by a Savior, or that the overall theme of Gods of Asphalt is how brothers cope when their mother isn’t around.
I suppose in the end what we choose to write comes from the harmony of both who we are and what we see. I’ve learned that whether my writing is received as harmony or dischord depends entirely on who’s doing the reading, and no amount of alteration of my “music” will accommodate everyone.
For the record, I’m fine with that. I am a Jazz fan, after all.
Hello Everyone, it’s me, Hellis, live and in person. Well, in spirit. I’ve been away from our little corner of this virtual Utopia we call Blogworld because I’ve been spending time with the new love of my life. Yes, people I am in love, and have decided to use Edward Hotspur’s ROMANTIC MONDAY post as an opportunity to introduce him to my world.
The latest object of my affection is a man like no other; he is fun-loving, free-spirited and young at heart. His childlike innocence attracted me immediately and before I knew it I was hooked. Today I’d like to introduce you to the man who captured my heart and is sure to steal yours. Without further ado I give you…Randy Pan.
Now, before some of you start sending emails to a certain tall, SciFi-loving Cowboy let me explain. Randy isn’t your ordinary, everyday Pan-fan. He’s living his dream everyday in a way that shames me as a writer. It took me a year to work up the testicular fortitude to query agents with my GOA novel while this guy was laying it all out there for the world to see. There was no fear of judgment or harassment on his part. He exposed his life and his soul in an act of bravery that humbles me. And while I will admit that it is taking every bit of self-control to not mock the living shit out of this guy; I have decided a better use of my time would be to honor him here.
So here’s to you, Randy Pan. May your tights not chafe, may your loafers be light, and may every jock who beat you down in high school scratch himself to death because of a raging, unchecked venereal disease.
Like every good middle child, Junior was beyond not happy when he found out that I wrote a post about his brother, Prince Charming and not him. Not wanting to tempt fate with another phone call from his school as a result of his attention seeking behavior, I promised Junior I’d write a post about him today. Yeah, easier said than done.
First, he insisted there be pictures because as he puts it he’s, “dead sexy.” The problem is I can never keep the boy in clothes (he’d be naked 24/7 if I let him), so pictures of him are hard to come by. I decided to include these pictures from when he was nine years-old as they do a great job of summing up the first half of Junior’s personality, which is an all encompassing love of music.
Now, onto the second half. It would take all day to list every consequence of his thrill seeking, sometimes oppositional, always comedic personality. So I think the best way to sum up Junior’s second half is to list every creature that has ever bitten, pinched, snapped or stung him (I left off obvious ones like black flies or mosquitos).
Wasps, yellow jackets, hornets, etc.
Scorpions (small Florida scorpions, not the big evil ones)
Fire ants (fell into a pile of them. It was awful).
Grub (I think. He was digging in the dirt and pulled this small, white circular thing off his finger. It bled like crazy).
Gila Monster (needed shots for this one)
Non-venomous snakes (not sure what kind. It was a friend’s pet)
Baby snapping turtle
Crayfish (crawdads, mudbugs, etc).
Shark (not a great white but a Florida sand shark. It left a small, dog sized/shark mouth shaped bite on his foot. He hates that the scar faded).
Horseshoe crab (stepped on its barbed tail).
Sea Gull (tried to rescue it and it snapped).
Barracuda (caught it fishing, stuck his finger in its mouth on a dare).
* If you ask him he’ll tell you that this was the one that hurt the most. Miraculously lifeguards identified it as a Portuguese Man-O-War and not a jellyfish, because first aid differs greatly between the two.
Luckily he’s never been bitten by simple things like bats, chipmunks or squirrels since a bite from one of them requires rabies shots. I’m sure there’s more, but this is all I can think of at the moment. He’s also been impaled on bicycle handlebars, but reckless teenage injuries are a post for another day.
Just in time for the holiday season comes the latest installment of our F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES courtesy of the one and only Sparklebumps!
The Emperor’s New Clothes (otherwise entitled A Woman Scorned)
Once upon a time, there lived a very beautiful boy who longed to be king and live in great finery. This would have been all well and good, except for the fact that he was the bastard son of a peasant, and there were no chances for boys such as him. So he grew up always looking in shop windows and coveting the fine silks and satins that were displayed in them.
One day, the boy (who was becoming a young man by this time) was hauling cow dung to the nudey community on the other side of the village, and as he passed the shop window, he looked inside. This time, instead of wishing for the fabulous duds inside, he spied the shopkeeper’s daughter, who was also very beautiful, and fell instantly in love with her because she produced in his pants the same reaction that fine fabric did.
He entered the shop, went right up to the gorgeous girl, and planted a kiss on her berry-colored lips. At first, she was taken aback by the force of his passion (and the fact that he wore d’odour du cow shit)but then she realized what an amazing kisser he was and her knees became weak with want. She kissed him back, and when they were both breathless, she took his hand and led him to the back room of the shop. The young man looked around and saw that he was surrounded by garments of the chicest style and materials. He was so overcome with desire, from the kissing and the clothing both, that he prematurely ejaculated.
“Aaaaahhhhhrrrrgggh,” He groaned as he shivered with pleasure. The shopkeeper’s daughter looked at him curiously.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” She held out her hand to steady the man.
“Um…er. It’s nothing. I just find you so sexy, and I have a passion for fashion, so I’m just overwhelmed.” He flushed bright red and his eyes darted nervously around, as he hoped she wouldn’t notice the wet stain on his pants. Her touch was already making him hard again, so she hadn’t noticed his deflated… ahem, ego. He pressed his body against her once more, and gripped her buttocks so firmly that she cried out, and responded by loosening the ties on his breeches.
They proceeded to fuck each other senseless throughout the night, and the girl only wondered about the wet spot on the man’s pants for a moment before drifting off into a perfectly-sated, sexy-dream filled sleep.
As the sun rose, the gorgeous boy awoke with a start and realized he had never delivered the shit to the nudey community.
He jumped up, and ran out of the shop, to where his wheelbarrow of crap sat, undisturbed. He hurried on his way, never once letting the girl he’s just de-virginized know where he was going, or if he’d be back.
On the way to the nudey community, the boy passed a grand procession, and as he maneuvered his shit out of the way, the Empress inside one of the wagons admired his beauty, and also his ass. She stopped the procession with a slight snap of her fingers,and whispered something to her head man.
“Hey, you! Pretty boy! Stop right there!” The man cried out in authority.
The boy froze, certain he was about to be beheaded for offending royalty with the stench of his cow dung, and turned slowly to face the wagons. He was too afraid to speak.
“The Empress is pleased by you. Come forward.” The boy stepped gingerly toward the ornate carriage, but stopped when he heard a voice like the tinkling of bells.
“Do you long for power? Wealth and finery? Do you dream of having loyal subjects to do your bidding?”
The boy’s jaw dropped, for these were the very things he daydreamed about.
“Yes!” He said vehemently.
There was a giggle, adn then the curtain was drawn back on the wagon and the lovely exotic face of the Empress appeared.
“And what would you do, my sweet boy, to gain all of these things? Would you be willing to be tied up and allow me to paddle that beautiful bottom of yours til it’s pink and sore? Would you allow my teeth to graze your nipples and your innocent member without promise of your own release?” She raised an eyebrow.
The boy contemplated an S and M relationship with an Empress, and couldn’t see any bad angles of the arrangement, so he responded with a confidence he didn’t necessarily possess.
“My queen, my all, I would allow even the largest of your strap-on dildos to invade my anal crevice if you could make me powerful and wealthy.”
The Empress grinned broadly, for she had every intention of doing that very thing to her next submissive. With only a look, the boy was shepherded into the carriage, and the Empress wasted no time in beginning her training. The boy was shackled to the roof of the wagon, and he watched his wheelbarrow of crap and the shopkeeper’s daughter fade into the distance as the Empress sucked furiously on his cock.
The boy did so well as a submissive, that when the Empress died, she bequeathed to him the whole kingdom, and he became so obsessed with fashion that he would spare no expense to obtain every style that arose.
Because the boy was so beautiful, and so obsessed with his wardrobe, he would spend every moment in his dressing room admiring himself in front of many mirrors, front and back. While in most kingdoms, when someone would ask where the Emperor was, the normal response was, “He is in his statesroom.”, in this kingdom, the servants would say, “He is in his dressing room.” The Emperor was so self-obsessed that he would host fashion week, and insisted on modeling all the newest fashions himself. Masses of horny women and gay men would flock to the kingdom to admire the fine Emperor and his fabulous duds.
Our story truly begins as the Emperor searches high and low for the most daring and creative of clothing designers to feature at fashion week. He shook his head ruefully when his servants suggested such designers as Betsey Johnson and Alexander McQueen. He wanted someone who would shock the masses and make them insanely jealous of his frocks. His servants whispered amongst themselves while the Emperor racked his brain.
“What are you idiots muttering about? Do you realize that fashion week approaches , and I haven’t one designer who’s designs make my prick hard? What are we to do?” The emperor raged.
One brave lad stepped forward. “My lord, there is one who may be just the designer you seek, though there are stories that all who hire her are susceptible to her spell. She has left a string of broken-hearted royalty across many lands.”
“Pshaw,” the Emperor scoffed. “You needn’t be concerned on that front. Do you not know by now that my desire is only for fashion? I think not even a magical pussy would cause my manhood to rise. Find this fabled designer, and bring her to me.”
The servants scurried like mice in every direction then, embarrassed for the Emperor and the fact that no woman could get it up for him.
An envoy was sent out to find the talked of designer, and returned with her in no time.
Now this designer, when presented to the Emperor, DID in fact create a reaction in his pants when he gazed upon her. He found her oddly familiar, yet couldn’t recall where he had seen her before. Years of being tied up and spanked by the Empress had made him forget his first sexual encounter- that with the shopkeeper’s daughter. If he had remembered this, he would have realized she and this lovely designer were one in the same.
After she had been de-virginized and left alone, the shopkeeper’s daughter vowed to shame the boy who had popped her cherry just as he had shamed her. She worked day and night, becoming a well-respected maker of high fashion, fueling her designs with the rage she felt at being abandoned that day.
Her hard work was about to pay off, because she saw that the emperor did not recognize her. She gave him a flirtatious smile and bowed graciously. The Emperor beckoned to her, and insisted at once that she show him her latest designs.
The woman tilted her head and spoke.
“Dear Emperor, I have no designs to show you, for the collection I’ve been working on is very magical indeed. It must be made of the finest cloth, from the richest silk worms in the world. And it must be encrusted with the most shining of gemstones. But once the design is woven, it can only be seen by the man that is worthy of the position he holds. If he cannot see it, it proves that he is indeed an unworthy fool, and must be fired.”
Now any unfoolish person would know that this story sounded like complete poppycock, but the Emperor was so vain that he could not distinguish truth from a lie. So he sent his men to the furthest reaches of the land to procure the finest silks and clearest gemstones to provide the designer with. Upon receiving the goods, the designer would secretly tuck everything into her trunks to save for her real collection, and then she would set to work on her sewing machine without a stitch of thread strung though it. The Emperor’s servants saw her working on the clothes that weren’t there, and became distraught at the idea that they were fools unworthy of their station, and so remained silent.They murmured amongst themselves, until the whole kingdom was murmuring about the invisible clothes. The emperor was so impatient after hearing the rumors, that he insisted on checking out the clothes immediately.
When he entered the sewing chamber, the designer smiled delightfully, so that the Emperor’s manhood grew quite hard.
“Have you come for a fitting, my lord?” She asked innocently.
“Ahem… er, ah, yes. I’m ready to see the fine designs.” The Emperor began to grow nervous, because he was seeing no clothing to try on, and was a bit afraid the servants would notice his raging boner if they couldn’t see the clothing either.
“Here.” The Designer pretended to hold out a piece of clothing, when in actuality she held out nothing at all. “It is a fine tunic, is it not?”
She couldn’t help but admire the tumescent member of the Emperor as he stripped and held out his hand to accept the garment she offered. She scooted closer, and as he slipped the non-existent clothing over his head, she slid her hand down and gently grazed his manhood.
It had been so long since the Emperor had been touched in such a way that he squealed and spurted his hot baby gravy all over the imaginary clothing.
“Now look what you have done!” The designer cried in dismay, though she was laughing inside to herself. “There is no way to clean such dirtiness out of such a garment! This will have to be re-sewn with new fabrics!” She turned away from the Emperor in feigned disgust.
The man was so embarrassed he couldn’t speak, and he covered his face in shame. This was exactly the reaction the designer had hoped for- she wanted him to be degraded as she had been. After many minutes, the Emperor spoke.
“Oh please do not be upset, my dear. I will send for more fabric and more gemstones, only please do not divulge what has happened here to anyone.”
The designer pretended to think on this for a moment before bowing her head in respect.
“As my lord wished. I will work on the other designs while I wait for the things I need.”
The Emperor knew he was being dismissed, and though he normally would not allow someone to treat him thus, he was too afraid she would announce his surprise discharge to the masses, so he said nothing. He left the room in the clothes that weren’t there with his jizz dripping down the front of him. The servants in the halls whispered behind there hands, surprised at the Emperor’s nakedness, and admiring it as well. The emperor went to his chambers and did not come out again until word was sent that the collection was completed.
The Emperor, still being very vain, had decided he would be the only person to walk down the runway during fashion week in the designs made for him. Since it was only twelve hours before the first show, he sent word to the designer telling her this decision. When she heard the news, she smiled to herself, because the Emperor would be walking in the nude down the catwalk in front of the entire kingdom exactly thirty-two times. Finally, her honor would be avenged.
The following morning, the emperor arrived in the dressing room, and was immediately worried because once again he saw none of the fine garments he was supposed to be modeling. The designer entered the room and waved her arm in the direction of the clothes that weren’t there.
“Is it not the finest wardrobe my lord has ever seen? Is he not pleased?” She looked at the Emperor expectantly.
The Emperor was momentarily distracted, because the designer was provocatively dressed in a skin-tight gown that was cut down the front all the way to her navel. Her breasted were perfectly shaped underneath, and the Emperor’s memory was jogged about a similar pair of hooters he had seen long ago. His manhood once again grew to abundant lengths, and his regained memory was gone as quickly as it had appeared.
“Ahh, yes, er… fine indeed. The most splendid I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He fibbed, for his eyes for not laying on anything other than a pair of perfectly shaped bosoms.
The designer seductively smiled and sauntered close to the Emperor. Her breast brushed his arm, and he jumped.
“Now, only payment must be made, and everything shell be yours.” She whispered invitingly.
The Emperor could not resist, and stuck his hand down the front of the designer’s dress. She peeled his clothes away and climbed onto his ridged cock, riding him until she found release. She did so quickly enough that the emperor was left unsatisfied, and with a boner still.
“Mmmm, that was great. Now, you must get ready have the entire kingdom admire all you have to offer.” She dressed so fast he hadn’t a chance to utter one word about his remaining boner, and was suddenly left with many servants trying to look busy and ignore his manhood.
The fashion show began, and the emperor hadn’t even enough time to take care of himself before it started, so he donned the non-existent finery and hoped that no one in the front rows would notice the bulge underneath. Out he went on the catwalk, naked as a jay bird.
The masses oohed and aahed, not because of the grand garments as the Emperor thought, but because they were so surprised at the largeness of his member, and the fact that he was completely naked. Not one of them said a word, but continued to admire the emperor as he strutted back and forth for half of the show. It was not until a child in the audience cried out, “Mama! The Emperor’s peepee is sticking out!” that the Emperor realized he was really and truly naked, and at that point he had already been in front of the audience for so long without clothes, that he thought, “What the hell? I look good,” and continued to strut his stuff. Upon realizing that the Emperor had just spent a good forty-five minutes nude in front of children and adults alike, the police came and arrested him for indecent exposure, and he was sentenced to one year in prison for every count, which ended up being… well, a really long time since there were so many people there. He became the bitch of a burly black man during his stay in the kingdom’s penitentiary and spent the rest of his life getting it up the butt.
What happened to the designer, you may ask? She road away with her trunks of silk and gemstones in tow, laughing out loud at the Emperor and his insane vanity. She now lives in Aruba and designs red carpet duds for the likes of Angelina and Salma Hayek.
Anyone who knows me knows that I am an extremely restless individual, and that every now and then I’ve got to switch things up. It could be something as easy as driving a different car for a while, or something as epic as painting my bedroom hot pink.
Since I’ve taken on more hours at work, the switching up has been happening at my desk, or more specifically, my desktop, to the amusement of my many co-workers. So for the amusement of you all, I share with you today a gallery of my ever-changing desktop wallpaper.
Ah…yes. The General Lee. My first love.
Next we have two pics that are the perfect marriage of humor and music, Tenacious D. and Dethklok. If you don’t know who they are, I suggest hitting the Google immediately. If you don’t like them, well…we can’t be friends.
Now we have the two greatest bands I’ve ever had the good fortune of hanging out with backstage. Lit and Godsmack. Boys and their tattoos. Dreamy.
Why Lemmy? Because Lemmy is God, that’s why.
Because I can’t download porn.
Next are two pics of my seldom seen daughter, Babygirl. The one above was taken on Halloween when she was two years-old. Her father wanted her to be a princess, but she wanted to be a “basketball boy.” You see who won. (Yes, that is a regulation sized basketball. She was, and still is, very tiny). The one below was taken in our backyard with my nephew. I plan on writing a story just so I can use that pic as a book cover.
Last but not least, for reasons that I cannot begin to comprehend, my all time favorite desktop wallpaper pic ever!!!!!
Doesn’t this pic just say it all?
This time last year I put up a post entitled Why No NaNoWriMo which chronicled my need for self-distraction whenever I sit down to write. How I accomplish writing a blog at all I’ll never know. Needless to say, this year has been no different and I’ve yet to finish the second novella in my REAPERS WITH ISSUES series. What’s got me blocked this year is:
The Oakland Raiders – Walking Dead – Firefly’s 10th anniversary re-release – Coconut Rum – my promotion – Tom Elias – raising a daughter as stubborn as me – learning to love Scifi – wristsaroundtheworld – Junior’s shenanigans – Frank Stallone’s faulty brakes – Prince Charming’s charm – and this little ditty right here:
Today I’d like to welcome a newbie to our little corner of blogworld, g00dg33kranting with his timely take on the classic THE ANT AND THE GRASSHOPPER. Not only is our new friend a contributor to our F*cked Up Fairy Tale project, but he is also a novelist in his own right. You can pick up a copy of his book, RISE OF THE DRAGONS through a link at the bottom of the post.
KID! Yeah you… get over here. Put that stupid video game down for a few minutes and come listen to me. I have a story to tell you. You and your lazy generation playing video games and texting on your phones and facebooking on everything; it’s SICKENING.
Listen to this story and you will rethink how you act. I’m going to tell you about the Ant and the Grasshopper.
DON’T GIVE ME THAT LOOK! This is more exciting than your Twilights and your Spidermans and your Thors with their actors who are too good looking to be real people.
So you see, there was this Ant and a Grasshopper and they were married as any good Grasshopper will end up married to an Ant at some point in his life. Now the Grasshopper went to work but he mostly slacked off a lot when he was there and then said he was too tired to help out when he got home.
This made his Ant wife very mad since she had to take care of their 437 children all day. Then had to cook dinner, get all 437 children to get their baths before getting them to bed. As you can imagine it is very challenging to get 437 children to bed by 8:30 P.M.
The Grasshopper would drink a lot of beer and watch football. This infuriated the Ant even more. Eventually the weather got cold at the end of the year and the Grasshopper wanted to get intimate with his Ant wife.
But she just ignored him and went to sleep. In the middle of the night she cut off his Grasshopper junk and threw it in a field, leaving the Grasshopper, and took her 437 children to LA and married Matt Damon just to dump him and take half his money.
And I miss your father every day… NOT, now go clean your room or I’ll cut yours off too.