|Tshirt size: Unisex L-XL|
But really, Amazon wishlist is way better:
Princess Moxie and the UsurperIt was a typical day in the Kingdom of New Underbed. The lamp was shining and the roof was open to an angle that some might call obtuse (although they'd be wrong; it was still just about in the region of acute - in fact it only opened to ninety degrees). The princess herself was lounging back upon a bed of towels and scavenged clothing, keeping a close eye on her many subjects. Squeaky the pig stood guard by the entrance, his voicebox torn out as a warning to the world about traitors and what she would do to them. A noseless lion cub watched his back with one and a half eyes (all it had), while a tiger with half a tail and a chunk missing from its ear watched its back. Sammy Spider, the royal fly-catcher, cowered in one corner. He was understandably rather anxious about moving while under her gaze.Princess Moxie and the Usurper by TheSkaBoss
Princess Moxie liked to think of herself as a kind and just Queen (even though she was only a Princess), whom all her subjects loved and adored. Her subjects always backed her up on t
ZebahIt rained on the night my brother disappeared. You might think that's not worth mentioning, but when you live in a desert rainfall is a huge deal. I'd never seen it rain before that night. Course, I don't have all that many years to my name, but my Granddad swears he's never seen it rain other than that night either, and he must be a thousand years old. What he reckons happened is, right, that my brother's disappearance is what caused the rain. Like he was some sort of sacrifice or something. He said it's what we get for naming him Zebah, but I don't know what he means by that.Zebah by TheSkaBoss
I'll ask my Mom later; she's the one who named him. She's busy taking advantage of the rain right now though; we were in dire need of it and she's storing as much as she can. I never knew we had so many containers lying around! She must have been saving them for quite some time.
Richard IncarceratedRichard 'That Weird Kid' Smith* was having a rough time of it. Stuck in his swank and roomy prison cell with its beautiful and luxurious furnishings, he brooded endlessly about all the brooding he wasn't being allowed to do. Day in and day out his jailer kept up a cheerful countenance, regaling him with happy stories, smiles and laughter that Richard returned soured, if at all.Richard Incarcerated by TheSkaBoss
The cheerful monotony continued unbroken for so long that Richard had completely lost track of the days by the time something new happened; a glowing parchment floating down through the air in front of him - seemingly from the Heavens, but if so he had no idea how it had managed to pass through the ceiling. Inspecting the seal, he found it to be one he didn't recognise - a triangle, with a perpendicular line jutting out in the centre of each side, and a crescent moon in the middle. Curious, he opened the scroll.
"Dear Richard Imperator Mortui: You've got mail. If you wish to read it, you must first register for
Long Bet"Oh, you poor, puny Earthling." I shake my head in pity and reach out to it, but of course my mandible just hits the screen and they carry on with their little dramas, blissfully unaware of my ever-watching presence.Long Bet by TheSkaBoss
I've never understood why they broadcast their ship's logs in this way. It surely can't be good for their security. My current leading theory is that it's a show of arrogance; a long display of their wit and bravery designed to both intimidate their enemies and show that they really would prefer peace, if given the option. Broken up into short 'episodes' in such a way as to make for easy digestion of the information.
I admired it, if I'm being truthful. I had fallen in love with this immature, playful species and their shenanigans. So much so that I had followed their signal here all the way from Phryllaryxxkilai, many light years away. I had brought with me many approximations of things I had seen Earthlings using on the screen - my way of showing them that I had read and
CSWW and the Bratwurst ConfusionThe angry mob of villagers was approaching fast, each brandishing an enormous bratwurst like a weapon. Cedric the seriously weedy Wizard was in big trouble. Drawing his own, much smaller, sausage from its sheath where his dagger used to reside, he pointed it in the vague direction of the mob and scrambled backwards onto his horse. His horse, just as weedy and wimpy as he was and very unused to its new role as getaway vehicle, bolted before he could mount it properly. He slid off its back and was deposited in a large mud puddle, just in time for the mob to reach him.CSWW and the Bratwurst Confusion by TheSkaBoss
"Oi!" the big, burly blacksmith in front shouted, "Cedric! You bloody great git of a bleedin' wizard! What the 'eck do ya think you're doing to our tools?!" He thrust the gigantic bratwurst he was holding in Cedric's muddy face.
It smelt of fire, and charred pieces flecked down on top of Cedric. He suspected the blacksmith had been in the middle of forging something when his spell had backfired. "I-I-I-," he stammered, and
Star StoriesMy father once said that all the stories that ever could be are written in the stars, ready to lull you to sleep, if you only know how to read them. The trick is, he said, to learn that none of them are complete on their own, but all weave in together. That way, you can mix and match any number of stars.Star Stories by TheSkaBoss
Tonight's tale stars a huntsman who has to fight two bears, one big and one small, in order to rescue the chained lady. I've not read it before, but I can already tell it's a good one.
Back To The Real WorldI typed furiously on my modified laptop, trying to vamp up to the required pace of eighty-eight words per minute. I reached it, engaging the WTFux Capacitor, and immediately felt the world changing around me as I moved through fiction.Back To The Real World by TheSkaBoss
I'd started writing in the middle of a peaceful meadow that belonged to a world whose inhabitants were short and fat with hairy feet, and by the time I closed the laptop I was sitting on a bench in a busy high-rise city. Perfect, I thought to myself, knowing full well that it wasn't. But it was the closest approximation I could come to; if anyone could get me out of this mess it would be someone in a futuristic sci-fi world, even if it was likely that I'd just stumbled into a dystopia.
I wandered through the streets at random, hoping to come across a place that dealt with advanced enough technology that they might understand when I tried to explain. I failed at that, but did come across a PC hardware store and popped in just in case.
A Problem Shared"The prognosis isn't good." The doctor frowned at the clipboard in his hands and avoided looking me in the eyes. At least he had the courtesy to look upset by the bad news he had to deliver, unlike the last guy I'd seen. "I'm afraid you've only got three months, at best."A Problem Shared by TheSkaBoss
I nodded, thanked him, and walked out of there. His was the third opinion I'd sought and it probably wouldn't be the last. The tests were Schrodinger's Cats in my mind - in the time between them being taken and me seeing the results, I lived in limbo; both terminally ill and miraculously in remission at the same time.
I left the Doctor's office a terminally ill man again, and the first thing any real man does when he becomes a terminally ill man is to get himself well and truly hammered. I complied with the traditions of my elders and betters, finding myself a new pub to drown my sorrows in, as I'd already flooded all my usual haunts with them.
The pub I'd selected was a cosy little one tucked away from the main stree
Hattie Van LockheartMr. and Mrs. Van Lockheart had been trying to have children for years, but sometimes, even all the money in the world isn't enough to overcome medical problems, and Mrs. Francisca Van Lockheart eventually had to give up on modern medicine when they removed her uterus. Still undeterred and just as eager for the pitter patter of little feet, the Van Lockhearts talked it over and decided to adopt. More than that, the discerning Van Lockhearts realised their golden opportunity to skip the messier parts of child-rearing and skip straight to an already potty-trained child. With this in mind, they visited the local orphanage - that just so happened to be the one they'd donated most to in the past; the Van Lockhearts wanted to be sure they were given only the best of children to choose from.Hattie Van Lockheart by TheSkaBoss
The children lined up in the orphanage's main office, where the Van Lockhearts were seated comfortably on the only chairs available. The staff flittered around them nervously, fixing the children's smar
The Bouncing Princess"Come on, Daddy! Tell me a stoooory." Little Kaylee bounced on the bed while she said this, clearly not ready to sleep yet.The Bouncing Princess by TheSkaBoss
"Nope, sorry. I only tell bedtime stories to little girls who are already tucked up in bed." Kaylee's dad leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, clearly not in any hurry.
"But I can't sleep without a stooooory!"
"You also can't sleep while bouncing." The corners of his mouth jerked up as he tried to hold back the smile.
"But...but...but!" Kaylee stared all around the room, looking for inspiration for her argument. She spotted her favourite book on the nightstand and grinned. "But I can't stop bouncing until you tell me my favouritest stoooory!"
"Oh, you can't? And why's that?"
"'Cause the mean old nasty witch put a spell on me!" Kaylee giggled and bounced higher.
Her dad groaned. "Oh alright then, what's your favouritest story?"
"The Princess and the Peeeeeeaa!"
"Okay then. Once upon a time there was this princess, and she needed a pee before bedtime
CluelessDear Mrs. Sullivan,Clueless by TheSkaBoss
You're probably wondering why your child wasn't invited to my daughter's birthday party, when I invited everybody else in the class. It's nothing personal but--well, I don't want him around my daughter anymore. He's changed a lot in the last few months, and I'd appreciate it if he would keep his distance from us.
I mean, it was bad enough when he was just dressing differently and listening to that awful music (and playing it right outside our house), even when he started mouthing off to my little girl we could handle it (my daughter is not pulchritudinous, whatever the hell that means!), but she came home yesterday with a bruise on her neck! She wouldn't speak to me properly about it, the poor girl was so embarrassed, so I don't entirely know what happened, but from the few words she's managed I gathered it was your boy's fault.
I'm sure you can understand why this means that she doesn't want to see him anymore.
Lunchtime in the Sci-Fi Commissary Kyria'a clutched her food tray and scanned the commissary for an empty seat and- hopefully- some good conversation. There was a female officer in the corner, and she did not look to be engrossed in tablets filled with streaming data. Kyria'a put on her best approximation of a human smile and went to the table.Lunchtime in the Sci-Fi Commissary by Tobaeus
"Is this seat for sale?" It didn't sound quite right, but was what the guide said was the appropriate way to ask to sit down. So she waited and hoped the guide had not misinformed her.
"No. It's not for sale, but you can sit if you like."
She did, and then she thought hard about what the guide said about conversations with humans. There were similarities between their cultures. Family. That was probably the safest venue to start with.
"Do you have much family in your home
Lost and FoundHe thought he heard crows. He imagined them picking out some poor fucker's eyeballs. If he could catch one, they'd have crow stew, and maybe the body would have something worth picking over. Ammo, or water.Lost and Found by Memnalar
When he found the noise, it was just a loose telephone cable blowing against the remains of a wire fence. There was no crow. Of course not. They wouldn't have survived. Crows built nests, not bomb shelters.
He missed crows. He missed birds. Hell, he even missed bird shit, because at least that meant something else was crawling around in this trash heap. Something besides him and the others.
"Ramon? Hey Ray!"
"Yeah. You find anything, Smitty?"
"Not a damn thing. Another fuckin' goose chase. The Lootenant's losin' it, man. Tellin' you."
"Broken record, Smitty. He's got rank. He says look for survivors, we look."
"Ray, you dumbfuck! Look around, man! Ain't no chain of command no more. No President, no fuckin' Pentagon, no government, nothing! Shit, we don't even know if there's
The Soul Broker I am the buyer and seller of souls. I’ve bought them all and I sold you yours. For the world must run like the gears of a clock, and sometimes you tick or sometimes you tock, but everything given will be taken away and for every silence kept, a word must be said.The Soul Broker by distortified
Naturally, you must assume there is cost. For everything gained, a penny is lost; of course this life can be no different--when the check arrives, you must pay the difference. But not all who ride on the sunday train pay the same price to get out of the rain: a king’s ransom might obtain far, far less than the pauper’s cheap pain.
Your father paid the price of sweat, a back bent under the yoke of the world; accrued worldly financial debt but was recompensed with the jokes of a girl. And he would say he walked away wealthy, with his empty bank account, for his daughter lives today quite healthy and loves him in equally large amounts.
Sounds Like MauveWhat had finally driven her over the edge, Dr. Schwartz recorded, was that she couldn't hear the grapes.Sounds Like Mauve by Memnalar
Certainly they tasted fine, at least Marian made the same happy sounds she always made when she plopped a seedless red into her mouth and squeezed it with her teeth. The anomaly occurred when they opened her visor.
"Dr. Schwartz?" It was one of the new nurses. "Dr. Schwartz, Marian's parents are here. They said you called?"
"What? Yes, yes, I did call them." Schwartz sighed, tapped a few more notes and slid the stylus back into the sheathe on the side of his tablet. "How is she?"
"Asleep. The sedatives have taken hold."
"Good. I'm going to bring Marian's parents in to see her. I would appreciate it if you could remove her restraints for a bit, just until they leave. Would that be a problem?"
"Of course not, doctor. I'll take care of it."
Schwartz shook her father's hand with a tight grip, looking the man in the eye. He set his other hand reassuringly on her mother's shoulder, saying
GreyscaleInsanity is never black and white.
You don't just reach a breaking point and crack,
As if your 'sane' switch flipped from white to black
And madness took you over overnight.
It's more a subtle shifting in your sights
And thoughts that run a little off the track.
At first you plow on through, pick up the slack,
At first you know that something isn't right.
Subconsciously you bury it inside,
Put on a happy mask to face the world.
You act like nothing's wrong, you act alright -
Now 'wrong' is your 'alright'; you never lied.
You find your truth distorted, bent and curled;
To you your greyscaled madness shines pure white.
I Am The GhostI am the ghost that walks these halls,
The noises you hear behind the walls,
The swirls and eddies that chill the air,
The squeaks and creaks upon the stairs.
I am the presence that makes your skin crawl.
I come in the night when the darkness falls.
Black is my colour, and black are my calls,
Black are the shadows I always wear.
I am the ghost.
I am the thoughts you don't want to recall,
The ones you recoil from, shocked and appalled.
I am all of your secret fears and despairs,
Every anxious thought, every burden you bear.
I am the you that scrawls all over these walls -
I am the ghost.
ThecreeperHe comes at night when you're asleep
And dreaming pleasant things.
Outside your window he will creep
To watch your slumbering.
He hides whereever shadows are -
In bushes and in trees.
He spies on you from near and far
And with the greatest ease.
That eerie sense you're not alone?
(Thecreeper is his name)
The fear you feel in your own home?
(And creeping is his game)
The shadows in the night are his,
The darkness his domain.
But what you fear the most is this:
You hide yourself in vain.
He sees right through your flimsy screens,
With goggles that see heat.
Whate'er you try, he has the means
To render obsolete.
That eerie sense you're not alone?
(Thecreeper is his name)
The fear you feel in your own home?
(And creeping is his game)
|YES YOU! RIGHT THERE!|
If you're about to leave a comment I KNOW you can see this box! Stop right there and think about what you're doing! If you're about to thank me for something - DON'T.
Don't thank me for a llama, just return the favour.
Don't thank me for a fav or a watch. You're not obligated to return the favour either. But if you really WANT to thank me, I'd much prefer you take the time to read just one thing of mine. You don't have to fave it, you don't have to comment on it, just read it. That's all I ask.
FROM THIS POINT ONWARDS I WILL BE HIDING ALL THANK YOU COMMENTS.