Archive for the ‘ Promotions ’ Category

Podcast Appearance

Hey, quick update as I made a recent appearance on a podcast to talk about a few things I enjoy. You guys can listen below, and please leave me some feedback!

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03/11/2015 #TheDefenders Snippet, In The Mix, and a bit of tea.

Pastepot Pete!

Pastepot Pete

 

Hello all! How’ve you been since the last update?

 

After a lot of reviewing and reading I’ve finally been able to get this blog post up and live for consumption. Before I get into talking about the story two things: Today’s blog post is brought to you courtesy of two of the podcasts I follow: In the Mix with Shoom and Tea with Queen and J. If you guys could do me a favor and follow them/like them on their social media accounts then I’d really appreciate it. I definitely think everyone should take the time to support them as they are part of the #InsomniacFamily as far as I’m concerned.  I have also included links to the latest episodes of the two series along with today’s blog post, I hope you enjoy!

 

One of my favorite people in the universe, Sammus, is currently embarking on her very first tour with the incomparable Mega Ran! Tonight’s show is in Yellow Springs, Ohio! If you have the time and are in the area, please drop by and check them out tonight! Below is the full list of appearances and dates on the tour!

 

 

RSVP here on Mega Ran’s FB page

 

In the mix w/Shoom

In the mix w/Shoom

Like on Facebook!

https://www.facebook.com/inthemixwithshoom

Follow on Twitter!

http://www.twitter.com/Inthemixshoom

 

Tea with Queen + J

Tea with Queen and J

Like on facebook!

https://www.facebook.com/TeawithQueenandJ

follow on twitter!

https://twitter.com/TeawithQJ

 

Alright, after you guys follow these links and “Like” these pages I hope you enjoy today’s snippet! 🙂 Please don’t forget to drop me feedback after you’ve read!

 

 

****

 

Jameson, after foiling six attempted invasions of the Earth by demonic entities of various stripes, was really getting tired of his new job.

 

 

Maybe it was because the only pay he received was a sense of satisfaction of job well done, or at least done. Well, that and his continued existence. Which might be a plus, he admitted.

 

 

Maybe it was because the average demon was a grotesque mockery of all life. With absolutely no taste, and even less of a sense of humor. He’d had to raid several demonic dimensions, all of which featured flowing rivers of blood, strobe lighting, and “You Don’t Have to Be Damned to Work Here—But It Helps!” signs on the walls.

 

Jameson took a deep sip of his rather indifferent, lukewarm latte. A paper airplane that had been painstakingly folded from a napkin struck him on the back of the head.

 

 

Or perhaps, he appended, it was all the mockery his outfit was attracting as he paused to get refreshed at an all-night café.

 

 

Jameson turned abruptly. “All right you creep, I seem to recall that this is a free country, where a man can stop for a cup of coffee, and not have to worry about persecution based on the way he dresses.”

 

 

The entire clientele of the café glanced at him, and then glanced pointedly away.

 

 

“I’ll have you know I have a perfectly good reason for wearing this outfit!” Jameson began to wave his fist. “I am a SUPERHERO!”

 

 

The crowd continued to pointedly glance away.

 

 

Jameson sat back down. “Ingrates,” he muttered under his breath. Maybe he should just let the N’Gai toast a city district. That would show them…

 

 

The cafĂ©’s waitress approached him. “Anything else?”

 

 

Jameson glanced at her. “Tell me, if I order another latte, would it actually be hot?”

 

 

The waitress shrugged. “Miracles have been known to happen.”

 

 

Jameson frowned. “That’s what I thought…” He handed her a few bills. “Keep the change…” The waitress nodded and headed out. Jameson sighed. He shouldn’t have flown off the handle like that. After all, it was just a paper airplane. He’d dealt with worse his entire life. At least right now, he was having a quiet moment, after an eventful stress-filled night.

 

 

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Well, night owls, prepare for a stick-up of the most figurative kind! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

 

 

Jameson’s head slumped down to the countertop. Well, at least his luck was holding out. All bad. Righting himself, he turned to look at this new threat.

 

 

Jameson blinked. Then he blinked again, to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Then he blinked a third time, in the desperate hope that he was. However, it appeared he wasn’t. The cafĂ© really was about to be robbed by a man dressed largely in purple spandex—right up to the cowl on his rather vulpine face. The man’s gloves and boots were both a light red in color, and in his left hand, he held what looked for all the world like a military attempt at designing a squirt gun.

 

 

“Tremble, yes tremble fools at my awesome might! It will consume you! Quail before my power! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

 

 

Jameson’s teeth ground together at the apparent supervillain’s high-pitched laughter. Maybe if I just sit here quietly, this will blow over, he thought. I mean, it’s not like I owe these people anything. I’ve already saved their sorry carcasses tonight, and I’m going to do it again. I can sit this one out. Might teach them a lesson. That was when he caught a desperate glance from the waitress. “Damn social conscience…” muttered Jameson, standing up.

 

 

“Attention, supervillain!” he stated in his best attempt at a loud commanding voice. “Before you stands Dr. Strange, self appointed nemesis to unpleasantness. Now cease your criminal activities and inordinate cackling or face my completely justifiable wrath.”

 

 

“Oh, really?” snorted the villain. “And tell me, Doctor are you ready to face the uncanny power of—PASTE-POT PETE?”

 

 

Jameson’s face went slack. “What?”

 

 

“I said, ‘are you ready to face the uncanny power of Paste-pot Pete’?” His opponent frowned. “What are you, deaf?”

 

 

Jameson buried his face in his hands. The universe, he felt, was an unjustifiably silly place, sometimes.

 

 

Paste-pot Pete (who was known to family and—well, acquaintances, as Jake Jennings) smiled to himself. His first act of supervillainy was already a roaring success. His superhero opponent had been reduced to quivering terror at the very mention of his name! Soon, very soon, Jerry Jenkins would be defeated!

 

 

All right—so technically, this was his second act of supervillainy. His first, an attempted bank robbery, had derailed fairly quickly. He’d handed a note saying “Prepare to get sticky” to a teller, and then had waited half an hour, at which point a pair of muscular security guards had shown up, and forcibly hauled him off, explaining as they did so that the bank didn’t want perverts intent on monkey business hanging around the premises.

 

 

Fortunately, no one had noted the beginning of his career in crime, and Jake had been able to take away two very important lessons.

 

 

Firstly, banks are far too heavily protected to be robbed with impunity. It would be wiser to go for a place that wasn’t expecting it.

 

 

Secondly, his impromptu costume of an artist’s smock and dark glasses just didn’t seem to grab people’s attention, at least, not in a way that screamed ‘supervillain’.

 

 

Jake gave a satisfied nod. Purple spandex had definitely been the way to go.

 

 

Jameson, after a couple of deep breaths, glanced up. “Okay,” he announced. “My burst of existential horror is over. I accept the terrifying fact that a man may want to dress in spandex and call himself Pasty Pete—”

 

 

“That’s Paste-Pot Pete!” cried Jake, menacingly waving his gun around.

 

 

“Right,” said Jameson in the calm cool tone that is generally used by men of extraordinary patience on children of remarkable intransigence. “As I was saying, it’s the sort of thinking that gives the world quite a few rock stars.” Jameson’s toe was starting to tap impatiently on the floor. “But what puzzles me is what superpowers a man called Post-Haste Pete—”

 

 

“I said, that’s Paste-Pot Pete!” screamed Jake.

 

 

“Dear me,” said Jameson. “Did I misspeak myself? Must be the lateness of the hour. To continue, what powers might he possess?”

 

 

“A worthy question,” cackled Jake. “My power comes from my brilliant invention, the paste pistol!” Jake glanced at his creation lovingly. Well, truthfully it was that bastard Jenkins’s invention, which Jake had… liberated from his lab, but still, his nemesis had been blind to its more advanced applications. In fact, he had built it for nothing more than to fix a few loose tiles on the school roof, showing as usual the inferiority of his so-called genius in comparison to the incomparable mind of Jake Jenkins. “With this I shall become one of the leading lights of the criminal world! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

 

 

Jameson seemed to be staring at him rather strangely. “I’m happy for you. So—your—paste pistol…” Jameson bit his lip, in apparent frustration. “It shoots—paste, I’m guessing?”

 

 

Jake snickered. “That’s right! A very sticky paste! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

 

 

Jameson nodded. “That’s what I thought.” He nodded some more. “Would you just—give me a second…?” Jameson turned around, glanced at the cafĂ©’s patrons, and screamed. “All right people!” he shouted. “Would a reasonably fit man care to take a chair to the back of Pastel Pete’s head?”

 

 

“That’s Paste-Pot Pete!” cried Jake.

 

 

“Shut up!” said Jameson forcibly. He glanced back at the crowd. “Come on! He’s a scrawny young man who is trying to hold you up with a glue gun! Am I the only one here who realizes the inherent absurdity of this fact?”

 

 

The other patrons made it a point of order to avoid looking at Jameson.

 

 

“You all suck,” muttered Jameson. “I want you to realize that…”

 

 

“What to do you mean ‘inherent absurdity’? Are you insulting me, you cape-wearing lunatic?”

 

 

“Yes, I’m insulting you because you are probably one of the most intrinsically incompetent supervillains in existence,” seethed Jameson. “Have you ever considered the obvious limitations of your ‘power’? Suppose, for example, that you are robbing a bank. The manager knows the combination to the safe. He won’t open it. What do you do?”

 

 

“Simple,” snickered Jake. “I’d tell him to do it, or face a blast from my paste pistol.”

 

 

“And what would that do?”

 

 

“It would—make him very sticky…” stated Jake, a touch of uncertainty trailing into his voice.

 

 

“And why would that be threatening?” Jameson asked quietly.

 

 

“He—really doesn’t like being sticky…” Jake’s expression was now openly confused.

 

 

“It’s not threatening at all!” Jameson shouted. “If you’d have thought about it, you’d have known it! You’d have seen your only superpower is using a gun that’s less effective than a normal gun!”

 

 

“It—it makes people sticky!” Jake muttered defensively.

 

 

“A normal gun makes people dead,” replied Jameson. “Being dead is much worse than being sticky.”

 

 

“Oh—oh, shut up!” screamed Jake raising his paste pistol. “No one insults my reign of supervilliany…” He pulled the trigger.

 

 

A trickle of brownish fluid leaked out of the muzzle. “What—? ” Jake muttered in shock.

 

 

“Oh, yes,” said Jameson in a rather amused tone. “While we were chatting, I transformed your glue to molasses.”

 

 

Jake stared at him in dull surprise.

 

 

“Or maybe treacle.” Jameson began to tap his chin, in speculation. “Actually, those might be the same thing…”

 

 

“You’re working for him, aren’t you?” Jake stated hatefully. “You’re working for Jerry Jenkins!”

 

 

Jameson glanced at Jake, baffled. “Who?”

 

 

“Don’t play dumb with me!” screamed Jake. “This is just another one of that bastard’s attempts to bring me down! Well, Paste-Pot Pete is not as easy to defeat as Jake Jennings!” He triumphantly pulled out a greenish cylinder from his back pocket. “Behold! A second load of ammunition!”

 

 

Jameson sighed. “You really take too much relish in even the smallest triumphs, you know that?”

 

 

Jake changed his canisters quickly, then leveled the gun at Jameson. “Let’s see you get out of this one!”

 

 

Jameson stared at him forcibly.

 

 

Jake blinked. “Gettin’ sleepy…” he muttered. “Go night-night now…” With that he crashed to the floor and within minutes was laying there in a fetal position, snoring.

 

 

“Had to keep at it, didn’t you?” Jameson shook his head. He turned to the cafĂ© patrons. “And thus was the scary Potboy Pete, wielder of the mighty glue gun, vanquished.” He walked out. “Don’t expect me to be so helpful next time…”

 

 

Shortly after he left the patrons glanced at each other. “Well, it seems that shrill, ugly fellow really was a superhero!”

 

 

“Yes. We’re all in his debt it seems.”

 

 

“What was his name again?” asked one.

 

 

“Ummmm… I think it was “Professor Weird, or something…” said another, uncertainly.

 

 

“No, daddy, I’m a good boy…” whimpered an unconscious Jake from the floor. “It was Natalie…” He began to suck his thumb nervously.

 

****

 

 

And here’s the podcast updates, as promised!

 

 

 

The Defenders Snippet: Return of the Emissaries of Evil

I’m a big fan of the “after credits” scenes in movies. As a result of that I spend a lot of time editing and trying to create awesome cliffhangers in writing. This scene is actually the end of the third chapter of “The Defenders” story based on Jameson Smith and his friends. Take a read and drop me some feedback below!

 

The first appearance of the #EmissariesOfEvil on the blog can be found here

The Emissaries of Evil

****

 

The Emissaries of Evil made their way slowly to Elihas Starr’s stateroom.

“Well guys,” said Jim, “I’m really glad you got me my spare power cell…”

“Shut up,” said Ray.

 

Egghead had to pay their bail (the whole affair would almost certainly never reach trial due to a lack of witnesses—at least witnesses who’d be willing to come forward). That would put their boss in a bad mood, and when Mr. Starr was in a bad mood, he made certain *you* were in a bad mood. Ray was just having his prematurely.

 

*That Dr. Strange and his flunkies will pay for this,*  he thought. *I swear it.* “We’re here boss,” he announced as they entered Egghead’s office.

“Come in, come in,” said a calm, slightly jovial voice.

Ray stopped in his tracks. That wasn’t Mr. Starr.

For a start, the voice was too high.

Also, it was a bit too happy.
And then, his boss had never seemed that fond of red.

The figure leaning back in Egghead’s chair was clad in a voluminous red cloak, ending in a cowl that completely obscured its face. A half-finished glass of brandy was in its left hand, undoubtedly poured from the bottle Mr. Starr kept on his desk. On the desk’s ashtray, the remains of a cigar rested.

“Gentlemen,” said the mystery man, a touch amused. “Pleased to meet you.”  He popped open a box. “Cigars? They’re quite good.”

“Sure, I—” began Jim stepping forward.

Ray motioned him to stop. “Who are you? What happened to Mr. Starr?”

The man shook his head. “Questions, questions, always questions,” he muttered. “No time to appreciate the finer things.” He shut the box. “To answer your queries, I am called the Crimson Cowl. As to your employer—we were discussing matters and he couldn’t see things my way.” The Crimson Cowl spread his red-gloved hands. “You see, I happen to run my own team of super-criminals. Mine’s the *Masters* of Evil, and well, I didn’t appreciate the similarities between the names.” He took a sip of brandy. “I thought it might cause confusion. Or even lead to all sorts of unfortunate mixups. Mr. Starr didn’t quite agree with me, lost his temper, and fell to pieces.”

“Pieces?” said Jim, nervously.

“Yep—pieces. Arms, legs, internal organs—I’d never seen a man strewn about so.” He
opened a mini fridge by the desk. “His head’s right here, if you want to see it…”

“You killed him,” whispered Bruce.

The Crimson Cowl shrugged. “Well—yes.” He sighed. “We’re criminal masterminds. These things happen.” He shut the fridge. “Now, I’m willing to offer some of you employment with my agency. Personally, I think you’ll love it—Starr was using you as glorified enforcers. Stick with me, and I’ll have you doing the real supervillainy.” He leaned further back in his chair. “I’m talking earth-shattering stuff here…”

“YOU BASTARD!” screamed Bruce, charging forwards buzz saws blaring. This was a move he would regret the rest of his life, which was the five seconds it took for the sickle to reach his neck.

“Unfortunate,” murmured Crimson Cowl, taking another sip of brandy. “Dispose of the rest.”

Ray and Ken turned around immediately. In Ken’s case this was to take a blast of
energy straight to the head.
In Ray’s it was a giant boomerang to the mid-section.

Jim immediately fell to his knees. “I-I’ll work for you!” He gulped. “You could use a guy with radiation powers! I know you could!”

The Crimson Cowl rose slowly, and walked towards Jim, regarding him quietly. Reaching the cowering supervillain, he leaned forward. “Would you believe,” he stated calmly, “that I turned down one just last week?” Then with one sudden motion, he snapped Cobalt Man’s neck.

The Crimson Cowl walked back to the desk, refilled his glass, and lit himself another cigar. As he puffed contentedly, three figures stepped out of the shadows—two women, and one man. One of the women spoke. “We should not stay here. It is unwise to do so.”

The Crimson Cowl chuckled. “Honestly. Don’t you know my personal creed?” He sipped the brandy. “One should always enjoy a good glass of spirits, and a fine cigar.” He took another long puff. “Ahh. Nothing burns like a Havana…”

 

***

 

 

 

Don’t forget to leave comments below.

 

 

Update/A bit of everything

Hello my fellow insomniacs, how have you been?

Sorry I haven’t been around as much lately but due to a lot of things(Namely work and school) I’ve been a bit tied up recently. Now that I’ve got a bit of free time I can share a few things with you guys and let you know about some upcoming updates I have in the pipeline.

First of all, I’m almost finished with the first story arc in Defending now. For those who don’t know, Defending is my story that stars unlikely superhero Jameson Smith and his transformation into Dr. Strange. I’ve honestly thought of pretty much giving up on it with Benedict Cumberbatch and Marvel bringing it to the big screen but..I may not now and just keep it to help me out of writer’s block on occasion.

I also plan to start attempting to do Alabama basketball recaps and TV show recap/discussion posts. If you guys have anything in mind PLEASE let me know so we can get this thing rolling here in the future. Not sure if I’ll be doing Walking Dead, but I’m definitely interested in Better Call Saul, Arrow, The Flash, and Game of Thrones when it returns in April.

The next thing I want to discuss is my gal Sammus! She’s got a tour coming up soon with the homie Mega Ran and she needs your help to procure funds for her upcoming tour. There are several ways you can help her and I’ve included the an excerpt from her post below:

“***”

Merch!

Sammus Merch on sale!

I’ll be including a brand new sticker featuring Kendra Wells’ dope artwork FREE with every purchase (see my profile picture). I’ve also lowered the cost of posters to $10. To check out the shop:https://sammusmusic.bandcamp.com/merch

Some other ways you can help:
– RSVP for a show in your area (and make sure to purchase a ticket for the NYC show): http://sammusmusic.com/

– Donate via Paypal (to go towards things like the cost of gas, food, and re-upping on merch): http://bit.ly/donatetosammus

– Email the homie Mega Ran at contactATmegaranDOTcom if you’re interested in providing a $ sponsorship

– Spread the word about the tour!

THANKS SO MUCH! March will truly be life-changing! I can’t wait to make any/all supporters proud on the road and at SXSW.

****

In the Mix has been going really strong lately as well and have made it all the way to episode 25! I’ve included the 2 most recent episodes below! If you want more info follow Shoom and Reg on Twitter and like the page here on facebook!

 

***

The final piece of information I’d like to share is from my good friend Chanice. I could put it into words, but I think I’ll let you watch the video below and see for yourself.

You can support her endeavors at Change of Plans

Defending Snippet/ Return to blogging

Check out changeofplans.co a new business website that revolves around the benefits of healthy meal plans and how they can help you make successful fitness gains.

Hey all, how’ve you been?

I have finally made my return from the working world to start blogging again. I hope everyone has been well. Now, as usual if you enjoy the post please share and comment below with your thoughts and thanks for the support!

********************

Dan threw down his controller in frustration, nearly spilling the bowl of nachos set between him and Harry. “Damn it, Harry, that’s the seventh time you beat me!”

Harry gave an aristocratic sniff. “Is it my fault that you can’t approach my level of vaunted skill?”

“That’s because I don’t play for eight hours a day!”

“I think someone’s being a Grousy Gertie.”

Dan blinked. “What the hell does that mean?”

Harry shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Oh, forget about this!” swore Dan, turning to the pile of magazines. “Now where’s this nude code?”

Harry thought it over. “I think it’s in Video Game Maniac. Or maybe Video Game Fanatic. Or was it Video Game Zealot? No—no, I’ve got it—it was in Video Game Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder! I’m pretty sure

that’s the one.”

Dan grumbled to himself, and flipped through the last designated magazine looking for the code. He wasn’t having any luck, when he saw the ad.

‘DO YOU WANT ULTIMATE POWER?’, it asked, in bold red letters.

Dan found himself intrigued.

‘Are you a pathetic failure, a poor excuse for a human being?’

Dan felt insulted by that. But he didn’t stop reading.

‘Do the strong and powerful take advantage of you with their superior martial skill? Do the witty and clever baffle you with their verbal byplay? Do the beautiful and desirable ignore your existence?’

Oddly enough, Dan found himself thinking of Natalie, Jameson, and Sarah in short order.

‘We can help,’ promised the ad. ‘Call Ultimate Power, Inc. 666-1313-DAMNED.’

Dan glanced at Harry. “Hey, can I use your phone?”

Harry continued to play his video game. “Are you going to call a sex line?”

“No!”

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

“Damn. Mom won’t let me use them, and I thought that might be a way around it.”

Dan glared at him, and called the number. After about eight rings, a female voice picked up the phone.

“Hello, Ultimate Power, Inc. Offering your hearts darkest desires at a very reasonable price.”

Dan smiled. “Hello, I—”

“Please hold,” said the voice.

‘I come from a land down under,’ began the hold music, ‘where women glow and men plunder. Can you hear, can you hear the thunder? You better run, you better take cover—’

The phone clicked as the flute music started. “Hello, sir? Are you still there?”

“Still there, sir?”

“Well, yes, now—”

“Good.”

-Click-

‘Who wants to play those eights and aces? Who wants a raise—who needs a stake? Who wants to take that long shot gamble—and head out to Fire Lake?’

-Click-

“How about now? Still on?”

“Yes! Now would you please—”

-Click-

‘I shouted out, “Who killed the Kennedys?” when after all—it was you and me! Let me please introduce

myself—I’m a man of wealth and taste—and I laid traps—’

This time Dan started shouting as soon as he heard the click. “Listen, what is the idea here?! I have been

patient long enough, and now—!”

“You know,” said the female voice on the other end, “we are a very busy business, sir. Our services are in constant demand by many people, often in high positions—lawyers, media moguls, politicians, celebrities, radio talk show hosts…”

“Um, sorry, miss…” said Dan, sheepishly.

“So would you like an appointment?”

“Uh, sure,” Dan replied.

“Tonight at eight then,” replied the woman. “It will be a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Right,” said Dan.

“By the way—not that this means anything—but are you the least bit squeamish about the sight of your own blood?”

***********

After reading be sure to check out the latest episode of #InTheMixW/Shoom

comments?

Story snippet from chapter 3 of Jameson’s tale.

Not really sure how much longer I’ll write Jameson’s story with Marvel finally deciding to create a Dcotor Strange movie. We’ll definitely see how it goes though.

 

This week’s blog is brought to you by

 

 

****

Dan sat in the Friarwood High cafeteria, staring at the most beautiful girl in the world.

 

Admittedly Sarah might not make it into many people’s top ten list as far as beauty was concerned, even though they’d admit she was easy on the eyes, but Dan was sure this was due to a flaw in their perceptions. Of course, if he’d been forced to think on it, Dan would have to admit that his perceptions had suffered a similar flaw until last week, when Sarah became the “it” girl of Friarwood High School, for the same mysterious reasons that Charles Ponzi became the financial wizard of Boston in the 1920s. But Dan was rarely forced to think on things, which was probably a good thing, as he wasn’t that good at it.

 

Indeed, at the moment he was attempting that operation with limited success. He was (he realized this in a vague way) not extraordinarily (or even ordinarily) attractive to women. Thus he had no chance of getting in with Sarah, as things now stood. This seemed to him a monstrous injustice, and one that needed immediate rectification. However, when he thought about it, Dan realized he had very little idea how to do this. A smarter man would have considered changing something about himself, but Dan wasn’t a smarter man, so he chose a different route.

 

Politics. Or their high school equivalent.

 

Sarah was a friend of Natalie’s. And Natalie was a friend of…

 

“Jameson Smith?” said Harry, puzzled. “But why him…?”

 

Dan glared at him. Harry was his best friend, but simultaneously, he bugged the hell out of Dan. A smarter man would have mused on this matter, but once again, Dan wasn’t a smarter man.

 

“Because, he’s the thing nobody is looking to use—the secret pathway…” said Dan. Plus, he owed Natalie too much money to even consider approaching her directly.

 

“Oh, like in a video game!” Harry smiled, immensely reassured. The conversation was about things he understood again. “You know the newest Dead or Alive game has the hottest chicks…”

 

Dan frowned. “That is not important right now…”

 

Harry’s voice lowered to a confidential level. “I hear there’s a naked code for it…”

 

Dan started. “Really? How’s it wor…?” He shook his head. “Oh, stop distracting me.” He glanced over at the table where Jameson sat by himself, flipping through some book. “My foolproof plan is going into effect. I will befriend Jameson Smith, and then he’ll put in a good word for me with Natalie, who will put in a good word for me with Sarah, who will then BE MINE!”

 

Harry snorted. “My darling Sarah would never fall for such matters. My declaration of love tonight is sure to win her heart.” He brought up a small plastic bag. “After I cover her house in heart decorated toilet paper, she is sure to conceive a burning passion for me! And if that doesn’t work, the pink shaving cream in her mailbox will do the job!”

 

Dan stared at him. “Harry, do all of your declarations of love seem like childish pranks?”

 

Harry turned away sulkily. “Only to eyes clouded with hateful jealously.”

 

“Oh, why am I wasting my time here?” muttered Dan, standing up abruptly. He walked over to Jameson.

 

Jameson was flipping through his book, and patently ignoring everything else in the room. Dan stood next to him, and cleared his throat.

 

Jameson continued to read his book.

 

Dan went “Psst!”

 

Jameson continued to read his book.

 

Dan nudged him in the shoulder.

 

Jameson continued to read his book.

 

Dan leaned forward, putting his face between Jameson and the book, and said, “Hi.”

 

Jameson put down his book, and glanced at him, in a rather annoyed fashion. “Why, hello. My goodness. Have you been standing there all this time, and I didn’t see you?” Jameson’s voice seemed curiously flat. “How intolerably rude of me.” He glanced Dan over, an uncertain flicker passing over his face. “Harry, right?”

 

“Dan,” said Dan uneasily. “Harry has brown hair. Mine is black.””Ah.” Much to Dan’s concern, Jameson seemed to be filing that statement away for future reference.

 

Jameson stared inquisitively at him.

 

Dan stared back, nervous.

 

Things were perfectly silent for awhile. Finally, Jameson went back to his book.

 

“You know, Jameson,” Dan shot out, “I never knew how much we had in common.”

 

Jameson gave him a sidelong glance. “Really? I never knew we had anything in common.”

 

Dan froze. Crap! This was proving harder than he’d thought! “Well—” he at last ventured, “we’re both guys. And we—both attend the same school…”

 

Jameson actually blinked at that. It was the first time in his life that Dan found someone blinking terrifying.

 

“My goodness!” stated Jameson, a dangerous undercurrent of cheeriness in his voice. “That is an awful lot! On reflection, it occurs to me that we are both carbon-based lifeforms. Of the same genus and species,most likely.”

 

Jameson grinned at him. Dan actually felt an urge to take a step back. “I now see that we have a suitable basis for a friendship. And an important part of friendship is being sensitive to the wishes of our friends.”

 

Dan smiled. Things actually seemed to be working out. “Exactly!”

 

“Goodbye then.”

 

Jameson went back to his book.

 

Dan took a deep breath. This was Jameson Smith, for godssake! The one person in Friarwoodthat every other member of the student body could look down on. He shouldn’t be brushing Dan off! He should be happy that Dan was even deigning to speak to him! No—strike that, he should be ecstatic that Dan was even noticing he existed! It just wasn’t fair. Things weren’t supposed to go this way!

 

Jameson glanced at him, half amused, half annoyed. “You haven’t moved, Dan.”

 

Dan practically jumped. “Umm, yes, well, I…”

 

“What do you want Dan?”

 

Dan gulped. “Nothing, nothing, I—”

 

Jameson rubbed his forehead lightly. “Please don’t lie to me Dan. I really don’t have the patience for it. And don’t tell me that you’re here for the pleasure of my company. I’m a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.” He thought that over. “Well, not that brand of stupid, anyway.” He went back to his book. “So, out with it.”

 

“I need you to put in a good word with Natalie for me!”

 

Jameson stared at him a moment. “Explain why I need to do this?”

 

“So I can go out with Sarah!”

 

Jameson seemed to stare right through him. “That explanation not only didn’t clarify matters, it actually made them more opaque.” He took a deep breath. “Now first—why do you need to go out with Sarah? I thought you liked Yuka.”

 

Dan frowned. “Sarah is my true love. My feelings for Crystal were a passing phase…”

 

“Like your feelings for Ashley,” noted Jameson.

 

“Uh, yes, like…”

 

“Or your feelings for Miss Patrick, the kindergarten teacher …”

 

“Umm—what’s the point of all this…?”

 

Jameson waved his hand. “Just noting that you go through a lot of passing phases. Okay, now, how does my going to Natalie and telling her you’re a great guy get you Sarah? Explain this, demonstrating how point A leads to point C, traveling through point B.” He smiled slightly. “Use concise sentences.”

 

“Natalie is Sarah’s friend. You are Natalie’s friend. Do I have to spell it out for you?”

 

Jameson squinted slightly. “Natalie has friends? That’s news to me.” He went back to his book.

 

Dan stared at him. “Look, I know she’s prickly…”

 

Jameson laughed. “Natalie Thomas is prickly the way a knife is prickly. Not the way a hedgehog is prickly, which seems to be what you’re implying.”

 

Dan stared at him. “Aren’t you going to give me any help?”

 

Jameson glanced back at him. “You love this girl?”

 

“With all my heart,” replied Dan without a moment’s hesitation.

 

Jameson looked at him for a moment, then went back to his book. “Lick the floor, and I’ll do what you asked.”

 

“What?”

 

“Lick the floor,” Jameson repeated evenly. “Get on you knees, and lick the floor, using your tongue. Do that and I’ll consider helping you.”

 

Dan stared at him. “Are you crazy?”

 

Jameson smiled. “A tad touched perhaps.” A serious look came over his face. “Those are my terms. Take them or leave them.”

 

Dan shuddered. “But what you’re talking about is humiliating and degrading!”

 

Jameson laughed. “And I thought you loved her with all your heart. You won’t even consider my terms…”

 

Jameson glanced at him evenly. “You see, Dan, what I’m talking about is love. Degradation and humiliation are the primary ingredients. If you’re not willing to drag yourself through broken glass and nitric acid—twice—with nothing more than her glorious memory to pull you through—well, it isn’t very sincere.”

 

Dan blinked. “What—what are you saying?”

 

Jameson leaned back to look at him. “I’m questioning the depths of your ‘feelings’ for Sarah. You pledge eternal devotion readily enough, but pledging is easy. Proving it’s the hard part.” He went back to his book. “I don’t think you did. You may be interested in Sarah, but it isn’t love. Not by a long shot.”

 

Dan’s eyebrows arched into a position of supreme rage. “You dare! You dare question the burning passion I feel for Sarah! I have half a mind to challenge you to fight right now!”

 

Jameson chuckled. “And wouldn’t that be an epic struggle of the Titans?”

 

Dan stared at him, angrily. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

 

Jameson shrugged. “Well, I may not be able to tell you two apart easily, but I do recall you and Harry were beat up by a group of eight year old girls…”

 

Dan began to shake apoplectically. “That is a vile lie! They were twelve-year olds! And ninjas!”

 

Jameson smiled a bit at that.

 

Dan shook his fist. “Like you’d have done any better!”

 

Jameson flipped a page of his book. “Well, that’s generally the reason I don’t go challenging people to fights…”

 

Dan swung his fist at Jameson’s face. There was a slap. Dan shook his head. The noise seemed to have come just bit too early. He looked down.Jameson, it seemed, had grabbed fist in midair. Without even turning. While reading his book.

 

Dan stared at him. Jameson glanced up at him, and shook his head. “Ahh, Dan. Is this what our friendship has come to?”

 

Dan bit his lip and walked away. Faced down by Jameson Smith! This was the sort of thing you never lived down—that required moving to other school systems in a desperate attempt to avoid the vile stench it left behind. Harry glanced at him as he sat back down. “How’d it go?”

 

“Not well,” muttered Dan.

 

****

 

Also, by my big sis’s new blog over here. Click on the picture for her newest blog post!

Ambition

Controversial Jack w/Voice!

Robin Williams died the other day. Which is tragic in a lot of ways, but in this case because he relates to one of my favorite protagonists by the name of Controversial Jack. I started writing about Jack and his escapades long ago when I was a middle schooler and a time passed evolved his character but one of the original people I based Jack on was one Robin Williams. Robin’s manic personality and gift that allowed him to showcase so much of his personality really stuck to me in every film I ever watched him in as a child. As I got older I never was quite as big of a fan of him as when I was a child, but still admired his talent and ability to touch the more poignant side of humanity. I really hope that one day I’m able to write something that has half as much of that poignant energy in it.

 

PLUG:

If you enjoy my work, you’ll definitely enjoy reading some writing from my big sis over at Nike Writes! 

Another great blog you should check out is Dani’s blog over here! I’m sure all you mom’s and what not that drop by will be curious about some of her future ventures! I’m sure she has a new blog popping up soon!

 

So, without further ado, here’s the audio and text from a little bit of Controversial Jack. Keep in mind that my audio recording and reading are still a work in progress, but any feedback on how I can improve and suggestions for new microphones will be appreciated. Thanks in advance for the feedback!

 

***

There’s a tale of the apocalypse that involves four horsemen. Stop me if you’ve heard this one. The great and terrible horsemen (or surfers, in various island cultures) charge across the face of the earth (which sometimes is flat) bringing fire and chaos (although sometimes they bring seas of blood) and generally making a large mess (which sometimes is larger). Their names are Famine, Pestilence, War, and Death. Unless Pestilence is replaced by Pollution or Plague, his younger and more ambitious brothers. Mind you, that’s only one example. There are also tales of the great Adversary, the son of Satan, That one’s rather popular. There’s also various theories of nature getting sick of matters and punishing that little bastard called Man that has poisoned its waters and lands. Then there’s popular idea that we’d just wipe each other out in a series of nuclear wars, or by listening to too much Hanson. Or in the worst case humanity simply gets some sort of disease and we fade away, not with a bang, but with a whimper. Nowhere in any popular view of the final days of mankind is there a man named Jack. Which is a shame, because it means they all got it wrong…..

 

In sunny California, beneath a bright yellow shining orb in the less tasteful spiral of the galaxy, you can find a large building with large amounts of food and a large sign marked ‘Price Club’. Sometimes people wheel barrel-sized containers of things like rice and gummy bears out. Inside, it’s kept quite clean, and is a very tidy and organized way to disperse food to people who would starve to death without it. It’s a pleasant shopping experience.

 

Today, you can spot empty peanut shells on the ground, and discarded wrappers. Toothpicks a plenty are also here and there, and the occasional empty cereal bowl. If you follow the trail, you can see how it meanders here and there, but mostly sticks to the tables set at the ends of each aisle.

 

The free sample tables.

 

“More,” the man demanded.

 

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” the poor supermarket lady asked, trying to shield her free cheese samples away from the psychotic madman.

 

“This is AMERICA!” the man ranted. “It’s my God given right to have as much free cheese as I want! There are surplus warehouses right now devoted to nothing more than the storage of cheese. If that’s not a tried and true use of my tax dollars, I don’t know what is. And you say that I have had enough cheese? MY GOD IN HEAVEN, WOMAN! Nobody will have enough cheese until all those supplies are depleted! Then, maybe, we can rest well at night without tossing in our sleep from the SHEER GUILT!”

 

“B-but, this isn’t government cheese,” she whimpered in reply. “It’s supermarket cheese.”

 

“Details, details,” the man shrugged, getting casual for a moment. “Fork it over.”

 

Let’s pause a moment here and examine this person. It’s actually just an optical illusion that one of his eyes is bigger than the other. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you, with that constant suspicious glare, or just the funny way his neck works after years of banging his head against walls. He’s lanky and lean, but lanky and lean in the way that lanky and lean guys who really whip ass in fighting games are lanky and lean; not that he’s probably any good in a fight, but few people really want to make sure. His hair, which was probably combed with brillo and dried under a blowlamp, sticks straight up and out on his head, a wild and untamed bush of corn straw. He’s usually smiling, but has mastered the art of differentiating between a polite smile, an amused smile, a I Know More Than You smile, and a grinning evil death smile. Overall, he resembles some twisted incarnation of Puck from a VERY off-Broadway production of “Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

 

His name is Jack Lysias, also known as Controversial Jack. And he wanted his cheese.

 

***

[The following is not included in the audio.]

“Mr. Duck thinks I should get more cheese,” Jack said, holding out a small rubber duck for the supermarket lady to examine. “Don’t you, Mr. Duck?”

 

The bath toy squeaked.

 

“…that’s just a toy,” the lady said despondently.

 

Jack pulled Mr. Duck back in horror while saying. “You’re hurting his feelings! There there, Mr. Duck, she’s just ignorant and doesn’t know any better… she doesn’t know the wondrous things you have to say–”

 

With a frightened gesture of defeat, the lady shoved the whole tray of cheese blobs on little sticks forward. “Here! Take as much as you want!”

After this declaration she promptly ran to the manager’s office, scribbled ‘I Quit’ on his desk blotter and ran for the horizon.

 

“Woohoo!” Jack cheered, dumping the whole tray into his giant, economy sized Price Club burlap sack. “Another fine haul. Well! Let’s see what other free things we can get!”

 

The next table was offering free long distance service.

 

“Why bother? All the people who live away from me probably don’t exist,” Jack rationalized.

 

The table after that had Cheesy Poofs, which Jack felt complimented his preprocessed cheese blobs quite well, and performed the patented ‘Look, a three headed monkey’ routine in order to distract the merchant, and swipe as many as he could.

 

The next table offered free blood tests.

 

Jack stuck his hand inside the medical cuff and yelped when the six inch needle jammed through his arm. When the results proclaimed him to be drug free he had to argue with the examiner performing the test a bit that No, the machine was not broken and Yes, he always acted like this.

 

Mr. Duck vouched for him.

 

Given how much protest Controversial Jack’s digestive system was issuing at his consuming approximately 546 free samples in a one hour period, his next stop was going to be the bathroom. Unfortunately, he happened to spot something interesting at the next booth. But history still had one more chance, as his sister wheeled into view, driving a large motorized shopping cart that made that annoying  ‘BEEP’ sound when you put it in reverse.

 

“Jack!”  Jack’s sister, Anne Lysias called out, waving to him from behind a small mountain of shopping bags. “I think I’ve got enough food to last us until the next millennium!”

 

“That’s only a year or two away, unless there’s a massive conspiracy of calendar makers,” Jack said.

 

Let’s get one thing absolutely straight here — Anne is not like Jack. Sure, they share similar DNA because of the unfortunate coincidence of having the same mother and father, but Anne is not insane. She’s actually quite a nice girl provided you don’t make her angry, and never hears rubber ducks talking to her except once or twice but she denies the experiences quite wholeheartedly. Plus, the phrase “I am my brother’s keeper” applies to her in the same way zoo wranglers say things like “I am the Bengali tiger’s keeper.”

 

“Hey, food for a year is still impressive!” Anne noted, hopping down from the vehicle and tucking her Price Club hard hat under one arm. “Besides, don’t you even THINK about complaining. I’m the one who’s paying for all this, you jobless bum!”

 

“I do too have a job!” Jack retorted indignantly.

 

“Oh? What?” Anne asked before realizing she shouldn’t have.

 

“I am me, of course,” Jack explained. “The very process of being who and what I am is a twenty four hour a day job. You don’t get a break from a responsibility that big, no paid vacation leave, no dental plan! You’re THERE, constantly, ready to be Jack at a moment’s notice! I don’t have time to go dilly dallying around in the so-called Job Market when the vast reservoirs of energy needed to Helllllll-o, what’s this?”

 

History gave a sad sigh of regret, as Jack’s attention finally was attracted back to the desk he almost missed. He seemed to teleport from where he was to in front of the desk with that smile on his face, not through some arcane power, but simply by moving very fast.

 

“What’s the free sample at this table for?” he asked curiously.

 

“Free political campaign television advertising,” the bored looking clerk explained. “Congress mandated that to keep the playing field equal for all political parties, vouchers could be secured for paid airtime for candidates to advertise. If–“

 

“Hmmm… lot of perks on that job, right?” Jack asked.

 

“What job, sir?” questioned the clerk.

 

“President!!!” Jack said, posing dramatically with one fist on his hip and a hand cupping his chin. “Why, if I was president, I’d have free run of the Oval Office… of Martha’s Vineyards… of that secret room BEHIND the Oval Office… of the War Room… just THINK–“

 

“Let’s not think, okay?” Anne requested. “We’ve got to get home before the frozen goods melt, and we don’t have time for one of your crazy schemes!”

 

“Anne! I’m shocked!” Jack said. “Here I uphold the proudest, greatest institution in these here United States–“

 

“We could always send you BACK to the institution,” Anne commented dryly.

 

“–and you dare, nay, DARE to consider it a ‘crazy scheme’?” Jack asked. “Forsooth, sister of mine! And bite me. I’m a-signing up!”

 

Anne sighed in defeat. “Be out by the car in five minutes or I’m leaving without you, Jack,” she warned. “And I MEAN it.”

 

With that, Anne hauled herself back into the forklift like contraption, and steered her groceries on out of there, making wide right turns. Jack rubbed his palms together with feverish glee. “Okay, pal, I’m sold. Where do I sign? Do I need to pay with my soul or anything?”

 

“What is your political party?” the clerk asked, clicking a cheap Bic retractable to start filling out little checkboxes of questionable origin.

 

“Probably wild and involving a lot of kegs.” Jack said quickly.

 

“Pardon?” said the obviously confused clerk.

 

“Just mark me down as controversial,” Jack said. “I’ve always said a good politician is an honest one. Well, no. Technically I’ve always said a good politician is one thrown into the bay with lead weights tied around its feet. But you get the gist of my scope of reasoning.”

MESCTV

Life Is MESC

msherringsays

The life of a middle school language arts teacher. Not to be taken to seriously. Kapeesh?

H I P L O O T

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KunoichiJen

When You Give a Ninja a Blog...