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But really, Amazon wishlist is way better:
Little Rabbit Foo-FooIt was late in the evening one Thursday night and Little Rabbit Foo-Foo was hopping drunkenly through the forest, doing what he always did whenever he was this drunk--namely, scooping up any fieldmice he could find and bopping them on the head. The fieldmice protested this treatment of course, but in his drunken state he found their high-pitched pleas amusing and they only served to spur him on further.Little Rabbit Foo-Foo by TheSkaBoss
He was only halfway through the forest when the trees suddenly lit up around him, and all the fieldmice took advantage of the distraction to scamper away from him. As he stared in shock and confusion, a round and winged form appeared and waved its finger at him crossly before identifying itself as Merryweather, the Good Fairy. "Little Rabbit Foo-Foo, I don't like your attitude," she said, "scooping up the fieldmice and bopping them on the head. Now I'm gonna give you two more chances to reform, and then I'm gonna turn you in to a ghoul."
Then she waved her magic wand and he found himsel
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
Easy ListeningThe music never stopped playing. Long after the last scream had faded away into dreadful silence, the music was still playing. A hauntingly soft melody that was at odds with its surroundings. The music played from speakers set in each corner of the room, mounted on the ceiling where they were out of reach. The walls of the room were wooden, where they weren't pure dirt. The floor was nothing but dirt too, but of a darker, damper colour than that on the walls. There were no cobwebs here, despite the dark setting, for spiders had no place in this room. No living creature belonged in here other than the one who made it.Easy Listening by TheSkaBoss
Why he made it, and why he used it the way he did, is hard to say - some people speculate that this man was a victim of abuse, and inflicted the same pain that had been dealt to him onto others, as a way of coping. Others say that he built this room to escape the presence of God, for there was surely no place further from his Judgement than this room, and this man was sure
I HateI hate that I can't concentrate,I Hate by TheSkaBoss
And there are things I can't recall.
I hate the fact I can't walk straight,
- End up walking into walls.
I hate that my slow shambling gait
Makes me invariably fall.
I hate that when I medicate
It does completely bugger all.
I hate the fact I've put on weight
Despite watching what I eat.
I hate the fact my joints inflate
In this dreadful humid heat.
I hate the fact I fascinate
Every person on the street.
I hate having to educate
Every doctor that I meet.
I hate when ignorant people state
My only problem is being unfit.
I hate that I can't communicate
The problems I refuse to admit.
I hate the people who berate
And tell me not to quit.
I hate people saying I look great
When I feel like utter shit.
I hate when people discriminate
Because of things that I can't do.
I hate people who try to commiserate
- Say they know what I'm going through.
I hate religious types who speculate
That I'm only getting what I'm due.
I hate that I now alienate
The 'friends' tha
55 55-Word Stories1. It's that damn cow again, following me everywhere. She knows what's in store for her and she's trying to make me feel guilty about it. It's not going to work dammit!55 55-Word Stories by TheSkaBoss
I raised my axe threateningly. She looked at me with those big brown eyes. I had to let her go.
2. Once upon a time there was a duck. One day the duck found a balloon. It was red and pretty. All the other ducks were jealous of him. Then he lost the balloon. The other ducks helped him look for it. Instead of the red balloon, they found hundreds of blue balloons to share! Yay!
3. The air rushed past her, an endless streaming wind that ripped the breath out of her and dried the moisture from her skin, from her eyes. She cried at the hopelessness of her situation, but the tears were blown away. She prayed for it to end, and when the ground was finally there, she smiled.
4. The streetlight shone brightly in the darkness, lighting up a small circle of pavement. The creatures lurking in the darkn
Man and MachineIt happened slowly - the fusion of man and machine. In the beginning, it was purely for medical reasons, to help those with physical limitations overcome them, to help them be 'normal' again. It didn't take long for them to want to be more than normal, and it didn't take long after that for the 'normals' to want those same enhancements.Man and Machine by TheSkaBoss
It was expensive though, to begin with. Only the richest could afford these adaptations and only the vainest wanted them. It took a long time for it to trickle out into the masses, to become the new 'norm'. But gradually it did, and countless generations down the line, we see the end result. Man and machine have become one. A blending of flesh and metal so complete that it is no longer possible to tell where one ends and the other begins. Man and machine can no longer exist separately, they have entered a relationship so co-dependent that to live without one means not to live at all. And yet, that is where our story takes us. For no relationship
Your HouseThe smell of cigarettes still lingered in the air, long after they had left the house. Abandoned, it radiated a palpable sense of emptiness that was felt the minute you laid eyes on it - strangely, as from that distance there was no way to tell that it was empty. The house looked perfectly normal from far away; it was only once you got up close that the small details unveiled themselves and allowed you to ascertain just what it was that had made that house feel so odd and out of place to you. For it was just that one house, alone amongst a plethora of its brethren, that stood out and called out to you, letting you know in no uncertain terms that this house was special, this house was different, this house could be yours.Your House by TheSkaBoss
Stepping lightly through the grass of the front lawn, avoiding bits of broken glass and the old butts of cigarettes that were probably not helping to kill that lingering odour, you surveyed the house in its entirety. You ran your fingers over the chipped
InvisibleWhat if I were invisible?Invisible by TheSkaBoss
What a ridiculous question. I am invisible. Not in the way you're thinking of - yes, you can see me, I don't have superpowers, but do you actually see me? Or do you just see a normal girl? Even worse, do you see a lazy slob who lounges around the house all day, scrounging off the government, in the lap of luxury?
I may not be invisible, but a huge part of what makes me me is. Although I wholeheartedly agree with what has been said before me by countless others - I am not my illness - it still plays a huge role in making me me.
It impacts upon the way I look, not just needing glasses and wearing odd splints and tubigrips when I need to (and in the future, using a wheelchair), but the way I actually look. It affects my weight, my height, and my skin. Without my illness, I would not look the same. Yet no stranger looking at me would think I was anything but a healthy young adult.
Lot 12: Primitive artefactsChairLot 12: Primitive artefacts by fyoot
A well-made item which would grace any home depositary or gallery. Material: Polyvinyl Chloride. Colour: Orange.
Historians believe these objects were once used during the "meal" ritual, where the younger and weaker of the group were sacrificed for the sustenance of the rest. It is believed that the individuals participating in the ritual would in some way "sit" on the chair, thus raising themselves from the ground*. The evident discomfort that the chair must have given the "sittee" was part of the ritual, the lack of ergonomic posture support meaning that only the strongest of back would survive. These objects are increasingly rare due to their widespread destruction towards the end of the 22nd century.
*It should be noted that they believed the ground was itself alive, cf Hooton, 2166.12, and they would offer a proportion of their dead to it, marking the sites of the offering with granite stones carved with potent r
First Day of School."Miss, miss!"First Day of School. by fyoot
"Sit down Gerald. Waving your hand and jumping around will not make me choose you quicker. Everybody will get a turn. Now, Natalie."
"Stand at the front then. There. Nice big voice."
"whatididonmyholidays by Natalie Marsh. What I did on my holidays we went to the beach it was nice and su....sunny. I had ice cream and I went on a boat. The boat was nice. The sea splashed up and we all got wet. Then there was a shark and it ated us and we all got dead TheEnd."
"Very good Natalie. Well done. And you spoke nice and clearly too, but try to be a bit louder next time. Now who's next? No, Gerald, I will not tell you again. Sit down. Now, Kyle. Your turn."
"What I did on my holidays by Kyle age six. What I did, I went to the zoo. I went... no, wait, I know,
The Last GodThe Last GodThe Last God by fyoot
The old woman moves slowly through the twilit city in her widow-weeds. She hobbles across the market-square, picking her way through empty pallets and rotted fruit. She enters the Catedral sur Mer, her face hidden by its black veil and by the darkness of that imposing structure. In front of the apse, she kneels to pray on the cold marble floor. There are no pews in this church, nor is there an altar. There is only the polished floor, the vaulted roof and, in the centre, the circular fire-pit. The old woman, heedless of her ailing knees, prays not for justice or mercy, not for help or healing or riches. She prays for revenge.
The time for Gods, in the city of Estrella sur Mer, has passed. Its citizens no longer have any need of them. The temples have long since fallen into disrepair or are used for coffee shops. Bar one.
In the old times, when the city had been three villages,
The Telmont TimesIn ConversationThe Telmont Times by fyoot
with Michael Tyler, 54, proprietor of the FMG chain of take-away restaurants, and lifelong Telmont resident.
We agreed to meet at the FMG Bistrot which recently opened on Callaghan. It's the ninety-first FMG, but the first Bistrot and, appropriately enough, the first FMG to open in Michael Tyler's home town. The tasteful cream and claret decor inside is a departure from the usual red-and-white stripes and I am shown to my table by a neatly-attired waiter rather than the baseball-capped youth you may be familiar with from FMG franchises up and down the country. Michael Tyler, now a multimillionaire, arrives fashionably late, and we order food before beginning the interview.
TT: What would you recommend?
MT: Oh, you have to have the Brains, don't you? It's what put us o
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.
|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.