This is the Blog that never ends

A reluctant conversation

2009-06-23T08:09:00.000-07:00

As Patr considered the liquid now dripping off the bar room table a wave a realization passed over him, the giant had been drinking Galadonian Dark. Foul stuff with a consistency not unlike the excrement of a black warg. . .it also contained astronomical amounts of alcohol, certainly enough to liquify a svrifnibli liver in under a minute. But to an exceptionaly large giant, it only succeeded in making an already unintelligent race, much more so. . .that would explain the giggling.

Removing his cloak, Patr felt obliged to address the giant in a somewhat more civil manner.

"Are you purposely trying to damage yourself or do you seriously enjoy drinking that stuff?" He knew his code forbade him from even speaking to giants, but something in him felt a kind of pity for the oversized drunk. And after all, he was a cloud giant, certainly not the worst of his kind.

The giant stopped chuckling long enough to take a good long look at the individual that stood barely above his knees. "Bah," he suddenly spat out, "of course not, but 'twas all they had in stock." He then looked around suspiciously and beckoned Patr to come in close, "Well that. . .that and the filthy goblin wine they actually consider drinkable around here," he gave a disdainful nod at the barkeep, who happened to be a goblin and returned the nod with a sneer.

The giant then tilted back in his chair and Patr's heart inwardly sank and as he realized with a sinking feeling that the giant was about to launch into a tale that he would probably regret listening to.

"Why, back in my homeland, in amongst the craggy mountai. . " the giant then trailed off as Patr slowly held out a weary hand.

"I came to here to have a drink quietly by myself, not be. .entertained. .by an intoxicated giant. Furthermore, I have studied your history at length and I happen to find it an exeedingly tedious narrative which I, at the present time, do not wish to hear any more of. " Depositing his axe into the belt loop which hung at his side he gave a slight nod to the giant and pushed open the bar door into the pelting rain outside.

The beginning of a funny friendship

2009-04-13T14:30:00.000-07:00

"Your fly is undone," the Giant said. He spewed his drink over the bar as another bout of laughter wracked his body. He threw his head back and laughed hard, shaking the walls of the tavern and drawing every eye in the place (which, counting the Hovelton twins down from Fair Havens, numbered in the thousands). The svirfnebli eyed him cooly and fingered the hilt of the axe at his belt loop.

"Have you got anything else you want to say?" the svirfnebli said. The combination of his words and stare should have frozen the Cloud Giant's contorted face for three weeks. But the Giant merely waved him off, wiping a stream of tears that had begun to flow from his eyes.

"No, hehe, that was all, haha! Ah, gosh, what a good one! What's your name squirt?"

This last statement deepened the svirfnebli's mood. He jumped down from his stool and snatched the axe into his hands.

"Woah there little guy, don't mind me! I meant no disrespect. You must admit that the fly thing was a regular gizzle-tugger. I mean, three Morstas and a Zambeezo rat couldn't keep a crowd entertained as long on such a simple trick."

Mollified, the svirfnebli swung his axe at the Cloud Giant. As it lodged in the Giant's arm, the creature gave a huge yell, followed by hysterical cackling.

"Ah! You hit my funny bone! Ahahaahah. Take it out squirt! Hurry, it's too much!"

Embarrassed, confused, and more than a little dejected that all of his efforts seemed to be severely ironical, the svirfnebli obeyed the laughing Cloud Giant (who was banging the table with his other hand) and pulled the axe free. After a few minutes of weezing and clutching his enormous chest, the Giant turned to the svirfnebli.

"Thanks! I thought I was done for back there. I'm addicted to laughter, and my doctor says if I'm not careful, I'm going to keel over and die in the middle of a good roar. What's your name squirt?"

the svirfnebli grimiced, but feeling a curious attraction to the magnanimous Giant, he picked his mug up off the floor, ordered another round for the two of them, and started in.

"The name's Patr," he began...

Patr and the Giant

2009-03-31T08:07:00.000-07:00

The svirfnebli gazed up at the night stars, yearning. The stars seemed to chuckle back at him. Taunting him. Perhaps daring him to count them. Maybe sympathizing with him.
The svirfnebli fingered the hunting axe at his belt, still stained with the blood of the creature he had killed in obtaining it. He wondered what he should feel about that death. About that light he put out. He felt little. Little but the itch.

He shook his head and walked into the building. The guard looked him over quickly, probably fighting the urge to make a crack about his size, and let him pass. The warrior's guild was a simple place. Basically a tavern with a training room and an entrance into the sewers below Galadon. The svirfnebli was not in the mood to train, so he pulled himself up to the bar and ordered an ale.

A chuckle to his right caught his attention. He looked to see a massive cloud giant, giggling into his own ale.

"Problem?" the svirfnenli asked.
"Nay, nay. There no problem." The giant shook his head and tried hard not to laugh.

2008-03-16T03:26:00.000-07:00

Until the jungle suddenly disappeared and turned into a blazing desert. The campy-dino-critter, not used to living within a story made up by such cracked pots, decided it had had enough of all this strangeness and downright silliness that it promptly wrote itself out of existence. Shan and the Big Giant Head paused for a moment to reflect.

The moment lasted for about three days. At the end of the massive time of reflection they realized that the story they were living in was more than a little off based.
"What we need" Shan said, "is a decent sort of plot or goal or something."
"True, true." Said the Big Giant Head.
"Because without some overarching goal I don't think we're going to have a good time."
"Well, dear Shan." Said the head. "I think there might be a problem with that."
"Oh?"
"Yes, you see, your character can't really handle any sort of true goal or quest. The problem is that your character is so painfully impotent that the last few sentences you just spoke are way above your ability. You should never have been able to make such coherent thoughts."
"Ah, but you are forgetting our previous three days of reflection. I saved every scrap of coherency from the last three days and am using them now."
"Ah, interesting. How long will they last?" Asked the head.
"Just another minute or two, which is why it is so important to get a simple, decent quest now, before the authors decide to do something silly to us again."
"Are you such silly isn't the best way to go?" Asked the head.
"I've been silly all my existence. I just wonder what it would be like to be...other than silly...or..."
"What's wrong?"
Shan paused for a full minute. "Thoughts...is...slow..." He sputtered.
The head realized at this point that Shan's momentarily out-of-character experience was at an end. He then designated himself the head head and headed into the desert.

Dunes rose and fell over the horizon like waves on a mighty, yellow sea. The sun was hot and high in the sky, a burning torch of painful fire among a cool lake of blue. Shan vomited.

2008-03-06T16:38:00.000-08:00

The authors sat for a long while in a defensive position, erasers in hand, until one of them realized that the addition of a gnat might solve the entire problem. He inserted the gnat on the western hemisphere of the Giant Head (which should probably be known simply as GH, or Big G, or something of that ilk) and gave it the dual personality of a distraught pterodactyl who has just learned all of her young were killed and a Camptosaurus who was responsible for this killing. No joke here folks, look it up on wikipedia. The Camptosaurus exists! I believe it was camping out under a massive rock spire, until mom went for her usual morning flight. Beware the Camptosaurus! In any case, this gnat (who actually has a bone structure similar to the Camptosaurus and the flighty desires of a pterodactyl) began leaping about on the world which was Big G's head. Indeed Campy was really irritating the two characters of this beloved story to such a point that they decided it would be best for Shan to jump on Big G's head, and hunt him with the plunger. Shan chased Campy for an hour until...

2008-02-23T18:31:00.000-08:00

As anyone with a disproportionately large head knows, someone who laughs at your large melon is a real pain in the neck (pun intended). So this massive head with a tiny stalk of a body was quickly filled with rage. He tried to rush up to Shan and smack him in the face, but his tiny arms couldn't reach him. He tried kicking, but it had the same effect. Shan watched all this and laughed all the louder. Finally the Big Giant Head (for that was his name) got an idea that actually could cause some damage. He pulled about a pound of phlegm from the back of his throat and spat on Shan.

Shan was struck and stuck to the ground. The mucusy goo acted as an adhesive and itched horribly. It was pretty gross.
"Oh big giant head man!" He called out. "Your forgiveness I implore! It wasn't my fault about the bleach!"
"I saw you open the bottle and pour it out!" Said the angry head. "Who's fault could it have been if not yours?"
"It was the authors, I swear it. I never wanted to do that. I think that the uncreative fool couldn't think of anything that actually fit with my character so he didn't bother thinking about it at all and made me dump the bleach and left the mess to the next author. I swear I didn't mean to."
"Who are these authors you speak of?" Asked the head.
"Men, three men who delight in tormenting me. I know not where they come from nor why they pull my strings, but they are the source of all my ailments and struggles in life. Cursed authors!" Shan spat.
"My, my, my." Said the head. "This is a sad story of yours. These author-folks certainly sound like villains. We should put a stop to their madness before you pour more bleach on someone."
"So take my hand, dear head, and travel with me. Together we will find the three authors and kick their combined asses."

2008-02-15T12:41:00.000-08:00

The moment he dumped the liquid however, Shan recoiled in horror. What on earth was he doing? Everybody knows that the eye is one of the more sensitive places on the body and to pour an entire bottle of corrosive liquid on one could only lead to more severe consequences.

And sure enough, before Shan could even eek out an apology to the eye, a soul-obliterating roar erupted from the ground under his feet. The ground began to shake and tremble and Shan did the only thing that one could do under the circumstance, namely, run in wild circles while waving his plunger towards the heavens, hoping against hope that some distant god would see him and grant him the ability to wield the forces of lighting.

But it turns out that the lighting god was out running an errand at that moment and Shan succeded only in alerting the god of unfortunate accidents, who placed a root directly where he was running. And so he lay there in the dirt, whimpering to himself as the gigantic head began to emerge from the topsoil.

However, the head appeared to be the only thing that had emerged. Oh it was an imposing head to be sure, at least 30 feet across and covered in mud, but it was just that, a head, and seldom do people become injured by disembodied heads. I'm sure they do sometimes, but for this to happen, the head would have to be able to spit venom or posess the ability to shoot laser beams from their eyes. . .this particular giant was unable to do either.

So Shan stood there marvelling as the giant head spluttered out obcenities in his general direction. Now, instead of being scared, he was becoming increasingly interested and eventully decided to have a walk around the head to see if he could find a body to go with it.

As he paced around to the rear of the head, Shan saw something that made him suddenly burst into uncontrollable laughter. The head indeed had a body. . .but it was no more than 4 feet tall!

2008-02-11T19:24:00.000-08:00

"I see." Said Shan, affording himself a little chuckle. "I know how you feel." He chuckled again. "I see you." He was doubled over now, laughing hysterically. The two eyes made massive and impatient rolls.

After about five minutes Shan was himself again, though it would have been better if he were someone else. He stood and looked at the two massive eyes and tried to figure out what to do. He noticed that the eye he had uncovered was a little dirty, so he took out the small bottle of bleach he kept with him.

Suddenly the power in the author's house went out. Knowing there was little time left the author caused Shan to dump his bleach on the dirty eye and save his work, lest his less-than-competent batteries die.

2008-02-09T07:37:00.000-08:00

Shan's back was to the massive, winking eye-lid, so at first he didn't notice it (being intent on the indescribable creature). Suddenly, Shan heard a faint, whirring noise, and felt goosebumps rise on his skin. Turning his head over his right shoulder, Shan finally saw the great eye-lid, and jumped with terror from his seat. His heart shot his blood through his body at triple the normal speed, and he ran behind a nearby tree for cover. Sweat had soaked through the back of his shirt, and he had to wipe his brow more than once before he had calmed down enough to think. In time, Shan wandered back over to the eye-lid, and realized that it didn't pose much of a threat. He attempted to communicate with the eye, but of course it didn't have ears, and was not very good at reading such tiny lips. Shan attempted to communicate with the eye for about twenty minutes, opening his mouth as wide as he could to show the shape of the words. In the end though, Shan became very frustrated, and the eye resorted to sharp movements to the right (from Shan's perspective). Then it dawned on him. Why was there only one eyeball? "I suppose," he thought, "that if it is a strange enough thing for me to find an eye this big, and stuck in the ground, there may be things that only have one eye." On further speculation he decided to try asking the massive eye. Once he had its attention, he repeatedly pointed to his own eyes, alternating between pointing at one then the other, and pointing at both at the same time. The eye squinted to take in the sight, and one might speculate that, had it at some time possessed an eyebrow, it would be raised in expression of curiosity. In response to Shan the eye continued jerking the pupil to the right. In turn Shan pointed to the right. The eye blinked furiously. Shan pointed again. Furious blinking. Point. Blink. Shan walked three or four paces to the right of the eye and felt the ground with the plunger stick; It was very soft, like mud (except less wet). He jabbed the pole as far as he could into the mud (about one foot) and hit something. He looked over at the massive eye-ball, but it had not seemed to notice. He moved over a foot closer to the eye and jabbed again, hitting nothing. He moved to the other side of his first attempt, and (being tired and a good deal muddy by now) threw the pole into the ground once more. It almost disappeared from his hand (being an extremely long plunger of five feet, for those extra messy days). The eye spasmed and blinked with the furious vigor and hate that it had shown when it had first seen Shan.

Shan began shovelling as best he could with the plunger stick. Mostly it churned up the ground so he could get his hands on the moist soil and move it away. He worked for well over three hours without stopping, and having found nothing continued to work on and off for another three hours, taking breaks whever possible. By this point Shan was beginning to wonder if there was an entire giant buried beneath the forest, and was puzzled about why he hadn't hit a nose, or any other body part. By the end of the six hours though, he had his answer. He was attempting to pry a very stubborn rock from the bottom of this now gaping hole, when he realized that it was writhing. He cleared away the dirt from around the rock, and found that it was indeed the other eye.

2008-01-24T05:01:00.000-08:00

The creature his attention was fixed on was rather hard to describe. So hard, in fact, that I'll not bother trying to describe it. I understand this may prove frustrating for many readers, but such frustrations are ill-founded. In fact, when an author declines to fully describe something it is a bit of a bonus for a reader because he (or she) is given the opportunity to come up with a mental picture of this creature without being hampered by any pre-described notions about it. So please, dear reader, do your best to picture a creature that cannot be accurately described. Picture it, but do not devote too much time to it, because it actually has little to do with this story.

Shan's attention was completely fixed on this strange, linguistically elusive critter. For a moment everything else he had ever considered in his life ceased to be important. Only this funny little thingy of an animal mattered. It was unfortunate that he placed so much attention on the creature, he soon found out. For the blue rock that he chose to sat near eventually turned out to be no rock at all, but a giant eyelid (scary, eh?)!

The eye opened and looked at Shan. Shan didn't really notice, busy as he was trying to describe the indescribable critter (silly boy). For a while the eye just looked. It had malice in its eye, but it lacked the power to do anything about that malice, being only an eye after all. It tried winking angrily at Shan, but it had no affect. It tried throwing rocks at Shan, but gave up as soon as it realized it had no arms. It almost tried to come up with an elaborate plan to capture and eat Shan, but gave up after decided it possessed neither the brain with which to plan nor the mouth with which to eat. So it mostly just sat there, winking in utter anger and frustration.

2008-01-23T11:42:00.000-08:00

When Shan scoured the island in search of materials for an ultimate weapon, he didn't pay very much attention to the fact that other sentient beings could be on the island too. In the shallow recesses of his mind, right below the general concept thinking, but on the other side of the fiery concept called analyzing, rested the dull, much-abused concept of memory. For you see, Shan's memory had had a rough little existence. It was born in a weak sort of way, which is to say that its conception is rooted in fairly painful and bizzare circumstances. Literally. His first memory was of his entire body being covered in gooey Hythranian boogers after he and a few of his friends had upset a Hythran nest. The strange thing about Hythranian boogers are that they sting like hot chili's and immediately erase any and all previous memories from one's brain.

(In recent years scientists studying the Hythranian biomolecular structure developed a way to reverse engineer the function of the organ responsible for producing the gooey boogers, effectively restoring lost memory. This was eagerly marketed to the elderly and with great effect. However, there has been an astonishing number of complaints and lawsuits against pharmeceutical companies who manufacture Mem-X who demand a refund or a drug which reverses Mem-X's effects. The basic nature of the complaint is that they really didn't want to remember as many things as the drug allowed them to. [In some rare instances Mem-X has been known to draw from the brain memories at pre-conscious periods, such as circumcision])

Needless to say the painful re-beginning of Shan's memory was a significant factor in its currently sub-par performance. The other significant factor is the regular abuse his memory receives from the concepts Perception and Will; mostly it is just Will. These two things, coupled with frequent visits from Mr. Forgetful of Doubting Lane, are the main contributions to the current state of Shan's memory. So it is not suprising when, having called to memory for aid to determine whether there were any significant life forms on the island, Shan was given a blank stare followed by a brief eye-brow raised about a quarter-of-an-inch above the eye.

So he treked off across the island once more, having decided (quite shrewdly I think) to leave the sand where it lay, apply the itching powder to his ailing scalp, and call out in general statements of "Hello there!" by means of the rubber plunger head. After several hours, Shan sat down by a blue rock in the middle of the deepest part of the forest. His eye was drawn to a tiny creature climbing a tree two yards away.

2008-01-21T10:53:00.000-08:00

Marvelling at this newfound life, the first thing Shan did was to reach in his green pants and pull out his blackberry which, miraculously, had survived the incineration. There was only one thing on this crazy island that was for sure. . .he needed to check his schhhedule (with the sch pronouced shh, as in shhheep.)

"Hmm," he said aloud to himself. "According to this electronical planning device(or EPD), the first thing I have to do is fashion a rather large weapon with which I can unleash particularly devasting critical attacks against my foes," Shan said the words slowly to himself, making sure to enunciate. "Perhaps if I scrounge around long enough I can come up with the materials needed to make one, with which I could quite possibly become the deadliest person on this island."

Shan spent the next few days looking everywhere for the perfect ingredients. However, at the end of it, all he had managed to come up with was the following items: Lots of Sand, Gold-bond medicated itching powder, and the rubber part of an old toilet plunger. He also found some twigs. . .but they weren't dry enough to be fatal.

At that moment, Shan came to the painstaking realization that the only thing he could make with these ingredients was a weapon of minor annoyance. .capable of unleashing only very unworthy attacks.

He needed to find a friend. .fast.

From the ashes

2008-01-19T22:17:00.000-08:00

In a forest island surrounded by a deep river was a massive pile of ashes. There was nothing very special about the ashes. You couldn't tell by looking what the ashes had been back when it had been anything at all. You would not have been able to tell there was a Jedi named Shan (pronounced Shane) who wielded a light-katana and had crazy adventures. You would not have been able to see any of his adventures because his makers had decided to burn him and his friends away, never to be seen again.

But years went by and the authors stopped checking the pile of ash. They stopped wondering if it would ever be rebuilt. Of course nothing could come from the ashes, the reasoned. But they were, all of them, deceived.

The pile heaved and shook. Groans deeper than the earth whispered from the pile. Slowly it took shape. The tiny pieces of ash joined together and were changed at the sub-atomic level. Burnt leather became skin tissue. Charred cloth morphed into hair follicles. Dead batteries changed into eyes - deep green eyes like the wood after a rain. A form stood, clothed in a simple vest and green trousers. He stretched like a man awaking from a long sleep. He looked around at his surroundings, satisfied and pleased to be alive and no longer an inanimate pile of ash. Life was just about to begin.

Aha!

2007-03-26T15:16:00.000-07:00

Hey!

You guys think you can come in here and mess around! I've got dibs here too you know. Just because your combined imaginative powers ammount to a pile of melted marshmallows doesn't mean you get to rule the pakistory!

Aha! Once more, I exclaim! Aha! !
! !

Aha!

....sigh, this poor thing is dead... sniff. Ok guys, we will be having a memorial service April 9th at approximately 11 pm EST. Matt, thats 8 am sharp on the 10th!

farwell fair blog... sniff*

Wits you want? Wits you shall have.

2007-03-26T01:47:00.000-07:00

A battle of the wits? To the death? I accept.

We shall have four challenges in this battle of wits. I shall choose the first, you shall choose the second, I shall choose the third and the Urim and Purim shall choose the fourth.

That first challenge shall be thus:
Choose an object near your computer. Imagine that this object can think, see, hear, and feel. Describe what it is thinking, seeing, hearing, and feeling this very moment.

2007-03-25T09:40:00.000-07:00

As for the blog, it was a mercy killing. .it's like finding a kitten with a fork stuck in his eye. .sure the kitten's cute and all. .but you need that fork. .and that kitten has to die.

As for the challenge. .I challenge you to a battle of the wits. .winner get to slay this blog.

Insubordination

2007-03-25T08:33:00.000-07:00

I wonder, dear Ben, how it is that you think the right of killing this blog falls to you? I believe that this blog rests on my blogger account, does it not? I think in order for you to close this blog you must defeat me in some sort of hokey challenge.

I leave the rest to you.

2007-03-18T10:40:00.000-07:00

Due to lack of interest, plot and anything remotely edifying I am declaring this blog officially closed.

There, go start a church or something.

ben

Of Gnolls, and Trolls

2006-02-10T13:03:00.000-08:00

Ordinarily, in the most expensive sense of the word, A gnoll and a troll (who is perhaps still gassy from eating a mole) make a horrible fighting team. Firstly, the troll is (depending on which fantasy you ally yourself with) either a hulking, massive, stone-skinned, drooling idiot, or he is an alacritic, lanky, wacked-out-hairdo, assassin. Secondly, the gnoll is weilding a flail. All this is to say that it doesn't actually matter what the troll is like, because the gnoll will ultimately forget mid-swing, (which with a flail is perhaps enough time to reminisce fondly on the apt shape and beauty of the object it will intersect with because there is no preventing the meeting) and be forced to allow his weapon to make profound arguments on the skull of his comrade. Needless to say it would not be a positive factor in their quest to take over the traveler's of the tree, as well it would not be helpful for this story's plot, although come to think of it, I am almost certain it wouldn't matter considering who else is writing this epic tale. Thankfully in this story neither the troll or the gnoll of the grassy knoll realize this, and so they, like many unprepared monsters of old, catapult themselves at the adventurers with a fervour any Monk would nod at, only to be met by Shane and his light-katana. The 9th decided at this exact moment to sit on a purple-freckled rock, cross his right leg over his left, and tie his shoe. Little did he know how superfluos this maneouver would be.

It begins...

2006-01-07T20:36:00.000-08:00

As they walked over the grassy knoll they encountered a troll, the owner of said knoll and the source of the noise they had earlier heard. This troll was busy eating a mole who had the misfortune of sassing off to the troll. The mole was being eaten out of a dish looking very similar to the bowel Lassie would eat out of, Shane thought that the mole might give the troll gas. Shane took stock of the whole situation and realized the lyrical implications of it. A gassy troll was eating a sassy mole out of lassie's bowl while sitting on a grassy knoll. As this realization hit, a classy gnoll walked up and stole the mole out of the bowl of the troll. They were about to engage in vicious battle, until they saw Shane's trio and united for attack.

They dropped the mole and grabbed a pole the gnoll made a quick roll and the troll dug a hole that went down to Seoul. Shane screamed out "No more ryhming!" and lit his light-katana which he bought from Montana from a girl named Briana. He ran across the savanna, while the 9th wondered about the capital of louisiana, to engage in mortal kombat.

don't tell you're mother. .

2006-01-02T10:29:00.000-08:00

All of the sudden a shocking revelation overtook Shan. . .the little trio didn't have a team cheer. He broke down in sobs of laughter until finally realizing there was only one solution. .-they had to make a team cheer. The 9th spake up in a cheery tone "free for all john deer's." Brilliant!

So with a brief regalement of the team cheer they all rushed forward in the direction of the noise, except barbjohn, who kind of just slithered/rolled painfully in it's general direction. They briefly took stock of their weapons: Shan had his light Katana, that was good for one lab rat anyway; Barbjohn was, of course, completely defenseless; and the 9th had his trusty leaking battery (which actually wasn't half as trusty as he made it out to be.) Realizing the hopelessness of ever overcoming anything but the smallest dirt-squirrel Shan and his party ran over the grassy knoll shouting "free for all john deer's!"

On sale at K--mart...

2005-12-11T08:26:00.000-08:00

The twitching eye was due to the sudden realization that Shan, a wise and sensible Jedi Knight, was partially responsible for the destruction of an advanced and peaceful society and now was trapped on a desolate land with two lads of negative wit and a lab rat that had yet to be accounted for. You can well imagine the stress that overcame with jedi nerves so as to cause an eye twitch. He was struck with pangs of guilt and hopelessness, not knowing what to do. Then he had a quick nap and those feelings went away.
When he woke up he noticed that the whisper in the north-east was a little louder yet. He organized his little party to investigate. He stared for a little while at the 9th, and tried to imagine where he came from, but dismissed the thought because he knew what minds were writing the story and found it wise not to question, lest he be given his negative wit back. Off the little group went, Shan bravely walking in the front-center with his light-katana at ready (a very expensive version of a lightsaber, with a +3 for style damage), Barbjohn ruining the dramatic picture by hobbling behind him on the right while trying not to slip on his own drool, and the ever faithful 9th, who was also trying to figure out how he fit into the story. The lovely lab rat from Texas, however, still remains unaccounted for...

How best to breathe

2005-12-01T19:41:00.000-08:00

Sighing to himself the way his great-great-great grandmother taught him, and wincing at the pain of such an endeavour, Shan disloged his left arm from the tree, and set about finding a suitable oxygen snail. barbJohn and barbJohn jr. the 9th, who will now be referred to as the 9th, (except in the case of a constitutional document, wherby he will be called Johanne) were both sniffing at a strange rock, though the 9th was more sound then barbJohn in his form and technique. Shan ripped an especially juicy slug from the tree and placed it behind his left ear. It definitely was not as good as a snail in the eye, but for the moment it was enough to keep him going. Jumping down to the ground he wheezed his way over to where his companions knelt, like hunting dogs over their prey. A hush came over the gathering, and Shan had the overwhelming urge to burst out in "Kumbi-ya". Suddenly everything started to grow dim, and cold. A faint whisper in the north-east began to grow louder. His eye twitched involuntarily....

Today is a good day to die. . .

2005-11-30T17:37:00.000-08:00

The first thing that Barbjohn noticed was the incredible lack of. .breathing. .that was taking place, figuring this was due to a lack of ozone in the atmosphere, he took out his trusty garden snail and squished it into his eye. Now in pain, but readily breathing, barbjohn gazed around at the lucious greenery that dotted the arid, dry landscape. He did a kind of a skip-jump, and then a little hop, and then did a jig. .and then another skip-jump. Thus engaged, barbjohn's sidekick johnbarb Jr. the 9th pushed his comrade over and procedeed to do a skip-jump, and then realizing his situation decided it was high time for a swift walk around the ol' farmyard (this was what he affectionately referred to the new planet as.)His goal(s)were to conquer new lands, conquer old lands, breed new hamsters, and put all his stock shares in the square wheel and of course find someone who could dance the dance of cheese. Whilst pondering the situation he noticed a faint sound coming from the near-east direction. .

A twist

2005-10-20T07:10:00.000-07:00

Matt

...the approximate number of mosquitos in the Pakistani town of Kunri in early fall. Like a good sidekick, he walked down the limb he was on to his dear Shan and told him his revelation. Shan's attention, however, was elsewhere. You see, a collision at speed of 1 billion miles per hour (which is only possible because Todd is writing this story) has some dramatic effects on the environment. 1 billion miles per hour is actually slightly faster than the speed of light. So for less than a millisecond dear dummy barbjohn was travelling faster than light itself (this is, of course, impossible). Within this split-millisecond a largish force field was erected around barbjohn (this is, of course, impossible). Within this forcefield, as per Einstien's theories and such, time slowed down to a crawl. From Shan's, barbjohn's, and the funny bird/mammel critter's point of view, the trip and collision took practically no time at all. But from the rest of the world's perspective, the trip took thousands of years because they we outside of this outlandish and rather improbable forcefield. So by the time the massive explosion struck the tree, mankind had achive self-actualization and had created for themselves a perfect, peaceful, prosperous and pleasurable society in which all were healthly, wealthy and wise. This massive explosion, however, managed to destroy everything outside the cute little forcefield within a million mile radius. So the entire planet was destroyed and the tree and it's occupants were sent flying out into the dark empty reccesses of space. Shan tried to explain all this to barbjohn and rebuke him soundly for his meddling with quantum physics. By the time barbjohn had enough sense to pretend he had figured it out they noticed that there was a large round planet-like thing in their flight path. Shan began barking orders to the crew, not that there was any crew or flight controls for the crew to use, but mainly because it felt like the right thing to do. They began to brace themselves for a crash landing on this strange, and probably out-landish land.

Barbjohn to the Rescue!

2005-10-18T08:36:00.000-07:00

Todd

Noseless, Tear-ductless, and friendless, Barbjohn resolved himself to squint up the tree with a vitality which only comes at this exact point in the story. In the distance, and engaged in intense hand-to-hand combat with what appeared to be a cross between a duck and a meerkat, Shan was slowly being backed off the edge of a limb on the tree. Gathering up his courage, and his jet-pack, which he purchased at a thrift shop from What's Her Face for $5.21, tax included, Barbjohn hit the shiny red button, which he had installed for an extra 6 cents, and propelled himself into the first branch on the tree at close to the speed of sound. Needless to say once Barbjohn could hear again, he resolved to push the shiny yellow button, which is programmed to propel the user automatically to the nearest Shan. Paused in the middle of their deadly duo, and eyeing eachother ostentatiously, Shan and the duck/meerkat cocked their heads at exactly the same time, and at exactly the same angle (47 degeres) to hear the soft classical music which the engine of the jet-pack created slowly growing louder. And since duck's/meerkats despise classical music (as any good woodlander knows), this particular composition by Bach assaulted his ears in such a way so he disengaged his fight and fled up the tree. Unfortunately for somebody, the duck/meerkat was also named Shan, and when the flying Barb-John careened up the tree the engine decided to target the duck/meerkat (whom we will now refer to as his proper name Duckmeerkatus). Barbjohn impacted with Duckmeerkatus at approximately 1 billion miles per hour, which is possible because I'm writing the story, creating a deafening explosion and a tremendous fallout of feathers, teeth and Bach. When Barbjohn came to, Shan was shaking him violently. Before passing out again, Barbjohn's eyes locked on the tree trunk, which displayed in Times New Roman font 43.5: Level 1 Billion 4 Thousand and Three. All Barbjohn could recall about that number was it had something to do with...

Barbjohn's new friend

2005-10-07T09:55:00.000-07:00

After waiting a few moments wracked with intense pain, barbjohn did the first thing that came to his poor scrambeled mind; he picked up the rusty pitchfork and began to brush his hair using short, brisk, strokes. Thus engaged, he began to relay the situation over in his head "I'm really in no place to be doing anything, not only am I an invalid, but I just fell from a 900 storey tree, and not only that but I'm an invalid (barbjohn's reasoning tended to be rather circular at times.) So sighing to himself he began to cry (tearless crying of course since barbjohn lacked tear ducts as well.) Hearing his cries afar off a sad, little, puppy came to investigate the matter, upon seeing the poor creature moaning in the hay, the sad, little puppy went over and placed his paw on Barbjohn's knee. He looked up and saw the little animal and queried "will you be my friend?" Well, with a knowing smile and a flick of the tail, the little puppy bit of Barbjohn's nose and trotted off into the sunset.

What became of the mighty tree

2005-09-12T03:31:00.000-07:00

Matt

...they heard an ominous sound coming from below. It sounded strangely like a rusty brass-chainsaw starting up and digging into some wood. Shan had a momentary lapse of insight and commanded Barb-John to look down the trunk to find out what the noise was. But of course, dear Barb-John was deaf as a wet stump, so Shan had to wave for him to look.
Unfotunately, this also received no attention.
Fortunately, Shan possessed his trusty "Get Barb-John's Attention" stick (which was basically a cattle prod that had a +1 electrical damage added on to its 1d6 base damage).
Unfortunately this caused Barb-John to tumble out of the tree.
Fortunately, Barb-John was wearing a parachute at the time.
Unfortunately, he lacked the intellectual fortitude to pull the rip-chord.
Fortunately, there was a large wagon full of freshly harvested cotton-balls below him.
Unfortunately, there was a nasty, rusty pitchfork sticking in said wagon.
Fortunately, he missed the pitchfork.
Unfortunately, he also missed the wagon.
And so Barb-John landed with a mighty mixture of a thud and a splat. What became of the rat, you may ask? The dear rat, it seems, had not only his own parachute but also the very intellectual fortitude that Barb-John lacked to pull the rip-chord, so he landed softly and was quickly reunited with his rather incapacitated and possibly dead fellow-sidekick.

Trios, Elipses, and Brackets.

2005-08-28T20:52:00.000-07:00

Todd

So the three companions met early the next day at the foot of the great tree. Of course it took most of the day for barbjohn to remember who he was, where he was, which baseball team won the penant in 1963, and why his sandal was glued to his forehead. He happened upon the tree mainly because it was the biggest thing on the horizon that morning. A furious Shan let Gordan chew barbjohn's ear while he himself attempted to help remove the sandal without a lobotomy (which I guarantee you was an option at this point { due to the brass chainsaw wedged into the ground nearby [which though rusty actually still functions properly ]}) In any case, after relaying to the writer how annyoying and grammatically incorrect his recent sequence of brackets is, Shan succeeds in ripping the sandal (and some scalp) from his sidekick's head. The group wastes no time talking, since it would most likely end in a fight, or at least a barbeque. Instead they saunter (well barbjohn mostly tripped) toward the tree and climb up approximately fifty of its laboriously big branches before...

Meet the new side-kick barb-john.

2005-08-22T11:01:00.000-07:00

Ben

Shan had no friends, his unhealthy, un-normal, and downright uh, unhealthy lifestyle had scared off any potential well-wishers. One day however whilst performing his usual hamstring lacerations he happened upon a one legged, mute, deaf and blind child entitled barbjohn. Barb-john was not strong or especially talented (except of course the skill of having abosultely no clue what's going on, at any time) but as far as side-kick material goes, barb-john was #1. So having no sidekick of his own except a nasty underfed lab rat on his shoulder, Shan took barb-john under his wing. Having promised him glory and supassing wealth and money and riches beyond measure and...a nice wife, he slapped his new sidekick on the back (which cause him to fall flat into gravel and mud) and declared "What do you think of that my fair weathered son." Barb-john mumbled something about butterflies and tire-irons and struggled to his feet.

2005-08-20T14:53:00.000-07:00

Todd

Shan, now thoroughly convinced that the way to true happiness lies through meditation, and devotion to the light side, has become a boring character in this story. It is therefore my duty to kill him, and replace him with a character much more suited to the task of climing the tree and speaking with the three 'cheese dancing' goats. O, wait a second, Shan is motioning to me... "What's that? You went over to the dark side? No, that can't be possible..." Sorry folks, I misinterpreted. Shan was just saying that he wants to be part of the annual bark climb of the old Jedi order. Now its making sense. Each year the Jedi send a special troop to try and climb the tallest tree, the winner gets a turquoise light saber, and a 5 dollar bill. The tallest tree if you recall is John Paul's tree, except that it was apparently cut down by a clumsy Jedi Padawan named Danny Fleecepants, when he was practicing his lightsaber throw in the middle of the forest... All of that is to say that the annual tree to be climbed this year is none other than the tree in the land of Inis. So Shan doesn't have to be removed from the story, and now he has a little more strength and wit, O and he acquired a tiny little shoulder pal named Gordan, who used to be a lab rat from Texas.

The story to end the century...or something

2005-08-18T07:27:00.000-07:00

Todd
In a day not too many tomorrow’s away from next Monday lived a quiet old hermit lady named Gumilda. She smelled like oats, and cardboard and her favorite pastime was smashing glass with her stick. The stick was a magical kind, which is impossible to break except for if you have the feather of Homil, which she didn’t, and didn’t care to because you see it was her stick. Anyway the story doesn’t begin with her because who wants to start a story with an old lady. The story actually begins next to a tree in the land of Inis.

Ben
The tree was inhabited by the name of three goats who lived on a diet of elderberry and Bruno’s arm hair. They were the most ferocious beasts in the land and it was said that the only way of to slay them was to make them do numerous dances of cheese ladles. As it so happens sometimes there was a small child who lived in a ditch and was fathered by a small tree squirrel of the wolverine variety, this child decided it was high time to these goats to dance the dance of cheese.

Matt
The small child was originally to be named ‘Shane’, which, in the small tree squirrel of the wolverine variety’s tongue, means ‘He who is great, mighty and full of great might’. Unfortunately, when the name was being recorded the recorder died before he could add the final vowel. Therefore he was Shan, which, though pronounced the same, means ‘apple’. This afforded his squirrelish schoolmates much opportunity to mock and scoff, and thus they did until he set out to force the dance of cheese upon the goats of the trees.

Todd
Now this is a particularly involving and erroneous task to undertake, given the fact that the three cheese-dancing goats lived only in the highest part of the tree and rarely came down unless a bruno came by, which happens about as often as the sun is cold. So Shan had the incredible job of climbing the tree which was taller than every other tree except the one tree north of John Paul’s house called “the tree which is north of John Paul’s house”. Why the heck they called it that not even John knows but then it doesn’t really matter anyway. So the tree had exactly eleventy billion branches and the 1st goat lived on branch number 450 billion, for eleventy is = 1000 billion in the squirrel language. So the boy set out with a piece of bread and some cheese, which was cheddar cause he likes that the best, and started up the tree.

Ben
Unfortunately the boy liked to eat food occasionally so he squished the bread and cheese together to make a nasty omelet type of meal. So, armed with absolutely nothing except his negative wit and non-sharp object and he mounted the first branch on which sat a young lemur named scuzz-name the bonafer, it turns out that this lemur knew ho-w to dance the dance of cheese unfortunately he had not the legs to perform the ancient ritual, so this lemur was no help and the chewed off his left ear in exchange for rubarb leaf.

Matt
You may think that this was a rather odd trade. This trade is not so odd once you consider the fact that this particular lemur was crazed out of his skull and was convinced that his left ear was planning on starting a revolt with his right thumb against the rest of his body. The ear had to be purged. Shan also found the trade beneficial because rubarb was a very rare commodity. It should not be confused with the earth-plant rhubarb, the tasty large-leafed plant that is oh-so yummy in pies. This rubarb is actually a red leaf that contains many chemicals that are useful for manipulating the minds of mammals (of which goats are a prominent member), granting some semblance of a gliding ability to one who eats of it (which is useful when one reaches the top of an eleventy-billion branch tree) and loosening the bowels of someone suffering constipation (which is rather useless in a country like Pakistan).

Todd
Shan immediately climbed seven more branches and after resting a short time noticed a bronze button the size and shape of a pole axe engraved into the tree. Being a child of negative wit, he pressed it, hoping he might obtain some sour candy. Instead a door in the side of the trunk popped open, and as his curiosity is a kin to his wit, he clamored inside and pressed another button, this time in the shape of a have burned speckled-trout with the number 18 lacquered into where his gill would have been.

Ben
Some people are born with brains, some people are born with strength, Shan was born with neither and had brain disorders which caused him to do things that normal people would consider “unsafe” or “unwise” or “unwilling.” Because of this rare disease Shan was prompted to push this button numerous times in not many seconds which caused his little cubicle to shoot upwards in the general direction of the sky. Upon stopping, Shan found himself in a new place, or rather, a new branch and instinctively started humming the tune to “The ol’ shovel’s hittin’ the kitten.”

Matt
At this precise moment nothing happened. But a few seconds later a small kitten appeared. When you picture a kitten, you likely picture a soft, sweet, friendly, cheerful kitten that loves to play with yarn and children. If that is the sort of kitten you pictured, you’re wrong. This kitten is of the rabid, ferocious, children-hating, family-devouring, fire-breathing, evil killer type (except for the fire-breathing...I made that up). The song that our dear hero Shan was humming had enraged the kitten, whose mother had been killed by a shovel. He dropped into an attack stance and gained a +5 to his dexterity and melee attack. Shan closed his eyes in terror. At this moment the kitten lost sight of him. You see, Shan and the kitten could have been related because this kitten was so mind-bogglingly stupid that it assumed that if you couldn’t see it, it couldn’t see you. It was about to walk away when Shan, idiot that he was, opened his eyes and again drew the attention of this small but ill-tempered beast.

Todd
The ferocious feline fell upon the frightened Shan with a purpose mentioned only in the goriest or silliest books written, which is why I will describe it to you. As it jumped across the expanse between them the kitten produced a chainsaw of brass and proceeded to shave the young lad like no barber had ever before. Of course for all of you who are not well versed in the arts of Kimokimokimokimokimoki, an initial advance with a brass chainsaw to a shaving position is easily countered by a glare from the left eye, which Shan did, and once done produced a stunned state for 4 seconds. The kitten reeled at the glare and lost its grip on the chainsaw which fell and felled most of the branches, (including the ugly branch) before coming to rest at the bottom of the tree.

Ben
Quickly regaining his composure the kitten then produced a weapon mostly consisting of twist ties and those bears that you see ride around on unicycles at the circus. Well, as you can imagine Shan did what any self-respecting negative wit would do, which was to sit down and wait for the blow to fall, for this was Shan’s special move. With a fire in his eyes and a joy in his heart, the kitten ran towards Shan twirling his mass of twist ties and circus clowns, Shan braced himself and exposed the most vulnerable part of his body. .

Matt
His most vulnerable part was certainly not his head, because he had never gotten much use out of that part of his body. The kitten struck Shan again and again while dear Shan grimaced and finally fell off the tree completely and landing on the brass chainsaw previously welded by the mighty kitten. At this point the kitten felt a dreadful pang of guilt that he never quite recovered from. The kitten went on to because a polish Presbyterian preacher, which is neither here nor there in the story. Shan’s fall had actually knocked quite a bit of sense and strength into his and changed his life completely. He joined the ranks of the jedi order and devoted his life to the preservation and rehabilitation of angry kittens.