The Portrait of Zool

(That's one heroic knight! ) The ocean rushed and ebbed at the edge of his consciousness. His mind was a question, and after a long time contemplating, as he lay half dead in the moonlight on that empty beach, an answer finally came. The answer seemed to be... his parents. "An elephant..." he thought, over and over. "I'm an elephant." Hood Rainbow Sulphur weltanschauung

The old sorceror dropped his head and sounding a curse sat heavily in the cob we covered chair next to the cold fireplace. The regents had triumphed - the magic was gone. epic sword monster hemorroids

Scanning the tight crowd I quickly saw what I had come for, though I would never have guessed he was the one if he wasn't giving the signal. A plainly dressed elderly gentleman, walking to the left of me, his right index finger laying along the bridge of his nose. I nonchalanly sidestepped in front of him, as if to move out of the way of a doe-eyed young couple. Right on cue, the old man unloaded. "Ah-choo!" I looked down at the droplets and chunks glistening on the front of my jacket. "Oh! I'm so sorry!" exclaimed the old man. He sounded so convincing. I donned the look of the injured. "Thanks mister..." I let my voice fade out with a slight waver. I can be convincing too. He whipped out a handkerchief and made motions like we was going to try and clean it off. I ducked and headed for the exit, saying "Forget it, jerk!" over my shoulder, wondering how far he thought he should go to make it look good - but he knew and I knew I had to get this back to the lab to read the recoded DNA, and extract the courierred message. As I left, I failed to notice a figure entering across the room in a dark trench coat, his clandestivisor pulled low and his right index finger laying along the bridge of his nose...

Oh my holey gee-whizzakers! I've been so busy lately, I forgot all about the expiration of the 30 day open period! My apologies.

Oh my! What a special day for the Pen! Happy B-day mighty founder - hope you have a great one - and many many more!

Zool perked up in his painting. "Huh? You want your story to be edited - to make it better?? I can do that!" Were he able, Zool would have elbowed Wyvern aside, so excited was he by the invitation to defa... to edit Katz's story. Fortunately, Wyvern walked away just as Zool began jesticulating wildly with his Almost Dragonic Remote Editing Picture Pen (Now available in three mediums!). It took him a moment of dismayed frustration waving the pen before he noticed the writing appearing on Wyvern's back as he walked away. "Oops!" Turning the correct way, Zool concentrated on his task... * * * Eventually she came upon a group of environmental soldiers. They were gruff-looking men, unshaven, unshowered, half educated, half paid, and disgruntled ready to pound some anti-environmental capitalist butt. When Sanda saw them, she was scared to her D-cups. They were in a clearing in a forest to gather resources to fight the anti-environmentalists, and they were fighting each other with sticks. She didn't realize right away that they were only practising, but still she didn't run. She felt began to feel strangely attracted to the big, hairy, smelly soldiers, and had a curious feeling something exciting was about to happen. All thoughts of her bunny fled her mind. She wanted to see more.

Phew! Yui you are the BOMB! Thanks everyone! Had me worried there, but I shoulda knowed better.

Happy B-day Gwai! And many, many more!

Happy Happy you guys! Yeesh, miss one week and everyone gets older on you! ;p

Thanks Wyvern! I had a lot of fun putting the story together. Thanks for the inspiration too! ;D The character to play is: Melba Somone is the retired village school teacher. She knows everyone in the village, and everyone knows her, with various levels of gratitude or regret, depending on their performance in her classes. She is much shorter now, her disposition much sweeter, her skin wrinkled and her hair silver, compared to when she was queen of her educational domain, but she still has a twinkle in her eye - well, perhaps more of a furnace... Frktl Pilaighne is a young silver dragon of only a little over one century old. He has recently been in a very bad humor due to some unexpected occurances. One moment he was frollicking in the dimensional grottoes of primal space, and the next he found himself bound into the most ridiculously weak and fragile form, in a most boring and burdensome place. Some of his powers still sporadically manifest, but he finds himself unable to break free. He can, however, sense the source of his imprisonment, and is determined to find the cause of his predicament, and rectify it. You are to play the wizard who has transposed Melba and Frktl together. The situation the character has to be roleplayed in is: Melba is in the Magistrates office, charged with eating a Spaniel in a single bite. The large clock slowly ticks off the minutes as they wait for the witnesses to show up, but they are mysteriously absent. The magistrate looks at Melba and is disconcerted to see her snort a smoke ring from her left nostril, a knowing smirk on her face. Though the Magistrate has a very bad feeling, he has to admit that without witnesses, he has no reason to detain her, and must let her go. *edited for verb tense problems *

Oops! I didn't mention, but all 3 movies were rentals.

I suppose it sounds like a morality tale from my review, but I would have to agree it is not, at least overtly. Still, it is heaping with tragedy brought on by the gunrunner's trade, from the opening sequence through to the last revelation, that eventually touches even the gunrunner himself, despite his endless rationalizations and justifications for what he does. I would be very interested to hear you review it.

I saw several movies recently; Good Night and Good Luck, Lord of War, and Doom. First of all, Doom was a silly movie. However, if you are a big fan of the original Doom game, like I am, you should watch it. Even though it only sorta follows the original game, and the plot twists hinder rather than help the already somewhat loose association, I found it enjoyable simply for trying to bring to life that classic game. True, the writing was about on the level of a sci-fi channel original production, the production itself was inflated and the 'science' it tried to use to drive the plot was abysmal to the point of hilarity, I still found myself enjoying the ride thanks to some fairly decent acting and just enough familiarity with the game to keep me feeling like a part of the action. Overall, it was well done - though, again, if you're not a fan of the game, you will probably want to throw it into the same bin as pretty much any other sci-fi horror movie. Good Night and Good luck I really enjoyed. SEMI-SPOILER alert! Contrary to some reviews here, I thought they did give a lot to background development and support characterization, in such details as the fact that no two CBS employees were supposed to be married, they lost their sponsor Alcoa (which is still a monster company even today) and the suicide of one of the staff. I thought the acting was stellar, and the black and white definitely added a lot to the atmosphere of the film. Everyone smoking like a chimney was very post-war realistic too. The only flaw that bugged me was I thought it ended rather abruptly. I would have liked some sort of epilogue scene, or even a paragraph of text, explaining what ahppened to Mr. Murrow and Senator McCarthey. While it is a matter of history, NOW I have to go research it to give closure to the story! Saving the best for last, I can't recommend Lord of War enough. Fantastic writing, stellar production and acting, and a deep and heartfelt anti-war theme make this movie a must-see in my book. It is supposedly based on real events - and it is just fantastic and messed up enough to be fact, IMO. At any rate, without giving too much away, love it or hate it, I can't see how someone wouldn't at least respect it, from the opening sequence all the way through to the closing revelations. A lot of people might not want to see what this film portrays, but it is something which I think needs to be seen.

Happy birthday Rev - Go gettem!

Ripp Guitar lay dreaming peacefully under a starry sky, the spreading radiance of the rising sun slowly brightening the eastern horizon. From somewhere far down the slope of the mountainside below the deck he was sleeping on a faint call reached his ears... the first cock-crow of the day. The far-off peal faded in ever-weakening echoes across the wooded hills, like the last wisps of a cloud evaporating over a desert, or the last few drops of water in a bathroom sink circling down the drain, and as the call faded the faint eastern light brightened in the birth of a new day, as down cracked, The top of the sun's head peeking from Mother earth's canyon, issuing light in a brilliant delivery. Calm descended for one eternal moment in the peace of the brand new day, then Ripp took a sharp intake of breath, leaped up, grabbed his guitar, which was always kept in the arms of a large teddy-bear, plugged in and 'hot', and began aggressivley strumming mighty riffs. Five one thousand watt amplifiers screamed Ripps 'Good morning' out across the green fields of the valley far below. The notes quickly rose in scale, then dove and rose again in quixotic screaming ecstasy of feedback and the over amplified heterodyning of steel strings. Striking five last vigorous chords he finished, then smashed the guitar to bits in a single powerful swing, the hills alive with the sounds of musical deconstruction. Taking a ready can of lighter fluid from between the BBQ and the cheap lounge chair he had been sleeping on he doused the wreckage of the guitar, then lit it with his lighter. Sitting back on the chair to warm himself in front of the licking flames, it suddenly entered his mind that it was a new day, and he was awake. skin cosmic shimmering toad

Happy belated Tamaranis!

I vote that the official Pen version of Four Words allow two phrases for every two words. We are, after all, creative.

Celestial angels enviously stare, an objective fact of intention. She stands apart, yet unaware; Eyes flashing joyous saphire invention. Her hair dances with her every move, in flowing chestnut tresses, her every move a symphony, in effortless sanguine stretches. Her smile, connective, lights the men on fire, but it's her body, sculpted by God, that's the center of mammalian desire. Teddy bear hug dragon fly flower

(LOL! Those are both pretty funny! ) "Do you have your screwdriver?" The section Sargeant wasn't shouting exactly, but with his mouth inches from Private Dennis' ear, it sounded REAL loud to him, especially the way it echoed in the small metal room they were in. "Yes Sir!" Private Dennis third class looked sharp, standing at attention in his stiff white coveralls, his hair perfectly trimmed, his black shoes gleaming, single silver dot rank insignia flashing on his lapel, his gaze staring straight ahead, immaculate toolbelt around his waist. "Do you have your teaspoon?" "Yes Sir!" "Are you going to trip through the roses and throw clods all over the Admiral's wife's nice Polka dot curtains?", nearly shouted the Sargeant, indicating the decor with one hand without looking away from Private Dennis' eyes. Warm light from no definite source made space-age fixtures gleam against one wall, while a plot of real dirt with roses opened against a dark round window, out of which nothing could be seen but stars, and over which hung the curtains, half open. "No Sir!" Private Dennis managed to keep an absolutely straight face. "Then whip that tool out and get to work!" Private Dennis responded with precision moves, retrieving from his tool belt the 'teaspoon', a long handled spoon shaped implement of some kind, and plungeing it into the bowl in front of him. "Just remember Private, you are going to be the best damn plumber in Starfleet!" Celestial Fact hair Mammalian

Dennis the powergamer gave the screen another quizzical look, then took another bite of fish and chips. 'How much more would his character have to eat before he won the Wand of Stupor?', he wondered. rescue hippopotamus sphincter volcano

Zool popped into the large painting overhanging the cold fireplace (containing the ashes of many a failed scheme) in Wyvern's room with a wide grin and an easy wave. "You da lizard Wyv. And by the way, that half geld I owe you, it'll be in the mail just as soon as I figure out how to send postal paint express!" Echoing from somewhere unseen a 'Drums of mirth' was heard expending with a 'Rat-a-tat Bump!', followed by what sounded like the sad groaning cluck of a rubber chicken, also from somewhere unseen. "Um, yeah. In the mean time, you have my best wishes for a great birthday!" Zool popped out even faster than he popped in.

There once was a Pennite named Wyvern who limericked everyone in turn Though they were all quite comic and almost dragonic, nary a geld did they earn.

There are many key points in history where circumstances and forces collide to irrevocably change the trajectory of events. A careful examination of precursor conditions and events will usually reveal, in clear logical fashion, the causal chain, but that is not always the case. Sometimes, the sequence of events is completely counterintuitive, often mysterious, and occasionally, evil. One such example from history is the inexplicable switch of the Aquamarine Newt. What happened to them, we do not know, nor do we know what malevalence was behind the source of the orange ones that took their place. What we do know is we really miss our little squishy blue buddies. Pyramid time erotic nuclear

Jim took a drink from the bottle before handing it to the man next to him. Both men huddled together in the dimness beside the snowbank, dressed in thick animal furs, the freezing air making ice mustaches of their breath. Jim grimaced with the lingering taste. "What a horrific antiappealing siphon dredge. And us with nothing else!" The other man made a pained face as he took a long swig in turn, and then said, "Dammit Jim, I'm a word game NPC, not a two-bit scholar. If I have to tell you to speak english again this bottle is going where the sun don't shine, and I don't mean over the snowbank!" Jim grimaced again as he took his next swig, then replied, "No really, this stuff is anticonstitutionally grizzly radar vodka. How do they get this to taste so bad, simmering antiuncontaminated seal viscera?" Soul Quantum orbitron fluffy

He was floating in a dream. Inbetween fading from semi-consciousness to unconsciousness his half dead mind wandered, bringing flashbacks of memory, slipping into fantasy. At any point he was unsure which was which. A face materialized in his mind's eye. It was Fzeltg, his great great grand-bug, and mentor. "I want to make great art," he told Fzeltg, his antennae humming and twitching the message he wouldn't dare admit to anyone else. Things were much too disciplined in the nest, much too ordered. He was confident Fzeltg would understand. He wasn't disappointed. "You must look inward, young Rakzx." The old bug's antennae quavered weakly, but with the definition of certainty. His whole body was covered with the calcified scale of the very aged - almost 5 months. His ancient body had failed to moult; His days were numbered, but you wouldn't know it from what he said. "You must believe in yourself to make the journey," Fzeltg continued, "to realize your dream. You must be brave. At first it will seem all the world is against you, but eventually all comes to he who holds onto hope and perseveres." They lived in a mountain full of peculiar machinery. Rakzx didn't have a clue what it was all about, only that incomprehensible amounts of plant material came in one side of the mountain (the stuff that fell to the floor, with the right amount of age and moisture, became the unending mana that sustained the nest), and was transformed into the dry cubes full of metal cylinders that continually went out the other side of the mountain. In between was so much whizzing, whirring, buzzing, burning and clanking goings-on as to make any earwig's feet ache in agony and antennaes whirl in complete confusion. The opinion of the nest was that it was the work of the gods, and to venture 'up there' was to foolishly go where no bug should ever go. The few who made it back alive made that plain. Still, one fact stood out to Rakzx: That the huge dry cubes left the mountain. The only question left was how to get into the cubes. He started his journey that night, climbing high into the thrumming heart of the mountain, into the light that blinded and the heat that seared. Mysterious rivers of metal thundered by on all sides, but he ignored the quaking vibrations and the hurricane winds, grasping tenuously to the slippery surfaces as best he could, scurrying from crack to crack whenever he felt he had sufficiently recovered his strength. After many hours he felt his strength was at an end. He was completely lost, completely disoriented, almost completely blind and deaf. He was hanging dearly onto the side of a metal rail as he felt his will ebbing, the last of his strength leaving, and then... He fell. Falling... falling... falling... Rakzx just knew that this was the end... when he felt with a jolt that he had fallen into something hot, something wet, something soft... and then the light was cut off with a tremendous bang and he was sealed in blackness. He had been in the darkness now for so very, very long. A feeling of movement brought Rakzx back to the present, a moment of clarity, and the realization that he had been dreaming, that he was indeed in a dream, a dream of his own making, and he was dying. He knew that now, he just knew it. Oh, how he had suffered for his art. If only he had ever made any art... Suddenly he felt a tremendous vibration. Something was happening! The light! I see the light! Hallelujah! He cringed at the barrage of sense impressions suddenly opening up on him like a flood. Light, sound, and movement pounded his weak body. Though he hardly made sense of every sensation, he was quickly to put a lot in perspective when he suddenly found George Alfonso Frederico had preheated the Pan, and had, in fact, turned the burner on under the pan just as the phone rang some minutes earlier. It was his mother, from Italy. She couldn't afford to talk long, but after several minutes of "Si Mama, Si Mama," durring which he hopped and jittered in his wife-beater and boxers, curly black hair tossing like gas in a molotov cocktail, doing the 'flea-slap dance' as he usualy did while occupying his apartment, the pan was glowing a quiet deep red, had George bothered to look before upending the can. All Rakzx knew was that one minute he was floating half-dead in a bean can, and just as his freedom seemed imminent there was a hissing explosion and he found himself floating up to the great glowing nest in the sky, now fully dead. He seemed to be rising fairly slow, however, and felt an urge to look down. Death had sharpened his senses immeasurably, so that he could now quite clearly see, hear, and understand things his earwig senses would never have sensed in life. As he slowly drifted higher, he looked down, to witness a peculiar chain of events. He saw George Alfonso Frederico just standing, Lima beans dripping from his face, lima beans on the stove, lima beans smoking in the Pan in front of him. George just stood there for a long moment, just staring, until he suddenly reached down to his ankles to swat fleas. Then, George suddenly became angry. He capered and twirled in his anger, balling his fists and uttering a stream of the darkest italian. Then, he reached for the pan and lobbed it with every ounce of kinetic energy he could muster straight at the wall, where it bounced with a hollow clang, embellishing the copious stick figure graffiti with Lima bean and earwig garnish. George, nearly in tears, sat on the couch, his head in his hands. While the outburst was not unusual after a call from his mother, The beans was a new twist. After he calmed down (indicated by a new bout of the flea-slap dance), his eyes turned to the beans on the wall, and he stared... and stared... George jumped up, examining the wall with a critical eye. Soon, inbetween flea-slaps, he was smiling, and then he became excited. He went into the bedroom and came out with a sawzall, which he immediately plunged into the wall and began cutting through with a terrible noise. Dust and noise filled the air. Sparks flew, water spurted and the building shook. Finally a large square of the wall was cut through and fell back, revealling the next apartment and it's occupant. Seated on a battered recliner in front of a tiny TV was an enourmous hairy pot belly, framed at the sides with filthy red suspenders, at the bottom by severly strained (formerly) black Dickies trousers, and at the top by two floppy man-breasts, a shrivelled head and two flabby arms. George recognized his neighbor by sight only. He was a construction worker or something. George knew this because he occasionally saw him in the hallway coming home from work wearing a toolbelt (and thankfully, a shirt) and smelling of pine dust, plaster and sweat. "What the hell are you doing?" asked his neighbor without getting up, eyeing the section of wall covered in what looked like stick figures, lima beans, and a dead earwig. "Mama mia!" George chirped excitedly, clapping a hand to his forehead as he started struggling with the large piece of wall, "This is my-a masterpiece! I have-a finally made great art!" Also smiling broadly now, Rakzx ascended into the light, glowing with the satisfaction that he had at last achieved his life's ambition.