orders are now being taken for the much anticipated paragraph novels gentlemen's reading jackets. due to the extremely high quality demands and product standards of the paragraph novels, every reading jacket is hand made by the singhalese people in the villages of lower ceylon and quality inspected on location by tribal elders in local drinking establishments before export. please allow twelve to eighteen months for shipping as we hand make every reading jacket to order, and only ship our product via lebanese steam ships and tahitian junkers bound for the atlantic, space willing. please note that our fabrics are of an exotic nature and have not been approved by any known safety organization, so we kindly ask that you specify on all orders if you have any known issues with coconut husk or himalayan monkey dander.
albert and the devilfish
lieutenant albert randle turned the large dial ten degrees and spoke methodically into the metal horn, "ship down ten degrees aye sir." the lumbering argonaut-class submarine "devilfish" listed slowly to the left and albert held himself steady by repositioning his weight to his right leg. the muffled chug of the twin meichenzer diesels gave the small iron command capsule all the vibrations of a bull-dike on the business end of a 12 inch strap-on. the senior petty officer placed his hand on albert's shoulder startling him. "at ease sailor" john said as he looked over the glowing gauges in the dark cabin. "you better get some sleep lieutenant, we still have a few hours before we reach the marianas trench." albert rubbed his strained eyes and shook his head, "aye that sir." he removed his headset and started down the small iron ladder. "oh, lieutenant" the officer said without looking up from the command console, "i'm sorry to hear about your wife." albert stopped and turned, "i know you are sir, and thank you." the officer sighed and continued, "it wasn't just me you know albert, we all fucked her."
how sweet was my subalpine fir
lewis and clark meandered through the tall engelmann spruce as the fragrance of the lodgepole pine and subalpine firs filled the afternoon breeze. "cheheecha, bring us water." clark said as he feverishly sketched a small drooping flower in his journal. "mombretia lewis! we got beaucoup mombretia all over this perimeter!" clark blurted out uncontrollably to lewis. cheheecha unfastened the small deerskin water pouch and brought it over to clark. clark held his cup out without looking up as the indian poured the water. lewis hurried over, "ah clarky my boy, thats a fantastic drawing, and i just spotted several yellow genetia on that cliff ledge!" lewis and clark were giddy over the botanous treasure trove that spread throughout the shaded undergrowth. "cheheecha!" lewis called out in excitement, "take down desk and tables from horses, bring color pencil sticks and paper, make camp on hill." cheheecha rolled his eyes as the other indians stood around looking at each other. after a few moments one of them said quietly in cherokee, "what a couple of fucking idiots."
the banshee's revenge
jenson lay motionless behind the wind swept dune that ran parallel to the foaming emerald coastline. the slow tumble of the beach breakers were followed by the gentle hiss of the receding surf. jenson rolled over and took another look over the dune. an ominous black frigate was trolling the island. there was no mistake about it, she was the pirate ship banshee. jenson had been dropped off on this inhospitable dot of land several months earlier with a few other captured men and left for dead. half starved and ragged, jenson was the only one left alive. they had come back, but for what? whatever the reason, if spotted, he would be hunted down and carved up by the banshee's merciless crew. he glanced up into the unforgiving tropical sun and vowed he would not be taken alive. he whispered a prayer that his powder was dry and pulled back the massive hammer on his rusted musket. jenson brought the heavy iron barrel up to rest on the dune's edge.
he squinted down the long barrel until his focus narrowed in on a dark figure standing at the helm of the black frigate.
there was no mistaking the bulky silhouette with furled captain's hat, it was the dreaded pirate jean moldeaux.
a crooked snear curled jenson's cracked lips as his finger tightened on the trigger. just then, a powerful hand grabbed jenson's wrist from behind, snatching him backwards to his feet like a rag doll. "are these your new school pants i told you not to play in?" the boy's mother demanded. jenson reluctantly began slapping the sand from his knees with his free hand. "you march inside and change this instant young man!"
jenson picked up his musket and trudged across the searing sands of the remote island. he paused and glanced back over the glistening ocean. the banshee was now a mere dot on the distant horizon.
"this shit ain't over moldeaux" he thought to himself, "this shit ain't over."
the gift of lars grundl
lars fastened the last of the lunar rabbit pelts together and slipped on his furry white creation. “you think that hideous thing is going to protect you from pluto’s radiation beams?” sheila said with a sarcastic tone, “you didn’t even tie off the seams right you idiot.” lars tried to ignore the woman as he cleared the dust from his photon blaster. lars grundl was a cleaning technician on space station 348-k when the meteor had struck the ship. lars just happened to be cleaning the toilet in the emergency ejection pod of billionaire heiress sheila morgan when the explosion ripped through the ship. the blast threw the young woman into his arms and he instinctively activated the blast doors. his quick thinking by hitting the emergency eject button had saved their lives, but now they were in a life or death game of cat and mouse on an uncharted planet with hostile inhabitants. the primitive race of brutal humanoids had unwittingly killed off all their females, and were now desperate to mate and repopulate their mongrel race. with bulging lust-filled eyes, they had spotted sheila, and would now stop at nothing to have her. “this is all you brought us to eat, a fucking dehydrated nutrition bar?” sheila grumbled eating the last bite of their food. lars walked outside of the cave and waved to the humanoids, “she’s in here!”
they rode english saddles
"i got no quarrel with you boys!" gage yelled out of the rotting window frame of the old farmhouse. the response was a volley of bullets that ripped through the faded lace curtains exposing the sunrays as swirling pillars of dust. gage pressed his back against the thin wall and pulled the ejector rod on his 44, releasing the heavy metal cylinder. damnit! there was only one bullet left and there were four of the tucker boys. gage snapped the cylinder back with a quick jerk of the hand and took a deep breath. "okay boys!" he yelled out in his gruffest voice, "i'm reloaded!" he could hear the subtle rubbing of the stirrup irons over the saddle flaps on their english saddles. "all those godamned tuckers rode english saddles." he thought rubbing the the sweat from his eyes. they were circling now, no doubt about it. this was it. gage pulled back the hammer with a heavy click and slowly pulled himself to his feet. "if i hit tom square between the eyes the others'll scatter to the wind sure as hell." he told himself. he took one last deep breath and belted a blood curdling scream as he ran full speed down the old plank hallway and leaped out the front door as the wall of bullets tore into his flesh from all sides. gage fell from the air as if in slow motion and never felt his body hit the dirt. the world went silent as he lay on his back as the blurry figures of the tucker boys emerged over him. there was no pain. it was as if he were submerged under a warm pool and dreaming. "so this is what death feels like?" gage thought to himself. a crow cawed in the distance and gage hudson drifted off and died right there on that grassy plain. chad and tommy tucker looked at each other and nodded in silence. it was chad who finally spoke up, "your mama's gonna have your ass gary." tommy popped the plastic cork from his yellow squirt gun and shook the last bit of water into his mouth. gary sat up and examined the dark green grass stains on his new school pants. "awww mother fucker!"
the rooster of st. pedro
juan followed the narrow dirt path through the winding back alley of st. pedro. the small village was nothing more than a sprawling cluster of crumbling shacks that were held together with little more than sun-baked mud and prayers. juan struggled to hold on to the burlap sack containing "tom cruise," his prize fighting rooster. juan was getting closer and could hear the roar of laughter and angry curses of the old men that had gathered to place bets on the weekly chicken fights. the closer he approached, the more tom cruise struggled to free himself from the dusty sack. "relax boy," he spoke calmly to the rooster, "soon you will taste the sweet glory of victory!" at last they reached the crowd and a hush came over the circle of old men. the crowd slowly parted as juan and his rooster quietly walked to the center ring of rusted chicken wire. juan paused for a moment scanning the crowd, then reached into the sack pulling out tom cruise and quickly raised him high over his head. the crowd gasped. tom cruise's glittering green sequined chicken fighting vest sparkled with brilliant rays as the mesmerized crowd of old men's jaws hung agape.
"the capital of california?" the teacher asked juan for the third time.
juan snapped out of his daydream as the classroom erupted in laughter.
"hollywood?" juan sheepishly replied.
the class now doubling over with laughter. "that's enough boys and girls!" the teacher scolded, "juan, please see me after class."
outposts of the heart
captain jake blyman sat nervously tapping his floral designed teacup. "is it too hot for you?" meg inquired without looking up from her magazine. "it's fine." jake responded through clinched teeth. the sun was high in the sky now and beginning to pass slowly behind mars. it was late autumn on the southern plains of venus. the two sat in silence at a small cafe table overlooking the vast green venetian valley below. "you're just going to let it go cold aren't you." meg said as she flipped another page. "i'll drink it when i'm ready, is that okay with you? can i drink my own goddamned drink when i'm ready?" a smirk crossed meg's lips and she shook her head mumbling something under her breath. "i'm sorry i didn't catch that last part." jake said staring menacingly at meg. "nothing."
meg was the latest lifelike "comfort-bot" sent out to federation soldiers stationed at remote galactic outposts. the "meg series," was equipped with updated breasts, a teasingly low cut space suit, a bitter scowl, and the latest t-75b sarcasm chip. almost indistinguishable from a real human female. jake stood up to stretch his back. it was getting late and he still had work to do. meg flipped another page of the magazine, "yea that's right, just leave all the dishes on the fucking table."
dinner with the blumes
ryan reached for the rye bread as he darted his eyes at carol. "this meal looks fantastic mrs. blume." had sent them a he said with all the maturity he could muster. "you're very welcome ryan, we knew your father well." mr. blume picked at his peas silently without looking up. "yes ryan, your father was a dear friend, he'll be missed at the plant." the blume's christmas card every year, but this was the first time they had been invited to their home. "did you know my father well mr. blume?" ryan inquired. "for 12 years son, and he told me alot about you." carol gently wiped her mouth with her napkin, "why don't you tell ryan about one of your work trips with his father dear." mr. blume sat back in his highbacked chair placing his hands behind his neck, a smile crossed his lips, "vegas, 1997. your father was on a winning streak on the craps table at the sands hotel. he won 3 grand that night and blew it all on six russian hookers. we got jacked up on coke and strangled one of them and dumped her body in the desert. you're five years old now son, thought you should know."
a gathering of beasts
dawn.
the thick morning mist was rolling slowly through the leaves like a crowd of dazed spirits. the great beast grabbed a damp limb and pulled his massive frame up and out of his treetop nest. he could hear the others gathering in the distance. the low guttural moans of the elders, the hoops and rapid yips and yelps of the younger apes as they thrashed about the lush wet undergrowth. he could smell the battle coming, and almost taste the blood on his jutting yellow canines. it was time. his body ached but he shut it out. his knees, old and tired. he shut it out. it was time. he clinched his massive brow and let the rage course through his veins as the growing primordial sounds around him accumulated into a pounding thunder. he started out across the winding limb to join the others as a deep grunt emanated from behind. he turned and looked back to see the smaller gorilla standing in his nest, outstretched arms gripping fistfuls of sticks. "so what, i'm just supposed to clean up all this shit? is that it? i'm just here to clean up after you everyday while you go off and do whatever?"
"but the war thing..with jerry and the guys, i told you on thurs..."
"no, fine! just leave me here again and go play your stupid little games with your idiot friends!"
the trapper's gift
"take my hand little one, we getting close now." the old man said as he led the little girl by the hand through the knee deep snow drifts. mr. kahloon had the weather worn face of an arctic trapper and the hands to match. his dark leathery skin was pulled back tight over his high cheek bones and his kind eyes squinted from the blistering cold. his stout frame and thick handmade fur coat gave him the appearance of a polar bear walking backwards crapping a catcher's mitt. "come little one, its close now." it was kaleena's birthday and she was excited to see what papa had instore for her. the wind whipped over the snow drifts throwing the powder into the air making the frozen plain look like a dance of a thousand ghosts. they finally reached the edge of the snow bank and the old man pointed down the sparkling vista as kaleena's eyes lit up. "oh papa!" ...and there they were, hundreds of newborn seals. kaleena began jumping up and down. the old man reached into his sack and pulled out his old hand carved clubbing stick. "have fun little one."
mon recollection magnifique
the lost memoirs: mon recollection magnifique.
superflywebpimp first started jotting down his personal memoirs and recollections on bits and scraps of paper at the tender age of three. although he was not yet literate, the crumpled bits of paper and paint smeared napkins held much wisdom and insights. they were later pieced together and translated by a reclusive hord of nordic monks, revealing the true genius that was to later bloom into what the world now knows as "the paragraph novels."
these are the early recollections of the wandering master...
"mon recollection magnifique"
#291 #650 #919 #715 #189 #340
night of the scavenger
thursday july 14. galapagos islands. area 278-c.
'the scavenger' rocked slowly on the rolling swells
as the sun rays danced on the rippling surface of the azure waters. dr. barbara crane stood on the aft deck pulling up a string from the deep that held a glass beaker. she held the small tube of water up to the light, "well, let's see what we have here gentlemen." the two deck hands flashed nervous looks at each other as the doctor carefully poured the saltwater into a small electronic device. a few moments later the machine began to beep and a series of numbers appeared on the screen. "8.44444." the doctor tapped a rapid sequence of buttons on the keypad, "this reading can't be right...it just can't be!" her voice trembling and confused. the levels were alarmingly high and she couldn't make sense of it.
"beep beep beep beep..."
the young marine biology student awoke from her dream and sat up in the small dorm room. the alarm was going off and it was 8:50 am, she was late for class. she reached over between the empty beer bottles and picked up the pregnancy test and shook it feverishly. "son-of-a-bitch!"
superflywebpimp's film reviews
film is an art that i hold dear and very close to my heart. yet just as an artist cannot pick just one favorite color, so do i find trouble picking just one film the stands out from the many. yet i have assembled a few of the gleaming jewels from which i have found to be the most touching and epitomize the transcendent nature of that which we call the human heart. but what is art after all? what man among us can say this is art and this is not? sometimes it is the things that we do not see that makes us feel the most deeply. and although i have not actually seen any of these films per se, i found out long ago that its better to judge a film by its cover art than to have to waste all that time actually sitting through it. there is just no point in that in this day and age. with that said, i bring you my picks for the best films of the year...
1. one more drink for senior 2. mounto! 3. wrath be a blue nun
4. farm of fuego 5. the whipsman's fury 6. muqabla
7. vengeance of fire 8. lust of the slut woman 9. rakhwala
10. not without my goat 11. the last lapdance
12. cry again, and yet again
voyage of the seadragon
the fog was beginning to lift now and sean could just make out the crest of a treeline above the emerald breakers. "tie off that bowline, and bring her about boys, this might get tricky." sean had sailed these waters before but felt uneasy about this whole trip. "take in that slack peter, we don't want that mast on our heads." peter looked out over the churning waters of tah'ua bay and spotted the others, "looks like we've got company boss." sean had lost the annual hawaiian schooner classic three years in a row. "i'll be damned if that bitch is going to overtake the seadragon!" sean howled as he fastened the forward lines. the fog had all but dissipated and the wind was picking up fast from the east. "boss, we need to let the lines out, the seadragon can't take this wind!" peter said as the ropes burned into his hands. "damn you boy, hold fast those lines!" sean bellowed over the whipping gail winds. "okay thats enough, time to get out sean, your hands are turning into prunes and your making a mess!" sean's mother said as she pulled the plug on his now luke-warm bath. "and take out all the boats, something is going to get sucked down the drain!" she said as she held out the towel. sean looked back at the seadragon caught in the swirling waters and thought to himself, "oh this ain't over bitch, this ain't over by a sight."
stones in the dust
dr. erwin roland blew the dust off the small fossil and held it up for debra. "grammysia?" she said hesitantly. dr. roland smiled as he adjusted his spectacles , "close my dear, try grammysioideas, devonian period." the pennsylvania geological survey group had been camped in eastern africa for three weeks now and dr. roland had impressed the young debra with his extensive knowledge and bookish charm. he had gained fame on a dig off the tip of southern australia in the summer of 1987 when he unearthed the only complete chilotherium skull to date, and made damn sure everyone knew it. "santos!" dr. roland called to the young chilean intern, "santos, take this one and date it, mark it area 32-b and make sure you put my initials under it. that's a good boy now be off." santos ran off to the tents holding the fossil as if it were the hope diamond itself. the school bell rang out and a large tennis shoe stomped on erwins rocks, grinding them into the dirt. erwin looked up from the playground, it was santos, the burly seventh grader with debra jenkins standing behind him. "nice rocks nerd!" santos laughed as he turned and walked back to the school with debra on his arm. "oh yea?" erwin thought to himself, "wait till i discover an archaeopteryx my dear santos, we'll see who gets the bitches then."
the cowboy and juan carlos
juan carlos sat in the idling el camino and nervously tapped the steering wheel. “it has to be at least 120 degrees in here” he thought as he lowered the window to get some air. the heat was rising off the highway blending the desert into the cloudless sky like the soft undulations of a country creek. the line at the border checkpoint of los nogelas mexico was long but he was almost to the front now. he spotted luis marcos on the other side of the fence, wearing a cowboy hat and red shirt as planned. the man held up his hand as to wave and flashed three fingers. that was it, that was the signal. juan pulled into bay number three. luis marcos had bought the customs agent and in just a few hours, he would be 5,000 dollars richer. the agent waved juan into the bay without looking at his face. “papers amigo.” the agent said bending down to the window. juan handed the handful of papers to the man as the agent opened the car door and motioned for him to step to the orange line. he casually looked over his shoulder to find luis but couldn’t spot the red shirt. the customs agent bent into the el camino and looked back at juan as he popped open a long red switchblade, “what do we have here amigo?” he said, flashing several gold teeth in a crooked smile. he jammed the blade into the black leather seat and a puff of white dust erupted. “it's a godamned double cross!” a female agent grabbed juan's arm, jerking him hard from behind. “you are going to clean up every bit of this mess young man! now put the powdered sugar down and finish your pancakes!” jimmy sat back down at the kitchen table as his mother got a rag and handed it to the young boy. jimmy slowly wiped at the dust covered table and thought to himself, “you’re a dead man luis marcos, a fucking dead man.”
connection speeds of destiny
ellen nervously peered around the corner at the young man stooping on one knee beside the desk in the cramped home office. mark was installing his first modem, and being a man, he certainly didn’t need any instructions. after all, this was guy stuff. mark’s back trembled and he raised his right elbow high as he struggled to pull on something that ellen couldn’t quite see. “what is it mark? is it the cable?” ellen said stepping slightly into the doorway. “i’ve got it, i told you i’ve got it.” he hissed through clenched teeth. ellen impatiently threw her hands on her hips and sighed, “i told you don’t pull on that, the guy at work said….” mark quickly cut her off, “can you please get me the god damned screwdriver from the tool drawer like I asked you ten minutes ago? i’m pretty sure i can fucking handle this!” ellen spun around on her heel and stomped down the hallway mumbling something about competence, respect, and a vague reference to the intelligence level of his relatives. mark picked up the can of beer on the desk and shook it slightly to gauge it’s contents, then took a long slow drink to finish it off. “and i’ll take another beer on your way back please!” there was a brief moment of silence, a car honked in the distance, then a muffled voice from the garage...“fuck you!”
albright's blue spruce
the crackling of gunfire in the distance woke the young man from his forbidden catnap and he sat up, cupping his hands over his mouth and huffed into his frozen gloves for warmth. chandler albright was a young man of nineteen years from a small ass crack in the world called anadarko county, which was just southwest of oklahoma city. with swirling dreams of combat and heroism, chandler had signed up with the infantry on valentine’s day in the february of 1942 with his best friend will hatchell in the hopes of winning the love of gail evansworth. one year later, he was entrenched in a snow covered forest in god-knows-where and will hatchell was working as a grocery bagger at evansworth’s market in downtown anadarko. it turned out the lucky bastard had flat feet. everyday ran into the next in a freezing blur of digging, marching, and waiting. chandler had overheard someone say they were in italy, but nobody was sure. there were three lines on the eastern front, the barbera line, the bernhard line, and the gustav line. private albright was on the bernhard line and was appointed as the sole lookout at the southernmost tip of the flank. his job was to watch for any movement that might try to cross the garigliano river. if he made contact, he would radio back to the main line, holding off any advancement as long as he could. “what the hell does that mean?” he thought to himself, “as long as I could?” he was to dig the standard foxhole and cover the opening with brush and snow, but when he got to his designated point, he found the ground frozen solid. he settled for a slight dip in the snow that had been formed by an uprooted blue spruce. chandler unfolded the bipod at the end of the twenty pound browning automatic rifle and checked the magazine for ice. the bar’s clip was designed to be changed within 2.5 seconds, but he had never been able to do it in under five, and in icy conditions during combat was a whole different ballgame. he breathed into the slide of the weapon to melt the ice that had formed in the metal. he looked out over the top of the snowy knoll and took in the beauty of the tall black pines against the gray european sky. he saw a small flash of light across the river. chandler albright never felt the round of the german kar98k sniper rifle as it tore through his head, sending his helmet flying five yards backwards into the snow. three thousand miles away on a dark deadend street in oklahoma, a young man sat up in the backseat of a dusty 1933 packard, “did you hear something?” will said in a panting breath. “no, now get back down here tiger” gail whispered, pulling the young man back to her lips.
the ring of fire
jay skipped the last of the four concrete steps in a full hurdle and he kicked open the rusted metal door to the roof of the u.s. embassy. a strong gust of tropical heat washed over him and jay briefly took a knee until his squinting eyes adjusted to the blinding mid-day light of saigon. the sounds of crackling gunfire penetrated the amber cloud of swirling dust as the huey hovered over the families waiting to be evacuated. jay couldn’t understand what the vietnamese official was yelling into the loudspeaker, but the urgency in his voice was apparent, the embassy was under attack and only a privileged few officials and their families would be evacuated, everyone else would have to take their chances with the approaching vietcong guerillas. “we got three at the gate that need to get through!” a man in a white linen shirt screamed to jay, holding his straw hat down tightly to his head. “evacuation plan "ring of fire" has been activated! hold down the embassy at all costs! you got that soldier?!” jay knew that he would be the last to leave, and it wouldn’t be on a chopper, that luxury was reserved for civilians. jay was fine with that, he was a marine. jay pushed the man aside as the overfilled chopper began to lift off. a heavyset man in dark sunglasses tried to wave him off, signaling with his hands that they were full. jay grabbed the man by the shirt and pulled him out of the helicopter and the man hit the concrete with a heavy thud. jay lifted a small boy by the back of the shirt from the waiting group and tossed him like a ragdoll into a woman’s arms in the huey, then did the same with three more girls. as they lifted off, the woman held onto her children and thanked jay with her tear filled eyes. "no need to thank me miss" jay thought to himself as the thundering bird drifted off into the deep blue saigon sky. “what in the hell do you think you are doing?!” jay’s mother said standing in the backyard with her hands on her hips. “you get down off that roof and i mean right now young man!” the six year old reluctantly descended the ladder into his mother’s arms and she lowered him to the ground. “don’t you ever get on that roof again mister, do you understand me?” jay quietly removed the canteen from his belt and took a long drink and thought to himself, "what the hell do you know about war baby?"
superflywebpimp's oscar picks for best picture
everyone knows that the oscars are all about politics and consumer commercialism. that's why it is my moral imperative to give you the real oscar picks for the films that
1.himmat 2.the devil's bargain 3.yes, we have no iguanas 4.weep not for the unjust
falcon one, watch your six
“major steven braumen, united states air force” he thought of himself announcing to his captors. thats even if he lived through the crash. the pave hawk was beginning to swing wildly out of control and the rear door gunner’s yelling and cursing were replaced with the roaring of wind and thick noxious smoke. steve pulled up hard on the collective control arm as he forced the cyclic throttle to a steep right. he began to pump furiously on both rudders without any resistance. “goddamned linkage failure!” he heard himself yell into his helmet. the hulking machine began to vibrate as it slowly pitched left like a 40 million dollar tugboat caught in a black whirlpool of smoke. “falcon one hit! repeat, falcon one hit!” he calmly forced himself to utter the next words, knowing full well they may be his last, “going down, repeat, falcon one going down.” he could feel the nose dipping low and the massive g force threw him violently against his seat. “what in the hell are you doing back there?” his father demanded as he glared at steven through the rearview mirror. “don’t you ever let me catch you holding that helicopter out the window again young man!” major steven braumen took a sip of his juice box as he calmly regained control of the mighty pave hawk. he focused his icey steel blue eyes on the cluster of russian tanks below. “falcon one locked on target, request permission to fire.”
the minstrel of the square
there once was a wandering minstrel who came upon a small village after a long journey. he walked to the center square and began to play his instrument and sing. after a few minutes, a small crowd had gathered to listen to the minstrel. when he had finished his song, a small boy stepped from the crowd and asked him, "minstrel, do you know the song o'lady of the morn?" the minstrel smiled and replied, "i know not the song you speak of lad, but after my many travels i have learned a few that might please you." he began to play another song, this one more lively than the last. when he had finished, an old woman asked, "might you know the hymn blessed be the sheppard?" the minstrel smiled and replied, "i know not that song my lady, but this one i'm sure you will like!" he began to play a spiritual hymn and plucked away at his instrument. the crowd became bored and moved on about their daily routines.
later that night, penniless and hungry, he was mauled by wild animals.
the stranger and the donkey
there once was a poor man whose only possession in life was an old donkey. one day while walking his donkey to a pond to get water, he was approached by a clever man wearing a velvet cloak with a silver cane. the stranger asked the old man if he cared to make a friendly wager. the old man being poor and simple, said that he had nothing to wager with. "well, you have a fine donkey right here!" said the stranger. "i'll wager these four silver coins against your donkey if you can solve my riddle." the old man thought about the food that four silver coins might buy, for he and his donkey were very hungry indeed."okay my friend," the old man said, "i will accept your wager." the stranger in the cloak grinned and began to draw a large circle in the sand with his silver cane. "now show me my good friend," he said handing the old man the cane, "where does the circle start, and where does it end?" the old man smiled because he knew the answer to the riddle. "if i answer your riddle, would you also give me your silver cane and warm cloak?" the stranger began to get nervous, but he knew there was no answer to his riddle. so he agreed. the old man pointed to the center of the circle with the cane, "well to begin with, every circle has an empty center do you agree?" the stranger was getting impatient. "yes yes, i suppose so, go on." the old man then beat the stranger to death with the cane. that night, the velvet cloaked old man traded the donkey for a pint of cold ale and ordered the 'four silver coin twins' at the village brothel.
the zen master and the scorpion
once there was a zen master who was walking alone near a quiet brook in the forest. the zen master decided he would sit down under a large oak tree next to the brook where it was shaded and cool. behind him in the brook, a scorpion had fallen into the water and was floating helplessly on its back at the will of the current. the scorpion, unable to swim, asked the heavens for a miracle to save him from drowning. the zen master, admiring the beauty of the rippling water, noticed the scorpion struggling in the swirling brook. the zen master lifted his walking stick up and held it gently over the scorpion. the scorpion grasped at the stick, but fell back into the water after much effort. again the zen master gently held the stick over the scorpion. with all its might, the scorpion once more grasped at the stick. the zen master raised the stick and immediately smashed the scorpion. "get the fuck off my goddamn stick!"
glimmer, sparkle, sweet gold of yonder hills
it so happened that duggan’s abandoned gold mine sat smack dab in the middle of 125,000 acres of prime northern blue gum timber. the old miners in this country had long since vanished after turning in their pick axes for chainsaws and began ravaging the endless miles of pristine wilderness until the emerging environmental laws had driven them out of work, and into the legends of a bygone era. these hills were riddled with tall tales of tragic fortunes, won and lost. now all that was left out here were the ever-watching eagles, the shadowy black bears, and the lurking of the ghostly timber wolves. the legend of duggan’s gold was thought to be just that, nothing more than rumor and campfire legend, but sure as a skunk’s teet, there she was. it was by sheer chance that danny had found her at all. he had just crossed the narrowed neck of the snake river just beneath the old mine and had glanced up the towering face of boar’s canyon at just the right moment. she sat squarely in the middle of the ancient granite cliff like a festering black mole on a lunch lady’s back. danny wiped his forehead and began working his way up the eroded path to the mine’s opening. the entrance sagged from years of neglect like the ass end of an aging plumber. the afternoon sun lit a few yards into the mine and he could see the various piles of rubble from decades of dusty cave-ins. he ventured cautiously down the darkened cavern and began to catch the glimmer of what appeared to be precious metal sparkling in the dust. his heart began to creep up his throat with a thunderous beat. he bent down and slowly reached his shaking hand around the old timber beam… suddenly a strong hand snatched his wrist. “after my jar of pennies again are you danny?!” his older bother snarled. with one mighty jerk, he pulled danny by his wrist from underneath his bed and pushed him out the door of his bedroom. danny stumbled down the hallway and fell crumpled to the carpet. he turned just as his brother slammed his bedroom door. danny picked up his spiderman flashlight and mumbled to himself, “oh i’ll have that gold damn you, i’ll have that gold.”
indulge yourself with these delicious time wasting pixels
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