14-way streaky bacon.

Here is the results of streaky bacon. Cows featured prominently throughout.

"Farmer Wilson's cows have been known to attempt very complex escape plans."-Justin

-Olivia

"Meanwhile, above the Midwest, the bovine biplane zoomed vengefully forward."-Jeremy

-Mooney

"Bessie's newly attached biplane wings made it much easier for her do dive-bomb the great lakes region."-Sasha

-Jeff

"Life in Wisconsin would never be the same; cows had broken free from the bondage of the dairy industry, took the skies, and unleashed their atomic fury."-Karolyn

-Roo

"The World War II era fighter cows bombed what was left of Africa" -Felix

-Melissa

"The cow revolution in Africa was sure to succeed. But they would need more TNT...MUCH more TNT." -Karen

-Tim

"The angry herd relished conquering its once feared foe with their old-timey weapons."-Lifaber

-Mike

"With crinkled brow and udders slung low, flaming with intent, the bovine trio stood tall on hind legs--they'd had enough of this unwanted groping. The metal McFeelsky would be the first to go."-Olivia

-Sasha

"The cows danced angrily away from the fumbling, pointy-fingered milking bot."-Jeff

-Jeremy

"The bull and cow cross-dressed into a ballerina and Charlie Chaplin to battle the rolling head with hands."

-Melissa

-Karolyn

"The cross-dressing cows bared their weapons menacingly, but it was no use. Gary the body-less demon continued to scroll past them, smiling."-Tim

-Karen

"Despite his sunny springtime demeanor, the devil could not earn the trust of the civilized battlecows."-Mike

-Justin

"The Devil manager has a relaxing tea break with a cow demon while the rest of the demon union pickets outside." -Mooney

-Lifaber

"Betsy the cow had the devil over for tea, despite his minions' protesting"-Roo

-Felix

"The cow has gone to dine with the Devil"-Olivia

Momento2

Terrence held his head in his hands. He quietly and quickly hyperventilated before looking back up at the impossible figure that had only seconds before fizzled into existence collapsed cordially on the seat across from him.

"You again." He monotoned.
"Well, of course." the Devil smiled, "You really thought you had seen the last of me?"
"I had sort of hoped, yeah." Terrence monotoned again.
The Devil smoothed his comb-over and adjusted his suspenders. "That wasn't the deal, my little friend. The deal was seven chocolates. And how many do you have left? Hmmm...."
"None." Terrence said.
"Two." Ginny interrupted. Terrence glowered at her, pointlessly. "Well, we do." She replied, "Besides, its not like he doesn't know anyway. Or can't find out..." She trailed off despondently, for a moment looked exactly half of her twenty-four years.

The subway car shuddered to a halt. The last passenger hurried home. Now they were alone, Ginny, Terrance, and the Devil. They waited. The doors creaked closed and the subway shuddered back up to speed. The Devil sighed.

"Listen you two. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. You have been a thorn in my side since that first phone call and I would rather be rid of you. I don't care if you win, lose, or end up chained to an under-demon for all eternity. Just as long as you get out of my hair." He grimaced. "Figuratively speaking of course. Now, if you would just eat those chocolates, we can be done."
"And if we don't?" Ginny mouthed petulantly, effectively halving her age again.
"Then I win."
"And if we do?" Terrence interjected.
"Then I might still win." The Devil grinned, devilishly.
"Well, how do I win?" The two asked simultaneously in the chord of D-flat.
"It all depends. See, I made a bet, which I won't tell you about, so don't even ask. But if you don't eat them, I definitely win." He smugly pulled a pipe out of his pocket and started smoking it. It smelled like brimstone and petunias.
"What's in them?" Terrence asked suspiciously.
"One is Certain Doom. The other is Probable Destruction. You can take your pick. If you want." The Devil punctuated this last point with a smoke ring.
"What does that mean? Certain doom, probable destruction? Of what? Us? How bad? Are we talking doomed forever?" Terrence paced, swinging from handhold to handhold like a parody of a monkey. "Doomed how? Destroyed how? Like if you destroyed my house, that wouldn't be so bad, I guess..." Terrence turned, too late, "Ginny, NO!!"

Ginny swallowed the last of the chocolate, smudged a hand across her face and grinned toothily, like a three-year old.

Memento

In this game, we will be writing the story backward, scene by scene or line by line. We all know where our heroes end up, but only time and collaboration will tell where they started. Posts can be as long or as short as you want, but they come temporally BEFORE the post above you. Make additions as comments and I'll add it together.


With a sickening "splat", Ginny stretched fourth-dimensionally, turned a brilliant shade of heliotrope, and vanished from sight. The Devil laughed hoarsely, looked at Terrance with expectation, and grinned. "You win" was all he said before performing his own disappearing act.

Looking around the now-empty subway car, Terrence drew the last of the chocolates out of his pocket. "Well I guess I know what this one does," he said with a dry snort and a smile. He popped it into his mouth and waited for it to take effect.

Collaborative Limerick

Here's the rools. You get to add one line to this limerick, and one line only. Follow the standard limerick cadence and rhyme scheme, and help me make an awful poem. Just select the edit option and add to this monstrosity

A fluffy white cat named Maurice
Fell afoul of a dire cockatrice
He had tried to be stealthy
But his paws were unhealthy
And now he's a stone centerpiece


Poem is DONE. I like it. Thanks for playing.

Oh yeah, we have a fiction blog...

Barry was never one to walk away from a fight, and today was no exception. Things, however, were not going as planned. He was feeling a bit dazed -- God, he thought, I hope I don't have a concussion -- and the bruises on his chest were only growing more tender. A small trickle of blood crept slowly from his nose and along his upper lip; he wiped it away with the back of his hand, gritted his teeth and braced himself.

Squaring his shoulders, he lowered his head and lunged forward. He could feel the muscles in his legs beginning to tire, and his traction slipped. A sudden impact caught him on the left side of his face, shooting a flash of sparks behind his eyelids, and he stumbled. The next shot landed hard and sharp, adding yet another throbbing bruise to his chest. A final blow tipped him off his balance; his stomach tightened as he fell backwards. His knees buckled, and he felt his tailbone slam into the ground. With a final burst of self-preservation, he reached out blindly with one hand and curled his fingers around something sturdy and hard. It slowed his descent just enough to avoid smacking the back of his head and going out cold. He breathed hard.

"Barry!" Juliet cried from above, poking her head out from around the dresser, "What the hell are you doing? Can't you see that it's stuck against the wall up here? You can't just force the damned thing up the stairs! Jesus christ, look at yourself! It's like you're trying to fight a brick wall!" Exasperated, she turned and disappeared around the bend.

You may have won this time, Barry thought -- he righted himself and let go of the banister -- But just you wait. My day will come. Oh, my day will come.

Happy Birthday Mike

The Ballad of Nicholas Fescue

Nicholas Fescue came to the rescue
Deep in a dragon's lair
Nicholas Fescue came to the rescue
And faced down a grizzly bear
Nicholas Fescue came to the rescue
Of all the maidens fair
Nicholas Fescue came to the rescue
And made all the townspeople stare

Nicholas Fescue came to the rescue
Of the young lass in distress
Nicholas Fescue came to the rescue
Then he left thru the egress
Nicholas Fescue came to the rescue
And now I have to confess
That Nicholas Fescue came to the rescue
Wearing a floral print dress

Knights are abound but all about town
None more of a rogue or a charmer
Than Nicholas Fescue who comes to the rescue
But doesn't own any armor

I Will Fix Everything

The following essay was inspired by a conversation with several business and English teachers over lunch yesterday. Also I am insane.


It is a known fact that difficult times in man’s history elicit man’s greatest feats of ingenuity. There is no greater stimulus for new thinking than grave hardship. Our darkest moments in history--the Civil War and the Great Depression being the most prominent examples--are responsible for some of our greatest developments as a society. The Civil War, for example, revolutionized American medicine by necessitating the development of a triage system, expanding knowledge of the properties of Southern flora, and forcing an examination of the sanitary conditions of Union cities. Out of the United States’ darkest hour was born methods of healing and hospital management still used today.

Today’s crises are not as bleak as the War of Northern Aggression, but their ill effects are far more insidious. Our environment, the world’s environment, is in grave danger. Every day, several dozen species teeter on the edge of extinction. We poison the air and sea with our waste and exhaust. And nobody in America seems to care, or if they do, nothing is done. Why is this? Why do we not simply shut down our oil companies, switch to green energy, and have done with the whole mess?

Because oil companies are far more important to our nation than we think. True, they represent many things that some people--myself included--detest. Mass consumption. Depletion of finite resources. Greed. But we must remember that oil companies are not inherently evil: they are simply businesses trying to make profits. From a Randian standpoint, they are the heroes here. They work very hard to produce refined petroleum for their nation, and they pay very high tax revenues in doing so. A great portion of our economy relies on said revenues. If the oil companies were to simply shut down, our economy would plummet far below its present state. As an added irony, many forms of alternative American transportation (Amtrak, for one) hemorrhage money and must be supplemented with taxpayer dollars.

At the same time, America’s interest in oil keeps us involved in deals we would otherwise eschew. To use an analogy: America does not have a Nintendo Wii, but its neighbor, Saudi Arabia, does. America loves to go over to Saudi Arabia’s house to play the Wii. But Saudi Arabia is a strange kid. He kicks his dog, occasionally screams quite loudly for no reason, and throws things when he loses Wii Bowling. He also makes America wear a t-shirt that says “I’m the prettiest pony” whenever America is in his house. This upsets America, but America hides his disdain so he can play more Wii. He wishes he could play his own Wii at his own house, but Saudi Arabia has hoarded all of the Wiis in his basement, so America must continue to be the prettiest pony.

I believe I can address our issues of the environment, oil, and the economy in one masterstroke. First, the government offers oil companies large subsidies to instigate a program which gradually shifts their focus from oil refining to genetic research, breeding, and marketing. The oil companies will take on responsibility for the lives of several endangered species, modifying their genetic structure and breeding stronger, more resilient forms of the creatures. These animals, in turn, will be trained into positions that supplement the gap created by the drop in petroleum production. Some creatures will become the cornerstone of public transportation. The marketing writes itself: “PanAm: America Runs on Pandas.” Some species may find work within the United States Postal Service, delivering overnight parcels. The oil companies could even get endorsements from Scholastic to emphasize their system’s similarities to the popular Harry Potter series. Our remaining petroleum reserves will be focused on development of plastics and other materials vital to our progression as a society.

Eventually, we will develop enough alternative sources of energy that the oil companies will be able to relieve themselves of the burdens of mass petroleum production without inflicting massive layoffs. Our atmosphere will become cleaner, our endangered species will thrive and learn the value of hard work, and our economy will survive. At long last, America will have constructed its own solar-powered Wii.

A Bountiful Harvest of Sheep

It was a downright balmy day in Sheepton. The sun was shining -- nay, beaming; smiling, even -- and the wide, obtrusive deposits of snow were beginning to melt. Paths that had been blocked by increasingly large obstacles were becoming accessible once more, and the ice was melting away with enthusiasm. It was still the heart of winter by anyone's calendar, but somehow it felt positively like springtime. Perhaps a warm pocket of air had gotten lost from its equatorial brethren and wandered, confused and alone, up to these more temperate climates. Whatever the reason, dormant bulbs were starting to poke out their heads, dipping a toe into the water, as it were, and the settlers of Sheepton awoke on a morning unlike any they had seen in quite some time.

The mayor of Sheepton -- a man named Rutherford D. Hingham, a well-loved official with a kind heart for the ovine and a keen mind for urban development -- was, perhaps, more excited than most by this luxurious day. He sprang from his bed and bounded to the window with great vigor. "Look at it!" he called to his wife, Katheryn, who had been roused by his vigorous leap, "What a brilliant day! Exactly what we've needed! With the ice thawed, we'll be able to give it the final push!"

"Lovely, dear," said Katheryn, "will you be wanting tea, then?"

"No time for tea!" Rutherford cried, and, changing from his striped pajamas into his overalls, he dashed from the house and into the town square.

Scaffolding surrounded the town hall on every side, an exoskeleton of wooden planks and braces that had been iced over for weeks, making it too dangerous to climb. Work had been halted when the first storm had hit, and had been unable to resume as the snow had piled up. Now the ice and snow were gone, and the mayor -- always one to lead by example -- grabbed his bag of tools and climbed, thanking the Fates for this good fortune, and the sound of his hammer nailing new shingles onto the roof began to raise some attention. Heads poked out of windows and doorways, and smiles began to spread across the faces of the settlers like a pandemic. A carpenter named Thomas Forrester hoisted himself gracefully up the wooden ladder and joined the mayor on the roof; Jedidiah Oreman, a mason, took up his chisel and went to work on the pylons flanking the front door; and soon, the whole structure was alive with the sounds of hard work and good cheer.

Around midday, a young shepherd named Theodore Ovison strode into the square and cupped his hands around his grinning mouth. "Oy, Mister mayor, sir!" he called. "Mister mayor, I've got news!" A murmur ran through the swarm of men, and Rutherford poked his head out through one of the large open windows. He wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow. "My good man Teddy! What news d'you have? Any word on the sheep trades?"

"That's exactly it, sir!" he cried. "I've just come from the markets. The gods must have been rolling with luck in their fingers! With the flocks we had, and the demand for sheep at West Port, we were able to trade for twice as many supplies as usual! We have everything we need!" The meek shepherd was standing taller than ever before. With a sweeping gesture of his hand, he stepped aside just as a ox-drawn cart appeared at the end of the main road, loaded heavily with wood and ore and many other things, a veritable gold mine of supplies. As he drank in this miraculous view, Rutherford's smile widened -- if that were even possible -- into a grin that strained every muscle in his exuberant face. But he didn't care. At this moment, he could endure anything.

The settlers set to work with renewed strength, a spirit of purpose jumping like electricity from one heart to the next, (not that they knew what electricity was). They dug in with the mind and soul: Jacob Cobbles setting flattened slabs of stone into the new Main Street; Margaret Payne fitting new glass windows into their openings; Kenneth Steele fitting the ironwork into the great new doors. Around three in the afternoon, Richard Piper announced that he was finished laying the plumbing system, and everyone took a five minute break to flush their homes' new water closets. A resounding cry of excitement echoed through the streets.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, and the last piece of scaffolding was taken down, Mayor Hingham wiped a bead of sweat from his brow with a handkerchief and turned to address the expectant faces of settlers who had gathered in the square. The excited murmur died down; all eyes were on the mayor.

"Today," he began, "we have changed. Today the Fates smiled upon us, and we have prospered because of it. We came together, each man and woman here today, and we grew. Where once there stood farms and thatched roof huts, now there stand halls, and businesses, and homes. No longer will we be a mere settlement, scraping our resources together one by one; from now on we will produce great harvests, and our flocks will multiply. Today," the mayor's voice swelled with deep pride, "we have moved into a great city, and we shall prosper.

Welcome to Sheeptonopolis."

The Ramones do Sesame Street

I honestly don't know what came over me. I had just driven home from my grandma's when I discovered the chorus for this running through my head. "Why," I asked myself, "has no one at the Children's Television Workshop performed something like this?" At least, I'm assuming they haven't. Sesame Street hasn't created many as endearingly creative letter-based parodies of popular songs since the Coup d'Elmo.


A! O! Let’s go!
A! O! Let’s go!
A! O! Let’s go!
A! O! Let’s go!

You see them in POTATO
You see them in TOMATO
You find them in your SODA
SO-DA POP

They show up in your FAST CAR
They help you travel SO FAR
You’re driving like a ROCK STAR
GO and STOP

A’s and O’s, everyone knows,
Are always GOOD and not BAD
They give us HATS and DOGS and CATS
They even give us MOM and DAD

Let’s get into a ROWBOAT
That’s captained by an OLD GOAT
And share a big root beer FLOAT
At the ice cream SHOP

Then drive a brand new GO CART
And buy ourselves some POP ART
Because we are very SMART
And WARHOL’s TOPS

O’s and A’s deserve HOORAYS
They are the CAT’S PAJAMAS
We’re in control as we reach our GOALS
O’s and A’s give us people like BARACK OBAMA

So let’s go to MOROCCO
And buy ourselves a TACO
If we spill it we’ll just clean up
With a BROOM and MOP

Then watch a little STAR WARS
Cheer as Chewbacca ROARS
And HAN SOLO and ORGANA
Blow the Death STAR’S TOP

A! O! Let’s go!
A! O! Let’s go!
A! O! Let’s go!
A! O! Let’s go!

Grover: Part Deux

He panted, tongue waggling, waiting patiently for the inevitable.

And the inevitable finally came.  Although not in quite the way that Beeblezerblak (for as everyone knows, the names the humans give to dogs was rarely the name they gave themselves.  And "Grover" was no ordinary dog) had expected. There was, indeed, a squeal of rubber, a violent swerving motion, and the few breathtaking seconds that Beeblezerblak prayed for, where the car would crumple, the passenger inside would be hurled against the window and, if all went well, a human soul would flee the body.  

Because, all Beeblezerblak needed was a body.  He had been trapped inside this dog's body for long enough.  And there was no way, NO WAY, to achieve his dreams of world domination in a Jack Russell terrier frame.  They didn't even have thumbs, for Christ's sake.  And how could he make the masses tremble in terror without thumbs?  He could never make anyone tremble in terror.  The most he ever achieved was a shake of slight annoyance.  But his dreams were stronger than that...dreams that had begun over fifty years earlier...he could still remember  his first day on earth like it was yesterday. 

Th ship bumped gently into the shore of the lake, wavered once and then steadied itself.  All was silence except the gentle lapping of waves against this foreign body and a faint electric whine.  A door appeared in the side of the ship and two figures slowly eeped out.  For eeping was the only way they could be described to move.  It was not walking, no.  It was smoother than that.  But gliding implies that the figures moved in a graceful, floating manner.  And this was certainly not floating.  They eeped, sluglike through the door, adjusted their bubble-helmets and peered out into the new world.  It was noon.  The sun shone brightly on the shores of the secluded mountain lake.  It was not tourist season.  There was no human around to witness this miraculous ship and the two figures that eeped out of it towards the shore.  And the ship was miraculous, shaped almost exactly like a beanbag chair that has been sat in so many times it retains the shape of something resembling a chair.  But, like a chair, there was also the impression that, if poked or prodded, the ship would change shape and retain that too.  

The figures reached the shore and procured from somewhere on their bodies an instrument that immediately started whistling.  Like a bird.  A Baltimore Oriole to be precise.  There were no bird watchers around, either, for they would have known immediately that Baltimore Orioles belong in Baltimore, not high in the mountains of Montana.  But the instrument chirped and whistled, apparently transferring some sort of important information, because the figures seemed satisfied and removed their helmets.  

If anyone were around, they would have screamed.  

The faces were remarkably human. So much so, in fact that the incongruity of the features was alarming.  A human shaped head, bearing human-like hair with human like ears, atop a snail like body which eeped along.  But the face...Oh the face...

There was no face.  Were there should have been a face there was nothing.  No features at all.  No eyes or ears or noses.  Instead there was a blank canvas.  No.  Not blank.  It vibrated slightly, seeming more like static, white noise.  And yet, they seemed pleased.  The figure to the rear pulled something out of its pocket and unfurled it.  A flag vibrating with the same strange static that filled what should have been their faces.  It chirped to the other one.  

If anyone would have spoken their language, they would have heard the following.  "After years of searching for a home, free from the persecution of the High Command on our native planet, we have finally found a place where we can be free to live and love and worship in peace.  By the power vested in me by The Nine Sacred Waters, this land, all that I see and have not seen yet, I claim in the name of The Zemaphorious and our high priest, Beeblezerblak. All HAIL BEEBLEZERBLAK".  

The first figure bowed modestly and returned to the ship.  The flag was planted.  The planter was promptly eaten by a bear.

So long ago.  And so many trials since then.  So much still to understand.  But they would love him, when he ruled.  Oh yes, all the humans and the animals would love him.  All he needed was an out of this infernally cute body.  And when he ruled, on that glorious day, every last bear would be executed.  Immediately.  

The Ekharts watched the dog from the front porch.  "Awww.  Isn't he cute?  It almost seems like he's smiling".  Mr. Ekhart humored his wife, "Yes dear, almost".