Date: 2008-11-14 02:43 Subject: Friend's stories part three I think? Security: Public

1. Jonathan Jolley whipped on his shades, adjusted his crotch, and jumped from the plane. As the wind whipped past his rocketing body, he could only smile, considering it another job well done. Above him, the airplane exploded, showering the sky with burning debris and an orange glow. He pulled the cord on his backpack, which jettisoned a parachute, and within minutes, he alighted upon the back of an elephant, deep in the jungle. With a series of clicks, he removed his deflating chute, and pulled an envelope from his breast pocket to examine its contents, for which he had just risked his life. He flipped it open, and removed the small card from inside, clutching it close to his heart. “Never again,” he said, “Never again will I lose you, my sweet, sweet library card.”

2. Ellie Kates emerged from the shadows, hooting softly. After a silent moment filled with dry, unsatisfactory anticipation, the call was returned. Her tiny heart fluttered in her tiny yet supple chest, and she knew that today was the day. Rounding the corner of the Ol’ Barn, as her Grandfather Chester used to call it, she moved with all the stealth of a door mouse on a snowy winter day. There, in the highest rafter, perched the Golden Howl, a rare crossbreed of hawk and owl. It’s been said that the ancient Pangyptians worshipped these great creatures, treating them like gods, but to Ellie, it was a key, a solution to the greatest puzzle of her life: the location of her family’s gold, and the oft pined-after writings of her great great great Grandfather Sinclair. Everything was going according to plan as she snuck further into the abandoned building, but her luck changed when the Golden Howl suddenly turned its head, eyes glowing red. With a blast, it released two powerful lasers which scorched holes in the wooden wall, and Ellie readied her magnum as the animal dropped like a rock from its roost.

3. Ben Gowing swung his billyclub and tooted his whistle with all the power he could muster, but the thief would not stop. Surprisingly agile for a man with a painting twice his size under his arm, the burglar leapt from the alley to a fire escape, and began clambering up it like a drunken spider. Ben stopped and calculated, eyeing his target and the surroundings, creating a impossibly correct layout of the scene in his brain. With precision one can only learn from the British Police Force, Ben shifted to a power stance, and with a twist of his body, sent his billyclub shooting like a bullet at a nearby dumpster. It ricocheted off, then off the wall, then the fire escape, and finally cleaned the clock of the crook, who went limp and did a backwards summersault into the air. Officer Gowing held up his hand and caught his still-rebounding billyclub and holstered it with a mere movement, but then got a tomato to the face from fallen man’s collision with the dumpster. Wah-wah-wahhhh

4. Cat Adams sold cummerbunds for a living, which was great and all, but she always aspired for something more lofty, like becoming a faucet manufacturer. That’s why she was thrilled on the day of her beloved uncle’s death, for in his will she left him a mansion full (literally, like, stuffed full) of money with which she could spend on faucets. Upon opening it’s ancient door with a crooked key, she was assaulted by a flood of money which poured out, toppling her over and spilling out on the front lawn. It was an isolated home, so there were no hobobums to steal her money, but it was still a bother to gather it up, and an even greater bother to empty the entire place, for it was not only filled to the ceiling, but the walls were stuff too, and there was a single dollar bill between every page in every book in the library (and every once and awhile, a hundred, to keep it exciting). Finally, she hired some vagrants to help her gather all the money, and turned the mansion into a faucet factory where they all worked, and they lived happily ever after, producing several large musical plays for their amusement.

5. Philip Cosand was a man who had dangerous taste. Living on the edge was his game, and few things in life could conquer this lust for adventure. And while he was certainly a man of stature, of dignity, and of positive moral compass, he had one weakness. It was not money, nor drugs, nor anything so trivial. No, it was, in fact, women. The ladies. Dames, girls, babes, hot mamas. These were his Achilles heel, and unwisely (though he could hardly keep them away) always there was at least one at each side, often more, sheltered by his great, tentacle-like arms. Glamorous supermodels, innocent cowgirls, daring red-heads, free-thinking hippie hotties, soviet russainettes, gorgeous geishas with great ga-jungas, he had them all under his mighty command. And so it was much to his dismay when the Great Asteroid of Alnomerith came rocketing toward earth, and he had only his giggling group of shapely she-women to hurl like missiles in defense, and as a result save the planet. While hailed as a hero, he was never the same again, and lived the rest of his days in lonely solitude, save for his sole companion, his cat, which he still had simply because it wouldn’t have made a very good missile.

6. Kaila Randall was nude, as usual, only this time she had good reason. What this reason was, I don’t know, but luckily she was in a post office, and it was after hours, so she was safe from prying eyes, so that’s good. It was not a situation she had planned on being in, nor did she enjoy it one iota, but she managed to find and apply some stamps to her more sensitive areas, which gave her back a single iota of comfort (a scale of measurement I’m afraid I don’t quite understand), so that was good. While sneaking around, she walked in on the Post Master, who was studying something in a book, and he looked up and claimed, “Oh, a perfect addition to my collection!” with a gleeful grin. Turns out, he was talking about the stamps placed about her, and not her actual person as some sort of trophy for his lost-naked- girls-from-post-office trophy collection, so that was good.

7. Coran Thompson wore a wide-brimmed hat, black suit, and clutched a black rose in his teeth. He walked in a manner not unlike a supermodel onto the dance floor, then froze in position; arms crossed over his chest, his head angled down, one leg stretched in front of him with just the toes touching the floor. The audience simmered from their deafening cheer, and soon there was silence. From far off, in the depths of the hall, music began, quietly at first, but it quickly escalated. The song, which he had chosen from his favorite Bollywood film, finally chugged into its main act, and he shot into motion, flipping mostly at first, then twirling, then twisting and bending and leaping. It was that day that a new God of Dance was proclaimed, the one known as Black Rose.

8. Katie Swanlund raced around the room with the net, chasing the rip in the space-time continuum as though it were some fluttery insect evading capture. Her father stormed into the room, his ears steaming. "KATIE!" he bellowed, throwing down his newspaper, "STOP THAT AT ONCE OR YOU ARE LIABLE TO LOSE A DIMENSION!"

9. David Haldeman groaned unpleasantly and looked over at the exposed circuitry of his right arm. He prodded at it for a moment with his unharmed, living tissue left arm, and found it was not an easy enough fix for his knowledge of robotics. Sitting up with a grunt, he discovered the blast which had knocked him down was much more powerful than he had estimated, and the entire city block had been leveled. As he stood to face whatever mysterious menace had caused this destruction, he realized there was a lead pipe stuck through his leg. “Friggin’ cyber legs!” he exclaimed.

10. Clair Drake pulled the trigger, and three seconds later, opened her eyes. She found herself not only in a great amount of pain, but also in a great amount of pie, having blasted backwards through the wall and into the back room of the bakery. She shed her surely scrumptious pastry shell, and wobbled upright, concentrating on confirming her kill. Did she dare declare that her damage was done? As the milky dust cleared, a slumped figure next to the éclair display stand confirmed her dread, but also a sense of pride. This, her first kill, would be her last, for now her long-gone baker parents had been avenged. “Piece of cake,” she said, biting into a dripping jelly donut, “Easy as pie.”

11. Eric Lobdell stepped through the portal at precisely the same time his duplicate in his twin dimension stepped through his, and as a result, they collided. Instead of knocking each other over, they in fact absorbed one another into…one another, and became one, only with the daring and intellect of two! As they both stood there, contemplating what they would do, their minds calculated some pretty difficult equations, and quickly solved a few situations which had been bothering them using pure logic. The world became twice as clear, and yet there was another layer, a thickness to it all that could only be explained by two layers of consciousness being stacked upon one another, neither being on either top or bottom. These were both knocked unconscious, however, by the Dimensional Police, who likewise simultaneously arrested him twice for breaking into each other’s twin dimensions.

12. Mika Hawkins gazed with curiosity, but mostly contempt, at the mortals who had entered her lair. They appeared to be equipped for a quest, or at least a battle, and she closed her eyes and shook her head slightly, bewildered that people were still trying. As she stood majestically from her throne of ember, her magma skin cracked and shattered, releasing the scorching fire within. She burst into a flurry of flames, and at once had the adventurers’ attention. For kicks, she gave them all time to at least unsheathe their swords, and with a mere wrist flick, exploded one with a honey-colored fireball. That was her intention, at least, but the smoldering sphere simply burst upon contact with the man, who did nothing to shield himself, and appeared to be undamaged. The goddess of fire smirked. Finally…A challenge.

13. Michael Matias giggled at his computer monitors, his goggly eyes spinning every which way as he jumped up and down in his seat. Truly these were the answers he had been seeking his whole life, the reasons of his creation! Unfortunately, he didn’t realize it; he was merely excited about the fact that his favorite Saturday morning cartoon was on. For within this seemingly absurd televised broadcast were formulas! Equations! Bits of memory and tiny devices! Things that, when combined, would create answers to all questions, and results to all experiments! But alas. The cartoon duck smacked the cartoon snake, and some dynamite exploded, and the world continued on, uninformed.

14. Katie Swanlund screamed in terror at the cinder block, her drug-addled mind twisting it into something much more terrifying than it actually was. She had once considered herself an expert at mind-altering substances, but after this trip, she never took one again, I can assure you, what with my being the author of this story and all. At any rate, she turned and ran, perspiring much more than she should be, and slammed into a wall, which she had mistaken for Santa Claus. She paid no mind to the pain and continued to claw at the wall, attempting to receive some sort of help from the jolly old fellow in her mind, but of course, it was a wall, and not a spiritual icon of any sort. Then, I dunno, something equally as odd happened next. What, you think I get paid for this? Pff! I’m outta here.

15. Gavin Richmond was a pulse in a machine; a surging, rhythmic, electronic beat that was always traveling, never stopping, growing stronger and sharper and thicker with each iteration, accelerating and expanding throughout the entire system. So you can imagine his surprise when there was an electrical short, and he fell out of the machine in the form of an electric humanoid. The power kicked back on only seconds later, continuing the super-rad beats that had formed the structure of his existence, and, had their been any witnesses, they would have witnessed the sweetest hip-hopping, side-stepping, rock-locking, hammer-jamming, topper-hopping, mega-mincing, piddle-peddling, dander-fondling, wicked twisted moves this side of West Philly!

16. Melissa Thurston slammed her gavel down in attempt to bring order to the chaos, but she might as well have sneezed for the good it did. The man who had entered the courtroom was simply too attractive. Reporters shouted inquiries about his good looks as photogs attempted to capture his radiant handsomeness with their picture-devices, but failed, for his beauty could not be contained. Soon, even Judge Thurston found herself caught up in the flurry of his pretty-factor, and once again slammed the gavel down. This time, everyone stopped, and looked to her as she reached her verdict. “I find you guilty,” she proclaimed with ultimate authority, “to be a super sexy stud!” The room erupted in cheer.

17. Matt Wong fought through a throng of long songs, which took physical form after being harmonized by the wizard brigade. He cursed their organization, and one warlock fell, turning to ash, but the others continued singing, and the battle raged on. He devised a simple yet crude method of dealing with the singing wizards, and that was by plugging his ears with his fingers. While this did indeed leave the wizards powerless, so to it left him, how do you say, lacking protection. And thus he revealed his most specialized skill; that of toe-poking. His shoes were off in a flash, and in a flurry, he poked all the wizards on the nose with his big toe, an ancient technique which instantly paralyzed the victim. Victory was his, he could feel it! But just then the Neon Orchestra showed up, and Mr. Wong knew he was in for it.

18. Apryl Weikel came from the future, as most time travelers do. What was even more curious was her size, which was very small. She attributed this fact to the fact that when you come back in time, it creates a nearly identical dimension to your own, and as a result of the popularity of time travel, existence was now very full of identical alternate dimensions, which was a huge waste of space. Thus, naturally, the dimensions had been shrinking in order to all fit, which shows you just how many there were! From her lips she spoke a warning, a warning to not travel back in time, and she was the last one to ever do so. Unfortunately for her, this was merely one dimension she was delivering this warning to, and the other near-infinite identical dimensions continued with their space-time continuum fracturing and duplicating, and eventually existence turned upside down and inside out and everything turned into bacon. And snakes.

19. Nick Bolten realized with a jolt that he was in fact not on his bed, but on his hair. That didn’t really make sense to him, so he figured he’d get up. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he struggled to right himself, and finally managed to get his feet to the floor. But the floor wasn’t floor; it was hair! His hair! After blinking multiple times, he concluded that all his housing had become his hair; just as the old gypsy woman had foreseen. He put on his glasses to confirm his suspicion, only to find they were made of his hair too! He sat there for a moment, then reached his ultimate conclusion: This sucked!

20. Eva Zafarano crushed the man’s head with an unsatisfying pop, and threw the life-less body aside. She had discovered, throughout her life, that skull crushing never led to satisfying sounds, and it was in fact only the pulling of the head from the body that made a worthwhile sound, but in these passionate fits of murder, she often forgot until it was too late. She advanced on her next victim, but then had a thought. She stopped and turned back to the corpse. It’s head was still connected to its body…

Date: 2008-09-02 23:39 Subject: Butts Security: Public Tags: butts

Captain Butt whirled around, calling out "Private Butt! Where are you?" There was no answer. Without Private Butt, Captain Butt could not see the attacking Nega-Butts, for only the missing detective had the ability to communicate with the dead. "Perhaps I could tell you where he is, my friend...or should I say, my foe!" said a voice, and it was Le buttz! "Le buttz! You scoundrel! What have you done with my friend, my partner? He was the only one who believed in me-" "Silence, you fool!" said Le buttz. "I have him in captivity, and unless you do as my Nega-Butts say, he gets wiped!"

Having no choice now, Captain Butt had to surrender. His mood changed though, suddenly, as Private Butts burst through the door with pistols blazing! The Nega-Butts around Captain Butt turned visible once their souls had left their butts, and soon they littered the floor. "Ha HA!" said Private Butts, "That's what you get for thinking you've pulled the old one-two on me, Le buttz!" "Wow," said Captain Butt, "I didn't think you had such rage in you!" "Arrgh, my Nega-Buuuuuuuutts!" cried Le buttz. But then he began to smile...!

"My Nega-Butts...They are already dead, you fool!!!" cried Le buttz. "Of course!" cried Private Butts. He was very perturbed. "What are we going to do now?" asked Captain Butt, as the Nega-Butts began to rise up once again. "I've gotten you into this mess, and I'm going to get you out of it, Butt." said Private Butts, and he began shooting again!

Date: 2007-01-17 17:32 Subject: Just two STORIES! Security: Public

Story 1!

Through the dusk of the night, the man slithered between sheds, sniffing here and there and tapping with his golden finger. His gazing, staring, always-open eyes flashed through every color of the rainbow, over and over, illuminating the pale structures for quick moments as he passed them. Finally, the tapping sound that echoed from his golden finger was different, different from the other sheds but familiar to him. He rounded the small hut, pressed up against it, feeling it, his fingers sliding along grooves in the metal, his knees trying to do the same but not really succeeding. Finally, on the third side, his rainbow eyes set on a door with a rusty latch, and he opened it with the hand lacking a gold finger.

The inside was damp and dark and warm, and there was a steady drip from collected rainwater in the roof. The man oozed in, the rest of his body following wherever his shoulders seemed to glide to, and he closed the door behind him. Now, there were only his spiraling, flashing eyes, floating in the dark and shooting diffused cones of light over the inside of the shack. And there it was! The door in the floor. He clicked into a small hole in the door on the floor his golden finger, and deep below gears clacked and iron pumps shifted into action, and the man smiled a tilted smile.

The door submerged slightly, and then up, and clicked open, and into the ground the strange man slid, his coat tails the last thing to disappear.

Story 2!

Miles stared into the green ocean full of monsters. They bumped and rattled his boat, and he wondered, if he were crazy enough, could he get out and simply walk across the emerald water, jumping from bony exoskeleton to scaled hide, all the way to the Shadowed Shore? He doubted it, and shifted back into the boat. Squatting forward, he rummaged around in the tiny cupboard at the front of the ship. The bow, he thought it was called? Or did rowboats even have normal ship parts? Heck, he didn’t know!

Finding the jar of salted cumbers the goblin had given him before the journey’s start, he took it out and closed the door. With a pop!, the glass was uncorked, and he withdrew one of the said vegetables from the sticky sauce in which they sat. He made a sour face, but bit into it anyway, and found it to be not horridly disgusting. Cradling the jar in one arm, he chomped with disinterest and leaned back. This was going to take FOREVER!

After he finished, he tossed the stump of the cumber overboard, where it bounced off a gigantic fish’s momentarily exposed eyeball and sunk into the shimmering sea. With a click the pickle jar was back in the cupboard, and Miles continued pushing through the crowd towards his destination.

Date: 2007-01-08 14:23 Subject: I got up from bed and turned my computer on at 2:30 in the morning to write this. Security: Public

“Why? Why does he have an orange on his forehead?” thought the robber frantically, completely stunned and frozen in his tracks. He had broken in to the household only moments before, and now he was in the bedroom, where, in front of him, still as the dead (save for this breathing, of course) lay an elderly gent with his hands clasped neatly on his chest and a pleasant smile on his face, and an orange (a Satsuma, actually) sitting precisely at the center of his forehead.

Was it a sign? A hallucination? A ruse to confuse the robber? He could not guess. His hand snaked forward as if to grab the fruit, but stopped. What if it was attached? Grown forth from between the crevice between the old man’s wrinkled skin? What if, when he clasped it and pulled, there was a bit of brain sprouting from it’s bottom, and as he pulled, he unraveled the sleeper’s brain like some gooey ball of yarn?

“Nonsense!” he cried quietly with a shake of his head. He pushed through the muddled thoughts of madness and with an urgent swipe stole away the citrus from its fleshy nest. Not realizing the force he used, he toppled over backwards from the retrieval, crashing to the carpeted floor. The old man puttered to consciousness, “who”ing and “what”ing as he awoke. He stared over and grimaced at the thief, who was holding the Satsuma in both his hands, staring at it with rage and contempt, a snarl etched into his lips.

“HARUMPH!” said the old man, and clasped in his knotted hand a wooden lever protruding from the side of his bed. An ancient clanking sounded as he pulled the stick, and below the robber a trapdoor fell open, swallowing the confused individual in complete darkness. The rusted clacking reversed as the handle locked back into place, and the old man turned to his wife and threw back the covers, revealing that she was not in fact a wife, but a collection of fruits and vegetables.

He gingerly plucked a pear (after testing for firmness) from a burlap sack, reapplied the blankets, and contently lay down once again, positioning the pear at the center of his temples. “I just like the slight pressure, is all,” he stated, as if the inquiring robber were still there.

Date: 2006-10-11 20:32 Subject: (no subject) Security: Public

Alfred Stork clutched his chest, hacked a few raspy breaths, and collapsed to his death.

He had not been raised in a religious family, and was not in any manner a religious man himself. The concept of God was far too fantastical an idea to him, and if he was going to be bothered to pay attention to fantasy, it was going to be between the hours of eight and nine on a Thursday evening, in front of his telivision set.

And so, as you might imagine, it came as quite a startling but pleasant surprise to awake in the afterlife. He knew it was the afterlife simply because he did. It was not the afterlife he had heard people describe, however. It was merely the spot he had died. A bit later and cleaned up, certainly, but it was definitely the same restaurant. The janitor shuffled by, showing no sign of noticing him. Alfred stood up.

A slightly transparent man in a dull brown suit approached him.

"Why hello there," he said with a polite nod, "And welcome to the afterlife." Alfred looked at him a bit, and with a shock recognized him as his 7th grade English teacher. Before he could sputter this discovery, his teacher again began speaking.

"Yes, it is I, Mr. Henderson, your 7th grade English teacher. Y'see, upon entering the afterlife, the person who has made the biggest impact on your life will greet you and explain to you the wonders of the world in which you now exist. For you, 'twas I who was selected." After a pause, he looked away and added with a surpressed smile "I'm truly flattered."

Alfred liked English all right, but biggest impact?

...

He went with it.

"First off," continued Mr. Henderson (or James, as he liked to be called [he was one of those new-age, get-to-know-on-a-first-name-basis kind of teachers]) let's get some of the obviouses out of the way. Take a look at yourself." Alfred did this, and found him to be quite young, early thirties he guessed, and also opaque. "The age you have re-become has been calculated, very precisely, with the factors of various attributes of your life. Strength, health, agility, those sorts of things. The ages you were at when these were at their peaks have been rounded, and that's the age you are."

Alfred nodded contently in understanding.

"Next up is, yes, you are a ghost. Everyone is. Look over there." Alfred looked. There was a group of ghosts, sitting around the closed bar. "Your mind, from what it knows from living, tells your ghost body what it can do. It'll let you walk through walls and peek your head through a floor, but when you walk across 2nd Ave, you won't fall through the street into the subway, and you can comfortably sit on a chair. Dashingly clever way of setting it up, if you ask me."

"So..." said Alfred, turning back and finally speaking, "No Heaven? No Hell?"

James smiled. "When you die, you become a ghost. No one goes to Heaven, no one goes to Hell, everyone's...just a ghost."

"Wh...What seperates the good from the bad, then?" inquired Alfred, quickly becoming dissapointed that this afterlife he refused to believe in was showing no signs of reward, except for maybe the Peeping-Tom aspect.

"Well, if you'll just follow me..." said James with a twist of the heel, and he headed outside. The street was bustling with the afternoon crowd, and Alfred could see just as many ghosts, if not more than. He decided on more than. James pointed up, and Alfred looked.

The sky was dotted with ghosts, floating and hovering and flying about. There was also a plane, but it was not a ghost.

"We fly?"

"Some people fly, and some people don't." He motioned back at the ghosts in the bar. "The question, my friend," he said, turning to Alfred, "is if you want to or not. If you believe you can or not."

"That was two questions," said Alfred. "And you didn't form them as questions." James grinned, patted his former pupil on the back (because his mind told him he could), and twirled off into the air.

Alfred stood for a moment (only a moment), and then leapt into the air.

Date: 2006-08-21 18:26 Subject: Believe That! Productions proudly presents Believe That! Productions Security: Public

Well, I like it, anyway.

Date: 2006-07-02 23:24 Subject: The Stunning Conclusion to the Great American Journeypiece Security: Public

The Knuckler stared in disbelief at the hole in the dock where the robot, Kevin, had crumbled through, and back up at his ghostly nemisis, who had a similar confused and shocked expression, which quickly twisted into a sneering murmer of delight.

"A secret weapon, eh?" said Mr. Mustachete hautily, flipping his jacket off and approaching The Knuckler. "I'm afraid a bumbling robot is just as ineffective as your two bumbling side kicks!", he mocked, and then twittered a bit via a laugh.

Itches and Smokestack looked up from the background, which was now smeared with zombie goo.

"Look's like th' boss needs aw help, Smokes! Let's jam!" announced Itches, and the two ventured forth to the ghostly villian.

Suddenly, without nary a warning, Kevin the robot made like a volcano and erupted from the salty depths of the briney deep, and clocked Mr. Mustachete a good one right in the ol' cerebral cortex container with his trusty paintcan.

"What a paint-can!" Itches bubbled, and watched in amazment as the peculiar battle between ghost and robot began. Another blow from the can knocked Mr. Mustachete down, who flexed his upper lip muscles, which caused his mustache to spring to life in a machete-like fashion. However, this truly spectacular and hairy weapon, which took three lifetimes to master, became useless with another conk on the bonker.

In a rather brutal manner, Kevin bludgeoned and struck and pounded and clobbered Mr. Mustachete with his mystical paintcan, who slowly began fading from existance.

All the while, The Knuckler watched; watching his fight being fought for him, watching as a powerful reputation passed him by, watching as an actual ghost cried out with gibberish-filled cries of pain. And then, it was done.

Smokestack took off his hat, clutching it in his meathooks as though the wind were pulling at it wildly though there was just a slight breeze, and Itches looked away. Kevin the robot, heaving for dramatic effect only, straightend up gave everyone a look, and left.

The Knuckler walked past the hole in the pier, and the spot where his archnemisis had faded away, and up to his two faithful commrads.

"Boys," he said, and then paused. "Whaddya say we get outta this business?" The duo nodded solemnly, and followed him as he walked off.

"What's d'ya think about a produce stand, eh boss?" piped up Itches.

"Yea, wish grrreensh 'n' fruitsh 'n' fishesh!" boomed Smokestack.

"That, my friends, sounds like a plan."

Date: 2006-04-22 02:05 Subject: Part Four of the Great American Odyssey Security: Public

The Knuckler paced back and forth, his furrowed brow shifting occasionally as he glanced about.

"Itches!" he called suddenly, and there was a scampering, and the shifty character was next to him. "Any word from our mechanical friend?"

"No sir, boss, but you'll be th' first to knows, I guar-an-tee!" He reported, with a wink and snap'n'point of the fingers. The Knuckler only looked at him, with no particular emotion, and continued his pacing.

Itches meandered around a bit more, but after a few annoyed looks from his boss, found his way back to where Smokestack was sitting, keeping watch.

"What's news, chum?" piped Itches, and got a grunt in return. And so he sat down next to his towering partner-in-crime, and awaited the arrival of the ghost-hunting robot. The sweet scent of fresh tabacco wavered around down to Itches, overflowing from the various smoking-devices clutched in Smokestack's jaw. It mingled with the salty air, and the far off stench of the fish-packing plant, and suddenly Itches felt sleepy, and so he lowered his lids momentarily.

***

Suddenly, Smokestack was standing. "Who goesh th're?" he grumbled out, bringing his dukes into fighting position. Ithces blinked awake, and stood by his pal. There was a low moaning, and a shuffling of feet, and a small troup of zombies ambled into view. "Crimminy," he mumbled, and with a push from his thumb, adjusted his hat, and charged. Before he even met them, one was smeared under his boot, and a second instant later, one was being hurled up in the air and another crushed in Smokestack's iron grip. It was hectic and frantic but oh-so-lovely for a lowly goon, so Itches cracked a smile and ran report to The Knuckler.

But he was already there, eyes aglow, teeth shining, his coat whipping in the wind. "SHOW YOURSELF, MR. MUSTACHETE!" he cried, and there he was, transparent but clear as a bell, dressed in a white suit with the jacket merely draped on the shoulders, and with a wicker cane, like a villian from an Indiana Jones movie.

"It has been some time, good sir!" called the ghost with a dash of sarcasm, even though it wasn't sarcastic.

"Indeed!" replied The Knuckler, simply because he wasn't sure if it was sarcastic or not.

And then Kevin the robot flew down from the black night and thudded onto the planks of the dock, which promptley shattered and sent him sinking into the dark ocean.

Next, and finally, the "EXCITING" CONCLUSION!!!

Date: 2006-03-24 00:05 Subject: My Great American Dream Part 3 Security: Public

Zombies were slow and dumb and very generic, and Mr. Mustachete had never really liked the idea of using them as minions, but they were very price effecient (25% off if you bought a dozen), and he had no idea where his once faithful goons had skittered off to after his death, so he had buckled and bought a couple dozen.

And so Mr. Mustachete sat, stroking his thick, dangerously sharp mustache and pondering the peculiarities of being a ghost. He couldn't pass through walls, but the two who had been sent by The Knuckler had punches that passed right through him, and bullets had no effect as well. Also of note was that the clothes he was buried in were ghostly, yet he could put on other clothes if he so wished. He had conducted a few experients with the zombies, and found that even they, being dead tissue, passed through him, so he gave up trying to figure it out and went to work on a plan...A plan on getting his revenge on that troublesome Knuckler...

Nothing clever popped to mind, and he was invincible as far as he could tell, so he decided he'd take his zombie crew and lead a surprise attack on them. Feeling rather neutral about the whole thing, he blew on the whistle that the zombie handler had given him, and the undead began to shuffle about at once, groaning and bumping into each other.

"THIS WAY, my CHAPS!" called the ghost, and out of the dark hideout they went.

Date: 2006-03-13 20:32 Subject: The Greatest Story Ever Told, Part 2 Security: Public

Kevin sat hunched on a stool in his tiny houseboat, (which was more of a shack on a raft than a house of any sort) his electric eyes locked onto a tiny, blinking television screen. His concentration was torn away from the bright image for a moment as he reached for a small container of fish food, and sprinkled it down into his throat. His metal jaw clanked repeatedly, as though smacking his lips, and then all was done, eyes again back on the TeeVee.

For you see, in the iron belly of this mechanical man was a fish, swimming about in quiet contentment. There was nothing extraodrinary or special about this fish, it was simply your standard goldfish that you might win at a local fair. It had gone pale due to lack of sunlight, but it was alive and in good health.

No, the intriguing aspect of this pair was the computer system that monitored the fish's actions. It took the simple thoughts, subtle movements, and vacant stares the fish gave and calculated them into complex variables and equations, which were translated by Kevin the robot, into human-like emotions and actions.

The result, his creators had found, was a robot with an obssesion of water. He was also skilled at hunting ghosts, but that had not led anywhere in the time with the scientists, so they gave him the boot and he was on his own, which brings us to his current situation, a known associate of the city's mobs, gangsters, and mafia, which were, trust me, all seperate things.

A tiny, multi-colored telephone with a smiley face and light-bulb nose rang, and Kevin answered.

"Yeeah, this's Itches up et Warehouse fwaty too. The Bo-...The Knuckler's got a job he wants ya ta take care a', if ya knows whats I mean. Yeah, you knows whats I mean."

Kevin confirmed with a steel "yes" and hung up the phone. With a click the television was off, and with a thicker, much more wooden click, the tiny hut was empty.

Date: 2006-03-12 23:11 Subject: Part 1 of my Great American Novel! Security: Public

"Boss! 'Ey Boss!" came a cry from the far end of the warehouse. The quick patter and slow thud of food steps told Marino that his crimnal duo had returned. "Boss!" squeaked Itches a final time as he rounded the corner, eyes jittering and chest heaving, "Mr. Mustachete is BACK!"

Marino stood up at once. "Back? BACK YOU SAY?" His nervous eyes glanced around, and then shot back to the short thug, who stood silent except for his scratching. "But how could this be? Mr. Mustachete is...DEAD!!!" 

The slower, tromping set of footstepts caught up, and Smokestack rounded the corner, his gigantic forearms hanging solidy from his towering frame, throbbing and sweaty, signifying recent use. He wavered as he stopped, the multiple cigars, cigarettes, and pipes protruding from his rugged jaw swaying and jangling about as he did so. Breathing deeply, he cast about a swirling cloud of noxious fumes and gave a sickening cough, and flem splattered through the few spaces between his clentched teeth. 

"Heesh a ghosht, and heesh's gots his crewsh backs t'gethersh," he seethed, his beady eyes hidden under his drooping cap. "Thesh meet-hooks 'ah mine ain't scrashed 'im up a bit, jush took-carah heesh goonsh, shee?" Lumps of muscles and quivering viens throbbed feverishly about his trunk-like arms as he spoke, and they chilled his leader, Marino, as they always did.

"A ghost," repeated Marino, his eyes once again sent adrift as his hands found each other and begen to crack and pop as they dislocated and relocated every bone in each hand. 

"Yeah Boss! A ghost! A spooky one too!" chimed in Itches.

"For the sake of the saints, you SCOUNDREL," Marion erupted all of a sudden, "I am THE KNUCKLER! Not 'Boss'!" Itches shyed away. The Knuckler twirled, his long coat wrapping about him as he spoke. "Now, if our good friend Don Dolphino," said he, rifiling through the papers that muddled his desk, "or, Mr. Mustachete, as you call him, (a sneer was cast at Itches), is indeed back in spectral form, which DOES seem to be all the rage these days, we shall need to contact the proper ...associate." He let a ginger, haughty, snide laugh escape his gullet, and soon Smokestack was bellowing deep guffaws like the horn of a tugboat, and even Itches let his shrill giggle join in the merriment. 

"ITCHES!" cried The Knuckler with flaring eyes and a pointed finger, "We'll need the only one who can deal so impressivly with the undead...Get me...The Fish."  

TO BE CONTINUED!!!!...!

Date: 2006-02-26 23:07 Subject: A simple Yes or No will suffice Security: Public

When you hear the term "nega-darkness", do you think of light?

Date: 2006-02-25 23:34 Subject: This is a story Kevin wrote about me Security: Public

In a dark, steamy, Mexican forest; a man was frolicking through the brush, when all of a sudden “Friggle Kalen!” shouted through the trees. The figure dropped to the ground and in a bloating yelp cried, “Oh, my knuckles!”

Laughter then came screaming from the left, and the dark figure rose into the light showing Kalen’s troubled face. “Who is the super jerk?!” pouted Kalen.

“Me!” yelled the cart-wheeling girl from the smoky darkness.

“Oh, you did it again, Squid Girl! Why do you always yank my chain?” Realizing what he said, he looked at his crotch and laughed. Squid girl noticed this and was turned on to OVERDRIVE mode. The two had wonderful squid sex on the forest floor and then held hands as they moved to the beach to lay their eggs.

What I can conclude from this story is that "Friggle Kalen!" must be a phrase akin to "Duck!" or "Watch out!", so the next time you are in a situation where such a phrase is needed, go ahead and use "Friggle Kalen!" instead, and it should work just as well.

Date: 2006-01-07 14:01 Subject: (no subject) Security: Public Music: i love andrhea

"I love Andrhea sooo much. She is the best girl in the world. Everyone else should love her tons as well. Andrhea is much cooler than ANY OF YOU AND I LIKE HER THE MOST. The end."

Spoke Andrhea to the mirror.

Date: 2005-12-14 22:31 Subject: (no subject) Security: Public

There was a man in a suit. He wore a stiff-brimmed hat, and carried a suitcase with two locks holding it together. He did not speak, and he did not wear gloves. He walked with dangerous strides and was hard, harsh, and severe in manner of character. Such things can be learned from making council with him, though such an act is highly warned against.

He was not an assassin, and he did not slay vampires, nor did he collect fees from the poor or invest in the stock market. He merely existed, veering through crowds like a spoon through caramel.

In his suitcase was a wide selection of salt-water taffy. It was his favorite tasty treat. He would sit on subway benches, unclasp the double locks, extract a candy from the luggage, and pop it in his mouth. He could savor the taste for upwards of 14 minutes, but soon after the savory flavor would drive him mad and he would gobble it down.

He did this in subway stations because people were either to busy bustling, or there was no one. He had once offered another man a piece of his delicious treasure, and the man simply stared at him, and walked backwards into a subway car while maintaining eye contact until the doors slid shut. Therefore, the man does not like to offer other people his saltwater taffy.

Date: 2005-11-18 04:28 Subject: Remember these? Me neither. Here's some more. Security: Public

21)Amanda McCurdy and the Japanese businessman locked eyes across the subway car. There was no one else aboard. They had gotten on at precisely the same time, on the opposite ends of the carriage, and now they stood locked in position as the train began to move. Squarley between them, with measurments so equal not even mathematics could help, lay a newspaper. It was folder over on a seat, hanging like some discarded piece of trash. Which, in truth, it was. However, it doubled as entertainment for the two stare-off-ees for the hour-long train ride, and only one of them was going to get to it. So they stood, waiting for the other to make a move. And then the Japanese businessman did. Thusly, so did Amanda. Time slowed, the world blurred, and the race was on. Footsteps were like meteories crushing planets, hands flat so as to slice through the air as swiftly as possible. Bags were dropped, hats let loose to flutter to the floor, and arms stretched. There was nothing for a moment. Only closed eyes, dripping sweat, and pulsing hearts. Amanda opened her eyes. In her right hand, clutched far too firmly, was the newspaper. Behind her, she heard the scream of a Japanese businessman.

22)Josh Charles laughed vividly and pulled the giant lever. The secret agent began to slowly lower towards the lava, the chain unravling one link at a time. "Have a good day, Mr. Thunder! I hope things don't get to hot for you!" and he let out another fit of guffaws. He climbed the metal staircase, his shoes clinking on the steps, and returned to his cool, air-conditioned control room. "Everything under control, Espo?" he asked of a short man in a white suit. The litte person turned and nodded, then turned back to the controls. "Good, good," said Josh, rubbing his hands together. We shouldn't have any more interuptions. You may disembark when ready," he again spoke to the little man, and walked to the lounge. Waiting for him was Areola Vixen, his saucy tempress. "Everything is going according to plan," he said with a smirk and the raise of a wine glass. Instantly, sirens began to wail. The room shuddered, and explosions and shouts were heard. Gunfire followed, then, with a crash, the rugged agent stepped through the doorway. The last thing Mr. Charles ever heard...Was the sound of Thunder.

23)Andrhea Unger held her breath, and struck a pose, holding as still as possible. It was a last resort, a plan that one could only laugh at, but she hadn't a choice. Flashlights flickered over the room, glancing off the smooth bodies and shiny heads of the mannequins, and unnoticed over Andrhea's bare skin. "Where did she go?" asked one voice. "Look," said another, and with a twinge of horror, a flashlight shown upon Andrhea's discarded clothes. "What in the world..." was all she needed, and with a most appealing round-house kick to one of the men's heads, a domino effect took care of the both of them. Andrhea stood shivering, and looked down at the robbers. "Perverts," she said, grabbed the bag of money, and made off, though not before she became clothed and removed the criminals' masks to see just how handsome they were. Which they were. Very. ...Handsome, that is. Indeed.

24)Zach Brastad leaned back in the wooden chair, rifle on his lap. The jungle 'round his person sqwacked and rumbled and roared and cawed, but still he managed to doze off in to a splendid nap. Soon after there was the snap of a branch, (far too close for his comfort!) and his eyes fluttered open like bothered butterflies. There stood a tiger! Nay, a lion! Nay, simply a large cat of a sort! His eyes focused, finally, and he found it to be such an odd creation! It had an outline, a harsh, scraggled outline, tho' it had been scribbled on some scrap of cloth! It moved with jerks and quick movements, sometimes, but sometimes it was slow, like a sloth or one of the elders. But oh it was an unusual sight, if not only because its parculiar style and movement, but because of the sounds of a dove which burbled from its maw! It approached, and the explorer could only freeze in his chair, watching upon its flexing shoulder blades and surging muscles. Then with a leap, huzzah! Zach awoke from his dream and fell face-first into the dirt, wah-wah!

25)Quint Chastain clicked away feverishly at his typewriter. He was in a small hotel room with one bed and bath, the shades were drawn, and the warm yellow glow of indoor lights filled the room. His eyes twitched to and fro, taking in what he was typing as though he had just forgotten he had written it, then quietly claiming to himself it was genius. Which it of course was, but that's no excuse for a big ego, now is it. Truth be told, though, he didn't have a big ego. He DIDN'T realize he had just written it. For you see, Quint had a unique ability to trasnfer the minds of some of the times greatest writers right through his own noggin, himself merely acting as a way to get them out on paper. "Briliant!" he gasped in wonder at one sentence that had just been written, and smiled, for it contained a pun, and he LOVED puns. A small hatch at the bottom of the door slid open, catching his attention. A tray with food on it was pushed through, and a voice said "Dinner time!" Such nice people these hosts were, Quint thought, letting him stay there...for so long.

26)Micheal Sekac giggled vehemently and switched his eye patch to the other eye, proving finally that it was just for show. The other pirates around him wore fluffly pink shirts and tassled hats, and he himself was prancing around in a most unusual manner. "Teeheeheeheehee!" he cried again, and turned to the man tied to the mast, "Well if you won't tell us where the treasure is, we'll FORCE it out of you! Teeheeheeheehee!" The man only spat, to which all the pirates shriked and backed up. A large pirate, who wore a feather boa, walked boldy up to the man, and smacked him on the cheek. "Where is this story going?" he demanded, looking at the camera. Kalen, the author, didn't really know, and was shocked that a fictional character was speaking to him, so he just sort of shrugged, and left the computer.

27)Jay Averill wailed fiercly on the guitar, and the crowed bellowed back, swaying and churning before him. The final chord was struck, and like an explosion ripping through the building, the crowd became impossilby louder than previously. Hold up his hand, yet not his head, for he was too tired from rocking, he stumbled slowly from the stage. As soon as the stage door clicked shut behind him, a team of medics rushed up to him. They were shouting and pointing and heaved him onto a stretcher, and it was all sort of blurry to Jay. His mohawk had gone limp from the sweat, and now hung patched across his forehead, and it was bothering him, but he was too weak to brush it aside. As he thought of this, he realized he was now in another room, being hooked up to machinery, and now being submerged into a sort of liquid. It was cool and refreshing...so refreshing...that he..fell asleep....Outside of the tank, scientists and doctors studied readings and charts, stroking chins (sometimes each others) and furrowing brows. "This man..." said one, "...can rock so hard. Where does he get this powerful energy?" "It is almost super-human," said another one who wore glasses. There was a sloshing, and, turning, the white-coated chaps found Jay to be proped up via his crossed arms on the rim of the tank. "Well gents," he said, seeming to be in excellent health, "I am the God of Rock."

28)Jason Pitman shifted the baseball bat to his other shoulder, and leaned against the warehouse wall, waiting. In a moments time, a car pulled up, black with spookiness, and a man emerged. He was skinny and skeletal, with sunken eyes and a stove-pipe top hat. "Is this the place of aquisition?" he questioned raspily. "If you got the forms, pal," replied Jason nonchalauntly. The thin man produced some papers from his coat's breast pocket, and handed them over. Spaces filled, boxes checked, yep, looked good. The most important check was next to a 12. "A dozen huh?" "Yes," said the man. Jason started at him for a second, then with a clunk, opened the warehouse door. Zombies emerged. He smacked the about with the baseball bat, and when twelve had come out, he slammed shut the door. He kept them round up with the bat, but they didn't move much, so it was easy. "Gonna have a heck of a time fittin' em all in there," said Jason, motioning to the man's car. The man frowned.

Date: 2005-10-30 23:01 Subject: (no subject) Security: Public

Vince Grill awoke hazily, his head groggy and his pulse holding a dance party within his temple. His space suit made it difficult for him to sit up, but he managed, awkwardly. He looked about his holdings with disdain, and kicked with rickety metal fence with a rattle that showed it wasn't going anywhere. He grunted. With a hiss he clipped off his helmet and put it under his arm, and he inhaled the foul air of whatever this place was. A prison, most likely. He sat, sniffed, and itched his eye while he pondered.

"Hey," said a voice to his side, which interupted his eye scratching.

"Hmm?" he hmmed and looked for the speaker. As their eyes locked, Vince's neckhairs stood up. A great hulking beast of a beast, the thing he could most closly relate it to was the legendary Cthulhu. It was crouched in it's cell next to Vince's, and he was shocked he hadn't noticed it before. It's eyes shimmered a ghoulish red, and a mass of wriggling tentecles hung where a mouth could be. It wore only a loin cloth, though it seemed to be rather relaxed in it's posture.

"What've they got you in for," it mumbled in an Australian accent, making no sort of movement at all.

"Dunno yet," said Vince truthfully, "Probably some ridiculous new trafficing law."

"Heh," huffed the beast. It curled around on it's gangly limbs so it was facing Vince, and truth be told it made him queasy. "Nice suit."

"Thanks," said Vince quietly.

"I like the color scheme," and as he said it, made a motion with a clawed finger.

"It matches my ship," spoke Vince, "I found it in the onboard closet."

At that moment Vince noticed the thundering rain which was creating a constant rumble around the area. This helped fill the ensuing silence. The Cthulhu creature kept staring at him.

"Whats it like," said Vince suddenly, "Having all those little wiggling tentacles?" The beast did something that COULD be described as laughing, and then wiggled it's tendrils violently, and brought one up closer to Vince's cell.

"See those suckers?" it asked.

"Yep," said Vince.

"Each one is like a little kiss. The women love them."

Vince didn't say anything.

"I can cover their body with hundreds of kisses, all at the same time."

"THAT'S it," spouted Vince, and clicked his helmet back on, muting the world around him.

Date: 2005-10-18 12:58 Subject: (no subject) Security: Public

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Date: 2005-10-16 03:00 Subject: (no subject) Security: Public

Cornelius frowned, because as we all know he lacked the ability to make any sort of noise in any way, shape, or form. He frowned at the colorful birds and twinkling stars which soared and flitted and floated around him, and he furrowed his brow.

In an animated film, or sometimes a live-action film with animated elemtents, when a character gets whalloped on the coconut, the result is, as we all know, often tweeting birds and stars that circle the character's head. After a few moments, however, they disappear. Or rather, are transfered to another world.

Cornelius currently sat, floating, frowning, in that world. He himself had been a star star back in the day, and had come from one of the first silent cartoons. He was a shimmering black and white, not the sort of shimmer that stars have because they are bright, but the sort of shimmer projectors project because they are of a low quality. He circled with a crowd of his old silent friends as well, who all sat in silence and made grumpy faces at the new bright stars and birds around them.

In the case of today, however, he had an extra special reason for frowning. He had just been bumped into by one of the computer animated birds of the new age, of which he despised so, with their full color, extra demension, and full library of vibrant sounds.

Cornelius turned back to his group frowning, and not much else happened.