The campaign had begun well. The Alarians swept south into goblin territory, and Alarian rifles quickly overmatched goblin bows and crossbows.
In just a few weeks of fighting, the goblin population was halved. The goblin chieftains realized that they were doomed without help and did the only thing they could.
They asked their god, Twenty Claw, for help.
Rated PG. Contains explicit cattiness and violent self-reflection.
“Too bad it’s raining. Hey, Lauren, make the rain stop, okay?” He reaches across the table and tousles my hair affectionately.
I bare my teeth in the semblance of a grin. “Ha ha. Sorry, I can’t.”
“I know.” He shakes his head, laughs ruefully. “It’s just . . . Maya could.”
Rated PG. Contains explicit existentialism and violence of the soul. (The intro contains minor profanity and frank discussions of current events, and is likely to be more offensive than the story.)
Penguin listened raptly to the new voice. He knew this was his guardian angel, she who would guard and protect him forever. Sure enough, the Creator set him gently into his angel’s hand. Her hands, much smaller than the Creator’s–which was fitting since who among the angels had such power as the Creator?–were a bit sticky. He squealed as she held him aloft to
receive the glorious light.
“Look, Daddy! It’s a peng’n!”
“Yes it is, Angie. It’s a very nice penguin. Did you thank the nice man for the balloon?”
Rated R. Contains graphic violence and disturbing images.
“Piper,” I screamed, fumbling in my purse. Too late. He brought his pipe to his lips and blew a note that almost made my eyeglasses shatter. Over at the sandbox, Nathan rose to his feet. He started moving towards the man. All the children did.
Rated PG. Contains sexual situations and, unrelated, the loss of innocence.
So, the Godmother. She takes ragged, smudged things and turns them into beautiful Princesses. Why, I don’t know. A hobby? A calling? An obsession? Is she righting the wrongs done to her when she was young?
When I first started here, I had a fantasy. That the Godmother would pluck me out of the row of humpbacked, squinting Seamstresses and make me, too, a beautiful Princess. With a gown sewn by…well, by the poor wenches too old or ugly to catch the Godmother’s eye.
Rated PG. Contains graphic food-based sensuality and soulless marketing.
They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, so I suppose it’s no wonder that the twice-cooked pork the beautiful chef placed in that depressing buffet line kicked me in the mouth like a South American soccer superstar with bad aim. There was never twice-cooked pork like the twice-cooked pork I tasted that snowy day at the Cheerful Panda.
Rated R. Contains strong religious themes, graphic violence, and aggressive Zen.
It was Christmas Eve and that nasty, strung-out feeling of anticipation clotted the air like a cheap deodorizer. I hate Christmas the most–all that insincere, pious yap about “peace on
earth, goodwill towards men.” I was cruising down the expressway, on my way back from dismantling an illegal manger scene someone had erected at the river park, keeping an eye out
for graffiti, you know–“Where will _you_ spend eternity?” or “Buddha lives!”–that kind of crap, spray-painted on underpasses right where impressionable schoolchildren could see it. The last rays of the setting sun were painting the highway a faint rose when I spotted a broken-down van with the metal outline of a stylized fish just above the back bumper. The short hairs crawled up the back of my neck. Them fish guys have been some of my worst busts.
Rated PG. Contains violence, alcohol, and gratuitous time travel.
“‘He was the most skillful gambler, and the nerviest, fastest, deadliest man with a six-gun I ever saw.’ Do you know who said that, Doctor?”
He coughed politely and sat in a nearby chair. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, I’d be more interested in who they were talking about.”
She laughed softly, and seemed to turn her attention to him fully for the first time. “Wyatt Earp said those words about you, Doctor. At your funeral, I suspect, though I don’t know for sure.”
Brodie approached the line of scrimmage and both sides of the field erupted. The red-robed fans in the visitor’s stands surged like a crimson wave, swaying in unison as they began the Rite of Interception. They stamped their feet against the aluminum bleachers, chanting as they drew gleaming blades across the bellies of countless doomed rattlesnakes. Their blood spilled, the snakes were then hurled onto the field. The rain of reptiles sounded like bacon burning in a skillet as the animals protested their own sacrifice.
Rated G. Contains intense maternal nagging and disturbing chorework. May not be suitable for some adults.
“Jessy, put that away and come eat breakfast. You won’t get anything useful done on an empty stomach.” The voice was the usual gender-neutral computer-generated drone, and yet it sounded different to her this morning. Obviously, the tone modifiers Gregory had suggested were working, too. That was going to be a selling point for everyone yelping about the dehumanization of home life. In a few generations, they’d be able to personalize the voice, maybe even to customer order.