LGBTQ Movement Seeks to Add Another Letter

Sarah Ellis, the CEO of GLAAD (Gay and Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation), has announced a campaign to add another letter from the alphabet to the LGBTQ (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer) movement's collection.  Ellis was quoted as saying "Over the years, we in the LGBTQ movement have made tremendous strides in gaining acceptance in society.  We are firmly convinced that a large portion of this success is our own policy of inclusiveness regarding letters of the alphabet."

Ellis went on to note that the movement stayed in relative obscurity until they added 'Q' to the mix.  "With this in mind," she said "X is an early favorite to add to the collection.  There seems to be a consensus that the letter X is representative of the LGBTQ community as a whole."

"Though it's 1/26th of the alphabet, it's almost never used, and it's among the last letters," one aide said during the press release. "We want to raise the profile of X and promote inclusiveness," the employee continued, "but there are a couple of dark horse entries, such as A and K because we haven't yet included a vowel, and we haven't added an average letter.  Eventually, we hope to include all 26 letters, and we may even move on to the Greek alphabet."

A final decision on which letter to add is expected later this year.

Interview With a Tree Sitter

This morning I read a news article about tree sitters in Berkeley; as I read, I kept wondering "What the fuck are these people thinking? Millions of people are starving, we're in a war, and these idiots are worried about a fucking tree?" Being the fair-minded guy I am, I figured the best way to find out was to actually talk to a tree hugger sitter and get their point of view first hand.

After diligently looking around for several milliseconds, I came to the conclusion that I wasn't going to find a genuine tree sitter, so the only remaining option was to imitate George W. Bush and completely fabricate the facts. So without further ado, here's my (mock) interview with a tree sitter.

Me: Hi. Thanks for taking the time to answer a few questions.

Tree Hugger: I'm happy to do my part in spreading the message about tree conservation.

Me: How did you become a tree sitter?

Tree Hugger: Well, when I was a little girl, I always wanted a tree house, but my dad was constantly away on business trips. Eventually, I realized that it was the corporate machine's fault that I didn't get a tree house. When I heard about tree sitting, I quickly saw that this was my chance to live in a tree house like I've always wanted, and stick it to the man at the same time.

Me: Are you a student?

Tree Hugger: Yes.

Me: How does tree sitting impact your grades? After all, you're not supposed to come down from the tree, are you?

Tree Hugger: I'm failing all but one of my classes. I'm getting an 'A' in my botany class, but I'm not sure if that's because of my commitment to saving the trees, or because I slept with my professor, Miss ... oops, I wasn't supposed to say that.

Me: Isn't intimacy a little difficult in a tree house?

Tree Hugger: Yes, I have to concede that it is.

Me: Would you care to elaborate?

Tree Hugger: Well, after being in this tree for months straight, you might imagine that I don't feel quite as fresh as I used to. Fortunately, my partner doesn't care whether or not I shave my legs. She hasn't been around very much lately, but that may be because she has mid-terms to grade. She's always thinking about me though. She said she'd understand if I had relations with the tree during her absence.

Me: You had sex with a tree?!?

Tree Hugger: Oh yes, it's beautiful and natural, not like that weirdo who had sex with a bike.

Me: I noticed you made your tree house in the largest tree in the area. Was there a specific reason for this? Is this part of your political statement?

Tree Hugger: Not really. I figured that if I'm going to live in a tree that I wanted the biggest tree house in the neighborhood.

Me: Kind of like 'keeping up with the Joneses?'

Tree Hugger: Yeah, something like that. I've got the biggest tree house in the city.

Me: Does this mean that tree sitters living in smaller trees are less committed to the cause? What about the trees that are too small for a tree sitter?

Tree Hugger: Some pro-life tree sitters believe that a tree's life begins when the nut falls to the ground. I'm more pro-choice. It's not really a tree until it's big enough to host a sitter.

Me: A lot of people think your commitment to the trees, while honorable, is a little misguided. After all, millions of people throughout the world are suffering. Shouldn't we worry about people first?

Tree Hugger: Trees can't speak for themselves. Besides, you can't build a cool tree house like this on a person's shoulders.

Me: Since the tree can't speak for itself, how do you know that it wants you to live in its branches? How do you know that it's consenting to your 'sweet love?'

Tree Hugger: I never thought about it like that. I'm a tree rapist! Oh, God, the guilt! I've got to get out of here! I've got to atone for my crime against arbor-kind! Will you help me climb down? I'm kind of scared of heights.

Me: Sure.

Our Business Here is Done

"Our Business Here is Done" is the Seventh and final installment of an Interactive Serial Novel, inspired by the word verification feature of blogger. The story is centered around "words" that were created by the word verification feature of blogger, but defined and submitted by readers of this blog. You may want to refer to the dictionary from time to time as you read this story.

Click Here for Part I

Click Here for Part II

Click Here for Part III

Click Here for Part IV

Click Here for Part V

Click Here for Part VI

Between the excitement of the day, and the ‘entertainment’ of the evening, it took me a while to drift off to sleep. But once I was out, I slept like the dead. The next morning, I was awakened with a startle by my body’s new co-host.

“Wha..?” Then I remembered what had transpired over the last day. “I thought that was a dream.”

“No, that was very real,” my inner voice assured me.

“Hey! I thought we needed to use the salt and vyrioclr for you to be able to communicate,” I observed.

“No. That’s a one-time procedure that aligns our essences. Now we can communicate freely.” In fact, if you don’t want others to hear, you can just will the thought, a voice in my head explained. Wow! That’s COOL! I answered.

“It is, isn’t it,” my voice finished?

“It’s what,” Tammy asked quizzically?

“Well, I found out that my body’s new co-host and I can communicate telepathically.”

“Isn’t that just special,” quipped Tammy’s boyfriend? “Speaking of that, we need to figure out a way that we can tell when you are talking and when it’s talking.”

“Oh, I hadn’t though of that. I guess it had been pretty clear to all of us up to now, eh?”

“How about if I talk like Yoga from Star Battles,” my inner voice offered. The imitation was crappy, but we all got the point.

“Okay,” we all agreed.

The next several months were spent training me in the ways of the intergalactic superhero…

“…You must vipyu before you actually use your superpowers…”

“….Oooooh, that one was particularly flowery. You smell like a lilac bush…”

“… You can’t use the maxazaps setting – whether it’s your fafkmno’s laser, or your power of flatulence, unless your life is directly in danger. If you are not in danger, you must only seek to incapacitate…”

“… So many rules…”

“… So much concentration…”

“… You must hold your pinkie up when you drink a fjdaq…”

“… You need to save civilians in this order. The kuwrty women are first. They get us the most headlines. Children are second. They will tell our story and propagate our legend. Old people are third. They are grateful. Men are last. They should be able to take care of themselves. This one is more of a guideline than an actual rule…”

“… How will I remember it all…”

“… You must maintain focus at all times…”

Before I knew it, I had my first assignment – A local franchise owner required his female employees to wear DQXiers, and it was impacting the cleanliness of the store. I scoped out the establishment; after days of undercover work (Tammy really enjoyed that part of her new job) we were ready to strike. I boldly entered the store when the manager was there, pulled some zyzax out of my utility belt, and cleaned a large film of piieul from the counter.

“Mr. Manager, this must stop. Your women are so uncomfortable in their DQXiers that they can’t perform their jobs. Your establishment is becoming unsanitary, and you are driving away customers. You must renounce your ways of poor fashion sense – for both you and your employees – or you will drive yourself out of business and into madness.” The manager was dumbstruck.

“Wow! You’re right. I had never thought of it like that.” The manager had seen the light. “Ladies,” the manager continued, “effective immediately, you are no longer required to wear your DQXier. In fact, if you’d like to, you may go out to the dumpster and burn them. And oh yeah, who wants to cut my mullet?”

“Allow me,” I offered, pulling out my handy-dandy shears. I belched the scent of pumpkin pie, to put him at ease, and before he knew it his mullet was gone. In its place was a beautiful coiffe, created by yours truly.

“That’s soooo much better,” one of the franchise’s young women cooed.

“I know. Well, Tammy, our business here is done. Zbugi!”

“But wait,” cried the manager, as we stepped into my fafkmno. “I must know who you are.”

“I’m Fashion Avenger Guy. You can call me FAG for short.” I actually felt fwufx inside as I drove away from my first successful endeavor.

Since then, I’ve been known as FAG, and I’ve been dedicated to truth, intergalactic justice, and the fight for great fashion sense. The five gay guys you see on TV? They’re my agents. I know that my tenure in this job will be limited. There have been many FAGs before me, and there will be many FAGs after me. Eventually, I will grow older, start wearing last year’s clothing, and eventually {gasp} start wearing golf clothing, and dress socks with sandals. At that point, the spirit will leave my body, find a new host, and break in a new FAG. But at least I’ll get to keep my fafkmno as part of my retirement package.

Author’s Notes:

I’ve read several books where the author writes a few notes to readers, so I figured I’d do the same. It’s not that I consider myself an author per se, but since I’ve gone to the effort of taking a full week to write something, I guess that gives me some semblance of authorship, and dammit, I’m going to take advantage of it while I’ve got a chance.

First and foremost: This is NOT a serious piece of work. The whole thing was created in response to the nonsensical “words” created by Blogger’s word verification feature. It all started when one of my readers told me that my blog’s word verification called him fuckwagy. I decided to randomly assign it a definition, and from there it took off. I told people that if I got a list of 100 words that I’d write a whole story around the list of words. Thank God I got impatient and wrote the story at 50! Otherwise, I’d quite possibly have been involved in writing a story that I’d actually have to keep track of, and it would have kept me busy for a month. I think a week is plenty of time to devote to a nonsensical non-event.

For the record… I had no idea where this story would go until I started writing it. Okay, that’s not quite true. I knew that it would have to involve some sort of aliens, time travel, or alternate universe in order to incorporate the words. But other than that, I didn’t know what would unfold. On day one of my writing, I sat down and wrote the day’s story from start to finish, and posted it. Throughout the rest of the day, I got a very basic idea of how the next day’s plot would unfold. The next day came, and I wrote that day’s story, start to finish, and posted it. The entire story was written that way. I knew basically what would happen the next day, but that’s it. The story was written around the words that were submitted. Nothing more, nothing less.

I hope you enjoyed reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I hope you were as surprised as I was by the events that transpired. Maybe someday down the road we can conspire to write another absurd story.

It’s Not Exactly Flying

"It's Not Exactly Flying" is Part Six of an Interactive Serial Novel, inspired by the word verification feature of blogger. The story is centered around "words" that were created by the word verification feature of blogger, but defined and submitted by readers of this blog. You may want to refer to the dictionary from time to time as you read this story.

Click Here for Part I

Click Here for Part II

Click Here for Part III

Click Here for Part IV

Click Here for Part V

“If you’re going to be a superhero – especially an intergalactic superhero – you need an image,” my voice continued. “And even a superhero needs behind-the-scenes help.” The creature turned my head and looked at Tammy and her boyfriend hopefully. “What do you say, will you help us rid the world of evldnzn and mullets?”

“Okay,” they both said, somewhat reluctantly.

“I’d much rather have been the superhero,” Tammy’s boyfriend lamented.

“Great, now let’s work on the image. Any thoughts,” my voice queried?

“Well, I kind of need to know the extent of my power,” I interjected. “Before we work on the specifics of my image, I need to know what I can and can’t do. Can I fly?”

“Yes, you can use your flatulence to propel you through the air for very short distances, but it’s not exactly flying. It’s more accurate to say that you can slow your fall to an extent where you won’t get hurt.”

“What other powers do I have?”

“You’re familiar with the ozukma. You can also deafen your opponents by loudly channeling your gas. You can nauseate your opponents into submission using particularly pungent gasses, or you can pacify them by generating fragrant odors. Use the anal cavity to employ these powers on a large scale, or orally for a powerfully channeled employment of your powers.”

“So wait a minute, you’re saying my shit doesn’t stink,” I wryly inquired?

“Not if you don’t want it to,” my voice confirmed.

“This is gonna be fun! Since I can’t really fly, I need some sort of transportation. Something cool like the Bratmobile.”

“How about a horse,” my inner voice inquired?

“Well,” Tammy countered, “It’s pretty tough to configure a horse for intergalactic travel. Besides, have you looked at the equteg on those things lately?”

“Yeah, besides, I don’t want to end up bow-legged. Nothing cornier than a bow-legged superhero,” I finished. “How about a fafkmno? I’ve always wanted one of them. Just imagine the awe we'll inspire in our fans, and the terror we’ll instill in our enemies when we zzseiyrn by them, on our way to another fashion emergency! Besides, it’ll be really easy to load it up with all of the qozxras it’ll need for intergalactic travel. If we want to really trick it out, we can drop it a few inches and drive with a really good ianvew. I’ve Uftwnt a dropped fafkmno.”

“That sounds pretty cool,” Tammy and her boyfriend agreed.

“How about a catchphrase,” my inner voice wondered.

“Zbugi,” we all said in unison.

I noticed that I was becoming incredibly tired, and started to drift off…

“HEY!” my inner voice screamed. “Can you not everozp? We’re trying to turn you into a superhero, here!”

“Sorry,” I muttered.

“How about a kltbonho as part of your costume,” asked Tammy’s boyfriend? “I’ve always been really fond of kltbonhos,” he finished.

“I don’t think so,” I countered. If I’m going to end up doing any semblance of flying, I don’t need people distracting me from the task at hand by looking up my kltbonho. Besides, isn’t that kind of giving your opponent a peek at your… ummmm… arsenal?” I couldn’t help but grin at my own pun.

“Ohhhhhh. That was just awful,” Tammy and her boyfriend exclaimed, trying to suppress a laugh of their own.

“Look, I’ve had a long day and I’m kind of tired. Can we pick this up tomorrow?”

“Sure,” my inner voice agreed. “Tomorrow, we’ll discuss the rules of engagement, and do a couple of practice drills.”

“Rules of engagement? That may take a while for me to learn. I’ve always been podrmy,” I said hesitantly.

“We’ll worry about that tomorrow,” my inner voice offered. “For now, let’s have a fjdaq and nyhltosv to the end of crappy galactic culture.”

“To the end of crappy galactic culture,” we toasted.

After finishing our fjdaq, we all laid down and started dozing off. At least I was dozing off. Tammy and her boyfriend decided that they couldn’t keep their hands to themselves. “Get a room,” I complained.

“You’re in our room,” Tammy rebutted.

“Jssllupyo,” I complained. They giggled between kisses, and I pulled the pillow over my head. I wanted to sleep, not listen to their sloppiness.

Drop by tomorrow for the seventh installment.

Lick This Salt

"Lick This Salt" is Part Five of an Interactive Serial Novel, inspired by the word verification feature of blogger. The story is centered around "words" that were created by the word verification feature of blogger, but defined and submitted by readers of this blog. You may want to refer to the dictionary from time to time as you read this story.

Click Here for Part I

Click Here for Part II

Click Here for Part III

Click Here for Part IV

“Sorry, you won’t be making the aqvra tonight,” Tammy answered, as we pulled into the parking lot of a run-down motel.

“Let me guess, we’re here.”

“Yes. We’re in room 13, Tammy added.”

“How did I know that? You do realize this is like something out of a cheesy comic book, right?”

“I assure you, this is very real,” Tammy quipped, opening the door to room 13. “Take a seat,” she instructed as she walked through the door. “This won’t hurt a bit, but it’ll feel a little… weird.”

“Oh come on! This is too much. You’re not even using your own lines. That’s like something out of The Maytricks… where Mobius says that to Nemo before they go into the white zone.”

“We do realize that what we’re saying is a little cliché,” Tammy’s boyfriend retorted, losing his patience a little bit. Would you rather we just do what needs to be done, without warning you what’s coming up?”

“Ummm… I guess not.” He did have a good point.

“Now… As I was saying,” Tammy continued. “This isn’t going to hurt, but it will feel strange. I need you to lick this salt, and then we’re going to use the vyrioclr on you. This will put you in a state of semi-consciousness, so that we can communicate with the being.”

I had no sooner gotten the salt to my mouth, than Tammy’s boyfriend had pulled out a handkerchief and put it over my face. I reflexively gasped, and instantly found myself losing awareness of my surroundings.

“XXALKK!!” The sound came unbidden from my throat. “What do you want,” continued my voice?

“We demand that you release this man from your evil possession immediately,” demanded Tammy.

“Evil!?! I’m not evil,” my voice protested.

“Then why, when you possessed me, did I become so angry, jealous and possessive,” demanded Tammy’s boyfriend.”

“Aajshsi!!” My body convulsed.

“Blsyi,” Tammy and her boyfriend responded in unison.

“I was allergic to you,” my voice said to Tammy’s boyfriend. “Look, my voice continued. I’m not evil. I don’t possess and take over people’s bodies. In fact, I’m an Iuhnanu. My race strives for peace, love, and intergalactic understanding between the intelligent species of the universe. We achieve this peace through the eradication of crappy social culture. We seek to bring universal harmony by doing things such as eliminating evldnzn, any hair style that uses oeagojel, and the use of gpeivrbs; and by promoting healthy alternatives such as penkgx, boaeismg, and drinking fjdaqs with good friends.”

“Really,” gasped Tammy? “But we had always heard that your species was malevolent!”

“That was just bad publicity by some of our arch-enemies, like the Bad Hair Bandit and Macarena Man. They want to destroy the universe by promoting mullets and line dancing. They’ll do anything they can to destroy us. Fortunately, we can fight back,” my voice continued.

“How,” I asked, a little surprised that I could use my voice in this semi-conscious state?

“I’m glad you asked, my potential host,” my voice carried on. In return for allowing me to co-exist in your body, and assisting in our quest for galactic harmony, I can confer to you certain powers that make you special among your species.”

“Really??”

“Yes, really,” my voice continued. You will have enhanced abilities, based on your bodily functions. For example, you can control the volume and specific scent of your flatulence. You can also eructate in a similar manner, thus giving you the ability to employ multiple ‘weapons’ simultaneously.”

“But aren’t farting and belching in public crappy social culture, and against your doctrine for achieving galactic peace,” I countered?

“Only in the unenlightened societies. In advanced civilizations, people realize that burping, passing gas, urinating, and defecating are merely bodily functions, and are not looked down upon. They do, however, still appreciate a good fart joke.”

“That explains why I destroyed the hospital walls when I took the leak,” I surmised.

“Yes,” my voice continued. “Are you in?”

“Yes,” I surprisingly found myself immediately agreeing.

“I guess we all learned a little something tonight,” Tammy’s boyfriend observed.

Drop by tomorrow for the sixth installment.

My Getaway Car is a Pinto

"My Getaway Car is a Pinto" is Part Four of an Interactive Serial Novel, inspired by the word verification feature of blogger. The story is centered around "words" that were created by the word verification feature of blogger, but defined and submitted by readers of this blog. You may want to refer to the dictionary from time to time as you read this story.

Click Here for Part I

Click Here for Part II

Click Here for Part III

I pushed the debris off of me and stood up. Once standing, I looked at the carnage I had created. I was surprised that I wasn’t hurt by all of the rubble that had fallen on me, and by the fact that I was so easily able to push it out of my way. But considering that I had recently destroyed a room by taking a whiz, I was a little less surprised by anything that had transpired in the last couple of minutes.

Just then, the door to my hospital room burst open. I turned around, ready to explain what had happened…

“Come with me,” the voice urgently demanded. It was Tammy.

“What!?”

“You heard me, let’s go,” Tammy commanded.

“Why would I go with you?” This whole thing kept getting weirder and weirder.

“Because if you don’t come with me, the doctors will literally test you to death, but never be able to tell you what’s going on. I, on the other hand, can explain everything. I may even be able to help you.”

“But how…”

“Here, put these on,” she continued, throwing me my clothes, “and hurry, someone will be here any second. After all, you caused quite a ruckus.” I silently obaead her.

In short order, I was dressed, and we managed to get out of my hospital room before anyone had noticed. In retrospect, I’m kind of glad that I wasn’t really sick at that hospital. If it took them several minutes to arrive when I literally brought the room down around me, I wonder how long it would have taken them to respond if it had been something a little less serious – like a heart attack. That’s the last time I go to a county hospital.

Once we were out of my room, we casually strolled out the front door. I continued following Tammy to the parking lot, where she headed toward a run-down Pinto in the back corner of the parking lot. That was when I noticed her boyfriend sitting in the driver’s seat of our… getaway car?

Remembering our last encounter, I was a little uncomfortable about running into Tammy’s boyfriend again, but I wasn’t going to let a little thing like fear stop me. “I could always pee on him,” I thought. That’s about the time that I was completely overcome by the sheer lunacy of my situation. I pictured myself as a superhero whose superpower was a superhuman stream of urine. I started laughing. “Maybe I could call myself the Golden Penis,” I thought. Soon, my mental imagery overcame me and I was doubled up in the parking lot, the gffuhz spewing from my belly.

Tammy stood over me, and I was jerked back to reality. I stood back up, still chuckling.

“Get in,” Tammy directed, opening the door. Apparently I was going to sit in the back seat. I hate sitting in the back seat, but considering that Tammy’s a big girl, her boyfriend was driving, and I had no idea where we were going, it was the best option.

“What I’m going to tell you will be a little tough to believe,” Tammy continued once we were all in the Pinto.

“Ummmm…. Let’s see here,” I retorted. “I got knocked out by a wimp, my shattered jaw healed in an hour, I destroyed a hospital room with my urine stream, and my getaway car is a Pinto. Let me guess at what’s next. You’re aliens, and my body has been taken over by some uncontrollable force that’s given me super powers.”

“Exactly,” her boyfriend confirmed, looking over his shoulder from the driver’s seat.

“Riiiiiiiiight.”

“The force,” Tammy continued, “isn’t really a force per se. The best way to explain it in terms you’ll understand is like a cosmic combination of virus, spirit and parasite.”

“That’s why we’re here on your planet,” Tammy’s boyfriend carried on. “It entered my body a while back, and we came here to either control it or remove it from my body. In order to do this, we need a specific combination of salt and vyrioclr. The problem is, vyrioclr is only found on your planet, and even here, it’s very difficult to obtain.

“Soairsa alien in me?”

“Yes,” Tammy confirmed.

“But how did it get from his body to mine,” I inquired?

“Funny story, that.” Tammy’s boyfriend answered. “Before I answer that though, sorry about hitting you.” I rubbed my jaw, remembering that punch.

“That was quite a wallop,” I grudging acknowledged.

“Yeah, that was the parasite. When it entered my body, it made me an incredibly jealous and angry creature. I’m not usually like that,” he finished apologetically. “Anyway, when I punched you, it must have jumped from me to you.”

“Am I going to end up like that?”

“We don’t know,” Tammy answered. “It acts a little bit differently in every host it enters.”

I started feeling a little sick at the prospect, and before I knew it, I had yaqd in the back of the Pinto. “Sorry, about that.”

“That’s okay, this isn’t our car."

"I've Got to tell you two, this is a bad time to have my body invaded. I've got tickets to see the aqvra tonight."

Drop by tomorrow for the fifth installment.

My Fire Hose was a Fire Hose

"My Fire Hose was a Fire Hose" is Part Three of an Interactive Serial Novel, inspired by the word verification feature of blogger. The story is centered around "words" that were created by the word verification feature of blogger, but defined and submitted by readers of this blog. You may want to refer to the dictionary from time to time as you read this story.

Click Here for Part I

Click Here for Part II

The next thing I remember was opening my eyes and looking directly at bright fluorescent lights. I’m smarter than your average bear, but it still took me a second to realize what was what. (They say that tends to happen when you get your ass knocked out… whoever “they” are.) Yep, you guessed it; I was in the hospital.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I heard an unfamiliar voice say.

“Oh shit,” I thought. It’s never good when you’re lying in a hospital bed and you hear ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’ I propped myself up on my elbows, determined to figure out what they were talking about. For someone who was lying in a hospital bed, after just having the crap knocked out of him, I felt surprisingly good – almost J-Mode good. I did a mental scan of my body. No aches, pains, bumps, bruises, scratches… nothing. “Never seen anything like what,” I queried as I sat up? The others in the room, apparently startled a bit by my unexpected interjection into their conversation, jumped a bit and turned to face me.

“Hello. I’m Dr. Jasper, and this is my colleague, Dr. Whitfield.” We were just discussing you as a matter of fact. How’s your jaw feeling?”

“Fine, why do you ask?” That’s when I remembered what happened at the pub. “How long have I been out?”

“You’ve been here for an hour or so. That’s part of what we were talking about. When you arrived, you had a concussion and your jaw was shattered. But by the time we had started wiring your jaw shut, it had zmoau started healing itself, right in front of our eyes. Within fifteen minutes, it had completely healed… and I mean completely. Your X-Rays look as if your jaw had never been broken. Your concussion is healed too.”

“So I’m healthy? In good shape?”

“We’d like to run some more tests on you, just to make sure.”

“But you just said there’s nothing wrong." Doctors are such bystrdos.

“Yes, but we’d like to make sure. And I’ll admit, we’re also a bit curious as to how you healed so quickly.”

I got up and started dressing. “Nope. I’m not your lab rat. Let’s just chalk this one up to a freak incident.”

“But…”

“Thanks, but no,” I insisted as I headed for the bathroom.

Once I was in the can, I realized that I had to go. Of course, as soon as my ass hit the porcelain, I realized there wasn’t enough puapp. Damn, I hate when that happens.

“Ummmm…. Doc?”

“Yes?”

“Could you get me some more puapp?”

“Will you let us run a few more tests?”

“No, but if you don’t get me some more puapp, I’ll be forced to use my hospital gown, the towels in here, and if it’s bad enough, maybe even the shower curtain, to wipe my ass. We don’t want that, do we?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Thanks,” I said, as I relaxed my muscles. “Oh, doc?”

“Yes?”

“Could you bring me some of the good puapp? The stuff that makes you TPRubPrr?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

This is where it starts to get really strange. Now, you know how it is when you sit down to take a crap, right? You usually end up taking a leak at the same time. Well, this time was no exception. I felt the urge to ease the pressure in the bladder and the bowels. I must have really had to go, because when I cut loose, it was like an ozukma; and no, I’m not speaking figuratively. My fire hose was a fire hose. I actually shattered the toilet bowl with the pressure, which of course caused me to fall on the floor. (After all, I was sitting on it at the time.) Naturally, I was caught completely off guard, which is how I ended up peeing on the ceiling and walls, causing them to crash in all around me. I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. Here I am, lying on the floor, in a puddle of toilet water, watching the ceiling and walls collapse around me… all because I took a leak. And I’m so freaked out by this whole experience that my ozukma is still spraying out of control, causing still more damage to my hospital room. Finally, I gathered my wits, stopped the ozukma stream, and laughed at the utter absurdity of what I had just experienced… and caused. I can only imagine the damage I could have caused if I had gotten around to letting the torpedoes drop. I changed my mind and decided to let the doctors run a few tests after all.

Drop by tomorrow for the fourth installment.

She Was Running Commando

"She Was Running Commando" is Part Two of an Interactive Serial Novel, inspired by the word verification feature of blogger. The story is centered around "words" that were created by the word verification feature of blogger, but defined and submitted by readers of this blog. You may want to refer to the dictionary from time to time as you read this story.

Click Here for Part I

I did a double-take. “What,” I asked!? I hope I didn’t betray the fact that I was surprised she actually had a boyfriend.

“That’s him, coming in the door now.”

When I saw him, I instantly understood how they could be an item. The guy was a little too tall, had greasy, messy black hair, and was waaaaay too skinny to be healthy. When I mentally pictured them together, I saw the proverbial thin man and fat woman from those circus sideshows. Tammy grew a little pale as her ostrich of a boyfriend came emuobn across the room.

“What’s the matter,” I inquired?

“My boyfriend is kind of jealous, and tends to get mad when he sees me talking to other guys.”

“What a zpwud,” I retorted. “Why don’t you just tell him the truth? Tell him that nothing’s going on, that we’re not flirting, and that we’re just talking. Let him know the main reason we started talking in the first place is because your friend was interested in my friend.”

“Well, he’s usually pretty jealous when I talk to guys, regardless of why I’m talking to them.”

“Don’t worry,” I replied with a grin “I won’t hurt him.”

“It’s not him that I’m worried about,” she grimly responded.

I was a little taken back by that last statement, but determined not to let my discomfort show. “Who was she worried for,” I wondered, “Her, or me.” There wasn’t really time to ponder the question though, because the ostrich arrived at our table seconds later. Each of us spent a fraction of a second sizing the other up. I certainly wasn’t intimidated. There was only one word that could adequately describe the guy… wimp! After sizing him up, I surmised that she was worried about a fight after she got home, or something like that. One thing surprised me though. I’d assumed that he’d be a little intimidated by me. But if he was, he certainly didn’t let the pressure show.

“Hi honey, this is…” That was when we both realized that she didn’t know my name. I learned hers, but had never gotten around to giving her my name. I extended my hand and opened my mouth to introduce myself, and it happened. I saw the wimp’s face twitch ever-so-slightly, my sixth sense screamed DNGRXX, and his fist slammed into my head with the force of a brick. That punch came out of nowhere! Just as I registered the blood trickling from the corner of my mouth like ptygoo, and readied myself to kick this guy’s ass, the next blow came. I didn’t even see it, but I sure heard the wasuoof. As the thvkn ran off with my consciousness and the blackness closed in, the last thing I saw as I looked up from the floor was the dremu, decked out in her dalpkj. During my last instant of consciousness, I saw that she was running commando, and I was content. What can I say? I’m a guy, I notice these things.

Drop by tomorrow for the third installment.

Bologna in My Pants

"Bologna in My Pants" is Part One of an Interactive Serial Novel, inspired by the word verification feature of blogger. The story is centered around "words" that were created by the word verification feature of blogger, but defined and submitted by readers of this blog. You may want to refer to the dictionary from time to time as you read this story.

It all started innocently enough. My buddy Drake dropped by my place and asked me if I wanted to join him at a new corner pub. Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re thinking… “What the hell are you doing going to a corner pub with a guy named Drake? That’s almost as bad as bad as going to a biker bar with a guy named Percy!” Well, I’ll concede that you’re right to some extent. Going to any bar that doesn’t have an Ivy League-sounding name, with a guy named Drake, is trouble waiting to happen. But the fact is, I really do like the guy. He’s smart, funny, and charming, so he’s got no problems getting the fuckwagy women. Hell, they hit on him so often that I usually end up with his slightly-less-fuckwagy castoffs. That in itself is enough reason to hang out with him at least occasionally, right? Throw in the fact that he’s rich and always buys the drinks, and you should now understand why I like to party with the guy.

Per our usual modus operandi, we got to the pub a little early so we could get a good table… you know the type of table we were looking for… close to the bar, so we didn’t have to walk too far if the waitress was slow… close to the bathroom, so we didn’t have to walk too far to get rid of the old beer… close to the door, so we could see the babes as soon as they walked in… but far enough away from each of them to get a good 360 degree view of the whole room, so we could figure out which of the women were available for a night of meaningless romance. Despite the fact that we got there early, there were already several people in the establishment. Fortunately for us though, we spotted a table that suited our needs, and immediately commenced with the liver calisthenics.

By the time we had downed our third drink, the pub was jumpin’. The place was full of fuckwaggies, and I figured that Drake and I would surely be hooked up before the night was out. As soon as that thought finished running through my head, this stunning little waif of a blonde accidentally brushed Drake’s shoulder, flopping her hair and giving a flirtatious apology as she momentarily stopped. Drake, being the playa that he is, wasted no time in introducing himself, and invited her to join us.

“I’d love to join you,” she replied. “Let me go get my friend first,” she continued, twirling a finger through the end of her long blonde locks. Drew and I couldn’t help but stare after as she walked across the bar to get her friend. This gal was a knockout… a real dremu! Then it happened. She got to the table where she and her friend were sitting, and I instantly understood why I hadn’t noticed the dremu before now. Her friend was UVKLREY! A real WVhog! She was so unattractive that my manhood instantly became bologna in my pants.

“Oh well, at least I’m still drinking for free, “I thought, as I resigned myself to the role of wingman for the evening. As the evening progressed, I dutifully played Drake’s straight man, made him look as good as possible to the dremu, and kept the uvklrey chick occupied, giving Drake plenty of time to get in with the dremu. Believe it or not, I began having a lot of fun as the evening progressed. Though I was definitely NOT interested in her physically, I found myself getting along with the uvklrey friend very well. After a half hour or so of truly animated and stimulating conversation, I was even interested enough in her to get her name – Tammy.

Like I said, Tammy was nothing to look at, but she was witty enough to keep the conversation going, with surprisingly few of those awkward lulls that wing-people experience when talking to one another so their friends can hook up.

“Oh shit,” Tammy exclaimed!

“What?”

“It’s my boyfriend.”

Drop by tomorrow for the second installment.

The Gerbil Odyssey

I recently had the opportunity to hunt for the illusive and dangerous domesticated gerbil, or as it's known in scientific circles, gerbilus domesticus. The hunt was an epic tale on par with The Iliad, and is certainly worthy of retelling. So, without further ado, I bring you the Gerbil Odyssey.

With fear in her eyes, my older daughter came bursting in to the bedroom of my lovely bride and I. So full of nervousness was she that she could scarcely relay the cause of her terror. She had spotted the domesticated gerbil running unfettered throughout our domicile. Knowing the damage this rare and exotic creature could do those unprepared or ill-equipped to face such a fierce foe, the damsel in distress came to her knight. Since I, her knight, was slumbering with my lady, I wasn't exactly "in" my shining armor, but fortunately it was hanging on a nearby hook.

Sensing the terror my damsel felt, I heroically donned my armor and began my quest to capture the dreaded gerbil. After carefully surveying the quarters, I spotted my foe. He had cleverly concealed himself beneath the cauldron in our cooking area. After considering my options, I aroused my she-squire, the owner of this dreaded beast. "My sword," I cried!

"But sire, your sword is at the armory being polished for your next jousting match," answered my she-squire.

Realizing that time was of the essence, I determined that I must improvise and choose a different weapon. "A broom," I called!

"Yes sire," she replied, handing me my ad hoc fighting tool. As I grasped the broom, my dreaded foe stared back at me, daring me to engage in combat. Sensing my resolve, he chose to withdraw to the far corner of the cauldron, forcing me to confront him in his native environment.

Preferring to capture my foe, rather than sentence him to death, I began to gently yet firmly thrust my makeshift weapon under the cauldron. "Curses," I exclaimed! "This weapon is too unwieldy. It will not fit under the cauldron, and is therefore unsuitable. She-squire! Fetch me a thinner jousting tool!"

"But sire, we have no such instrument in the house," she responded, alarmed.

"Surely we must have something suitable for the task at hand," I retorted. As I did a mental inventory of the tools available for this quest, it came to me! "Fetch me the long-handled duster," I commanded.

"Right away, sire."

By this time, all of the damsels in the kingdom had heard of my epic mission, and had come to observe. All of them, that is, except for the mongrels, who were safely locked away, lest grave harm should come to them.

As all of these events transpired, I took note of my surroundings, evaluating the danger to myself and the princesses in my charge. "Stay back," I sternly reminded them. "This beast is dangerous and wiley. You cannot predict what such a predator may do when cornered. I must demand that you give this creature room, for your own safety."

"But what about you," inquired my lady?

"Fear not for me. I am accustomed to exactly this sort of danger," I calmly reminded her, as my she-squire handed me my thin lance. I attempted to insert my thin lance beneath the cauldron. Success!

After my thin lance was fully inserted in the space beneath the cauldron, I began to sweep the weapon across the cauldron area. Another setback. Something prevented me from running my lance cleanly across the area underneath the cauldron. Curses! Again, I considered my available options for capturing the feared domesticated gerbil. My foe came to the front of his chosen arena, daring me to confront him.

There was no choice. Though I am humble by nature, I was forced to show all who witnessed the event my physical and intellectual superiority over my foe and my obstacles. I handed my thin lance to my she-squire and instructed her to withdraw.

I then stood at full height, and began moving the immense cauldron from its cooking area, drawing it into the middle of the cooking room, despite the fact that it required a great deal of concentration and strength, and despite the fact that I was without a weapon while I moved the cauldron. The damsels couldn't help but gasp at my show of physical prowess and bravery.

And then the tables of the battle turned dramatically. Though he still glared at me defiantly, I could see a twinge of fear in my foe's eyes. He realized that I had altered the playing field, that he had lost his territorial advantage, and backed into a corner where the cauldron formerly stood.

While I knew that I was mere moments away from total victory over my opponent, experience reminded me that I could not let my guard down, for there is nothing more dangerous than a cornered foe. They are doubly ferocious, doubly unpredictable, and therefore, doubly dangerous. Calling upon this experience, I reminded the damsels to stay back, lest the beast escape and do them harm.

Once assured that the women were safe, I moved in for the capture. Sensing the end of freedom was near, the gerbil gave up all pretense of bravery and attempted to scurry away, just as I was blocking off all escape routes. The situation became more intense, and more desparate, as I tightened the dragnet. Intuitively knowing that its very freedom was at stake, gerbilus domesticus used every ounce of strength, every bit of cunning, and all of its immense dexterity in attempting to escape. In the end though, all of his clever gambits proved futile, and I recaptured the illusive gerbil. I completely cornered him, and in a moment of inattention, I caught him unaware, grasped him up, and returned him to captivity, none the worse for wear.

The women cheered and showered me with gratitude and affection. After the fervor had died down, I instructed my she-squire to return my weapons to the armory, shed my armor, and washed away the perspiration of the day's tribulation. Then I went to work.