The sub-moronic ramblings of a semi-functioning illiterate

Posts tagged “thoughts

Eddie the Expatriate

dWelcome 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:

Blogdramedy

1pointperspective

SteveBetz 

Joe’s Musings

Jtailele’s Blog

MC’s Whispers

Shouts from the Abyss

Lenore Diane

Fix it or Deal

RETURN TOMORROW FOR A VISIT WITH THE ORIGINAL SNOOP DOG: SNOOPY!


Fluffy’s Fateful Faux Pas

fluffy-harry-potter-3-three-headed-dog-historys-famous-dog-ark-animal-centreWelcome to day four 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.

Today we travel beyond the land of Muggles to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to meet with our favorite three-headed dog, FLUFFY!

FLUFFY’S FATEFUL FAUX PAS

Fluffy tucked El Guapo’s speakers into his ears and for one blessed moment let the smooth, mellow sounds of Coltrane drown out the incessant bickering between his two ex-wives.

Fluffy often used his stolen quiet time to reflect on the course his life had taken. He dissected every decision and evaluated every consequence. He ran scenarios over and over again in his mind, asking himself what he might have done differently to have avoided the fate that had so tragically befallen him.

But no matter how many times he replayed that fateful day, Fluffy always came to the one sad, inevitable conclusion:

He should have never called He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, “Lord Moldywart.”

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

TAKE YOUR BLOG FOR A WALK AND THROW THESE GUYS A BONE:

Blogdramedy

1pointperspective

SteveBetz 

Joe’s Musings

Jtailele’s Blog

MC’s Whispers

Shouts from the Abyss

Lenore Diane

Fix it or Deal

RETURN TOMORROW FOR A VISIT FROM EVERYONE’S FAVORITE PROPER POOCH, EDDIE!


Lassie Learns the Truth

thWelcome to day three 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.

I will admit that I didn’t know who this dog was when I signed on to blog, so I was forced to look him (her) up first. Truth be told, I still don’t know what this show was all about. From what I can gather, there were a lot of children getting stuck places or falling into wells who needed rescuing. That fact prompted me to ask…just how fat are the children in this town, anyway??

Obese toddlers or not, I bring you:

LASSIE LEARNS THE TRUTH

“What are they calling me??” Lassie barked to Megan, a cute pug digging a hole alongside him.

“Lassie is a girl’s name,” Megan yapped back. “The producers want Timmy’s dog to be female. They want the audience to think she’s maternal.”

“A female?” Lassie growled, incredulous. “I’m no female and I can prove it. Look here.” Lassie curled his snout behind him to sniff at a couple of things he was sure were there.

But they weren’t. Not anymore.

Lassie collapsed into a heap on the ground. Megan nudged him with her snout and yapped, “It could be worse. You could be filming a peanut butter commercial with Ron Jeremy.”

Revisit these soon to be canine classics:

BLOGSHORTS DAY ONE: Tea Cup Cujo

BLOGSHORTS DAY TWO: Toto’s Ruby Red Booty

TAKE YOUR BLOG FOR A WALK AND THROW THESE GUYS A BONE:

Blogdramedy

1pointperspective

SteveBetz 

Joe’s Musings

Jtailele’s Blog

MC’s Whispers

Shouts from the Abyss

Lenore Diane

Fix it or Deal

RETURN TOMORROW AND JOIN US ON A TRIP TO HOGWARTS!


Toto’s Ruby Red Booty

TotoAndShoes_480x300_23Welcome to day two 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.

Today’s offering features a famous pooch from Kansas and a blogger famous for…well, I probably shouldn’t say. So without further adieu I give you:

TOTO’S RUBY RED BOOTY

The Scarecrow ripped fistfuls of straw out from between his burlap ears, desperate to rid himself of Dorothy’s lifeless image burned into his brain.

Next to him, the Tin Man wept until his eyes rusted shut. He wished his new heart would do the same.

Only the Lion had courage enough to follow the trail of small, bloody paw prints down the yellow brick road.

Under a spell, Toto ran as fast as his paws would carry him, the Witch’s ruby red booty clamped tightly between his jaws.

Sparklebumps tossed her empty water bottle into a puddle that was once the Witch, slid on her best pair of pantyhose, and waited…

TAKE YOUR BLOG FOR A WALK AND THROW THESE GUYS A BONE:

Blogdramedy

1pointperspective

SteveBetz 

Joe’s Musings

Jtailele’s Blog

MC’s Whispers

Shouts from the Abyss

Lenore Diane

Fix it or Deal

RETURN TOMORROW TO SEE IF LASSIE RESCUES OUR FEATURED BLOGGER FROM THE WELL OF DOOM!


BLOGSHORTS: The Dog Days of Summer

Shih-TzuThe legendary  BLOGDRAMEDY has come up with the perfect mental diversion she’s calling BLOGSHORTS: a ten day, ten story, 110 word canine-centric writing extravaganza.

How does that work, you wonder? Let’s ask Blogdramedy:

I’ve select nine dogs (a mixed breed of real and imaginary barkers) and you write a story of 110 words around each character. They can be the main participant or just bark in the background. That’s up to you.

I’m not going to write your stories for you no matter how much Gravy Train you put in my bowl.

The final story will feature a dog of your very own. It can be one you live with now, in the past, one you hope to own some day…or your imaginary puppy from when you were wee. The ten dogs are:

Cujo (Stephen King)

Toto (Wizard of oz)

Lassie

Fluffy (Harry Potter)

Eddie Crane (Fraser)

Snoopy

Frank (MIB)

Blacktoe (Will Riker’s dog)

Odie (Garfield)

The dog of your choice

Some of you may know that I am not particularly fond of dogs (if you’ve read REAPERS WITH ISSUES you know exactly how much), so being challenged to write about dogs is the perfect solution for my epic case of brain mud. In fact, I’ve already gotten started on an idea that I think about…TEN bloggers may get a kick out of. Sound like we’re barking up your tree? Sign up here and join these pups in this year’s BlogShorts.

RETURN TOMORROW FOR MY FIRST INSTALLMENT!

Throw these bloggers a bone by dropping by for a tour of their yards:

1pointperspective

SteveBetz 

Joe’s Musings

Jtailele’s Blog

MC’s Whispers

Shouts from the Abyss

Lenore Diane

Fix it or Deal


Iconic Interviews – The Book!

iicoverartebookFor those of you who just can’t get enough of the holiday spirit, consider purchasing the Bloggers’ Compilation Project offering: ICONIC INTERVIEWS.

The world’s most beloved holiday icons presented in a collection of irreverent interviews that take on the backstory of their imagined existences.

Some of the best bloggers from around the ‘Sphere are interviewed as iconic holiday characters, each one zanier than the next. Click on the bloggers below for more good stuff!

Iconic Interviews can be purchased here:

AVAILABLE IN EBOOK FORMAT THROUGH SMASHWORDS

AVAILABLE IN EBOOK FORMAT THROUGH AMAZON

AVAILABLE IN PAPERBACK THROUGH AMAZON

tbar

I’D LIKE TO THANK THE FOLLOWING BLOGGERS FOR THEIR GENEROUS CONTRIBUTION:

It’s Groundhog Day!

Joseph Wakefield as the Groundhog

It’s Cupid!

Talker96 as Cupid

Inaugural Spam

Joseph Wakefield as President Roosevelt

Michael Wakefield as President Jefferson

H.R. Nightmare as President Washington

H.E. Ellis as President Lincoln

Interview with the King of the Leprechauns

Michael Wakefield as Fergus O’Malley

I Prank You Not

H.R. Nightmare as Loki the Trickster

It’s the Easter Bunn- er, Wallaby?

Megan Stephenson as the Easter Wallaby

Earth Day Interview with Gaia

Sandylikeabeach as Gaia

It’s Flagulous!

Sparklebumps as Betsy Ross

It’s Time For Father Time!

Trask Avenue as Father Time

SciFi Face Off!

Sightsnbytes as Captain James T. Kirk

Dayton Ward as Captain Jean Luc Picard

Andiamo Columbus!

Viva Italia as Christopher Columbus

Interview With The Werewolf

S. Quinn Shaw as the Werewolf

Turkey Incognito

Edward Hotspur as Tom Turkey

Interview with Frosty the Snowman

Archon’s Den as Frosty the Snowman

Interview with LeMonjello Otis

TrailerTrashDeluxe as LeMonjello Otis

Interview with Brown Shugga

KayJai as Brown Shugga

Interview with Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer

PouringMyArtOut as Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer

Santa’s Shame Spiral Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

BrainRants as Santa Claus, Mrs. Claus and Lipschitz the Elf

Want to be a part of the next Bloggers’ Compilation Project?

Check out F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES and leave your choice in the comments. All profits from the sale of Iconic Interviews and FUFT are donated to charity.


Death Comes to New England

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Grim has arrived. The graphic novel empire known as Newbury Comics has graciously agreed to take a chance on everyone’s favorite Reaper by offering a spot for his book on its illustrious shelves.

For those of you who may not know, Newbury Comics is New England’s premiere comic/graphic novel/punk/new wave/indie music vendor. Considered Mecca to the pop-culture obsessed, I couldn’t imagine a better fit for a novella series as potentially off-putting as REAPERS WITH ISSUES.

Now, if I could just finish Book Two…

 

CLICK THE PIC FOR STORE LOCATIONS

newbury-comics-logo-blackback


When Bad Videos Happen to Good Musicians

The advent of Mtv was both a blessing and a curse for me as a kid. Once musicians had the ability to act in their videos, they somehow felt the need to put on a show as opposed to simply performing their songs. Sometimes, as was the case with Billy Idol, it turned out to be a good thing. I remember as a kid sitting transfixed in front of the television whenever REBEL YELL came on, staring at the screen and thinking some very, very grown-up thoughts about this bleach-blonde wonder. And who can forget THRILLER? I remember exactly where I was the first time I watched that video. I can do the dance to this day.

Sadly, not all my experiences were as positive as the ones I’ve mentioned. Not every singer is a star, as music video history has shown us. I’ve dredged up some memories (and hit the YouTube) for a sample of some of the worst offenders. It’s time to buckle in folks, because this is going to be painful. We start our list of bad videos that happened to good musicians with:

KISS – LICK IT UP

I brought a KISS lunch box to the first day of kindergarten, that’s how big a fan I was as a kid. You can appreciate my shock and horror the first time I was subjected to…well, whatever the hell this is. I still haven’t forgiven them.

Damn Yankees – HIGH ENOUGH

The next video is every bit as tragic as the previous one because it features the cataclysmic crash and burn of one of rock’s best guitar legends: Ted Nugent. That’s right, Mr. Cat Scratch Fever himself joined a band who called themselves Damn Yankees- a band that can only be described as having all the raw sex appeal of the Traveling Wilburys, minus the badassery. Click play and see for yourself. The only thing in a Stranglehold in this video are Ted’s balls, clenched tightly in the fist of whomever he sold them out to.

David Bowie – CHINA GIRL

I imagine Bowie fans will come down on me for the next offering, but I will stand my ground. Yes, David Bowie is known for being unconventional and avante guarde, so the oddness of this video should come as no surprise. I contend that it is the utter lack of Bowiesque influence that bothers me most. It’s as if he’s trying to reinvent himself as a lounge singer. Not what I expected from Major Tom. And don’t get me started on the creepy pedophilic vibe running throughout this epic disaster.

David Bowie & Mick Jagger – DANCING IN THE STREET

It seems that whatever Bowie touched in the 80’s turned to musical “Meh,” as demonstrated in this technicolor nightmare featuring the once great Mick Jagger. This video is what I imagine homely girls do for fun at sleepovers. And…now I have no more followers.

Van Halen – TATTOO

This next one may be a bit controversial, since I am not entirely sure this song was good to begin with. It’s the rocking out on the down beat that does it in for me. On the flip side, it’s good to see Carol Channing getting steady work again.

Journey – SEPARATE WAYS

Even the most die-hard metalhead will admit to the powerhouse talent that is Steve Perry and to the awesomeness of this song, no matter how lame and sad this video portrays them all. Journey should have issued a fatwā on the dude who put this crap together. 


We have finally reached the top of the crap heap, to the musical spooge floating to the top of the bad video barrel. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the shiniest turd of them all:

Billy Squier – ROCK ME TONIGHT

Poor, poor Billy Squier. No musical career has been harmed by a video performance more than Richard Simm- uh, I mean, Billy Squier’s. ROCK ME TONIGHT was Billy’s biggest hit before this video came out, which makes me wonder who fell asleep at the wheel and hit “go” on this piece of musical holocaust. DISCLAIMER: Pregnant women and people with heart conditions should refrain from watching the following video:

There you have it, folks. My personal list of bad videos that ruined good musicians. If you can think of any I missed, feel free to leave them in the comments. On that note I will leave you with a palate cleanser from my youth. Please to enjoy, WINGER. Feel free to listen with the sound off.


Close Encounter – Neil Gaiman

2013-07-15 20.38.53I’ll admit that it’s been a while since I’ve visited blogworld, but this time I have a good reason:

I met Neil Gaiman.

That’s right; I met honest to goodness Neil Gaiman at a book signing for his latest creation:

THE OCEAN AT THE END OF THE LANE

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?”

ME: “Yes.”

[Neil begins to sign book. Silence ensues]

NEIL: “It is wonderful to see people using initials again.”

ME: “Yes.”

[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.


It’s Flagulous!

Hold onto your garders people, because this next interviewee works red, white and blue. To commemorate the Fourth of July and a belated Flag Day we sit down with our nation’s favorite seamstress, the ever saucy Betsy Ross (Sparklebumps).

*** So tell me, Ms. Ross, what was it like being raised in a strict religious household?

As I was growing up, I never noticed that anything was amiss with regards to my religious upbringing. I was taught the ways of God and that to stray from them was a sin. It was until I met John that perhaps there was something more to life than praying and confession.

*** It seems you were quite the rebellious young woman. Tell us about your early love affair and your elopement with your husband, John.

I must point out, H.E., that I detest the word “rebellious”. I prefer the term “incorrigible.” No one has ever made me do something I didn’t want to do, and once I set my mind to do something, I do it, no matter what the reaction. That includes my elopement with John. My family was so upset I was excommunicated from our Quaker community. But every decision I made was worth it, because John was my one true love, and anyway, who could pass up the amazing honeymooning sex?

*** After John was killed in battle you went on to marry two more times which was nearly unheard of during the early 1700’s. How do you attribute your success in finding men?

I must be honest when I say that I’m not sure what it is that attracted all the men to me. I suppose my breasts may have had something to do with it, and my obnoxious need for love and affection…

*** I am going to quote Wikipedia here: “There is speculation that Betsy was the “beautiful young widow” who distracted Carl von Donop in Mount Holly, New Jersey, after the Battle of Iron Works Hill, thus keeping his forces out of the Battle of Trenton.” What was it like being so desirable that you potentially altered the future of a nation?

Women have been the cause for wars and the downfalls of countries for centuries. Just look at Helen of Troy. The main thing is to not let it go to your head.

*** Where did you get the idea for the design of the American Flag?

Well, I will let you in  on a little secret here. I’m into S&M a bit, and I was asked to design the flag right before I had a more than satifying… encounter. There was blood striping my freshly-washed white sheets, and that’s where the idea for the stripes came from. The stars I thought of because I tried to think of the most beautiful and sparkly thing I could think of to represent each state of glittery happiness our country had. Voila!

*** If you hadn’t made the flag, what would you like to have made instead?

If I hadn’t made the flag, I probably would have designed amazing satiny dresses for prostitutes, so as to give them a semblance of class.

*** What’s history’s biggest misconception about Betsy Ross?

The biggest misconception? ALL women who misbehave are misconceived. You know what they say- “Well-behaved women rarely make history.” I guarantee you wouldn’t be interviewing me if I had remained a Quaker. XOXO


Hellis In Bloggerland – Canadian Edition

We join Hellis on her journey into the Great White North of Bloggerland known as Canadia. Here she meets a crazy cast of Canuk characters who make her reconsider ever leaving home…

THE SALT WATER MOOSE AND THE FOUR MAINLANDERS

Archon peeked out from behind a tree. “Is it gone yet?”  he asked, terrified that he may still be in danger.  “Is what gone?” John Phillips asked as he listened to Canadian Rock classics on his iPod.  “The Salt Water Moose!, one of the locals said it was Salt Water Moose season, and that we should be careful walking in those woods.” added Archon’s Den.

As the two frightened tourists scampered out of the wooded area and onto the Trans-Canada Highway, they were almost run over by another speeding tourist, Harem’s Master. Harem wasn’t paying attention to the road. Rather, he was distracted by his latest bevy of middle east beauties, as he sped down the highway in the beat up van he rented from the local branch of Budget Rent a Car.  Harem swerved to miss them and ran right into…guess what…..a Salt Water Moose!

With that, many of the locals ran out into the highway, and using knives, axes and an assortment of other barbaric tools, they carved the meat from the moose, loaded the remaining carcass into their pickup truck, and took off quickly.

As the moose and his new owners left the scene, an RCMP highway patrol vehicle stopped to ask what was going on. He noticed the blood on the highway, and right away suspected foul play from the two terrified tourists. What’s your names guys, and what are you doing here?

Archon’s Den was the first to speak. “What in the hell are you talking about, you young fellow, you young cops just do not understand things. I worked all my life, and now being arrested by an aboriginal, East Indian, half Chinese, Half Pakistani cop? What sort of vacation is this turning out to be? Why I ever left the safe streets of Ontario to venture to Newfoundland I will never understand!” He grumbled.

“Your name, sir?” the cop repeated.

“None of your damn business what my name is, you tell me what a one part aboriginal, one part East Indian, Half Chinese, Half Pakistani cop is doing in Newfoundland and I will tell you my name!” Said Archon.

“Never mind me, I asked you a question, for that, get in my squad car, I am taking you in!” the one part aboriginal, one part East Indian, Half Chinese, Half Pakistani cop said. “And you get in too buddy” he said to Harem. Harem got in, still a bit nervous from the moose incident.

“What about my girls” Harem asked. “What will they do out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“We don’t have room for them, are they hurt?” The cop asked.

“They are alright, are they safe here” Harem asked, concerned. “They will be fine, this is Newfoundland after all.” said the cop.

John didn’t notice a whole lot, as he was captivated with the beautiful Newfoundland scenery, and he was tapping his toes to some authentic Canadian Rock music from the iPod.

“You get in too” the cop yelled at John. The three of them and the one part aboriginal, one part East Indian, Half Chinese, Half Pakistani cop sped toward the station, all of them terrified that another Salt Water Moose would suddenly appear.

When they got to the station, they were greeted by a friendly staff Sargent. “What are you boys in for?” he asked.  “We were running from a Salt Water moose, and all of a sudden a car hits him, a truck load of locals come over, take him in their truck and drive away, and your officer blames it all on us.” said Archon.

“Well, first let me inform you, there is no such thing as a Salt Water Moose. Whoever told you such a thing was pulling your leg.” The Sargent said. “Second of all, there is no law against moose hunting with your car, long as you don’t get yourself killed, so the officer had no right to charge you.” The cop apologized. “How about I make it up to you guys? My wife is cooking bbq for supper, if you would like to drop by.”

The three were starving from all the commotion, and they agreed. Harem said that he was hungry enough to eat a horse, and Archon said that he just needed a rest.

When they arrived at the cop’s house, they were greeted by the cop’s wife. “What in the fuck do we have here?” she asked. “Honey, what the fuck did you fucking bring home now?”  Archon and the others looked on, terrified at the woman’s attitude. “Don’t mind KayJai, she’s a Mainlander from Ontario”, the cop said. “You gotta watch the Mainlanders, they are a hard crowd to figure out, and please excuse her language, she tends to cuss a lot, but she is a real sweetheart once you gets to know her.” he added.

“It’s a good thing you came today, the neighbors have company over from Ontario as well, and they went and bagged road kill for supper!” KayJai said. “We are all invited over for a feed of Moose. They were out for a drive to show their friend around the island when they happened along a few Mainlanders who had witnessed a moose accident. The neighbors said that they were hollering something about Salt Water Moose or something.” she added.

When they got to the neighbor’s house, a very relieved Benzeknees met them at the gate. “My God, they found a moose on the highway and now they have it on the barbeque cooking it for supper…and we are all invited. What a kind crowd of people, it smells delicious!”

“Holy Fuck!, What a fucking horrible supper. Do they have any fucking thing else? I am fucking starved, but I am not eating fucking moose that was killed on the fucking highway,” KayJai said.

The owner of the house, SightsnBytes came out to see what was going on. “Guys, if you don’t want moose, we can order takeout, just everyone get along please.”

With that, everyone sat and had a wonderful supper, followed by a fire in the backyard firepit, lots of beer (not pine beer though) and authentic Newfoundland music blasting through the speakers in the yard.

*** Thanks to my good friend Ted from Sightsnbytes for this latest take on Hellis in Bloggerland. ***


Hellis In Bloggerland

Just when I thought I’d said it all, El Guapo says it better. I give you my screenplay as seen through a very handsome lens:

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.

FADE

Apologies to everyone slandered in this, and if you’ve made it this far, next round is on me. Really, you earned it.


It’s Time For Father Time

Father’s Day is upon us and with it an interview from the ultimate patriarch, Father Time.

*Good Afternoon, uh…is there such a thing as a time reference like “afternoon” in your reality?

Why wouldn’t there be? I’m just like you, missy. Minus the white beard. But don’t worry. It’s nothing a little electrolysis can’t help you with. (Bursts out laughing and slaps his knee). Man, I slay me! See what I did there?

*Yes.

I took the white beard reference and applied it to you! Since this is a print interview, people will think you have a white beard! Haha!

*Yes, I got it. Hilarious.

I know, right? I missed my calling, but relatively speaking stand-up comedy is a new thing. What would I have done before what you people call the 20th century? Wear a jester’s hat? No way. I have my pride. Plus, have you ever seen a comedian with such impressive biceps?

*So…

What? You want me to flex?

*No, thanks. Do time references like “afternoon” exist in your reality?

Oh, that. No offense, sweetie, but that’s dumb question. I mean I’m sitting here with you, aren’t I? In the afternoon. I would think the answer is obvious.

*It’s not afternoon everywhere.

Hey, don’t get all smart-ass and technical. Although I am everywhere I can’t be everywhere. I have to be somewhere, even if I am everywhere. So wherever I am, which doesn’t mean everywhere, is where I am. And when I am there, like I am here, I follow the clock like everyone else. By the way, do you know why clocks die?

*Why?

Because their time is up! Haha! Get it? You see when people die other people say their time was up. So when you apply that to clocks it takes on a whole new double meaning!

*That begs for your thoughts on how we measure time.

You mean how I taught you to measure time. The truth is you people need structure and organization. Have you looked in your closets? So I gave it to you. However, to be fair, precision rocks my world. Without some sort of time structure your life would be chaotic, but mine would be completely different. I wouldn’t be a celebrity, for one. I’d only be that guy with the amazing bod and killer sense of humor. No one would call me Father Time which would be tragic since my given name is Vivien. Hey, wanna see my pecs?

*Since you’ve been around forever you must have witnessed some amazing moments in history. Can you tell us which event was your favorite?

Been around forever? Is that some sort of age crack?

*Of course not. All I’m saying is you are a man of experience.

That’s true. I am. I get a little sensitive when people start talking about age because it is saddled with all these pre-conceived notions. So what if I have a few trillion miles under my belt? I’m still sharper than a Ginsu knife. Not only that, I have quads to die for.

*I’m sure you do. Now back to your favorite moment in history. When was it?

Right now, baby. (winks)

*Which event did history get wrong?

It would be easier to answer which event history got right.

*Okay, which event did history get right?

What? Do I look like some sort of history expert? (Doubles over in laughter.) Sucker! You fell right into that one! Am I killing it or what? Dane Cook couldn’t touch me on his best day! Haha!

*Is there a special lady friend in your life?

Look at me. What do you think? This magic doesn’t just happen. It takes hard work and let me tell you, the ladies appreciate it. One peek at my lats will convince you.

*I’m flattered, but let’s keep this professional.

Oh I’ll keep it professional alright, sugar.

*I have no idea what that means. Do you have any inside information on the Mayans and their world-end predictions?

They were a fun-loving group, the Mayans. Did a bit too much peyote, which is never a good thing. I’ll tell you this much though. Even when the world ends, time will continue. Which means – cha-ching! – I have nothing to worry about.

*What is the one thing most people get wrong about you?

That I’m a “father”. I’m not. I challenge anyone to produce a paternity test that says otherwise. And if they do show me a test it better be multiple choice. Haha!

 

This bit of Father’s Day diversion brought to you by the mad genius of John at Trask Avenue. For more holiday fun read Iconic Interviews– some of the best bloggers around the ‘sphere coming together for a good cause and a lot of laughs. Pick up a copy today.


REVIEW: Harem Master

HAREM MASTER  by R.B. Hatch

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.


F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES Update!

Fairy Tales

For a larger image – click at your own risk

Hellis here, taking a quick break from the grind to remind you it’s almost time for the release of the Blogger Compilation Project, F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES! If you’ve signed on to contribute please submit your story as soon as possible. The moment I have all contributions in I’ll release your book! All contributions should be sent to heellisgoa (at) gmail (dot) com

Our two newest contributions are offered by the sweet but sassy Sandylikeabeach as well as the never bland VanillaMom. Check these two ladies out for some inspiration for your own Fairy Tale!

For more of the Blogger Compilation Project read the novella,

ICONIC INTERVIEWS

– The world’s most beloved holiday icons presented in a collection of irreverent interviews that take on the backstory of their imagined existences.

 


Three Gruff Sisters and the Troll

6509017527_6f7b0d05b5_zHold on to your garters people, today is another spicy contribution to the F*cked Up Fairy Tales project from the never bland blogger better known as VanillaMom. I decided to post her spin on the classic THREE BILLY GOATS GRUFF on a Sunday, because just reading it will send you to confession. Lock the doors and draw the blinds as I bring you THREE GRUFF SISTERS AND THE TROLL.

by, VanillaMom

The day dawned sunny and bright. After a solid week of too much to do, the Gruff sisters decided it was time to head up to the meadows. All three girls were looking forward to a day of leisure, soaking up the sun, weaving garlands of flowers for their hair, gathering berries, chasing butterflies. Whatever they chose to do, they would. It was a day for fun and relaxation. Back at home, there would always be chores – the sort of things that never, ever were “done”. They had decided last night that they all needed a little break. Besides, the littlest sister, Andi, pointed out, they’d have berries for breakfast for the rest of the week.

Pacing around the parlor,  Andi was full of impatience and a goodly amount of impudence. After watching her sisters fuss over their clothing for far too long, she decided to venture off on her own. Eventually they would catch up to her. She didn’t exactly leave stealthily, though she did close the door very quietly on the sound of her sisters voices.  Which corset, indeed! She, clad in a simple cotton skirt and blouse, almost skipped for joy as she left their home behind, and climbed the narrow road heading up to the rolling foothills. She enjoyed the breeze full of verdant scents. Closing her eyes for a moment, and tipping her head up for the kiss of the sun on her cheeks, she smiled for the first time in days. Sweet, this taste of freedom!

Singing a naughty little tune under her breath, she came to the heavy-timbered bridge. Here she paused nervously. There had been rumors that a troll had taken up residence under the bridge. Looking up and down the long riverbed,  the silver ribbon of the river was low, sparkling in the sunshine on its path down the mountains. It was entirely reasonable that there could be a troll down there, hiding just out of view in the shadow of the bridge. She’d heard other things about trolls, too. Things that made her nervously excited.

Her heart thumping hard in her chest, the littlest Gruff sister decided to run, run, fast as she could, across the wooden trestle. It was really more of a skip, however, with an occasional pause to peer down at the river below. Of the rumored troll there was no sign, much to her disappointment.

Yet, before she reached the end of the bride, a large, hairy, and incredibly fearful-looking troll leapt in front of her, blocking her way.

“Who dares to cross my bridge?” He shouted at her, his voice a ferocious growl. A waft of fetid air came from his mouth and she shivered and turned her head away.

“Tis only me, Sir Troll, the littlest Gruff sister. I am on my way to yonder meadow to pick daisies…” pausing, she reached into her pocket. “Breath mint?” She handed him a wad of honied mint. “I made it myself. And really, Sir, you very much need it.”

He, waving a meaty hand in the air, paused to stare at the wee lass standing before him, offering a treat. Perplexed, he snatched it up, tossing it into his mouth. He frowned down at her, while attempting to gobble it quickly. Once it hit his mouth, however, it melted into a sticky goo, taking him several minutes of chewing and mouthing the thing to get it down. All the time, the little wench stood, head tilted, watching him with a small smile on her face.

“You…should be SCARED of Troll,” he growled at her.

“Oh, that’s much better. Your breath I mean. And I’m very scared.” She smiled up at him innocently and batted her lashes.

“As I was saying, Sir Troll, I’m headed up to yon meadow to gather yummy tasting blackberries, which I will gladly share with you on my return, kind Sir.” She finished speaking, then moved, gently brushing her breasts against his arm, as if trying to edge past him.

He grabbed her arm, stopping her. With his other hand, he pulled apart the lower part of his pants. An engorged cock burst free, startling the poor girl. She stared at him, at it, aghast, waving her hand in front of her face.

“NO BERRIES! This  is the only thing you’ll  be tasting today,” he said, shaking her a bit.

“I’m afraid that part of you is just as…aromatic as your breath was, Sir Troll. I can see that you’re not much for bathing, are you? And yet, there’s that lovely stream just below. Why, I imagine that if you ran down there quickly, washed that impressive…I mean…frightening…part of you carefully, and rushed back, I wouldn’t even have time to finish crossing the bridge before you returned, and had your wicked way with me.”

Once more she tilted her head at him, aimed that innocent smile at him. He frowned, took a step back, then bolted for the side of the bridge. From underneath came the sound of crashing underbrush, the furious splashing, a faint curse as cold water came in contact with warm flesh. In moments, it seemed, he was back.

He strode to her, grasping her hair, and pulled her to her knees. In moments the large purple head brushed her against her closed mouth. Yet, at that first touch of his cock,  her lips parted. As he jutted his hips forward, he sank deeply into the wet, succulent heat of her mouth.

She gagged, a bit.  He moaned as she tried to keep her breakfast in her belly. As he moved, sawing his giant shaft into and out of her mouth, she found a rhythm to breathing and relaxing her throat. After all, it wasn’t everyday a girl had a cock this huge thrust into her mouth! She felt an answering thud to her racing heart between her thighs. She had dreamt of such wicked things, ever since she had accidentally spied the Widow Morris licking the cock of her stableman as if it were a delightful length of taffy. She had often remembered that scene, wondering at the taste and texture of a man’s shaft, while touching her own folds. And now, it was happening to her!

Her lips were stretched wide, her eyes were squeezed shut, as he continued pumping in and out of her mouth. She tried to suck it back each time he withdrew, and curled her tongue around it each time the massive length slid deeply into her throat. She could feel him quiver, and hear his gasps. If her lips hadn’t been stretched so, she would have smiled. At long last, and far too soon,  he grunted, and a hot, salty fluid filled her mouth. She’d never tasted such a thing before, and there was so much of it! It was like over-salted cream, she thought, runnels of the stuff leaking out the corners of her lips, as she licked and suckled the softening length of him.

With a pop, he pulled out, and tucked his rod away.

“Go,” he ordered roughly, and without hesitation, the littlest Gruff girl rose on shaking knees and ran the rest of the way across the bridge and up and up until she reached the meadow, where she fell back into the soft cushioning grasses, and slipped her fingers between her legs, licking her lips for one more taste of the Troll, until she shivered and quaked her way to the most incredible release she’d ever had.

*****************

Fiona looked around the house. It quickly became apparent that Andi had taken off on her own again. With a sigh, she looked at the dishes in the sink. They kept piling up, like magic. Evil magic, she mused, frowning at them. She could use the time while she waited for their eldest sister to finish her preparations (though for goodness sake they were only going to the meadow, not a grand ball!) by attacking the pile in the sink. She really should, she mused, as she eyed the back door with longing.

No!

With a burst of energy, she strode across the kitchen and out the door before she could interrupt their leisure day. Somehow, it never felt like she got that break. There was always something that needed attention. Laundry or mucking the stable, gathering eggs, or patching their garments- always there was a longer list of things to be attended to then there were hours in the day. Yet, she knew  that the dishes would still be there when they returned this evening. She hoped, wished, dreamed, that someday she’d find a handsome prince, who would have a fine castle and hundreds of servants to do all the dishes.

She smiled at her folly, as there were no princes anywhere around here, just magical creatures. Really, she would even settle for one of the fae. How lovely it would be to have someone to help around the house. Even better, to have someone to snuggle with in her lonely bed. She kept a tattered book hidden under her feather bed, with exotic pictures of men and women entwined together. She’d studied them all, especially the page with a certain tantalizing picture of woman’s ankles,  up and over the man’s shoulders, his penis poised at the entrance hidden between her thighs. His arms were bulging with muscles, as were his thighs. His erect shaft rose from a thatch of thick hair. She had spent many a long evening tracing it with her fingertips.

She wanted to see one. She mouthed the words as she walked. Penis. Cock. She shivered at the naughtiness of saying it aloud.  She ached to touch one. Yearned to feel it press into her, to fill her belly with its firm length.  There were many stories she had spun about that, as she touched herself in the deep dark night. Many nights  she had to bite her lips to keep from crying out as her mystery lover brought her to the peak, as her body wept copious amounts of love juice.

The sun shone brightly as she moved up the pathway, lost in thought. She often wondered if her sisters ever thought about men in the way she did. She was constantly dreaming of them and their hard bodies.  Her slow steps eventually brought her to the heavy wooden bridge. She kept walking, her feet moving automatically, her mind tangled in images of her deepest longing.

“Who dares to cross my bridge?”

With a shriek, she took a step back, catching one foot on the other,  falling. She landed on her backside, legs sprawled, head spinning. It was a troll. He was tall, with a thick beard and hair like a dark halo around his head.  He was impressively ugly, yet he smelled like Andi’s  mouth mints.

Wasn’t that curious?

All the warning tales about sightings of a troll at the Meadow Bridge ran through her head. She’d discounted them as foolish stories meant to scare people-after all, there hadn’t been a troll on this side of the mountains in decades! Yet here she was, and there, most definitely, stood a troll.

He seemed enormously tall; then again, she was laying on her back and looking up at him. His scowl was ferocious.  Or perhaps it was a smile? His teeth and mouth were huge, and as he approached her, looming over her where she lay, she wondered if this nasty beast would eat her! She wished she’d paid more attention to how to be rid of one.

“You were crossing my bridge. You must pay a toll.”

“I…I haven’t any coin with me. I was just on my way to the meadow. I can give you berries on my return, Mister Troll. Would that be a fair toll?”

“Berries? Berries? What is it with you girls and berries?” The troll shook his head, setting his scraggled hair to dancing. Fiona lay looking up at him, thinking that he wouldn’t be quite so fearsome if his clothing fit better and was clean. She was very handy with a needle.

“You aren’t all that terrible looking, Mr. Troll. Why, with a proper haircut, you’d be passing handsome!”

Fiona wasn’t sure which of them was more surprised by that little pearl of wisdom as it popped from her mind to her lips.

“Troll is NOT handsome,” He growled, hands on his hips. He glared down at her, yet she sensed a longing in him. Being a troll under a bridge must be a lonely thing, after all.

“Troll will take his toll. NO more talk of berries.”

In seconds, his pants were tugged aside and the most amazing penis popped out. Being of a somewhat analytical nature, Fiona looked at it intently, comparing it to the pictures she’d seen in her book. It was a lot bigger. ‘One might even term it massive,’ she thought in awe..It had thick veins, and a swollen purple head. Two heavy, meaty balls hung below it, each as big as her fist!

He stepped between her sprawled open ankles, then dropped to his knees. She swore she felt the bridge tremble under her. His hands grasped the hem of her skirt and it suddenly dawned on her exactly what sort of toll he was going to take from her.

Excitement mixed with fear. It was, she could see, so much larger than the wooden cock she kept with that book under her bed. She wondered for a moment if such a huge thing could even fit inside her own, much smaller body.

“Mr. Troll?” she bit her lip. It wasn’t everyday that fantasy came to life and she didn’t want to blow this opportunity.

“I-.”  She paused again. How did one address the issue of “fitting” with a troll?

He looked at her, brows furrowed. “What you want, girl?”

“Well, Mr. Troll, your….cock,” and she blushed profusely to say that word aloud to him. “it seems very large. I wonder if it will….fit?” Her voice trailed off. The head of his cock dripped a pearly bead of fluid. She licked her lips, watching as a second drop gathered, then fell in slow motion to the ground between their legs.

He laughed, the sound like metal scraping against metal. It was not a pretty sound.

“My cock is biggest Troll cock in these mountains.” He gestured expansively.

‘Likely the only troll cock in these mountains,’ thought Fiona, though she held her tongue.

He grasped the base of his cock, shaking it at her, making another thick droplet fall to the ground.

“I make it fit.”

Suiting words to actions, he leaned forward, pressing his enormous penis against her cleft. He slid it up and down her slit, making her arch and moan when he hit the sensitive place at the top. He pressed forward. She spread her legs wider.

“Please?” she whimpered, then taking the initiative from him, lifted her hips until the head of his cock was virtually sucked into her tight channel.

Her eyes nearly rolled up in her head;  it was like nothing she’d imagined. She rose higher, taking him deeper. His cock stretched her, making her ache in a delightful way. She opened one eye, staring up at the troll. He was staring down at where their bodies were joined. She could see confusion on his face.

“Well?” she growled up at him. “Get on with raping me, will you?”

He blinked, obviously unused to being ordered around in this fashion. He started to sit back on his haunches to think about this, but she wrapped her legs around his thick torso.

“Now…” she snarled at him, “rape me now!”

Tightening her legs, she impaled herself deeper on his thickness. Nature took over at that point, and he pressed the rest of the way into her.  As he pulled back, she tightened her ankles, trying to hold him in; she felt so delightfully full!

He moved to lay atop her, and she moaned. Oh the delight of being pinned helplessly in this way. He bit her nipple, making her arch against his mouth. In moments she was screaming, coming hard, her pussy  clenching and massaging the length of him. He fucked, she came again. He fucked, and fucked and fucked. After a long, long while, he stiffened.

She was in somewhat of a stupor, having had orgasm after orgasm, yet his fingers found her clit, his mouth all but inhaling her breast, as his cock grew impossibly thicker, and began to pulse. She came with a roar, her fingers twining into his hair, pushing his head onto her breast, back arching, legs tightening, pulling him as deep as possible inside of her.

He was coming. Pressed hard against her insides, with no room to spare, every ounce of his  juice filled her. Her back arched, her body taking more, as much more as she could get. Never before had she felt this wanton. Never before had she ever imagined that one of the pages of her hidden Matings book would come to life. Never before had she felt so good. It was the stuff of fantasy, come to life.

She lay, flaccid, as he rolled away.

“Wait,” she whispered, her hand outstretched in longing. But he had already vanished below the bridge. At long last, she rose, her body glowing, and walked onward to the meadow, with their juices tracing down her thighs.

********************************

Sue tugged once more on the laces of her corset. She did like them tight, and damnit, her sisters had likely already left, as she’d called to them twice and gotten no response. Doing herself up the best way she could, she adjusted her leather pants, straightened her boots, and gathered up her implements. Her sisters were definitely of the “girlish” variety; she herself was made of sterner stuff.

It wasn’t that she was cruel to them, but they needed tasks to help keep them happy. A long time ago Sue had noted that most people fell into two distinct catagories- those that like the doing for others, and those that liked receiving such doings. Her sisters were the former while she was very much the latter.

She liked going to the mountain meadow well enough, but she would be hunting game for dinner. The younger two would braid flowers or some such frittery, while she would get on with the business of supplying them with meat.

As if they could live on daisies, she snorted to herself. Taking up her hunting sack, she slung it over her shoulder, and headed up the road.

At the bridge she paused. The locals had spoken, just last week when she was in town, of the possible presence of a troll. While she’d seen nothing of the kind herself, she left naught to chance. Unslinging her whip and club, she walked steadily across the bridge, taking note of a puddle in the center. Bending, she pressed a finger into it. Warm. Sniffing it, she frowned.

Cum?

In the middle of the bridge where her sisters had been? Now, wasn’t that passing strange? She rose to her feet, weapons at the ready, but nothing untoward occurred, and she continued on to the hills. She found one sister picking berries near the trailhead.

“Hie, Fiona!” She called. Fiona’s head popped up, startled. She turned away from her sister, just a bit, enough to make her curious.

“What ails you?”

“Nothing. Just …picking berries.”

“Fiona, I can tell you are…what the hell is that?” Sue pointed at the stain on the front of her sister’s dress. It was dark with the drying spittle of the troll.

Her sister cast her eyes to the ground, lower lip trembling.

“I …I couldn’t stop it. Truth? I…I didn’t want to. He was so big, Sue. His arms were like logs, his legs like marble. And oooh how huge  his cock, Susan!  Merciful goddess, his cock was a work of art!”

She paused, hand to her breast, remembering. She smiled, smitten.

“He needed a haircut, a shave, and some tailoring, but he was so ruggedly handsome.”

Sue looked at her sister in disbelief. What the hell had she been drinking up here? Last years mead?

A trilling call and rippling grasses presaged their younger sisters arrival. Her hands were full of daisy crowns, and she plunged into the scene with happy cheer.

She moved to pass out the crowns, but caught onto the tension.

“What…what..?” she asked, confused.

“I think our sister has fucked a troll.” Sue spoke flatly, hands on hips.

“I didn’t mean to, and it was just my mouth…” Andi’s eyes fell to her feet. Looking up, she saw the disbelief on both sisters faces.

“Wait…he got you, too?” squeaked Fiona.

After a few minutes of cacophony, of catcalling  “you slut, you whore” Sue had had enough. The volume and shrillness rose until she dropped her hands on her hips and whistled as if to dogs.

Both girls stopped, clapping hands over their ears. She had a fearsome whistle!

“Enough. It appears that we have a resident troll, who fucked you,” and she pointed at Fiona, “and used your mouth,” she continued, speaking to Andi. They nodded, still mutinous.

“And I didn’t see him at all, so he was likely totally fatigued by having both you juicy pieces in such a short time. Very well, I’ll just see to that. Give me an hour before you return.”

Both girls nodded somberly.

“Sue?” Fiona asked, her voice a bit sad. “Please…don’t hurt him too much. I…I kind of liked what he did. A lot.”

“A lot, but kind of? Silly girl. Pleasured by a stinky troll? There are better ways…”

“Like there’s anything hung like that in town,” muttered Andi under her breath.

Sue shook her head, torn between bewilderment and annoyance. She pointed to each of her sisters, her tone brooking no argument.

“Stay. Here.”

A chorus of “yes Ma’am”‘s followed her as she left the meadow at a near trot.

*******************************

She came to the bridge in short order, her long strides and impressive annoyance eating up the miles.

“Yo, Troll!” She shouted.

In a few moments, he clambered up the bank, looking more than a bit exhausted.

“What you doin’ on my bridge,”  he tried to thunder, but really, it had been a long, long time since he’d had an orgasm, let alone two in an hour. He was exhausted and just wanted to sleep.

She took a step forward.

He took a step back.

She backed him across the bridge, step by step. Once his contact with the water and bridge was broken, as he stood on the road, his power was broken.

In moments, Sue had looped her whip around his neck, collared him, and led him back to the house. He trudged along behind her, thinking fondle of napping. In the backyard was the old trough where they watered their mare.

“Get those clothes off. Hard to say which smells more…you or those rags. Get in there and wash.”

He grumbled. She pointed, first with her finger, then with her short crop. She swatted his backside as he reluctantly clambered into the water.

“Stay there.”

Striding into the house, she found one of the bars of lavender soap that her sister made, and tossed that at him. Before he could bite it, she stopped him.

“NO! Wash yourself–every INCH of yourself–you stinking creature.”

It took a while, and many buckets of water, until Sue was satisfied that he was de-stunk enough to enter the house.  His clothing stayed in the trough, he could come out later and wash them.

She walked around him as he stood in the kitchen. Her sisters were right. A bath, and later, some grooming, and he would be more than passing presentable.  Stopping in front of him, she looked at the giant cock between his hairy legs. Interesting. She smiled. Directing him to her room, she bid him to sit on the floor and to not move.

In moments she was back, with a strange ring in her hands.

“This used to be part of our mares tack. I’m going to put it on your cock. . . because it is my cock now, understand?”

He was slow to answer. As punishment, she swatted his upper legs, catching the hanging cock, making him yelp. He may have been big, but he still felt pain.

“Yes. Your cock.” He answered a bit reluctantly at first, then continued hopefully,  “I like your cock.  Troll want to put your cock in your cockhole.”

“Later, perhaps,” she purred at him. She slid the silver ring over his balls, then slipped his flaccid cock through. He frowned, moved a bit. She grabbed his testicles, squeezing firmly.

“Enough wiggling. Be a good boy and stay still.”

His hairy brows beetled down, his expression confused.  He watched her cross the room, tugging down her man-pants. He’d never seen a girl wear pants like that before. Yet she had all the right girl parts.

“Come here and taste me. I’ve always wanted someone to lick me. You have a big tongue. I want you to use it on me. Lick me good and I might let you fuck my sister again.”

The troll went to work, having never tasted pussy before, he found it delightful, his mouth and lips working to devour every drop of fluid, stroking over her button, making her writhe and moan and leak more honey onto his tongue. He pressed his tongue into her cockhole, and found it to be hot, and clenching on him. Fucking her with his tongue was delightful for both of them.

She had never ever felt the like! To have an enormous tongue lapping and stabbing into her nether regions? Amazing.

“My ass…you must lick me there, too…my crack, my hole..all of it.”

Being a troll of small brains, he wasn’t worried about that. He’d eaten worse, actually. His tongue slid up her back cleft as readily as the front, then pierced into her ass with abandon.He actually smacked his lips between slurpy suctioning of her ass and cockhole!

Finally she pushed him away. She was light-headed from so many orgasms. She heard her sisters come in, the sound of their nervous whisperings.

“Fiona! Andi! Come in here!”

She stood, bare-bottomed, the troll laying at her feet.

The two girls stopped, amazed at the sight.

“I believe we found the answer to our needs…our pet troll will help with all our chores, won’t you, Troll?”

He nodded, though he wasn’t altogether sure what a ‘chore’ was. He wondered if it tasted like the snack he had just enjoyed. He smacked his lips.

Sue looked to her sisters. “And we shall take turns with him, so that everyone gets to enjoy our new pet. Agreed?”

They nodded assent eagerly.

******************************************************

“Your tea, Madam.”

His accent was perfect, thought Sue. It hadn’t taken too many beatings to whip him into shape. His suit and tie fit impeccably, he was well-groomed, and he only tended to slobber after the guests had been served high tea. She’d allowed that-as long as he was in the kitchen or stables, and out of his livery. A troll, after all, is still very much a troll under the fine clothing.

She also didn’t mind the gruntings and foul language when he was occupied with one of her sisters, and certainly enjoyed his controlled attentions herself.

Yes, the Gruff sisters, had done well in civilizing their new pet. And although he would sometimes frown and stomp around the house, all it took was a raised eyebrow, and the suggestive tapping of her crop against her boot to end any thought of stomping away.

No, he was their troll now, and he was never found under the bridge again.

The End

 


Confessions Of A Star Wars Virgin – Anniversary Reblog!

 

19fk32sw3nt1wjpgI have a confession to make. I’ve never seen Star Wars. Or The Empire Strikes Back. Or Return of the Jedi.

So on the prompting of a certain wunderkind who calls himself  THE ELITE I’ve decided to actually sit down and watch these movies back to back. I’m leaving now to watch Star Wars and I’ll return to the post with an assessment when I’m done.

************************************

600full-star-wars-episode-v-the-empire-strikes-back-posterFirst, I need to apologize for all the SciFi geek jokes I’ve made over the course of my life, because that movie friggin’ ROCKED!!!!

So Han was hot and all but Luke was super annoying. I honestly don’t know how Han didn’t just kick him off the Millennium Falcon on day one. I also wanted to smack C3PO upside the head throughout most of the movie.

But if you ask me, what made the entire film was Chewbacca. Honestly, if I’d known more about his character it wouldn’t have taken me so long to see this movie. He’s the only one that makes any sense and he doesn’t have a single coherent line of dialogue! Now, onto EMPIRE!

 ***************************************

Totally did not see the whole Han/Leia romance angle coming, although I probably should have. Leia’s every bit the “denies/doesn’t show romantic emotions” pain in the ass I am.

Return-of-the-Jedi-Movie-PosterLando’s kind of a dick, but my boy Chewbacca nearly tears him to pieces so that was wicked awesome. I also wish at some point Yoda would have kicked Luke’s whiny ass right into the swamp. Best of all I FINALLY got to see the “Luke, I am your father” scene I’ve always heard people talk about.

But the part that pissed me off most was that at the end of the movie Han is still frozen. I suppose I’m not so upset about it for my sake, seeing as I’m about to watch the next movie in a moment, but I can’t imagine what it must have been like back in the day when people had to wait years for it to hit the theaters. Alright, time to bring on JEDI!

 ****************************************

Uh…ok…

Please all you fans out there, tell me the whole reveal of the “Luke/Leia twin” thing was a late to the table script add-on and not part of the original story arc. Because I went back and skimmed through Empire looking for a specific moment I was sure I saw and……..yeah.

As usual, Chewy rocked. Jabba was awesome and the Ewoks were…well, let’s just say they were cute, but I’m trying to understand why they were necessary. And…I kind of wish Luke didn’t take off Vader’s mask, but that’s just me.

All in all I’d have to say that the movies were excellent, even though I watched them after seeing more recent CGI fueled films like Transformers. And while I doubt I’ll be attending any conventions any time soon, I finally understand how the fans are as dedicated to the films as they are.

Now, my original plan was to watch the next three movies or prequels tomorrow; but my boys made me promise to wait a couple of days. They said they want the euphoria of me finally getting to see the original three wear off before I watched the next ones and got really, really mad.

Whatever that means.


A Tiny Thumbelina Tale

imagesPinch me because I must be dreaming. Today we have another amazing addition to the Blogger Compilation Project better known as F*CKED UP FAIRY TALES (I know, I know, the asterisk fools no one, but I’m trying to class my blog up, okay?)

Anyway, this little bit o’ tome comes from none other than our very own Beach Bunny Sandy Floyd, better known to Blogworld as Sandylikeabeach. Her take on the classic Thumbelina is as witty, clever and brilliant as this tiny writing powerhouse is herself. Please to enjoy, A TINY THUMBELINA TALE.

 

by Sandy Floyd 

It was a dark and stormy night. Not really, but I always wanted to start the story of my life with that line. I have no idea if it was a dark and stormy night on the night of my birth or if I was even born at night. I was just a baby so I have no clear memories of the event. I’m not even sure I should start at the beginning. So let’s begin again.

I’m special. Well, as special as a person can be in a world populated by people, each one thinking he or she is special. Of course, if we’re all special, then special isn’t really special. It’s ordinary. It is the normal order of things. But I’m the Abby Normal of ordinary though my name isn’t Abby.

I wish it was Abby. Christ! I got stuck with an awful name. I swear to God, if there is one, that if I ever have children I will not stick them with some cutesy or super esoteric or just plain fucking weird name. And the lovely name that was bestowed on me? Thumbelina. What the fuck? Who names a kid Thumbelina? What the hell is a Thumbelina? I loathed my name. I shortened it to Tina. However, there was always that one teacher who insisted on calling every child by his or her proper name, no nicknames allowed. And of course, the first day of school each year my embarrassing name would be called out and I would have to acknowledge it and then say, “But I just go by Tina.” Then the more compassionate teachers would make a note on their rosters but the damage was done. The more obnoxious poets among my class liked to chant “Tiny Tina, Thumbelina” whenever I happened by.

Of course, even without the embarrassing weird name, I still would have been teased because of the tiny thing. Just as it’s not easy being green, it’s not easy being tiny and tiny is what I am though I’m not green and tiny, just tiny. Though now that I think about it, if green is the color of your species, then how hard can it be to be green? And if tiny is the size of your species, then being tiny wouldn’t be hard either, but tiny is not the size of my species so being tiny is not easy except that it is easy to be overlooked and easy to be treated like a child and easy to be thought of as younger than you really are which will be nice when I get older.

I am a very small person though not dwarf small, and unlike most dwarfs, I am exquisitely proportioned. But if other people didn’t feel compelled to state the obvious by telling me how small I am, I would rarely think about my lack of height unless I needed to get something off the top shelf at the grocery store. Of course, I’m sure one of the functions of the lowest shelf is to serve as a step for those of us who are vertically challenged to reach the stuff we need that is always on the top shelf. And I will admit to always being surprised when I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror or some sort of reflective surface standing next to a normal sized person. Honest to God, again, if there is one, I look like a miniature person.

So despite all my name loathing during my formative years living on a farm with my foster mother after being abandoned as an infant with a note pleading for someone to take care of “our little Thumbelina” thus dooming me to a lifetime of name loathing and forever linking me to a shadowy group of people with weird names, my feelings about my name took a somewhat nuanced turn. Translation: I figured out how to cash in.

Upon my successful completion of high school, I knew college was a financial impossibility. I also knew that I did not want to spend the best years of my life waiting on people be it as a waitress or a retail worker. Cubicle life sounded no better. So having no moral compass, or any compass at all, I decided to put my decidedly good looks, flexibility and passion for my passion to good use. I became a tiny stripper and Thumbelina was my tiny stripper name even though that name is not tiny and doesn’t often, or possibly ever, come up in that internet what is your stripper name thing. But I was dancing and dancing made me happy. It also made me money.

Now some people might think stripping is demeaning and they have valid arguments and indeed, I would agree it is demeaning if the stripping is involuntary. However, if stripping is a personal choice, there is power in that choice. And pardon the obvious use of the word, but stripped of its moral questions, at its heart, it is art expressed in a very specific form of dance. The best strippers embrace this. I know I did, and I was one of the best. I even won the International Pole Dance Championship a couple of years ago. Though to be fair, Miss Australia probably would have won if she hadn’t had that embarrassingly awkward slide down the pole. A little lube goes a long way.

You might not think that a strip club would be the best place to meet the love of your life and before it happened to me, I would have agreed with you, but then it happened to me though the actual meeting thing took place in a coffee shop across the street from the club, but that first sighting was in the club. He was part of a bachelor party though not the part that was The Bachelor. He was just one of The Bachelor’s buddies helping The Bachelor celebrate one of his last nights of bachelorhood.

He didn’t look like the usual regulars, but boy, did he look good. He had this tall, dark and handsome bad boy with the scruffy beard thing going on even though he wasn’t particularly tall or dark, but he was definitely handsome. And he had that scruffy beard thing which looks great on a male model, though male might be redundant because no one ever thinks a scruffy beard would look good on a female model, but I’m not typically a fan of the scruffy facial hair decision. It’s not even a decision. It’s a mark of indecision. Make a choice, already. Grow a beard or shave, but damn, it looked good on him.

I could have looked at him all night. I didn’t, because I also wanted my usual haul of tips and it’s not just the dancing that does the trick, you have to make eye contact and smile at everyone to make the most tips. But I did glance his way every now and then, and each time, he was looking at me, but not in the way the usual strip club attendee does. When our eyes would meet, he smiled ever so slightly. It was warm and sweet and it felt like we were the only two people in the room.

After my shift that night, a couple of the other dancers and I headed to the coffee shop for our usual after work confab. We settled in a booth and that’s when I noticed him. He was at the counter and he was alone. I’ve never been a big fan of fate, but fate might be a fan of me, because as fate would have it, Amber’s phone rang.

“Ugh, that was the sitter,” she said as she returned her phone to her handbag. “I’ve got to get home.”

“Nothing serious, I hope.”

“No. Jason has a touch of a fever so I need to get home. See you later, TIna.”

“You going, too?” I asked Nina.

“Yeah, she’s my ride tonight. Good night, TIna.”

“Bye NIna, bye Amber. Hope Jason’s feeling better soon.”

The girls had no sooner walked out the door when the scruffy beard guy appeared at my table.

“Mind if I join you? I’ve never been a fan of eating alone.” His voice was like velvet – soft and smooth. A voice that could be on the radio, maybe a classic rock station or maybe even smooth jazz although much of what smooth jazz stations play isn’t even jazz, it’s more yesterday’s pop and soft rock.

“Um,” I hesitated because it’s usually not a good idea to get involved with customers, but he was good looking and he smelled good, or maybe that was the bacon cooking in the kitchen, but he looked and seemed to smell good enough to eat and I was hungry.

“It’s just a little food and conversation,” he said. And then he smiled.

“Yeah, company would be great.” I smiled back.

He slid into the booth across from me and smiled that smile. “I’m Cooper.”

I wasn’t sure if Cooper was his first name or last name, so I asked. My foster mom always told me I shouldn’t ask too many personal questions too soon, but how else do you find out stuff that you’d be wondering about and all that wondering would keep you from being able to concentrate on the conversation. And I was going to need all the help with concentration because I wasn’t really thinking about having a conversation with him, if you catch my drift.

“It’s my first name. It’s a little unusual but I like it.”

“It’s a great name. I’m..”

“Thumbelina. The tiny dancer.”

“I go by TIna.”

“How’d you come up with Thumbelina for a stage name?”

“It’s my real name. And you thought Cooper was unusual.”

He laughed and his laugh was even better than his smile. “Well, I think Thumbelina is a beautiful name. It rhymes with ballerina and you are an exquisitely beautiful dancer.”

He had me at ‘exquisitely,’ or maybe he had me at ‘mind if I join you.’ It doesn’t really matter when he had me, much like it doesn’t matter when the heart finds love, only that it does and mine did that night. We talked for hours or it seemed that way. At last, we noticed the night was easing into dawn and we made our way to the parking lot. He asked me where I was parked and I pointed to my car.

“I’m right next to you,” he said.

“That’s your bike? It’s gorgeous.” Though I didn’t add ‘just like you,’ but I was thinking it.

“Yeah, you like bikes?”

“I’ve never been on one but it looks like fun.”

“It’s just about the most fun you can have with your clothes on.”

“I always thought that about dancing, but of course, I don’t always keep my clothes on for that.”

He laughed. “Here’s my number. Call me and we’ll go for a ride. And you can keep your clothes on the whole time.”

I smiled at him and climbed in my car. “It was nice meeting you, Cooper.”

“See you soon, tiny dancer.”

A few days later I had my first bike ride. I climbed on the bike behind him and as I wrapped my arms around his waist I said, “I think this is going to be the best part of the ride.”

He laughed. “Not by a long shot. Hang on.”

And off we went. He was partially right. Holding on to him wasn’t the best part, but it wasn’t the best part by a long shot. It was a very close second. The ride was exhilarating. Sitting behind him, looking over his shoulder, the wind in my face was a great feeling. We spent the afternoon on country roads, stopping here and there to admire the scenery or grab a bite to eat.

It was just like one of those Hollywood movie montages the writers employ because they suck at writing dialogue. And it did feel like one of those too good to be true but wouldn’t it be lovely if it could happen to me Hollywood scenarios right up until it turned into a killer zombie movie but without the killer zombies, but Killer Bees instead. But not African killer bees, but the biker gang. I know it sounds like a silly name, but the backs of their jackets have this evil looking killer bee and they used a sinister typeface for the name, so it doesn’t just sound silly, it looks silly, too. But I kept my silly thoughts to myself.

We ran into the Killer Bees at Roady Toadies, a little dive bar on the outskirts of town. Of course, we didn’t know the bikes we saw outside meant there were Killer Bees inside. In fact, Cooper said he recognized one of the bikes as belonging to a friend of his. We walked inside and let our eyes adjust to the light after being in the bright sun. Cooper spotted his friend and we headed over to where he was sitting.

“Jack, this is Thumbelina. Thumbelina, this is my good friend, Jack Sparrow.”

“Like the Johnny Depp character?”

“No,” Jack said. “I had the name first but I like to think he got his character’s inspiration from me.”

Cooper laughed and said, “I think he got the inspiration from Keith Richards.”

I smiled at Jack. “Nice to meet you, Jack.”

“Likewise. Thumbelina, huh? That’s not a name you hear everyday.”

“No, it’s not,” I replied, except that I was hearing it more today then I usually do and right about then, a loud voice behind me bellowed my name again.

“Thumbelina! I’d recognize that ass anywhere even covered in jeans.”

I turned around and there was the biggest Killer Bee I had ever seen. Of course, it was the first Killer Bee I had ever seen so thinking it was the biggest one ever was a big mistake. Behind the loudmouth Killer Bee, were more Killer Bees and they were even bigger than Mr. Bigmouth which was how I was coming to think of him. Mr. Bigmouth didn’t look familiar and I had never seen men attired in Killer Bee attire in the Pussycats club. But he was looking at me, the way hungry men look at a grilled steak.

And before I could reply, Mr. Bigmouth looked around at his buddies and said, “Boys, this is your lucky day. We have a celebrity in our midst. This here itty bitty thing is Thumbelina, stripper extraordinaire!” Then he looked at me and said, “I watch your World Pole Dance routine on YouTube all the time.” He glanced at Cooper and added, “She won the championship a couple of years ago. You know that?”

“No, I didn’t, but I can’t say I’m surprised. She is quite extraordinary.”

If I hadn’t already fallen in love with Cooper, I would have right then especially since he didn’t know about how Miss Australia should have won except for that embarrassing slip or in her case, slide down the pole.

But Mr. Bigmouth wasn’t done. “Why don’t you dance for us Thumbelina? Just climb right up on the bar and show us what you got.”

“You can see me dance at Pussycats,” I replied in an even tone.

“I want to see you dance right now!”

Cooper stepped between us, “Leave the lady alone.”

“She ain’t no lady.”

And then Cooper slugged Mr. Bigmouth.

“I’m not a fan of double negatives either, but I usually refrain from hitting the illiterate,” I said to him.

“I would have slugged him even if he was grammatically correct. No one gets away with saying you’re not a lady.”

But before we could congratulate ourselves on just how clever our repartee was becoming, all hell broke loose. It was the three of us, okay two of us because I’m not much good in a fight and I’m really tiny, against all those Killer Bees. Fists were flying, glass was breaking and I was ducking. I could feel strong arms around me pulling me backwards and then everything went dark.

I wasn’t unconscious, just locked in a closet. I banged on the door, but I guess Cooper couldn’t hear me over all the noise of the fight and last I saw, he and Jack seemed to be on the losing end. After what seemed like an hour but was probably much shorter because everything seems to take longer when you’re locked inside a closet, I heard what sounded like a gunshot. My heart stopped, but not because I got shot but because I was afraid of who might have. I could hear voices but I couldn’t make out what was being said or who was talking. Then it got quiet again, so I started banging on the door and screaming to be let out.

The door opened and a rather mousey looking woman was standing there.

“It’s all right, dear. Toadie put you in there. He thought you’d be safer in there.” She smiled at me and there was kindness in her eyes.

“Toadie is a real person?” I couldn’t believe how many people had parents that made such bad choices when naming their kids.

The mousey woman laughed. “Oh, he’s real all right, but Toadie is a nick name he picked up when he was a roadie for Z Z Top back in the day. I’m Mrs. Fields, Toadie’s mother. I help out in the kitchen.”

I refrained from asking her for a chocolate chip cookie and instead asked about my friends.

“Well, they’re a little banged up, but no permanent damage. Come and see for yourself.”

She led me through the kitchen and into the bar. I spotted Toadie right away because he looked like a toad, kind of like how that senator looks like a turtle. Toadie was holding a shotgun but when he saw me, he smiled and said, “Sorry to stick you in the closet like that, but a bar fight is no place for such a pretty little lady.”

“No worries, Toadie. Thanks for looking out for me.” I was looking around for Cooper and Jack. “Where are my friends?”

“They’re in the john cleaning themselves up. Those Killer Bees did a number on them, but as badass as they think they are when you point a shotgun in their general direction and let it discharge, they run away like little girls.”

I laughed. Then I heard a noise behind me.

“She does have an incredible ass, Coop.”

I turned around and flew into Cooper’s arms. “Everything about her is incredible,” Cooper replied.

“I think I’m in love,” I sighed.

He smiled at me, “I know I am.”

Jack said his goodbyes and left the bar. Cooper looked at me, “Ready to ride off into the sunset to that happily ever after place?”

“I’ve always wanted to do that. Especially if that place has a bed big enough for two.”

He held my hand as we walked out of the bar. We climbed on his bike and he looked back at me.

“Too bad it’s midnight,” he said.

“Midnight will do.”


Jazz, Jesus and the 1 Star Review

jazzEvery 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.


Earth Day Interview With Gaia

In celebration of Earth Day I’ve decided to take a moment to sit down with Gaia, the Earth Goddess. Hello, Gaia. Thank you for sitting down with us today.

Oh it’s so good to be here, or anywhere for that matter. And thank you for celebrating Earth Day. It’s a small step towards saving my beautiful creation. So many people are so fucking oblivious to what is happening to this magnificent planet it boggles the mind, so thank you for the opportunity to shed a bit of light.

It’s been an unusually warm winter here in the United States. What do you attribute that to?

Well, I certainly had nothing to do with it despite what Zeus may have told you. He tried to tell me I was just having a primordial hot flash, but he’s almost as stupid about these things as most of the people on the planet.  You people need to get your heads out of your collective asses and get a fucking clue. Do you think that over a century of burning coal and gas while at the same time  cutting down my beautiful trees on a massive scale is having no effect on the atmosphere? If you don’t get your act together soon, the Earth is going to resemble Venus.

The world’s population is about to reach seven billion people. How has this affected Earth as you see it?

It’s making it damn hard for me to see the Earth. You know, almost all of the world’s problems can be attributed to one thing – too many people.  When birth control was invented I thought you’d at least have the good sense to use it. But noooo. And now, people are a planetary problem. At least most of you seem to congregate in the same areas so there are still a few pristine places where you can experience this beautiful planet in all its glory.

You have quite the following among the New Age Hippie crowd. Which do you prefer as worshipers; the Hippies or the Greeks?

Ahhh, the Greeks – the wine, the debauchery, the bacchanalia – I love me a good bacchanalia. But then the Hippies, and not just the new age Hippies, but the old age ones, too, are all about peace and love and sex and getting high and hugging trees and the music.  Yes, I think the music  tips the scale in their favor.

I’ve done some research and discovered that you have over twenty children. Which one is your favorite?

I think it was way more than twenty but I lost count of the little bastards long ago. I know most mothers don’t refer to their offspring as little bastards but I never married any of their fathers, so they were all technically bastards.  Now I’m not going to give you the standard mommy lie of ‘I don’t have a favorite, I love them all the same,’ because that is such a crock of shit. Of course, every mother has a favorite, it’s just that some mothers are better at hiding it than others.  I simply adored Phoebe but Aergia was a huge disappointment.

Which God was the best in the sack?

Ahhh, I had some wild times with Uranus. There was nothing that guy wouldn’t do. And I mean NOTHING. It was SO hot! But he got a little mean in his old age so I got the kids to kill him.  Pontus was so much fun, too. We would do some role playing, the pirate scenario was my favorite – always a hoot.  Zeus had a huge ego, but sadly his manly parts weren’t so big.

How does it feel to be the original MILF?

Fucking fantastic! Though I prefer GILF or Goddess I’d Like to Fuck. There is fucking power in being so fuckable. Every woman deserves to feel like this. I think that’s what all those poser Wicca chicks are trying to achieve by invoking my name and dancing naked under the full moon.

What does Earth’s future hold for mankind?

I think you have that question backwards. It’s more a case of what does mankind’s future hold for the Earth. If you stay on your current path, the Earth is doomed.  Earth is the only fucking planet you have. It is a glorious planet full of beauty and wonder. It can feed you and sustain you. All she asks in return is that you take care of her and nurture her. So get a fucking clue. Recycle, reuse, embrace sustainable farming, find viable sustainable energy,  clean up the place. Tread lightly on the Earth and every now and then hug a tree.

CLICK THE RED BUTTON FOR PAST HOLIDAY ICON INTERVIEWS!!!


Happy Normal Birthday!

Cocktails-2It’s time once again to celebrate our favorite Brit’s birthday, Megan from VeryNormal!

I’ll admit to having a heck of a time trying to figure out how to top last year’s send off, but this year I think I’ve got it covered. When I imagined what I’d likely be doing if I were in England right now,  the answer became instantly clear. Why I’d be drinking, of course. So this year I’ve decided to create a drink specifically for our Megan, and name it accordingly. Ladies and Gentlemen I give you:

The Induced American

Named because you will likely be driving on the wrong side of the road after you knock one of these babies back. Here’s the recipe:

Ingredients (sorry they aren’t metric)

1 very thin sliver habanero pepper (because she is so spicy!)

2 slices fresh ginger root (because I like her with red hair best)

1 1/2 fluid ounces gin (because gin is British)

3/4 fluid ounce lime juice (because…well, because I like lime juice)

1/2 fluid ounce simple syrup (because she is so sweet!)

1 cup ice cubes (just because)

Directions

Muddle habanero pepper slice and 2 slices fresh ginger together in a cocktail shaker until pulverized, about 20 seconds. Add gin, lime juice, simple syrup, and ice. Cover and shake until well chilled. Strain with a fine mesh strainer into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a thin slice of ginger on a toothpick. Drink a toast to Megan and the Queen!

Happy Birthday, Megan! Have a drink for me!

TO WISH MEGAN A HAPPY BIRTHDAY VISIT:

VeryNormal

FOR THE FULL COCKTAIL LIST VISIT:

Archon’s Den

El Guapo

HR Nightmare

Sandylikeabeach


I Prank You Not

In recognition of April Fool’s Day I scored a rare opportunity to sit down with the God of Mischief, Loki.

HE: “Hello Loki. Thank you for taking time out of your busy day to speak with me and my readers.”

LOKI: “Hi.”

HE: “Uh, that’s it? ‘Hi?’”

LOKI: “Well, I’ve got a lot on my plate. You do realize what day this is, right? Nice fucking time management there, Chickie.”

HE: *looking at the calendar* “Well, since it’s April Fool’s Day I am going to assume you are joking.”

LOKI: “You would think so, wouldn’t you?”

HE: “I am guessing that April Fool’s Day is the busiest day of the year for you.”

LOKI: “No, that’d be Valentine’s Day. People say a lot of shit they don’t mean which makes for a lot of lies to distribute. Especially to the men folk.”

HE: “That’s just sad.”

LOKI: “I’ll tell you what’s sad, having a God like Odin as your step-father. Growing up I never did anything right.”

HE: “On that note, tell us about your childhood.”

LOKI: “What’s there to tell? I was always in trouble since my dickhead brother Thor is a cock-blocking douchebag. I got him back good by convincing Odin that his perfect son wasn’t worthy of living in Asgard so he kicked him out. Now I got the big bedroom.”

HE: “Holy crap! How did you manage that?”

LOKI: “Let’s just say I hid some of our Mother’s more “intimate apparel” in his sock drawer. You do the math.”

HE: “It seems pranking and lying started at an early age. Have any of your lies ever backfired on you?”

LOKI: *laughs maniacally* “No, but the truth sure has.”

HE: “Alright, you’ve GOT to elaborate on that.”

LOKI: “Well, my mouth gets me into trouble, you see. One Thanksgiving I got ripped on Jager and told my whole family off, including my two ex-wives. Every word I spoke was the truth, but it didn’t change the fact I had to transform into a fish and hide in a river to get away from them. Shoulda just stuck to lying.”

HE: “You are known world wide for your practical jokes and pranks. Which prank do you consider your masterpiece?”

LOKI: “Pranks change with the times. I had a blast fucking with the Druids by stacking a bunch of rocks for no reason and then there were those IT virgins who blew their wads worrying about Y2K. That one was a double bonus because it also got the Military’s panties in a bunch sweating random nuclear missile launches. But I’d have to say that the best has yet to come.”

HE: “Come on, give us a hint.”

LOKI: “Uh…I’ll just say to keep a watch out for December 21, 2012.”

HE: “Are all the pranks you do so grand or do you work on a more personal level with the public?”

LOKI: “At times I like to dabble in the everyday, like when one sock goes missing or when you ‘accidently’ hit Reply All on that email where you trash your boss. But remember, I still have to make a living. Right now I am the major shareholder in Pfizer, a pharmaceutical company that manufactures a little, blue pill.”

HE: “Are there any pranks you regret?”

LOKI: “Non-Alcoholic beer and Star Trek. Never thought anyone would take that shit seriously.”

HE: “What is the one thing you would like the world to know about Loki?”

LOKI: “That I am everywhere. I am a shape shifter, after all. That woman you meet in the bar that is too good to be true? She probably is. Just sayin’.”

Return April 7th  for our exclusive interview with The Easter Bunny!!!


It’s the Easter Bunn–uh…Wallaby?

Spring has finally sprung, and with it our interview with everyone’s childhood favorite, the Easter Bunny.

Determined to get an interview with this elusive holiday icon, I cornered him in his underground den and discovered something I’d not expected. I open today’s interview with the question that should have been asked ages ago:

HE: Say…you aren’t really a bunny, are you?

EB: Well Maybe it is time to come clean, if you wanna call me a Bunny go ahead but being a Bunny is not very useful when you deliver eggs is it! I am a Wallaby, you see, I can put all the eggs in my pouch and then I don’t have to go back and forth with my basket. I am all about convenience, you know what I mean.

HE: What made you decide to color and hide eggs?

EB: Shots. In my College years (I did not do much studying) my friends and I enjoyed colorful shots. So I now pick colors by having a shot, coloring an egg, different coloured shot, and different colored eggs. The hiding part is a long story about my friend and his … well it’s a long story.


HE: How do you feel about children eating chocolate likenesses of you?

EB: As we have just been through, I am not a Bunny, never will be because it will never be practical! So the Kiddywinks can eat as many chocolate bunnies as they please.                        


HE: How do you feel about sharing a holiday with Jesus?

EB: My mum once told me that story, I did not really understand it, and I mean it’s a bit gloomy for a Holiday all about the Kids, you know? Plus to me, chocolate crosses would be awful to make and color, all that blood and gore is for Halloween, not my holiday.


HE: Is there more than one Easter Bunny?
EB: If you call me a Bunny one more time, you will be getting nothing! And no, I am the one and the only, mostly because nobody likes the low pay and low hours. I wish sometimes that I had maybe an Easter Camel, so I could pack even more eggs or a Donkey, Donkeys can carry a lot of stuff, even pregnant women I have heard.


HE: Did you want to be an Easter Bunny when you were a kid…uh, a joey?

EB: No, as I have said I went to College, I just didn’t do well, this was my fall back, I wanted to be a Football Mascot but I do not think there is much call for a Wallaby, maybe if I was a Dolphin or A Ram! I mean have you ever heard of a Wallaby before today?! Do you even know what I look like?!


HE: What do you do when you aren’t hiding eggs?

EB: Nothing, I drink, I try and think of new ideas for next year but with 5 joeys at home and one on the way, thinking does not happen a lot.

Thank you, Easter Bun–Wallaby, for this timely and insightful interview. Return April 22nd as we celebrate Earth Day with none other that Gaia herself!


Hellis In Love – A Romantic Monday Offering

RandyPan_220wHello 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.

peter_stand_largeNow, 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.

peter_flies2_adj_680h

For more Romantic Monday Posts visit Edward Hotspur