(no subject)
THE CALL OF THE WILD
"can I get a pizza"
A STORY BY OZ
This is a story from a shadowy time in my past. I was a cruder man then, freshly formed and with edges still rough. My brain was still hot from the forge and I experienced frequent erections. I would spend a lot of effort trying not to look at ladies. I would close my eyes and see images of naked ladies. It was awesome. Very well rendered. Like all young men, I dreamed of only one thing. To become a politician. I went by a different name then - they called me ‘Warren’. This is how I remember it.
I intrepidly stride into the chambers. My cape snaps behind me. The heads of government turned in my direction, their multitude of eyes telling each their own story. I see fear, love; other emotions I ignore. I don't have time for complicated emotions. I am the man getting things done. I am the man with a cape.
No-one had told me where to sit, but I manage to pick a good one. I smooth myself into its position next to a petite brunette. There is something very sexy about this lady being a politician. She could make laws about sexy. That's sexy. Her eyes are telling a very special story. They are saying, "You want some. I got it. Let's make it happen." That's my kind of story. A bed-time story.
Happy, I look again around parliament. Yes, I think. This is my fun place. I would make it a fun time for everyone. My first day on the job and so far, so good.
Sitting across from me is the Best Dude in Australia. I eye off his seat, which is enormous. It is more like a comfortable shed, which this small man would have to take a big bag of jellybeans to. He would leave a trail of jellybeans, so he could work out how to get out from the seat. You could see that he isn't lost, though. He could have got around that seat blindfolded. However, it would have to be a big blindfold; the Dude has seven eyes spaced at regular intervals around his face. They are lidded and squeezed; they keep moving independently; now one begins to rapidly flick between one side of my face and the other. They collectively tell no story at all. Discomforted, I look down from his gaze. I look at the seat again; it is definitely pretty remarkable. It has a cocktail bar and sporting facilities. Man, I thought to myself, I have got to get here earlier tomorrow and see about baggsing that seat.
Sensing my deflected eye, the brunette takes the chance of conversation.
"So, what kind of politician are you?" she asks.
"My powers belong to the necromantic arts."
She is unsurprised. She may well have inferred this conclusion from my dark and mysterious appearance. I am impressed. I could tell her womanly intuition would be the perfect complement to my powers. I decide to impress her in turn.
"For example, here is your gran."
"Hello my dear", the reanimated corpse's jaw grates terribly with each syllable. It rests its discoloured arm over the brunette's shoulders. The brunette does not appear terribly impressed. I stress that I am very good at this kind of thing, "Did you notice how I was making your gran talk? She wouldn't normally be able to talk, you know. She's dead."
Surprisingly, the Speaker speaks, “Member for the seat of Eden-Monaro!”
I object, “Objection: it’s my seat now.”
“Apologies - Member for the seat of Warren, enough whispering down there at the back.”
The best dude stands up and participates in the conversation. I receive the full force of his seven-pronged stare.
“Well spoken, speaker. Look, I'm in Parliament and I just won't stand for this kind of thing. We're much more keen on Ping-Pong.”
Indeed the dude and some of his Party mates were definitely playing in a ping pong tournament on the dude’s seat. The standard didn’t look too high. I could show them a thing or two. In fact I decide to lay down the law on this dude.
The law begins.
[kind of a scratchy slow old voice with surprising vocal dexterity; limerick]
The chambers of parliament were empty and dry.
They'd be made less boring by installing slip and slides.
What they required
was a man who could transpire
the freedom of the legal process from this sty
[very deep manly voice (my voice) echoes from the silence]
I AM
THAT MAN
[rock hard beats start the pumping; freestyling]
Well I'm a politician
and a magic mortician
Watch me disrespecting death's door
Yes I'm a necromancer
and a ballroom dancer
I'm busting out moves on the floor
of Parliament
it's I starting it
Treasury's requesting I give more
I can summon skeletons and zombies and ghouls
if you ever saw them you'd be defecating stools
I'm the owner of debates, enquiries and in question time
I'll be showing boredom while I win with bitchin' rhyme
Ruling the final curtain's
no administrative burden
I have a double major in law
I'm immensely powerful
I'm a super shower full
of pain raining right in your
small genitals
My stern sentinels
of bone form an elite corps
I'll ban you I'll spam you and bullsh*t I will feed ya
I'll fool you I'll rule you then sell it to the media
I'll slice you I'll dice you and then I will dissect ya
I'll eat you I'll sh*t you and then I'll resurrect ya
I can pass the bills of law so rapidleee that you missed them
Just like I'm passing you through my digestive system
You'll serve forever in my kingdom of the dead I'll keep the story in the papers just to mess with your heeeeeeeeeeeead
This is followed by a deep silence. I think to myself, it is a fact that my skills are awesome. It is in the encyclopaedia. Finally, the silence is broken by the best dude in Australia.
"Jeez, what a poorly constructed song. What did you do, resurrect that rhyme scheme from ancient Sumeria? Mr. Speaker, may we sever all diplomatic ties with ancient Sumeria? Thank you."
A cold fire burns within me. It is like a soft-serve icecream.
I marshal my dark powers.
I am become, magnificent.
I thrust forth my arm and from the ground bursts a thigh bone. As it projects itself towards my target, the air sings through the hollow marrow. The dude's face does a lot of facial expressions in the interval between him deducing there is a thigh bone aimed at his head and the point at which the thigh bone actually strikes his head. Then the bone scones him terribly and he falls out of his chair. Sensing my special moment, I call upon the full extent of my powers. Dark lines of force throb through my outstretched limbs. From all around us comes a horrible trembling, creaking vibration. Ambient imminent violence. Surprised feet begin to slip on the tilting floors, chairs and benches tumble. The hallowed chambers crack apart to give birth to clawing entities from the ground. The House shatters to accommodate their growing, stretching forms, reaching terrifying heights.
I look up.
"Bloody Hell! Four story tall electrified skeletons!"
The animated forms move in distended jerky moments. Their bodies are bones of structural steel, bleeding a disturbing ionic luminescence. From jutting steel ribs still hang the remnants of the buildings that have died in the act of giving their birth. The vast steel skeletons unthinkingly render devastation unto the remaining buildings of government, flailing electrified limbs flaying elegant masonry. Skeletal joints crackle with electronic discharge, streaks of energy intermittently crashing to earth. It is very scary. I run away.
Consciousness finds me some time later. I wake to find myself in the tender arms of the brunette. It is just like a dream, or a really good story. In this story, I am the hero. I am the big man. I have awesome powers, and a cape.
The brunette blabs on and on, “You complete galoot! First there’s some stinking skeleton with its mouldy arms ruining my new blouse, then some poorly conceived rap song, then you destroy my place of work & livelihood with your bloody showboating and finally now you’re all for fainting in my arms like some nancy man! You’ve got some explaining to do, Mister Magic Boots!”
I counter, "But did you see that awesome thigh bone right at the dude’s head? BAM! You should see some of the other bones I can do!"
I give her a tibia. She looks nonplussed. Then her bosom swells as she realises that it is filled with icecream! Her womanly intuition didn't see that one coming! Her mouth gapes in wonder and it is a nice moment for us. But then I realise she is not gaping at my bone, but at something behind me. With apprehension my navigator, I turn around.
The first thing I see is distant burning rubble, formerly parliament house. I must have run a long way before I fainted. I am a good runner! Out from the backdrop of the rubble a blackened figure appears to be charging towards me. It is hard to be sure, the figure is still quite a long way away. But no, the figure is not so distant after all, it is merely of small stature; further, it is rapidly drawing closer. It is the best dude in Australia! As I stare in wonder, he aims at me with some kind of small-arm and fires! “POW”
I look down at myself; I seem to have come through unscathed. Fortunately for me aiming was probably difficult for him owing to the 4 black eyes inflicted by my thigh bone to his nut. In response, I too take careful aim and fire, "POW".
The dude’s progress is unimpeded. Of course, it had been a challenging shot on a recklessly moving target, also, I had been thinking about the brunette being naked. But there is no time for any further shots, the dude has pulled up in front of me. He looks a little bit sheepish.
"I didn't have a real gun. I was just making my hand into a gun and saying 'POW'".
"Oh, me too."
He looks relieved.
"Want to dance?"
"Man, definitely! Let's show those turks what it means to really rip it up!"
We make beautiful patterns on the floor. The music is Cypress Hill.
MY DARK POWERS ARE MAGNIFICENT
SWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH
THE END
Dude: Seriously though, what was with that song? I thought rap music was your bag, man.
Me: Well, it is, but I guess it’s a very small bag.
Like a handbag.
Or a purse.
"can I get a pizza"
A STORY BY OZ
This is a story from a shadowy time in my past. I was a cruder man then, freshly formed and with edges still rough. My brain was still hot from the forge and I experienced frequent erections. I would spend a lot of effort trying not to look at ladies. I would close my eyes and see images of naked ladies. It was awesome. Very well rendered. Like all young men, I dreamed of only one thing. To become a politician. I went by a different name then - they called me ‘Warren’. This is how I remember it.
I intrepidly stride into the chambers. My cape snaps behind me. The heads of government turned in my direction, their multitude of eyes telling each their own story. I see fear, love; other emotions I ignore. I don't have time for complicated emotions. I am the man getting things done. I am the man with a cape.
No-one had told me where to sit, but I manage to pick a good one. I smooth myself into its position next to a petite brunette. There is something very sexy about this lady being a politician. She could make laws about sexy. That's sexy. Her eyes are telling a very special story. They are saying, "You want some. I got it. Let's make it happen." That's my kind of story. A bed-time story.
Happy, I look again around parliament. Yes, I think. This is my fun place. I would make it a fun time for everyone. My first day on the job and so far, so good.
Sitting across from me is the Best Dude in Australia. I eye off his seat, which is enormous. It is more like a comfortable shed, which this small man would have to take a big bag of jellybeans to. He would leave a trail of jellybeans, so he could work out how to get out from the seat. You could see that he isn't lost, though. He could have got around that seat blindfolded. However, it would have to be a big blindfold; the Dude has seven eyes spaced at regular intervals around his face. They are lidded and squeezed; they keep moving independently; now one begins to rapidly flick between one side of my face and the other. They collectively tell no story at all. Discomforted, I look down from his gaze. I look at the seat again; it is definitely pretty remarkable. It has a cocktail bar and sporting facilities. Man, I thought to myself, I have got to get here earlier tomorrow and see about baggsing that seat.
Sensing my deflected eye, the brunette takes the chance of conversation.
"So, what kind of politician are you?" she asks.
"My powers belong to the necromantic arts."
She is unsurprised. She may well have inferred this conclusion from my dark and mysterious appearance. I am impressed. I could tell her womanly intuition would be the perfect complement to my powers. I decide to impress her in turn.
"For example, here is your gran."
"Hello my dear", the reanimated corpse's jaw grates terribly with each syllable. It rests its discoloured arm over the brunette's shoulders. The brunette does not appear terribly impressed. I stress that I am very good at this kind of thing, "Did you notice how I was making your gran talk? She wouldn't normally be able to talk, you know. She's dead."
Surprisingly, the Speaker speaks, “Member for the seat of Eden-Monaro!”
I object, “Objection: it’s my seat now.”
“Apologies - Member for the seat of Warren, enough whispering down there at the back.”
The best dude stands up and participates in the conversation. I receive the full force of his seven-pronged stare.
“Well spoken, speaker. Look, I'm in Parliament and I just won't stand for this kind of thing. We're much more keen on Ping-Pong.”
Indeed the dude and some of his Party mates were definitely playing in a ping pong tournament on the dude’s seat. The standard didn’t look too high. I could show them a thing or two. In fact I decide to lay down the law on this dude.
The law begins.
[kind of a scratchy slow old voice with surprising vocal dexterity; limerick]
The chambers of parliament were empty and dry.
They'd be made less boring by installing slip and slides.
What they required
was a man who could transpire
the freedom of the legal process from this sty
[very deep manly voice (my voice) echoes from the silence]
I AM
THAT MAN
[rock hard beats start the pumping; freestyling]
Well I'm a politician
and a magic mortician
Watch me disrespecting death's door
Yes I'm a necromancer
and a ballroom dancer
I'm busting out moves on the floor
of Parliament
it's I starting it
Treasury's requesting I give more
I can summon skeletons and zombies and ghouls
if you ever saw them you'd be defecating stools
I'm the owner of debates, enquiries and in question time
I'll be showing boredom while I win with bitchin' rhyme
Ruling the final curtain's
no administrative burden
I have a double major in law
I'm immensely powerful
I'm a super shower full
of pain raining right in your
small genitals
My stern sentinels
of bone form an elite corps
I'll ban you I'll spam you and bullsh*t I will feed ya
I'll fool you I'll rule you then sell it to the media
I'll slice you I'll dice you and then I will dissect ya
I'll eat you I'll sh*t you and then I'll resurrect ya
I can pass the bills of law so rapidleee that you missed them
Just like I'm passing you through my digestive system
You'll serve forever in my kingdom of the dead I'll keep the story in the papers just to mess with your heeeeeeeeeeeead
This is followed by a deep silence. I think to myself, it is a fact that my skills are awesome. It is in the encyclopaedia. Finally, the silence is broken by the best dude in Australia.
"Jeez, what a poorly constructed song. What did you do, resurrect that rhyme scheme from ancient Sumeria? Mr. Speaker, may we sever all diplomatic ties with ancient Sumeria? Thank you."
A cold fire burns within me. It is like a soft-serve icecream.
I marshal my dark powers.
I am become, magnificent.
I thrust forth my arm and from the ground bursts a thigh bone. As it projects itself towards my target, the air sings through the hollow marrow. The dude's face does a lot of facial expressions in the interval between him deducing there is a thigh bone aimed at his head and the point at which the thigh bone actually strikes his head. Then the bone scones him terribly and he falls out of his chair. Sensing my special moment, I call upon the full extent of my powers. Dark lines of force throb through my outstretched limbs. From all around us comes a horrible trembling, creaking vibration. Ambient imminent violence. Surprised feet begin to slip on the tilting floors, chairs and benches tumble. The hallowed chambers crack apart to give birth to clawing entities from the ground. The House shatters to accommodate their growing, stretching forms, reaching terrifying heights.
I look up.
"Bloody Hell! Four story tall electrified skeletons!"
The animated forms move in distended jerky moments. Their bodies are bones of structural steel, bleeding a disturbing ionic luminescence. From jutting steel ribs still hang the remnants of the buildings that have died in the act of giving their birth. The vast steel skeletons unthinkingly render devastation unto the remaining buildings of government, flailing electrified limbs flaying elegant masonry. Skeletal joints crackle with electronic discharge, streaks of energy intermittently crashing to earth. It is very scary. I run away.
Consciousness finds me some time later. I wake to find myself in the tender arms of the brunette. It is just like a dream, or a really good story. In this story, I am the hero. I am the big man. I have awesome powers, and a cape.
The brunette blabs on and on, “You complete galoot! First there’s some stinking skeleton with its mouldy arms ruining my new blouse, then some poorly conceived rap song, then you destroy my place of work & livelihood with your bloody showboating and finally now you’re all for fainting in my arms like some nancy man! You’ve got some explaining to do, Mister Magic Boots!”
I counter, "But did you see that awesome thigh bone right at the dude’s head? BAM! You should see some of the other bones I can do!"
I give her a tibia. She looks nonplussed. Then her bosom swells as she realises that it is filled with icecream! Her womanly intuition didn't see that one coming! Her mouth gapes in wonder and it is a nice moment for us. But then I realise she is not gaping at my bone, but at something behind me. With apprehension my navigator, I turn around.
The first thing I see is distant burning rubble, formerly parliament house. I must have run a long way before I fainted. I am a good runner! Out from the backdrop of the rubble a blackened figure appears to be charging towards me. It is hard to be sure, the figure is still quite a long way away. But no, the figure is not so distant after all, it is merely of small stature; further, it is rapidly drawing closer. It is the best dude in Australia! As I stare in wonder, he aims at me with some kind of small-arm and fires! “POW”
I look down at myself; I seem to have come through unscathed. Fortunately for me aiming was probably difficult for him owing to the 4 black eyes inflicted by my thigh bone to his nut. In response, I too take careful aim and fire, "POW".
The dude’s progress is unimpeded. Of course, it had been a challenging shot on a recklessly moving target, also, I had been thinking about the brunette being naked. But there is no time for any further shots, the dude has pulled up in front of me. He looks a little bit sheepish.
"I didn't have a real gun. I was just making my hand into a gun and saying 'POW'".
"Oh, me too."
He looks relieved.
"Want to dance?"
"Man, definitely! Let's show those turks what it means to really rip it up!"
We make beautiful patterns on the floor. The music is Cypress Hill.
MY DARK POWERS ARE MAGNIFICENT
SWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH
THE END
Dude: Seriously though, what was with that song? I thought rap music was your bag, man.
Me: Well, it is, but I guess it’s a very small bag.
Like a handbag.
Or a purse.