Thursday, March 29, 2007

The Writing Challenge Super Tiger Dragon Edition

The Cap'n has taken his winner's task very seriously and sent me this challenge's name and The Words list on Tuesday. I've been sitting on them for two days now (no, not literally) and can wait no longer! Btw, I know he's a kindred spirit because he used one of my favorite words - plethora!

I shall now stop sitting on The Words and share them with y'all. Here are The Words for
The Writing Challenge Super Tiger Dragon Edition

Cloudburst
Flummoxed
Shiny
Cacophony
Plethora
Finesse
Normal
Monkey

The writing challenge is open as of right NOW and will be open until April 5th. You only have one week to write and submit your stories this go'round, so don't procrastinate (Cap'n). Submissions will close at 8pm on the 5th and voting will begin that night. Don't forget to highlight The Words in your story!

WRITE!

Monday, March 26, 2007

And the winner is....

It's 10:23pm and frankly, I'm tired as all get out, so I'm officially closing the polls and declaring Cap'n Neurotic to be the winner of Writing Challenge Numero Uno with his story "A Gentlemen's Agreement"!!!

(Wild applause here)

He takes home the imaginary trophy with a whopping 32% of the votes, but Bubblegum Tate was trailing not far behind with 27%.

So now, Cap'n, it's up to you to provide us with a title for the next round and a list of The Words for the next challenge.

The next round opens Thursday!!

Thursday, March 22, 2007

The day has arrived

The stories have all been submitted and posted. Voting is open. Now it's up to you, dear reader.

Check out these six stories submitted by folks all over the internet, then vote using the poll in the sidebar! (One vote per person please.) If you submitted a story, you, too, may vote - just be fair and don't vote for yourself.

If you'd like to leave comments for individual stories, feel free to do so, but if you leave nasty ones I will hunt you down and.......oh wait....nevermind....... I'll just ban you and then I'll have to moderate comments and that might piss me off. So be nice, k? We're all here for fun. That's it.

So have fun!

Voting is open until Monday, March 26 at 11:00pm Central time. (Or 10:00 if I'm tired and want to go to bed. So vote early, just in case.)

A Love Story

By Hillbilly Mom of Hillbilly Mansion


A Love Story


Gwen tossed the possum into the sack, holding her breath just long enough to avoid the stench. "You ain't playin', are you, Mr. O. Possum?"she quizzed the unwieldy carcass. She sealed the white pillowcase with a fire-engine-red twist-tie, just under the embroidered lilac border. Nobody could embroider like Gammy. Who woulda thunk it, what with Gammy's arthritis and all. It was due, no doubt, to the repetitive motion of flinging poop at any trespasser to venture up Gammy's driveway.

Nothing much stopped Gammy from dipping into the 10-gallon white plastic drywall bucket of turds next to her rocker, and letting one fly across the dooryard at many an unsuspecting parasite. Oh, they wanted to sell her vacuum cleaners, and books, and magazines. Some were students, working their way through college. Others were natural-born hucksters, slicker than snot, chanting a jingle sure to make her bite. But Gammy didn't bite. Not on the sales pitch, anyway. What did she care if some slimy, wet-behind-the-ears snake-oil salesman won a skiing trip to Hidden Valley?

"Time to get a move-on, gal!" Gammy shouted to Gwen. "Won't be long till this fog burns off, and we'll have ourselves a real scorcher. My turds will be melting by the time you get back from that wedding. Why you're a-goin' I'll never know. That Jimmy was YOUR boyfriend."

Gwen hefted the pillowcased possum over her shoulder. The gift-wrap job was quite purty, if she did say so herself. "Don't you worry about me, Gammy. I'm over Jimmy. But I sure hope he got himself a prenuptial agreement with that hoochie. I want to be sure he gets half of my gift if anything happens to break them up."

And a Half

by Redneck Diva


And a Half

I was fifteen. He was sixteen. And a half. When you are a mid-teen, that half is very important and you never forget to add it. Even if you are talking to the President of the United States and he nonchalantly asks you how old you are, you must dumbly reply your age "and a half." It’s really that important.

So there we were, all wrapped up in our teen angst and madly in love, getting ready to go skiing with my church’s youth group. I was a clutz. A hopeless, eternal clutz and before we boarded the bus to leave, I had asked my mother approximately 2,701 times if she had medical and life insurance on me. When you are a tragic fifteen year old clutz, you worry about those things. He was holding my hand and would squeeze it every now and then, reassuring me without words that I was not going to die while careening down the bunny slope. He was awesome that way. My repetitive voicing of my deathly concerns weren’t annoying him like they were annoying my mother. Mom was about ready to strangle me and make her own claim on my life insurance policy, but he just sat there on the curb, holding my hand, squeezing it occasionally and watched me annoy my mother.

When Dave, our youth pastor, was finally finished obsessively/compulsively going over his obsessive/compulsive checklist for the 60th obsessive/compulsive time, he hollered for all of us to gather in a circle. All of us youth held hands and then our parents gathered in a circle around us, holding hands as well. The parents prayed over us, the youth minister said a rather obsessive/compulsive prayer (I’ve always wondered if God laughs at those of us who pray our OCD right up to Heaven) and it was time to go. The hand that he was holding was sweating, but he didn’t let go to wipe it off on the leg of his jeans. He just kept holding my slimy, nervous hand. Stuff like that didn’t bother him.

I hugged my mom with one arm (because we were still holding hands) and decided against asking her one more time about the insurance. He hugged her, too. One-armed, as well. I was starting to feel like a parasite, but I wasn’t about to let go and he gave no indication he was either. Thankfully all of our bags were loaded in the bus already and technically, unless either of us had to pee or poop somewhere between here and there, we didn’t have to let go for the next 6 hours. My bladder was primed and ready to go and my bowels were up to the challenge. I wasn’t sure about his and I wasn’t about to ask. You just don’t do that when you’re fifteen and prenuptial. That’s something you do when you’re 40 and have been married for half your life. When you’re in your thirties you can broach such subjects as poop, pimples and how eating shredded wheat for breakfast makes you just awfully gassy, but not when you’re young enough to still add "and a half" to your age. I was just trusting in his ability to hold it in and hold my hand.

The bus ride to that point was actually quite uneventful. I slept with my head on his shoulder the first few hours of the trip. He slept with his head uncomfortably leaned against the window. He could’ve let go of my hand to go get his pillow from his bedroll, but instead he let his head bounce against that window. He really was awesome. After most of the group had woken up from their uncomfortable naps, we decided to play some games. We played "Name That Tune", "I Spy" and "Guess the Jingle." I won by default when I sang the entire Oreo cookie jingle without messing up one word. That impressed the entire bus. We held our seemingly conjoined hands up in victory from our seat.

I could tell we were nearing the mountains because the air felt different. The sky was grayer and a few of the girls asked Dave to turn on the heater. When the bus started making funky chugging sounds I didn’t worry too much. I just remembered the time on the way back from a trip to a baseball game when the bus broke down and we sat on the side of the highway singing songs and talking until some church members arrived in a caravan of cars and minivans to either fix the bus or haul us home. I kind of looked at it as an adventure. He didn’t seem worried either, so I just settled in for the wait. Dave was looking pale and flustered when he boarded the bus after having looked under the hood. He said he needed some of the older boys to come out and help him. I silently wondered what would be so bad under the hood of the broken-down bus that would make him look so pale, but didn’t say anything. And seeing as how sixteen "and a half" was the second to the oldest age, he was going to have to let go of my hand and go help Dave.

He kissed me on the cheek and said he’d be back in a few minutes. He stepped out into the aisle and followed the other guys toward the door of the bus. As he stepped down onto that first step, he looked up over the partition and smiled at me. I smiled back and then realized how cold and naked my hand felt, lying open on the seat beside me. The door shut in a whoosh and the younger boys that were left on the bus and all of us girls leaned over and pressed our faces to the windows to see what was going on. I heard one of the younger, quieter boys ask, "Where did that come from?" and then we all watched as one by one the older boys stepped into the fog.

A Gentlemen’s Agreement

by Cap'n Neurotic of Crisis of Infinite Monkeys


A Gentlemen’s Agreement

“All right, Chris,” Len began tentatively, “I know you’re wondering why I asked you to come over tonight”

“Yeah, a bit,” Chris agreed warily; the day had been filled with last minute wedding arrangements, and the last minute call from Len was worrisome to say the least.

“The guys and I have been talking about some stuff, and, well, after a lot of thought, I asked Barry to draw up a prenuptial agreement.”

”You what?” Chris’s voice rose several octaves, causing Len to flinch.

“Now, I know what you’re thinking --”

"You’re crazy, is what I’m thinking; there’s no way I’m asking Sarah to sign a prenup!” Indignant, Chris turned his glare from Len to the rest of his friends who were gathered closely by, content to let Len take the brunt of Chris’s anger. “Prenups are for rich old men who are afraid their fiancĂ© is going to turn out to be a gold-digging parasite, and I’m not about to insult Sarah like that.”

“But that’s what I’m trying to tell you,” said Len, “the prenup’s not for Sarah.”

“Huh?” Chris

“Blood and ashes, bro,” Chris’s younger brother Gary exclaimed, “if you’re dumb enough to let that girl go you deserve to lose half your stuff,”

“Then, I don’t underst—“

“It’s a prenuptial agreement between you and us,” legal eagle Barry explained.
Chris stared at his friends blankly, unable to pierce the fog that had settled on his brain.

“It’s to make sure that things don’t change between us after you get married,” Len said.
Barely aware of his repetitive responses, Chris reiterated “I don’t understand what you mean.” Gary jumped in. “Look, bro, it’s like this: we’ve seen too many guys flake out on us after they tied the knot, and we figured that we’d better make a preemptive strike before you got sucked into the same trap.”

“That’s crazy talk; you guys know that nothing’s going to change between us after Sarah and I get married.”

“Yeah, that’s what Dirk said,” Barry countered, “and then two months later he backed out of our annual skiing trip for good because the little lady didn’t want her ‘oogum-woogums to hurt his widdle heady-weddy’.”

Chris rolled his eyes at Barry’s exaggerated impression. “Sure, but Dirk was whipped before he even met Judith –“

“And then there’s Brad,” said Gary, jumping into the fray again, “who went from cussin’ like a sailor to not even being able to say ‘poop’ without looking over his shoulder.”

“Well, some would say that’s an improvement –“

“Dude, that’s not keys you hear jingle in Karen’s purse, it’s Brad’s –“

“Okay, okay, I get the idea!”

“Are you sure? Because we got a ton more examples.” Gary’s evil little grin told Chris his little brother was enjoying this far too much.

“Thanks, bratling, but I think I’ve got the gist.”

“So, you’ll sign it, then?” Len asked, pushing the document across the table.

Chris resignedly picked up the papers, deciding that reading over Barry’s handiwork would at least give him a respite from the haranguing of the others. After scanning through the legalese, he just shook his head wearily. “You guys are crazy, you know that, right?”

“Don’t act like that’s a surprise,” Barry retorted.

“And what happens if I don’t sign?” Chris queried. “I mean, it’s not like you can call off my wedding.”

“That sounds like a challenge to me . . .” quipped Gary.

“Zip it, squirt,” Len tossed back over his shoulder, before turning his attention back to Chris.


“No threats here, bud; no coercion, no duress. Sign it if you want, trash it if you don’t.”
Chris locked gazes with Len, weighing his best man’s sincerity. He finally leaned back with a sigh. “You know if you had pushed, I would have dug in my heels.”

Len smiled and shrugged.

“Oh, don’t give me that ‘aw, shucks’ routine; I’m half tempted to file thirteen this thing just for the ‘good cop/bad cop’ routine alone.”

Len’s grin widened, and Chris knew that his best friend had read him like a book as usual. No use dragging it out, he thought to himself as he grabbed the pen and signed on the dotted line.

It wasn’t until he heard Gary’s evil little laugh that he thought hit him that he probably should have read the fine print . . .

Ask not for whom the Wedding Bell tolls!

by Bubblegum Tate of Your Blog Must Die, Mine Alone is Best




Ajax Stewart, Engineer of the Impossible
in
Ask not for whom the Wedding Bell tolls!



Tracer rounds blazed through the sky, each one spaced as perfectly as the dash on a tombstone and just as final. Ajax Stewart yanked hard on the stick of his tiny jet, a ballpoint pen with stubby wings and tail fins belching fire from its hind end, and banked sharply away from the phosphorescent harbingers of disaster. The jet shook and shuddered like a drunken club girl gyrating to the repetitive, pounding rhythm of a song that ended fifteen seconds ago. Ajax swore under his breath as he felt the jet’s usually pinpoint accurate steering go soft and lumpy like cold oatmeal. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw three flashing, golden jets of his arch nemesis closing in on him and heard the jackhammer ratcheting of their machine guns as they stabbed at him across the azure expanse. Ajax Stewart: scientist, genius, adventurer, explorer of strange and forgotten worlds, crime fighter, finder of strange artifacts and enemy of bizarre and evil masterminds. With a certain resignation, Ajax realized that his wedding frankly couldn’t have gone any other way.

"Ohhhhhh, poop," Ajax whispered as the ground came rushing towards him.

Six Hours Ago…

Ajax Stewart sat in a plush leather chair with his fingers steepled under his chin. Ajax monitored the operations of his global concern, Stewart Trouble Shooting, Inc., from his office at the top of Stewart Heights and with the aid of a multi-layered holographic display and a wall of monitors. STSI was known the world over for solving problems and cutting through the tangle of capricious fate for hundreds of clients and being paid handsomely for it. Raised by his father and a team of scientists and teachers to be the ultimate problem solver, it was only natural Ajax would surround himself with people of similar, if inferior, talents. Traveling the globe and stumbling into trouble or a mystery was simple, but cleaving through it with the sureness that only his extraordinary upbringing could achieve was not something just anybody could do. The amazing skills of Ajax Stewart had put some of the richest men in the world into Ajax’s debt. As his reputation grew, he was eventually hired to spearhead explorations of the strange and weird, which caused his fortune to grow along with his fame. Now, years later, operatives of Stewart Trouble Shooting were the most sought after thinkers, planners and people-of-action in the world; and none more sought after than the Engineer of the Impossible himself.

But what exploit could have prepared him, what criminal mastermind could compare with the danger, what problem was as thorny as the one that lay ahead of Ajax just two days in the future? After years of traveling, exploring and adventuring together, Ajax and the amazonian princess, the Mistress of Tooth and Claw from the shadowy and fetid jungles of the Enigma Isles, had finished their prenuptial dance. In less than forty-eight hours, Ajax Stewart was to be wed to the fierce Princess Shiarra, better known to the world as Shiarra the She Wolf.

Dressed impeccably in a cream suite and tie with a blood red shirt and deep black shoes, Ajax’s powerfully built frame sat at the center of a nearly empty room. The walls were dark mahogany except where they were broken by a screen or technical readout. Just behind him and to the right was his majordomo, Julie. It was her voice that broke him from the fog of his reverie.

"…global operations are more or less as they should be. We still have yet to realign the equipment to communicate with the Imagionauts in the world of fictions, but it has only been four hours since last contact…" she was cut off by a wave of Ajax’s hand.

"I handpicked those men and women for the Imagionauts and the second mission into the Abstract Kingdoms. They are guests of several ‘fictional’ monarchs, I’m sure they’re fine. Tell me," Ajax said spinning in his chair to face Julie, a wicked grin breaking across his face, "about the wedding!"

"The wedding plans are coming together nicely, sir. The Princess’ family is being flown in," Julie cocked an eyebrow at her boss, "especially the ones that ‘don’t approve of my lifestyle, my fashion sense, my taste in men or my ability to kill them with my bare hands’ as the Princess says. The menu is being finalized and the flowers from the Enigma Isles will arrive tomorrow morning. Everything is ready except the Princess’ wedding dress, and she disappeared two days ago swearing she wouldn’t return without the perfect gown." A small frown creased Julies otherwise pretty face, "I can’t help but think that she’ll arrive just in time for the wedding smelling vaguely of foreign liquors and wearing the skin of some endangered animal, sir."

"Surely not again!" Ajax replied with a smirk. "Still, I don’t like her going off on her own just for dress shopping. The entire company has been on high alert since the Primeval Magus swore he would overthrow her kingdom as a wedding present. The Quantum Pharaoh keeps holding press conferences claiming our marriage somehow confirms he’s our son from the future. And the rest of my rogue’s gallery just makes stranger claims and promises than that."

Julie replied archly, "She did manage to carve a protectorate out of dinosaur infested jungles after being raised by a pack of dire wolves when her parents’ expedition to the Enigma Isles was destroyed by the Primeval Magus. Dress shopping shouldn’t be too much of a challenge…" Julie trailed off as, one by one, each of the monitors blinked and resolved themselves into a grinning face of pure malevolence.

"Dr. B’hadgai!" Julie yelped, her eyes widening and her hand flying to her mouth in shock. Ajax spun in his chair and found himself face-to-faces with his most persistent adversary. Coming to his feet, the holographic control matrix surrounding him winking out of existence, Ajax snarled at his most hated foe, "What is it you want now, you twisted fiend?"

"Calm yourself, old friend. Can’t a man wish a childhood pal good tidings on his upcoming marriage?" Dr. B’hadgai purred in his slightly accented voice. Wearing a white lab coat, a monocle in his left eye and with a portion of his head and face replaced by technology, Avel B’hadgai was the very picture of the mad scientist.

With a sigh, Ajax replied "Avel, we haven’t been ‘pals’ since we were teenagers. You’re going to try and ruin my wedding with some Byzantine scheme or giant robot or whatever. You know it. I know it. So let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we?"

"Very well, Ajax, I bring a matrimonial challenge! Although it is in poor taste to request gifts from the groom, your computers are even now receiving information on the items you will procure for me before your wedding begins." The already grinning face seemed to smile even wider and sparks flashed behind the bionic eye as the evil scientist purred, "In honor of your pending nuptials, there will be four items: something old, something new, something borrowed," Dr. B’hadgai waved his hand in front of his face dismissively as he finished, "ah, the newspapers continuously tell me you are a genius, so I’m sure you can figure out the rest."

"Avel," Ajax sighed and settled back into his chair, "setting aside the fact that I have a wedding in two days and a multinational company to run, I hate you. What, aside from a wildly unrealistic sense of confidence, makes you think I will gather these items for you?" Ajax’s manner was easy, but his mighty intellect was ticking away. He didn’t yet know the answer, but Avel B’hadgai would not make idle demands backed by idle threats. Something was gravely wrong.

Dr. B’hadgai suddenly grew very serious as he leaned towards the camera. "You will do it, my so-called Engineer of the Impossible, because I demand it and it is your rightful place to bow before me. Also, you will jump at my word because the alternative is to never see your beloved She Wolf again."

The camera suddenly swung around to show a statuesque woman manacled, spread-eagle, to a steel wall with thick chains. Though she was obviously exhausted and disheveled, the Mistress of Tooth and Claw would not bow to her captors. Her head was thrown back, eyes were bright with hatred and she stared directly into the camera. "Ajax, dear," Shiarra said with affection in her voice, "thrash this has-been again. For me?" Her lips peeled away from sharp teeth in a feral grin, "I want him broken in body and spirit when I tear his throat out."

The camera spun its vacant eye back to Dr. B’hadgai. "Brave words, bitch of the wolves. Well, Ajax? Ready to play my games yet?"

Through gritted teeth, Ajax said "You’ve got my attention, Avel. What do you want me to do first?"
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Strapped into the AJX-Mark II, a one-man jet fighter of his own design, Ajax listened intently to the Julie’s briefing coming over his earpiece.

"The something old is the Papyrus of Ani, sir. The papyrus is a Book of Going Forth By Day created specifically for a man named Ani," Julie said.

Ajax nodded to himself and said, "I’ve heard of it, the so-called Book of the Dead for a Theban scribe…but what makes it so important to Dr. B’hadgai?"

"Unknown at this time, sir," and Julie said," our Mystical Antiquities researchers have long suspected that Ani was no mere scribe, but a powerful sorcerer and cult leader; a mystical parasite that fed off the life force of others to sustain his enchantments. They think his followers may have encoded powerful spells into the papyrus, but that doesn’t explain what Dr. B’hadgai would want with it."

Ajax’s mouth became a thin line, "Avel has always been a man of science, albeit a mad and evil one. It’s strange, but he may simply be forcing me to get an item he thinks is unreachable, to make me jump through hoops. It’s certainly keeping me from mounting any kind of rescue operation for Shiarra for the moment."

"The Papyrus is pretty inaccessible, sir."

"Don’t worry about it, I have a plan."

"What? Are you planning on breaking into the British Museum and stealing it?" asked Julie, shocked?

"Certainly not," Ajax replied.

"Well, you can’t expect to just give the most prestigious museum in the world a jingle and ask to borrow it like they’re the public library and the priceless artifact is the latest Tom Clancy novel!" Julie said, her voice rising just a bit.

"Julie, I’m the world’s greatest problem solver. I’ll think of something."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ajax shook the hand of the British Museum’s head curator, Sir Reginald Huntington III while taking a leather portfolio from the curator with his other hand.

"I really appreciate this, Sir Reginald." Ajax said with earnest sincerity.

"Tut tut, my boy. It was the least we could for the man who brought us the entirety of our Atlantis exhibit," Sir Reginald said with a wave of his hand. "Such wonders, and all perfectly preserved as well."

"Not exactly preserved, Sir Reginald, I brought most of that back through time when I was kidnapped for a skiing vacation in the Ice Age by that shiftless, time-hopping layabout the Quantum Pharaoh. Still, it was my pleasure to donate it to the museum."

"We very much appreciate it, Mr. Stewart, and look forward to your next opportunity to grace our small house of antiquities with a find." Sir Reginald leaned in and winked conspiratorially,

"We can’t have all the good stuff going to New York or Paris, can we?"

"Absolutely not. Thanks again for the loan." With that, Ajax ran towards, and leapt into the cockpit of, the jet fighter he had landed on Great Russell Street with its VTOL capabilities. He knew he was stretching his authority to the limit, but his special deputization from both Scotland Yard and INTERPOL ought to keep him out of trouble for a while yet.

As he put his earpiece in, he was nearly deafened by the piercing squeal of feedback that came through it. Dr. B’hadgai’s voice was in his ear.

"Very clever, Ajax, I must admit I didn’t expect you to simply ASK for the papyrus," Dr. B’hadgai said, amusement in his voice. "Although, honestly, I wouldn’t have expected them to give it to you either."

"Apparently the British Museum lives by the Golden Rule, Avel. Don’t sound too disappointed, I’m sure the something new won’t be as easy," Ajax said as he fired the engines and began rising into the sky.

"Oh ho, Mr. Stewart," B’hadgai barked a short laugh, "I’ve dispatched my Golden Fighter Squadron. They’ll be on you in just under a minute. The papyrus won’t be all that easy after all!" B’hadgai fell into maniacal laughter and the feed was cut off. Almost simultaneously, eight blips appeared on Ajax’s radar screen.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Ohhhhhh, poop," Ajax whispered as the ground came rushing towards him.

It had been quite a dogfight, but it was no real mystery who would win in the end. The Golden Fighter Squadron were handpicked and personally trained in the use of Dr. B’hadgai’s own creation, the Blood Eagle. The Blood Eagles were state-of-the-art jet fighters, the fastest and most maneuverable in the world. While they didn’t pack the heaviest firepower, they were well known for their ability to make surgical applications of force and destroy nearly any target in the sky. The Golden Squadron was the elite, the top gun, of Dr. B’hadgai’s criminal air force. The deadliest men in the air at the sticks of the deadliest machines in the air.

The AJX-Mark II was at least the technical marvel that the Blood Eagle was, but they were many and Ajax was only one. Still, Ajax himself could have bested any five of the Golden Squadron, and had done so. But they had bought a precious victory with their lives; the avionics had been knocked out in the Mark II. The three remaining Blood Eagles bore down on Ajax, looking to finish the job.

Coaxing the last bit of maneuverability out of the Mark II, Ajax spun it around, aimed directly for the lead Blood Eagle and opened up the throttle. The Mark II was a silver bullet aimed at a golden target and even one of B’hadgai’s planes couldn’t evade it in time. At the last possible second, Ajax hit the ejection seat.

The canopy broke off over him and he was blasted clear of the Mark II. As his jet pack kicked in, he shot away from the two intersecting planes, but not fast enough to miss the blast of heat as they combusted on impact. Twisting his body before the other pilots could react, he drew one of his custom, nickel-plated .45s and shot an explosive tipped round at the cockpit of another Blood Eagle.

The round went through the cockpit glass as easily as empty air, and a sickening thud was heard as the explosive detonated in the enclosed space. The plane, now sporting a smoking cockpit, careened out of control and crashed directly into its wingman, causing them both to explode in a glorious fireball leaving a quiet all the more deafening because of the tremendous noise just before.

"Julie," Ajax said into his throat radio as he adjusted his grip on the portfolio holding the Papyrus of Ani, "tell the London office I’ll be dropping by and have them assemble a dossier on the next item."

"Already compiled by myself, sir, but I’m sorry to say there isn’t much information on the item," Julie said with resignation.

With deep resignation, Ajax replied "I know; and there’s only one man I can ask about it. My ‘son,’ that time traveling pest, the Quantum Pharaoh."

Once Upon A Prenuptial Jingle....

by Cazzie!!! of I Don't Do Mornings


Once Upon A Prenuptial Jingle....

There I was, minding my own business, skiing through the course I set out for myself down the face of the mountain. The mountain, in Spring, was covered with scrub and flowers of all colors. Now, in Winter, it was covered with a thick mush of pure white glistening snow. As I came around the last of the tree stumps I was using as markers on my descent, I could see a flash of bright red out of my left eye. I came to a halt, not a gracious one at that...I assed it, head over titt and ended up with a gob full of snow.

A strong hand proceeded to embrace me and stand me upright on my skiis once again. It took a minute to focus, I was looking into the hazel eyes of a gorgeous young man. He seemed, perplexed somewhat, his facial expression said it all..."What are you doing out here on your own? Don't you know there is a storm headed this way?" ...I got myself together, " Oh, no, it all looked fine on the weather radar when I researched it prior to heading out the door of the chalet". " Well, things change rather fast at times. You better come with me and we can hunker down in shelter over there" , pointing over to a tree. " There, under a tree? Isn't that a bit silly?", I said incredulously. " Well, no, not really, you oughta observe your surroundings before coming to such a conclusion. Look beyond what IS". " Huh! " I exclamimed. " Well", he proceeded, " Behind that there tree is the entrance to a cave. We can stay there until the storm passes and there are supplies enough for four people to stay there for up to three days before they truly would have to venture out". " Oh, well then, we better get moving", I said.

Down the valley to the right I could see a very thick fog approaching. We made it to the tree, he pushed aside the branches and let me through before him. I found myself in a pitch black, damp smelling cave of some sort. He turned on his flashlight, it illuminated a hole about 6 foot deep by 3 foot wide. There was a metal box, not locked. He opened it and took out a small tin. " Sit down there, take your skiis off and sit them outside the entrance there", he said. I did as he asked, all the while watching what he was doing. He light a firelighter and placed it under the metal box that was now opened up into a little stove. A can of beans was placed over the flame. " I hope you like beans, it is all we have to eat", ..."Yes, that's fine by me", I said.

"So, what is your name then? ...Oh saviour of mine" I asked chidingly. " You first, ladies first", he said laughing. "I am Tuscany." " What a lovely name. I am Steve, my mates call me Stevo", he said. "My pleasure indeed", I said, feeling like a drongo from the way my response came out. Oh poop I thought to myself, me and my big mouth. Stevo must have read my mind, right then he handed me a cup with some beans in it. " Eat this, it will keep you warm and take our minds away from the storm". I had all but forgotten the storm until he mentioned it, I was under his spell..it seemed.

"So, do you live close to this area then Tuscany?" " No, actually, I am from the Northern Territory, I come here every Winter. I love to ski and I love to explore the place. There is something about this area. It captures your imagination. The smell of the gum trees, the sounds of the wildlife, the colors of the rock areas and the trillion stars you can see on a clear night". " Hmmm, yes, I think the same thing. I too love it here, that is why I am a Park Ranger here", Steve said, resting his gloved hand on my shoulder. I looked up into his eyes again, I began to feel tired. "Oh well, I guess I best try to nap for a little while Steve, the fresh air is making me most tired".

With that, I sat down and rested my head against the wall of the cave. I fell asleep and began to dream the dream that I had been having for the last few nights, that repetitive dream.... I am a little girl again, my dad is leaving, mum is crying, my brother is running after dad's car...I hide in a cupboard, it is the only place I felt safe....I awaken screaming, Steve is there holding me close. " Oh sorry," I say all embarrased. " That's ok Tuscany, no worries"...

Skip ahead a few months, a few months after the storm that brought Steve and I together... until his mates tracked us out and got us home safe from the Winter chill. Reportedly, it was the worst storm in a century, six foot of snow on that mountain. I am walking down the main street of our dusty Outback town, holding my horses' reigns. I hear a voice, "Heya Tuscany". It was a voice I knew, but then again, could not place. I turn around and meet his eyes, Steve it was!!! I fainted right then and there. I came to after a minute of lying flat, those strong hands supporting me once again, un-gloved this time.

" Wow, I never thought I'd see you again", I said. " Well, here I am, and I need to ask you a question....will you marry me Tuscany?" " Wh wh what? But of course I will Steve". He whips out a piece of paper from beneath his Akoubra hat. He starts to sing a little song,

" Tuscany since we met that cold snowy day,
I can't get you outta my mind,
The thought of your soft warm embrace makes me feel oh sooo fine,
We've got two strong hearts,
We stick together like the honey to the bee,
You and me. "

I begin to laugh, and Stevo is still singing his little jingle. "Honey to the bee", I kept giggling like a school girl, "Who could say no to that Steve, of course I will marry you, so long as you stick to being a Ranger and not a karaoke singer that is". Life was never the same again, from the first day I met Steve, that stormy day months before.

Ramblings from Southwest Oklahoma or Skiing in the Flatlands

by Lisa Kennedy-Szabo (Lisa, I didn't think to email you this week to get a blog to link to you. If you have one, email me and let me know!)

Ramblings from Southwest Oklahoma or Skiing in the Flatlands

It has been rainy for much of the day, just like it should be for this time of year. The fog will be thick as Lima Bean Soup with Ham Hocks in the morning.

As I hear the jingle of the bell on Fiona's collar, I wonder what trouble her little mind will get her and her brothers into this time. I'm sure it will involve cleaning up poop and pee in numerous places like it always comes to when I leave them for any period of time without supervision. Aye chihuahuas!

I wonder what kind of prenuptial agreement Britney and Kevin had before they got married, don't you? And what is with all this repetitive nothingness anyway? Are we all just parasites swimming in the bloodstream of some giant alien stuck in the nether-regions of the cosmos?

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

It looms! It looms!

The deadline, that is.

You have until 9pm Central time, Thursday, March 22 to submit your stories to me via email. I will have the stories posted to this site either that night or the next morning and voting will begin.

Also, this is something I forgot to mention, (so those of you who have already submitted don't worry I'll take care of it for you) but please bold The Words in your story. That way it's easier for everyone to see that you've used all of them. Thanks!

Monday, March 12, 2007

Writing Challenge 1 - Let's Get It Started!

Writing Challenge Numero Uno -

Let's Get It Started!

is now open.

Here are The Words, courtesy of me, because well, I started it, so I can.

prenuptial
repetitive
fog
poop
skiing
jingle
parasite

Send your stories here when they are written.

Deadline for this challenge is: March 22nd.

The Rules

Welcome to Write in the Thick of It!

This writing challenge is open to everyone, regardless of whether you own blog or not.

To keep things simple for me, (Redneck Diva, the moderator of this thing) I have opted to just use my regular email address for story submissions.




Here are The Rules:

* Each challenge has a list of words and all of The Words must be used in your story. I mean, no one is going to hunt you down or come knockin' on your door at 3am if you don't, but the point of The Words is for you to find a creative way to work them into your story. It's a writing challenge, for Pete's sake. Work The Words into the title, the plot, the characters, etc, just so you include them all.

* The Words list consists of anywhere from 5 to 8 words. The words are random and don't have to be remotely related to each other. They don't have to be common, everyday words, but they do have to be actual words.

* The winner of each challenge picks The Words for the next challenge.

* There is no set genre for the stories. Mystery, horror, romance, general nothingness, whatever.

* Keep things relatively clean. No gratuitous sex, violence, drugs and all that stuff. Use your discretion as far as cuss words go - if your story is full of cussin' for the sake of cussin', well, that ain't right. The occasional "damn" and other like words is okay because, well, they're just fun, aren't they?

* There is a set time limit for each challenge. Most should be around a week or two from the announcing of the words to the submission of all entries.

* On the deadline date, all submissions that have been sent to me via email are considered entered in the challenge. All stories will be posted individually on this blog which has been set up for this writing challenge only. It may take me a day or two to post the stories, but once they are posted, the voting is considered open. The stories will be public and you will be given credit for your writing. Comments will be left open so that readers can well....comment. If things get nasty I will shut them down.

* Voting will done via a poll site of my choosing (which hasn't been chosen yet...)

* The winner of each challenge is voted upon by you, the reader. If you submit a story you can vote as well, but not for yourself.


This blog is the hub of all of the activity. Stories are posted here, voting is done here, etc. Bookmark it, share it, use it often. Tell your friends! Tell your enemies! Heck, tell your momma.

Now, WRITE!