I asked Jon what I should write about and he suggested the heroic last stand of Santa's elves against the invading penguin horde.
So...
It was a bleak night that night. We were surrounded and outnumbered, and even Santa look worried. How had it come to this, you ask? Sit back and I'll tell you.
It had all started the Christmas morning the year before. We elves were celebrating another successful Christmas Eve deployment when the spokespenguin of the Penguin Guild asked to see Santa in private. We didn't know what the conversation was about, but we knew it was serious when the spokespenguin stormed out with the rest of the Penguin Guild behind him. The P. G. went on strike a few weeks after that, but that didn't worry us as none of us could figure out what the P.G. actually -did-. Things went on as usual and we continued working busily in preperation for the upcoming Christmas.
Then it happened.
We had just finished making the last of the teddy bears in the toy shoppe when there was a knock on the door. Poor old Johnson was the one who opened the door just as the candy cane bomb detinated. Candy shrapnel went everywhere, some was even imbedded in the teddy bears. I crawled over to where Johnson had fallen. He looked pretty bad. I wiped the powdered sugar off his brow as he tried to speak.
"It...it was...the penguins!"
So. It was to be war between us.
We quickly staged a counter attack, but the penguins had moved on. They were masters of ambush, with the skill in the arms that we never could match. Skirmish followed skirmish but we hadn't made any progress. Now it was Christmas Eve and we were huddled in the back room of the toy shoppe, loading last year's gumdrops into our candy rifles. It looked pretty hopeless. We weren't the kind of elves that were in those Lord of The Rings movies; we looked pretty much exactly like the Keebler elves, not suitable for fighting.
Then, just when things were looking the bleakest, Santa came in. At least, we -thought- it was Santa. It was hard to tell under all the hand grenades, camo and sunglasses.
"We end this, now."
And we did end it. We blew those penguins into the next Kingdom (let them terrorize the leprechauns for a while). Peace returned to the North Pole, though Santa never spoke of that night again. None of us like to think about it, but it's important that we never forget.
Guns don't kill people; Penguins with guns do.
(Merry Christmas!)
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
The Sugarplum With Two Left Feet
In the Candy Kingdom, all Candies went to dance class after school. There were many different kinds of dances, but the most graceful and beautiful of all was The Dance of the Sugarplums. At least, that's what everyone said. But one little sugarplum was unconvinced.
"Why do we have to always dance to the same music?" the little sugarplum asked.
"Because it is the loveliest of all tunes," her mother told her. "It is like everything a sugarplum should be - light, graceful and lovely."
But try as she might -and she really did try- this poor little sugarplum simply could not be graceful. There were hushed conversations at the parent-teacher conferences and knowing looks from the other Candies. It looked like quite a tragic situation.
But then the little sugarplum discovered that what she was good at was math and science. So while the other little sugarplums danced, the sugarplum with two left feet went on to publish a Nobel winning thesis on relativity as it applies to aethetics of movement. This meant that the sugarplum's parents could retire and the sugarplum had a lovely new house built with a private dance studio where she could dance whenever she wanted.
And they all lived happily ever after.
"Why do we have to always dance to the same music?" the little sugarplum asked.
"Because it is the loveliest of all tunes," her mother told her. "It is like everything a sugarplum should be - light, graceful and lovely."
But try as she might -and she really did try- this poor little sugarplum simply could not be graceful. There were hushed conversations at the parent-teacher conferences and knowing looks from the other Candies. It looked like quite a tragic situation.
But then the little sugarplum discovered that what she was good at was math and science. So while the other little sugarplums danced, the sugarplum with two left feet went on to publish a Nobel winning thesis on relativity as it applies to aethetics of movement. This meant that the sugarplum's parents could retire and the sugarplum had a lovely new house built with a private dance studio where she could dance whenever she wanted.
And they all lived happily ever after.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Puck's Story -OR- The White Finch and The Princess
For one of my favourite LJ authors, jrlpuck, who picked "finch".
Once upon a time a beautiful Princess was born. She was the only child of the good King and Queen and was immediately adored by the entire kingdom, but most of all by the King. The searched the entire kingdom for the perfect gift for his beloved daughter, but nothing seemed special enough. The days until the young Princess's Naming Day were getting fewer and fewer, but still the King had not found what he was looking for.
"Our daughter has our complete love," the Queen told him over dinner one night.
"What else could she possibly want?"
The Queen was highly regarded for her wisdom and kindness, and the King considered her advice.
"Aye, but I just wish I could find something that will always make her smile," the King replied. He thought about the elusive gift all night long, barely sleeping a wink. He called for his horse early the next morning and went for a ride through the countryside. This did much to lift his spirits, as he took in the fresh, cool air and the beautiful green of nature. At length he dismounted and lead his horse into a forest, looking for a stream for his horse to drink from. He soon found it, and loosely tied the horses reins to a tree nearest the river, so the horse could drink his fill while the King explored the forest. He had not gone very far at all when he heard a bird singing; the most delightful singing the King had ever heard before.
"Hello!" the king called up to the trees, (for in fairy tales, everyone knows how to talk to birds),
"That was such beauitful singing just now. May I ask who the singer is?"
A small white finch flew down to a branch just above the King's head.
"That was my singing you heard, majesty," the white finch replied.
The King now knew what present to give his young daughter.
"Splendid! You can be my gift to my daughter. I am sure that your singing would always make my daughter happy."
The King then noticed how very sad the white finch now looked.
"Oh, but we would be very kind to you," the King try to explain.
"And if you have a family, we shall provide for all of them as well."
"It is not that, Majesty," the white finch replied.
"It is a very great honour that you offer me, and I am very greatful for it. All the birds know how good and kind you and your Queen are, but I would really rather stay here in the forest."
"But why?" the dissapointed King asked.
"There are several other families nearby, very simple folk who are all hard working. They have children as well, but unlike you, they cannot afford to buy them fine gifts. Instead, they come into the forest and ask me to sing for their children. If I leave, who will sing for the other Children?"
The King now felt quite bad for asking the white finch to leave.
"I am sorry," he apologized.
"I am afraid I have been quite selfish. By all means, please stay here and sing for all of the children."
The little white finch made an elegant bow.
"Thank you, majesty. For your kindness, I shall prepare a special gift for the new Princess."
The next day was the Princess's Naming Day. Just as the King and Queen stepped out onto the balcony, a large group of songbirds, hundreds of them, flew into the courtyard below and started singing merrily. The young Princess giggled in delight and the Queen smiled and looked at the King.
"Looks like you managed to find the perfect gift after all."
-fin
Once upon a time a beautiful Princess was born. She was the only child of the good King and Queen and was immediately adored by the entire kingdom, but most of all by the King. The searched the entire kingdom for the perfect gift for his beloved daughter, but nothing seemed special enough. The days until the young Princess's Naming Day were getting fewer and fewer, but still the King had not found what he was looking for.
"Our daughter has our complete love," the Queen told him over dinner one night.
"What else could she possibly want?"
The Queen was highly regarded for her wisdom and kindness, and the King considered her advice.
"Aye, but I just wish I could find something that will always make her smile," the King replied. He thought about the elusive gift all night long, barely sleeping a wink. He called for his horse early the next morning and went for a ride through the countryside. This did much to lift his spirits, as he took in the fresh, cool air and the beautiful green of nature. At length he dismounted and lead his horse into a forest, looking for a stream for his horse to drink from. He soon found it, and loosely tied the horses reins to a tree nearest the river, so the horse could drink his fill while the King explored the forest. He had not gone very far at all when he heard a bird singing; the most delightful singing the King had ever heard before.
"Hello!" the king called up to the trees, (for in fairy tales, everyone knows how to talk to birds),
"That was such beauitful singing just now. May I ask who the singer is?"
A small white finch flew down to a branch just above the King's head.
"That was my singing you heard, majesty," the white finch replied.
The King now knew what present to give his young daughter.
"Splendid! You can be my gift to my daughter. I am sure that your singing would always make my daughter happy."
The King then noticed how very sad the white finch now looked.
"Oh, but we would be very kind to you," the King try to explain.
"And if you have a family, we shall provide for all of them as well."
"It is not that, Majesty," the white finch replied.
"It is a very great honour that you offer me, and I am very greatful for it. All the birds know how good and kind you and your Queen are, but I would really rather stay here in the forest."
"But why?" the dissapointed King asked.
"There are several other families nearby, very simple folk who are all hard working. They have children as well, but unlike you, they cannot afford to buy them fine gifts. Instead, they come into the forest and ask me to sing for their children. If I leave, who will sing for the other Children?"
The King now felt quite bad for asking the white finch to leave.
"I am sorry," he apologized.
"I am afraid I have been quite selfish. By all means, please stay here and sing for all of the children."
The little white finch made an elegant bow.
"Thank you, majesty. For your kindness, I shall prepare a special gift for the new Princess."
The next day was the Princess's Naming Day. Just as the King and Queen stepped out onto the balcony, a large group of songbirds, hundreds of them, flew into the courtyard below and started singing merrily. The young Princess giggled in delight and the Queen smiled and looked at the King.
"Looks like you managed to find the perfect gift after all."
-fin
Monday, December 21, 2009
Eleanor's Story -OR- Trapped
For Eleanor, who chose "lamppost".
The librarian had been reading about magical realms for years, but never though to actually discover one. She had been visiting a friend who worked at a historic home, and it was the evening of the house's annual Holiday Party. The librarian was not much for loud groups of strangers, so she took her time looking through the upstairs bedrooms. There was a particularly fine wardrobe in one of the rooms, just the kind that looked perfectly suited to harbouring a gateway to another realm.
The librarian, up to this point a perfectly law-abiding citizen, looked around her to make sure that no one else was around, then stepped over the red velvet rope and gently opened the wardrobe door. She didn't even have to step in before she knew something was up. A gust of wind blew a handful of snow out of the small opening, and there was nothing else for it - she had to go in now. She tentatively stepped into the wardrobe and felt her way through the rows of fur coats. She was soon be exactly where she had expected to be - in a snow covered clearing with a gleaming lamppost in the centre.
"I knew it," the librarian exclaimed softly, looking around her with delighted eyes.
"I wonder if Mr. Tumnus is around."
The librarian waited a few minutes and then she saw a silhouette coming towards her.
"Hello?" she called out.
"Hello!" a voice answered her. But instead of a fawn, it was a penguin who greeted her, complete with a red scarf and an umbrella.
The librarian was a very smart woman. She knew something was terribly wrong and started to make her way back towards the wardrobe.
"Oh, I'm sorry," the librarian started to say, "I think I've stumbled into the wrong magical realm."
The penguin smiled in a rather disconcerting way.
"Oh, but we've been expecting you. We could use a good librarian..."
This librarian had heard enough and turned on her heel and ran back to the wardrobe and firmly closed the door behind her. She paused a moment to catch her breath, then stepped over the red rope and went back downstairs where she was greeted by her friend.
"There you are! I was beginning to think you had gotten stuck in a closet or something."
The librarian put her arm on her friend's and walked with her to the room where the party was.
"Do me a favour?" she asked.
"Make sure that wardrobe in the spare bedroom stays locked. Trust me on this one."
~fin
The librarian had been reading about magical realms for years, but never though to actually discover one. She had been visiting a friend who worked at a historic home, and it was the evening of the house's annual Holiday Party. The librarian was not much for loud groups of strangers, so she took her time looking through the upstairs bedrooms. There was a particularly fine wardrobe in one of the rooms, just the kind that looked perfectly suited to harbouring a gateway to another realm.
The librarian, up to this point a perfectly law-abiding citizen, looked around her to make sure that no one else was around, then stepped over the red velvet rope and gently opened the wardrobe door. She didn't even have to step in before she knew something was up. A gust of wind blew a handful of snow out of the small opening, and there was nothing else for it - she had to go in now. She tentatively stepped into the wardrobe and felt her way through the rows of fur coats. She was soon be exactly where she had expected to be - in a snow covered clearing with a gleaming lamppost in the centre.
"I knew it," the librarian exclaimed softly, looking around her with delighted eyes.
"I wonder if Mr. Tumnus is around."
The librarian waited a few minutes and then she saw a silhouette coming towards her.
"Hello?" she called out.
"Hello!" a voice answered her. But instead of a fawn, it was a penguin who greeted her, complete with a red scarf and an umbrella.
The librarian was a very smart woman. She knew something was terribly wrong and started to make her way back towards the wardrobe.
"Oh, I'm sorry," the librarian started to say, "I think I've stumbled into the wrong magical realm."
The penguin smiled in a rather disconcerting way.
"Oh, but we've been expecting you. We could use a good librarian..."
This librarian had heard enough and turned on her heel and ran back to the wardrobe and firmly closed the door behind her. She paused a moment to catch her breath, then stepped over the red rope and went back downstairs where she was greeted by her friend.
"There you are! I was beginning to think you had gotten stuck in a closet or something."
The librarian put her arm on her friend's and walked with her to the room where the party was.
"Do me a favour?" she asked.
"Make sure that wardrobe in the spare bedroom stays locked. Trust me on this one."
~fin
Mom's Story - OR - The Little Tree
For my Mom, who chose "tree".
The tree lot was looking rather picked over by Christmas Eve. This was to be expected, according to the Wise Old Willow who lived just beyond the little Christmas tree lot.
"Yessir, I seen it happen year aff'er year," the Wise Old Willow said.
"They always pick more trees what then they can sell."
A young little fir (one that was too young to be sold this year) piped up a question.
"What will happen to the rest of us?"
"Well, now, I can't say as I know," the Wise Old Willow replied, "but I reckon that you'll go back to the forest until next year."
The little fir thought about this for a moment.
"Will it hurt?"
"Now don't you go worryin' about that," the Wise Old Willow replied.
"They'll just replant you with nice of warm soil. The folks here take good care of their trees."
This seemed to satisfy the little fir and it settled down to sleep. It was almost asleep when it thought of one last question.
"But will Santa be able to find us? I asked him for a shiny red ornament this year."
The Wise Old Willow chuckled.
"I reckon so."
This pleased the little fir and it soon drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a red ornament and, for some reason, a pale blue blanket.
The tree lot was looking rather picked over by Christmas Eve. This was to be expected, according to the Wise Old Willow who lived just beyond the little Christmas tree lot.
"Yessir, I seen it happen year aff'er year," the Wise Old Willow said.
"They always pick more trees what then they can sell."
A young little fir (one that was too young to be sold this year) piped up a question.
"What will happen to the rest of us?"
"Well, now, I can't say as I know," the Wise Old Willow replied, "but I reckon that you'll go back to the forest until next year."
The little fir thought about this for a moment.
"Will it hurt?"
"Now don't you go worryin' about that," the Wise Old Willow replied.
"They'll just replant you with nice of warm soil. The folks here take good care of their trees."
This seemed to satisfy the little fir and it settled down to sleep. It was almost asleep when it thought of one last question.
"But will Santa be able to find us? I asked him for a shiny red ornament this year."
The Wise Old Willow chuckled.
"I reckon so."
This pleased the little fir and it soon drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a red ornament and, for some reason, a pale blue blanket.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Val's story - OR - Meet me at The Lamppost
For Val, who picked "lamppost".
The man had spent all night working on it, crafting it out of spare bits of metal tubing and the glass from the medical supply case. He took a step back to admire the end result. It looked liked something that had been thrown together in about eight hours (which pleased him, as he had only been working on it for six hours), but it would have to do. He went out into the lush tropical jungle and tried to find the Perfect Spot to place it. After an hour or so, he finally found just the spot - a small clearing amongst the many trees. He planted the item firmly in the ground then lit the wick on the top with the torch he had brought with him. Now all he had to do was wait about an hour or so to show it to her.
The man went back to his house and pulled on a sweater, ear muffs and scarves, and took another scarf from the old cardboard box in the closet. He kept checking his watch until, finally, it showed the time of 11:55. He then crept out of the house, and walked the short distance to another, seemingly identical house. He picked up a small rock and threw it gently at the window. Nothing happened. He tried again, then again, but there was still no response from the house. Finally he whispered loudly:
"Annie!"
This (somehow) did the trick, and a lovely, though sleepy, woman appeared at the window.
"What on earth...?"
"Just come follow me," he replied.
The woman was curious, so she threw on some jeans and came outside.
"What is this all about?"
"You'll see," he replied, handing her the scarf.
"Here, put this on."
She looked at him as though he was crazy, but she wrapped the scarf around her graceful neck anyway, and followed him. The Perfect Spot was not very far from their houses, and they were soon there. She stopped as soon as she saw it - a lamppost in a clearing.
"Oh," was all that she could think of to say.
"I know this isn't Narnia, and I couldn't find any snow," he explained, "but I do believe that this is an ideal spot to watch for fawns."
"It's perfect," she whispered.
"Merry Christmas," he replied.
~fin
The man had spent all night working on it, crafting it out of spare bits of metal tubing and the glass from the medical supply case. He took a step back to admire the end result. It looked liked something that had been thrown together in about eight hours (which pleased him, as he had only been working on it for six hours), but it would have to do. He went out into the lush tropical jungle and tried to find the Perfect Spot to place it. After an hour or so, he finally found just the spot - a small clearing amongst the many trees. He planted the item firmly in the ground then lit the wick on the top with the torch he had brought with him. Now all he had to do was wait about an hour or so to show it to her.
The man went back to his house and pulled on a sweater, ear muffs and scarves, and took another scarf from the old cardboard box in the closet. He kept checking his watch until, finally, it showed the time of 11:55. He then crept out of the house, and walked the short distance to another, seemingly identical house. He picked up a small rock and threw it gently at the window. Nothing happened. He tried again, then again, but there was still no response from the house. Finally he whispered loudly:
"Annie!"
This (somehow) did the trick, and a lovely, though sleepy, woman appeared at the window.
"What on earth...?"
"Just come follow me," he replied.
The woman was curious, so she threw on some jeans and came outside.
"What is this all about?"
"You'll see," he replied, handing her the scarf.
"Here, put this on."
She looked at him as though he was crazy, but she wrapped the scarf around her graceful neck anyway, and followed him. The Perfect Spot was not very far from their houses, and they were soon there. She stopped as soon as she saw it - a lamppost in a clearing.
"Oh," was all that she could think of to say.
"I know this isn't Narnia, and I couldn't find any snow," he explained, "but I do believe that this is an ideal spot to watch for fawns."
"It's perfect," she whispered.
"Merry Christmas," he replied.
~fin
Jo's Story - OR- The Penguins Who Stole Christmas, part four
For Jo, who of course chose "penguin".
J was worried. She knew of Sgt. Maltese's plan to steal Christmas, but was unsure as to how best to thwart the nefarious penguin's plan. J was as brilliant as she was kind and lovely, and she was very brilliant, but she also possessed a will of iron. (Not to mention an impressive Super Soaker collection.)
"And you say you were sent here to steal The Princess's Uranium uber Visa?" J asked Fred (who had been escorted to her Lab by the MIB).
"Correct," Fred replied. (He was somewhat disappointed to discover that J's lab was not secret. "What would be the point?" she had asked. "If I called it a secret lab, then everyone would be trying to discover it. By making it a lab of the non-secretive variety, no one has yet to discover it without my wanting them to.")
J spun idly in her swivel chair (spinning in a swivel chair always helped her think).
"This does not add up, though," she said while spinning.
"What does Maltese want with the uber Visa? I think it's either a MacGuffin or a plot device that the author did not think through properly."
"At least it's not a shovel," Fred muttered under his breath.
I HEARD THAT, a loud voice thundered over all of their heads.
"Moving on," J continued, "I wonder if it's truly Christmas that the penguins are after. Penguins can't be all that bad. They are just misguided. I'm sure that if they looked deep in their hearts, they would discover that all they really want is love and acceptance."
Fred was not convinced.
"No, I really think they want world domination."
"But why would anyone want that?" J queried.
"The world is in a pretty poor state these days."
"Which is exactly the way I want it!" came the (not entirely) unexpected voice of Sgt. Maltese.
J turned her swivel chair to face the evil penguin.
"Ah yes, I was beginning to wonder when you would show up, Mr. Maltese."
"That's Sgt. Maltese to you!" the penguin shouted.
"Well, technically, you're the only one in the penguin military, which has yet to be recognized by any other military, so..." Fred began to explain.
"Silence!" Sgt. Maltese barked.
"And there is something I've been meaning to ask you," J said.
"If you're the only penguin in your military, why did you only give yourself the rank of "Sergeant"? Why not "Major" or "General" or "Major General". That would be rather catchy."
The poor Sergeant's eye had begun to twitch.
"Enough! Do you think it was easy trying to bring some order to you lot? Do you?" he asked.
"It was a nightmare! I never wanted this job. All I wanted was to make it big in musical theatre. "
J was puzzled.
"Then why did you become a pseudo dictator?"
Sgt. Maltese shrugged.
"It paid the bills. It's tough being a starving artist."
J had An Idea.
"You know, there's an opening in the town's Christmas production of The Pirates of Penzance...and while it isn't technically musical theatre, I think you would make a stellar Pirate King."
Sgt. Maltese's beady little eyes lit up.
"Do you really think so?"
"I do, " J replied.
The Sergeant looked skeptical.
"How is it possible that they open in less than a week and are missing a lead?"
J leaned down and whispered the name of the director into the Sergeant's ear.
"Him?!" the penguin cried out.
"Say no more. You'll have to excuse me, madam, gentlemen," the Sgt. said as he pulled out a top hat.
"The theatre needs me." And with that, he raced off into the night.
J sat back down and took a sip from her cocoa.
"That's it?" Fred asked.
"But this all makes absolutely no sense!"
"It doesn't have to," J replied.
"This is one of Meri's stories."
And she was right.
~fin
(Hey, I never said they would be -good- stories.)
J was worried. She knew of Sgt. Maltese's plan to steal Christmas, but was unsure as to how best to thwart the nefarious penguin's plan. J was as brilliant as she was kind and lovely, and she was very brilliant, but she also possessed a will of iron. (Not to mention an impressive Super Soaker collection.)
"And you say you were sent here to steal The Princess's Uranium uber Visa?" J asked Fred (who had been escorted to her Lab by the MIB).
"Correct," Fred replied. (He was somewhat disappointed to discover that J's lab was not secret. "What would be the point?" she had asked. "If I called it a secret lab, then everyone would be trying to discover it. By making it a lab of the non-secretive variety, no one has yet to discover it without my wanting them to.")
J spun idly in her swivel chair (spinning in a swivel chair always helped her think).
"This does not add up, though," she said while spinning.
"What does Maltese want with the uber Visa? I think it's either a MacGuffin or a plot device that the author did not think through properly."
"At least it's not a shovel," Fred muttered under his breath.
I HEARD THAT, a loud voice thundered over all of their heads.
"Moving on," J continued, "I wonder if it's truly Christmas that the penguins are after. Penguins can't be all that bad. They are just misguided. I'm sure that if they looked deep in their hearts, they would discover that all they really want is love and acceptance."
Fred was not convinced.
"No, I really think they want world domination."
"But why would anyone want that?" J queried.
"The world is in a pretty poor state these days."
"Which is exactly the way I want it!" came the (not entirely) unexpected voice of Sgt. Maltese.
J turned her swivel chair to face the evil penguin.
"Ah yes, I was beginning to wonder when you would show up, Mr. Maltese."
"That's Sgt. Maltese to you!" the penguin shouted.
"Well, technically, you're the only one in the penguin military, which has yet to be recognized by any other military, so..." Fred began to explain.
"Silence!" Sgt. Maltese barked.
"And there is something I've been meaning to ask you," J said.
"If you're the only penguin in your military, why did you only give yourself the rank of "Sergeant"? Why not "Major" or "General" or "Major General". That would be rather catchy."
The poor Sergeant's eye had begun to twitch.
"Enough! Do you think it was easy trying to bring some order to you lot? Do you?" he asked.
"It was a nightmare! I never wanted this job. All I wanted was to make it big in musical theatre. "
J was puzzled.
"Then why did you become a pseudo dictator?"
Sgt. Maltese shrugged.
"It paid the bills. It's tough being a starving artist."
J had An Idea.
"You know, there's an opening in the town's Christmas production of The Pirates of Penzance...and while it isn't technically musical theatre, I think you would make a stellar Pirate King."
Sgt. Maltese's beady little eyes lit up.
"Do you really think so?"
"I do, " J replied.
The Sergeant looked skeptical.
"How is it possible that they open in less than a week and are missing a lead?"
J leaned down and whispered the name of the director into the Sergeant's ear.
"Him?!" the penguin cried out.
"Say no more. You'll have to excuse me, madam, gentlemen," the Sgt. said as he pulled out a top hat.
"The theatre needs me." And with that, he raced off into the night.
J sat back down and took a sip from her cocoa.
"That's it?" Fred asked.
"But this all makes absolutely no sense!"
"It doesn't have to," J replied.
"This is one of Meri's stories."
And she was right.
~fin
(Hey, I never said they would be -good- stories.)
Friday, December 18, 2009
Jesse's Story -OR- A Tale of Awesome
For Jesse, another "socks" story.
Five minutes later...
Agent 006 had made his way upstairs with the über Visa and was about to make good his escape when he ran straight into a tall man, dressed entirely in black with sunglasses to match (even though it was night and indoors).
"Going somewhere?" the MIB asked.
Agent 006 sprung immediately into action and executed maneuver 1403 - Cute & Cuddly. (Fred -hated- maneuver 1403.) It soon became clear that the MIB (Man In Black, right?) wasn't falling for it. Fred decided to put all his cards on the table.
"Look," he said, "all I want is a new laptop and a chance to code."
The MIB considered this for a moment, then nodded.
"Dome," he said.
"Uh...pardon?" Fred asked.
"Sorry," the MIB replied. "I meant 'done'. I sometimes have typos when I speak."
"Right..." was all that Fred could think to say.
"I'm the head of security for The Princess," the MIB explained.
"About those sleeping pills..." Fred remarked nervously.
"We're willing to overlook it. This time," the MIB said.
"But we need to hurry. Maltese will no doubt soon realize that something has gone amiss. I need to take you to J."
"There's just one thing I can't figure out," Fred remarked as he followed the MIB through the winding hallways of the Castle.
"How did you manage to sneak up on me?"
The MIB paused and pointed down to the socks on his shoeless feet.
"Stealth Socks. One of J's inventions."
"Can I get a pair?" Fred asked hopefully.
"No."
To be continued...
Five minutes later...
Agent 006 had made his way upstairs with the über Visa and was about to make good his escape when he ran straight into a tall man, dressed entirely in black with sunglasses to match (even though it was night and indoors).
"Going somewhere?" the MIB asked.
Agent 006 sprung immediately into action and executed maneuver 1403 - Cute & Cuddly. (Fred -hated- maneuver 1403.) It soon became clear that the MIB (Man In Black, right?) wasn't falling for it. Fred decided to put all his cards on the table.
"Look," he said, "all I want is a new laptop and a chance to code."
The MIB considered this for a moment, then nodded.
"Dome," he said.
"Uh...pardon?" Fred asked.
"Sorry," the MIB replied. "I meant 'done'. I sometimes have typos when I speak."
"Right..." was all that Fred could think to say.
"I'm the head of security for The Princess," the MIB explained.
"About those sleeping pills..." Fred remarked nervously.
"We're willing to overlook it. This time," the MIB said.
"But we need to hurry. Maltese will no doubt soon realize that something has gone amiss. I need to take you to J."
"There's just one thing I can't figure out," Fred remarked as he followed the MIB through the winding hallways of the Castle.
"How did you manage to sneak up on me?"
The MIB paused and pointed down to the socks on his shoeless feet.
"Stealth Socks. One of J's inventions."
"Can I get a pair?" Fred asked hopefully.
"No."
To be continued...
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Error 505
Muse not found. Please reinstall brain and reboot.
(Translation: Today got away from me; I'll post two stories tomorrow)
(Translation: Today got away from me; I'll post two stories tomorrow)
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Bro's Story -OR- The Penguins Who Stole Christmas, part three
For my Brother, who was one of the "Penguin" mob.
Also, also meanwhile, Agent 006, codename "Chilly" had waited for The Princess to fall asleep before searching the perimeter of the Magical Palace. ( It was very odd for The Princess to fall asleep by 8:00, but then, she typically did not have her hot cocoa spiked with knock-out drops.)
The Princess neutralized, Agent 006 crept downstairs into the secret (supposedly) vault, taking pictures with his "cleverly disguised" camera. It looked like a fish. All of the penguins' gadgets looked like fish. Agent 006 (whose actual name was Fred) had never wanted to be a spy, nor did he want to take part in the penguins' latest hare-brained scheme.
All Fred wanted to do was code.
That's where the problem started; Fred was naturally gifted when it came to writing code (he even commented it!), and in his eagerness to impress Sgt. Maltese, he made the mistake of demonstrating some of the applications he had written. It had been all downhill, then uphill, then back downhill from there.
Fred pulled out another tool from his toolbox ("cleverly disguised" as a sardine can) and began scanning the large safe hidden behind a false wall. A few moments later and Agent 006 was able to retrieve key component to the Penguins' plan:
A Uranium Visa card. (Way more exclusive than a Platinum card.)
Agent 006 carefully put the safe back the way he had found it (minus the Visa) and put the credit card in his pocket.
Maybe he'd at least manage to score a decent laptop out of all of this.
To Be Continued...
Also, also meanwhile, Agent 006, codename "Chilly" had waited for The Princess to fall asleep before searching the perimeter of the Magical Palace. ( It was very odd for The Princess to fall asleep by 8:00, but then, she typically did not have her hot cocoa spiked with knock-out drops.)
The Princess neutralized, Agent 006 crept downstairs into the secret (supposedly) vault, taking pictures with his "cleverly disguised" camera. It looked like a fish. All of the penguins' gadgets looked like fish. Agent 006 (whose actual name was Fred) had never wanted to be a spy, nor did he want to take part in the penguins' latest hare-brained scheme.
All Fred wanted to do was code.
That's where the problem started; Fred was naturally gifted when it came to writing code (he even commented it!), and in his eagerness to impress Sgt. Maltese, he made the mistake of demonstrating some of the applications he had written. It had been all downhill, then uphill, then back downhill from there.
Fred pulled out another tool from his toolbox ("cleverly disguised" as a sardine can) and began scanning the large safe hidden behind a false wall. A few moments later and Agent 006 was able to retrieve key component to the Penguins' plan:
A Uranium Visa card. (Way more exclusive than a Platinum card.)
Agent 006 carefully put the safe back the way he had found it (minus the Visa) and put the credit card in his pocket.
Maybe he'd at least manage to score a decent laptop out of all of this.
To Be Continued...
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Jon's Story -OR- The Magical Socks of Smiting
For Jon, who picked "socks".
Also meanwhile, a new super hero was putting the finishing touches on his super suit. And it was truly a Super Suit. The finest Italian wool, a cut that Armani would drool over and a perfect, crisp white shirt. All that was left was to find his hand woven cashmere socks and slip into his $4,000 shoes.
That's when disaster struck.
Instead of a drawer full of exquisite cashmere socks, all the Super Hero could find were ugly, itchy paisley socks.
"Noooo!" the Super Hero cried out dramatically (he had good training for this, as he was also a trained opera singer).
"Curse you, penguins!"
For only one creature could be behind an act so foul, so heinous - the evil Dr. Strangequack.
But then something happened that the penguin did not intend: not to outdone by a mere penguin, even if said penguin had written his doctorate thesis on how to be an Evil Overlord, the Super Hero put on the loudest, ugliest pair of socks that he could find.
And -nothing- happened.
"Interesting," the Super Hero remarked.
To be continued...
Also meanwhile, a new super hero was putting the finishing touches on his super suit. And it was truly a Super Suit. The finest Italian wool, a cut that Armani would drool over and a perfect, crisp white shirt. All that was left was to find his hand woven cashmere socks and slip into his $4,000 shoes.
That's when disaster struck.
Instead of a drawer full of exquisite cashmere socks, all the Super Hero could find were ugly, itchy paisley socks.
"Noooo!" the Super Hero cried out dramatically (he had good training for this, as he was also a trained opera singer).
"Curse you, penguins!"
For only one creature could be behind an act so foul, so heinous - the evil Dr. Strangequack.
But then something happened that the penguin did not intend: not to outdone by a mere penguin, even if said penguin had written his doctorate thesis on how to be an Evil Overlord, the Super Hero put on the loudest, ugliest pair of socks that he could find.
And -nothing- happened.
"Interesting," the Super Hero remarked.
To be continued...
Monday, December 14, 2009
Dad's Story -OR- The Penguins Who Stole Christmas, part 2
For my Dad, who also chose "penguin"
Meanwhile, back at SPHQ (Secret Penguin Headquarters), an in depth reconnaissance overview was taking place. A hardened looking penguin, Sgt. Maltese, firmly smacked the penguin nearest him to call the (completely silent) group to order.
"That's enough shenanigans!" the Maltese Penguin barked out. (Don't look at me like that; you knew it was coming.)
"While we wait for agent 006 to report in, let us continue to analyze previous failed attempts at our mission."
The lights went out and a projector switched on. Soon the room was filled with the sounds of Thurl Ravencroft's deep bass as the trainees took detailed of the doomed mission. The training film now over, Sgt. Maltese flipped the lights back on.
"Now, which one of you waiter rejects can tell me what was the Grinch's chief mistake?"
Several different answers rang out at once:
"He wasn't a penguin?"
"He didn't wear the proper camouflage?"
"It took him until the end of the story for him to realize that all he really wanted was love and acceptance?"
The Sergeant glared at the penguin who made this last comment, and at a snap of his fin (don't ask me how it's possible), the unfortunate penguin was dragged from the room, never to be heard from again.
"Anyone else?" Sgt. Maltese asked menacingly.
The other trainees were spared by the iPhone on the Sergeant's desk ringing.
"That must be Agent 006," the Sergeant remarked as he pressed a button on his wristwatch.
"Chilly, this is Willy, report!"
To be continued...
Meanwhile, back at SPHQ (Secret Penguin Headquarters), an in depth reconnaissance overview was taking place. A hardened looking penguin, Sgt. Maltese, firmly smacked the penguin nearest him to call the (completely silent) group to order.
"That's enough shenanigans!" the Maltese Penguin barked out. (Don't look at me like that; you knew it was coming.)
"While we wait for agent 006 to report in, let us continue to analyze previous failed attempts at our mission."
The lights went out and a projector switched on. Soon the room was filled with the sounds of Thurl Ravencroft's deep bass as the trainees took detailed of the doomed mission. The training film now over, Sgt. Maltese flipped the lights back on.
"Now, which one of you waiter rejects can tell me what was the Grinch's chief mistake?"
Several different answers rang out at once:
"He wasn't a penguin?"
"He didn't wear the proper camouflage?"
"It took him until the end of the story for him to realize that all he really wanted was love and acceptance?"
The Sergeant glared at the penguin who made this last comment, and at a snap of his fin (don't ask me how it's possible), the unfortunate penguin was dragged from the room, never to be heard from again.
"Anyone else?" Sgt. Maltese asked menacingly.
The other trainees were spared by the iPhone on the Sergeant's desk ringing.
"That must be Agent 006," the Sergeant remarked as he pressed a button on his wristwatch.
"Chilly, this is Willy, report!"
To be continued...
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Rowan's Story -OR - The Penguins That Stole Christmas, Part 1
For Rowan, who picked "penguin".
Once upon a time, a Princess met a Penguin.
The Princess was walking home from her Glamorous and Very Important Job to her Magical Castle when she spied a (seemingly) cute little penguin shivering in the cold snow.
“Oh, you poor dear,” the kind Princess said as she scooped the penguin up in her arms and wrapped him in her Burberry (pink, of course).
“I shall take you home with me and get you all warmed up.”
The poor Princess did not know that, while most animals that one found shivering in the snow did in fact need love and kindness and affection, penguins were only after one thing.
The trouble is that no one is quite sure what that One Thing is. Some scientists have suggested that the penguins desire money, while others argue that it’s really just fame and recognition.
Myself, I think they want World Domination. (And I don’t understand how that can be One Thing when it’s Two Words. But I’ve learned the hard way to never question the motives of penguins; rather, you should just run from them as fast as you can).
The Princess and the Penguin were soon at the Princess’s Magical Castle. The hearth room was one of the Princess’s favourite places. It was decorated in rich pinks and burgundies and golds, with a magnificent fire place and state-of-the-art hot cocoa bar. (Forty-five different types of cocoas, ten different types of whipped cream, and at last count, over two hundred different types of sprinkles.)
“What kind of cocoa would you like, Chilly?” the Princess asked the Penguin, as she fixed herself a white chocolate cherry cocoa with chocolate whipped cream and amaretto sprinkles. (The Princess would not typically use such a dull and common name for a penguin, but the name had just crept into her head while she had been looking at the little creature.)
There was no response from the Penguin now known as Chilly. The Princess turned her head to look back to where Chilly was at and saw that he already had a piping hot mug of cocoa.
“How did you…?” the Princess began to ask Chilly.
Chilly merely gave the Princess a Look which clearly said:
“I am doing you the tremendous honour of staying in your mediocre little house for the night. Do not press your luck.”
The Princess thought it best to simply drink her cocoa.
To be continued…
Once upon a time, a Princess met a Penguin.
The Princess was walking home from her Glamorous and Very Important Job to her Magical Castle when she spied a (seemingly) cute little penguin shivering in the cold snow.
“Oh, you poor dear,” the kind Princess said as she scooped the penguin up in her arms and wrapped him in her Burberry (pink, of course).
“I shall take you home with me and get you all warmed up.”
The poor Princess did not know that, while most animals that one found shivering in the snow did in fact need love and kindness and affection, penguins were only after one thing.
The trouble is that no one is quite sure what that One Thing is. Some scientists have suggested that the penguins desire money, while others argue that it’s really just fame and recognition.
Myself, I think they want World Domination. (And I don’t understand how that can be One Thing when it’s Two Words. But I’ve learned the hard way to never question the motives of penguins; rather, you should just run from them as fast as you can).
The Princess and the Penguin were soon at the Princess’s Magical Castle. The hearth room was one of the Princess’s favourite places. It was decorated in rich pinks and burgundies and golds, with a magnificent fire place and state-of-the-art hot cocoa bar. (Forty-five different types of cocoas, ten different types of whipped cream, and at last count, over two hundred different types of sprinkles.)
“What kind of cocoa would you like, Chilly?” the Princess asked the Penguin, as she fixed herself a white chocolate cherry cocoa with chocolate whipped cream and amaretto sprinkles. (The Princess would not typically use such a dull and common name for a penguin, but the name had just crept into her head while she had been looking at the little creature.)
There was no response from the Penguin now known as Chilly. The Princess turned her head to look back to where Chilly was at and saw that he already had a piping hot mug of cocoa.
“How did you…?” the Princess began to ask Chilly.
Chilly merely gave the Princess a Look which clearly said:
“I am doing you the tremendous honour of staying in your mediocre little house for the night. Do not press your luck.”
The Princess thought it best to simply drink her cocoa.
To be continued…
Thursday, December 10, 2009
'Tis the Season -or- An early Christmas gift
I just sent out this text to my friends and family:
Pick a word:
Sugarplum
Snow
Lamppost
Socks
Penguin
Snowman
Hat
Gumdrop
Tree
Finch
I will be writing one mini-story per person based on the word of their choosing and posting them here beginning on Sunday the 13th and up through Christmas Eve.
Want a story? Post a comment with the word of your choice.
Stay tuned!
Pick a word:
Sugarplum
Snow
Lamppost
Socks
Penguin
Snowman
Hat
Gumdrop
Tree
Finch
I will be writing one mini-story per person based on the word of their choosing and posting them here beginning on Sunday the 13th and up through Christmas Eve.
Want a story? Post a comment with the word of your choice.
Stay tuned!
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
NaNoWhatOh? -or- How I spent my November
You might have noticed that it has been 2819 days since my last blog post (give or take about 2,770 days). I have a perfectly good reason for this:
I wrote a novel.
I know it must seem too good to be true, but true it is. Consider it an early Christmas present.
We now return to your irregularly scheduled brilliance.
I wrote a novel.
I know it must seem too good to be true, but true it is. Consider it an early Christmas present.
We now return to your irregularly scheduled brilliance.
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