Monday, January 23, 2012

La Maison Impossible

(Partie 4, Protocole Fantôme)

"Ahem, sorry. Actually going to be a party for six, actually," he said. There was the sound of velvet rustling in the background, and he coughed again. "Ahem, hem. Sorry again. Looks like it could be twelve."

"Pour douze!"

Then there was a lot of shouting into the phone and a struggle to take control of the receiver. Shortly thereafter, he returned, and breathed heavily: "Party for these all these haughty pricks now. Looks like we'll need room for the whole damn team." Then he put down the phone.

Back at the maison, they were scrambling "Dix-huit, imbeciles, dix-huit!"

"Pourquoi sont-ils faire la fête, monsieur?" asked one of the young children.

The chef took the child and put it in the oven.

DHCP Release. DHCP Renew. Shit is like yoga or something.

"Oh, don't mind me," he said. "Just poking fun at my router's abysmal 'web interface'."

She turned back to her door and inserted her key.

"Because that's what I have to spend my fucking life doing," he went on, getting up. He kicked a blue plastic device hardly with his foot, making it roll against the wall twice. "Cajole a fucking router," he said, holding his right foot to in both hands now. The toe was pushed deep into his belly, and, wincing, he hopped back into his apartment.

She turned the key, opened her door, and entered her beautiful sauna equipped satin pleasure dome.

Thursday, January 19, 2012

Pricks and Pones

When the judge called for the defendant to be brought in, a curtain of gasps and whispers from both sides of the aisle preceded him.

Detective Stoole turned to see what the all the commotion was about, and nearly spat his tongue out when he saw the defendant's face. The man was black and blue all over his head, the left eyelid swollen and hanging over his cheek like the top of a soggy portobello mushroom. His jaw was veered to the right, and as he creaked his mouth open painfully with each step, the Detective could see he was even missing a few teeth. A prison guard had to hold the man steady as he walked up the courtroom to his attorney.

Stoole, mouth still wide open, spun to look at Warden Billingsley, who was standing just a few rows down from him. Billingsley raised his eyebrows and smiled widely back at him, and then conspiratorially rubbed his nose. Detective Stoole held his hands out, palms up, and mouthed something at him.

The Warden's smile didn't fade, but he mouthed back, "What?"

Detective Stoole walked down swiftly and stood next to the Warden. "What the hell have you done to him?" he asked, quickly but hushed.

The Warden couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh from deep in his belly. "Ah, don't worry, Detective, none of it will come bite us."

The Detective looked at him still puzzled. "But--why? What did you have to beat him up like that for?"

At this, the smile on the Warden's face turned into an annoyed frown. "Damn pervert, Stoole. He got what was comin'. Come, this isn't the first time you've seen this. I mean--what if it was your child, huh? It's a good thing you caught him, too. But you should know all that--you're the one who charged him."

Detective Stoole was utterly confused. What the hell was Billingsley talking about? "But it--it wasn't that bad," he whispered.

"Uh, I think," snorted Billingsley, "I think I know what's bad, and what's just utterly sick, Mr. Detective," he said, tapping a wad of paper that was folded in his pocket. It was a copy of the arresting charge that Stoole had filed.

Stoole snatched the document from the Warden's pocket and unfolded it quickly. He scanned through the details, and then he grew very still. "Oh shit," he said, "oh shit, oh shit".

Warden Billingsley peered back at him. "What?"

Stoole looked back. "The charge. It was supposed to be 'Downloaded porn illegally'," he said, "not 'Downloaded illegal porn'".

Saturday, January 14, 2012

Shadow Fax

The modem is able to whistle certain tunes.
One of them begins as a call to ShadowFax,
(who, without digging for the Silmarillion, but maybe quick Google-ing)
is the Lord of the mearas.

ShadowFax *happens upon* Arod and Hasufel, almost by accident.
Then returns to those who truly care for the horses.

It is a very natural and *real* world.
A world well left untouched by my virtual hands.
A fantasy with heart, fermented during those most depraved of days
when Squires would see their Arms in lakes
and lakes would see Arms gaze at their Squires

...what other madness could provoke a man to write?
but love or love, or love, my love?


Can't say I'll go through what Tolkein
did but then, so much was left unsaid.
Can't hope to mimick Sir Terry Pratchett,
unless it is to ape Rincewind.
Rowling, though I've only watched your movies
not out of shun, but due to time:
can see why readers young and old love you.
Can't hope to write that wizard's life.


In small fiddling with fires of revolution
where plastics may singe arms but wires

wherever you try to fit the best possible signals
or die teeth cracked and lips some cobalt,
I'll speak of the immense magic of evolution;
it was never your father's or mother's fault.

With gusts in rivers lined in moss
or cool blood of a newly eaten reptile,
could be swimming with Kurzweil or laser sharks


No. Not sharks with lasers on their heads,
Sharks made of lasers, that's Shadoo0FX.

Whistle now.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

What was Supposed to be a Soothing and Nurturing Persona Has Become a 24-hour Abuse Line


"No, I didn't call you."

"Yes, you did. You called to see whether I was going to say cool things, like back in the day."

He correlated. "Well then," he asked. "Are you?"

"Bitch who fuck do you think this is, your mom?"

"Mmm. Actually you are my mom."

"I just want you to stop drinking all the alchhols"

"Of course you do."

"Maybe now you can switch to the *third* person."

"Maybe I'm actually winning in Zelda -- did you ever think about that?"

"Shut up and stop drinking."

"Is this how you create terrorists?"

"Oooo. Wait What are you saying?"

"Your voice sounds all husky, like Colonel Gaddaffi."

"Shut up. I'm not the colonel!"

"You're the kernel":