Justice Blade 2 - Volume 3

Dr. Hypothesis sat on his throne made of microscopes, swirling his glass idly.  He took a sip of Science Wine, circa 1984, as his guest was ushered in.

"Please," he said, gesturing, "have a seat."

General Villain looked at the chair.  "Is that chair made out of test tube racks?" he said.

"Indeed," Hypothesis said.

"Dude," Villain said, "you're throne's made out of microscopes.  There's no way that's comfortable."

"I'll cut right to the chase," Hypothesis said.  "I've received word that you recently encountered a man with a flying sawblade."

"I mean, if they were upside down and you were sitting on the bottoms of them, I could see that," Villain said, "but they're sideways."

"His blade would have been most amazing, as it would have allowed the blade to spin while he faced forward."

"What?  Oh that guy.  Yeah, I met him the other day.  Gave him some gift cards and he split."

Hypothesis leaned back in his chair and took a sip, his eyes un-focusing.  "That sawblade was the crowning achievement of my old partner, Dr. Scienceman," Hypothesis said.  "He was the last known person to possess the Beaker Of Truth."

"Is that good?"

"He who holds the Beaker Of Truth will possess the powers of Science, like none other."

"I don't think science is a power, is it?" General Villain asked.  "I think science is like, something you learn."

"When humanity fell, I tried to seize the Beaker from him, during the chaos of the Rural Wars," Hypothesis said,

"Are you thinking of Magic?" Villain said.  "Because that's different."

"But Scienceman tricked me.  It wasn't the Beaker Of Truth, but the Beaker Of Pain," Hypothesis held out his hand.  "I've been scarred ever since."

"That looks like a little burn mark," Villain said.  "Are you sure you didn't just grab it when it was too hot?"

"I thought Scienceman's legacies died with him," Hypothesis said.  "But if his flying sawblade survived the chaos, then perhaps the Beaker Of Truth did as well.  I propose we join forces.  We'll bring our fight to this...Justice Blade.  Once we've beaten the location of the Beaker Of Truth from him, we'll make him pay for your humiliating defeat."

"He didn't really 'defeat' me," Villain said.  "He just kinda showed up all 'You killed my partner!', and I was like 'Yeah! Have a gift card.'  Then he just flew around, muttering about Taco Bell and justice and whatever.  I'm pretty sure he was drunk.  He smelled like that kind of vodka you get in a plastic bottle for ten bucks.  But, sure, I don't have anything going on."

"Excellent!" Hypothesis said, rising from his throne, lab coat swirling around behind him.  "Together we will be invincible!  Nothing can stop us!"

"Well, I don't know about 'nothing'," Villain said.  "The guy does have a giant flying sawblade."

"NOTHING!"

Quoth St. Nicholas - Nevermore

To follow up on my "Christmas is Creepy" post, I thought I would totally steal two public domain poems honor two classic poems by Edgar Allen Poe and Clement Clarke Moore by mashing them together.

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'Twas the night before a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—when all thro' the house

Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;

While I nodded, nearly napping suddenly there came a tapping. As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,

While visions of sugar plums danc'd in their heads,

And Mama in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,

Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap —

“’Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—

            Only this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;

And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.

And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain

Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

    So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating

    “’Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door—

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;—

            This it is and nothing more.”

  Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

—here I opened wide the door;—

            Darkness there and nothing more.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow,

Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below;

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,

But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,

With a stately old driver, of the saintly days of yore;

so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and call'd them by name:

"Now! Dasher, now! Dancer, now! Prancer and Vixen,

"On! Comet, on! Cupid, on! Donder and Blitzen;

"To the top of the porch! To the top of the wall!

"Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;

So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound:

    But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—

Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—

He was dress'd all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnish'd with ashes and soot;

beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

A bundle of toys was flung on his back,

And he look'd like a peddler just opening his pack:

“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,

Ghastly grim and ancient elf wandering from the Nightly shore—

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”

His eyes — how they twinkled! His dimples: how merry,

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry;

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;

Quoth St. Nicholas “Nevermore.”

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;

sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only

That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.

He had a broad face, and a little round belly

Nothing farther then he uttered.

when laugh'd, like a bowl full of jelly he fluttered

Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking

    Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous elf of yore—

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, chubby, and ominous jolly old elf of yore

            Meant in croaking “Nevermore.

    This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the elf whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;

I laugh'd when I saw him in spite of myself;

 Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer

Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.

    “Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee

Quoth St. Nicholas “Nevermore.”

 “Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if elf or devil!—

Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,

    Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—

    On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—

Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And fill'd all the stockings; then turn'd with a jerk,

Quoth St. Nicholas “Nevermore.”

  “Be that word our sign of parting, elf or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—

“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,

    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

            Shall be lifted—nevermore!

And laying his finger aside of his nose

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

He sprung to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,

And away they all flew, like the down of a thistle:

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight —

Quoth St. Nicholas "Nevermore a good night."

Happy Hallothanksmas

Ah yes, it's that time of year again; where supernatural creatures roam the Earth, going from house to house, stalking children; and zombie hordes shuffle to and fro mindlessly.  Yes, Christmas is right around the corner.

See what I did there?  Comedy gold.

The more I think about it though, the more I've come to realize that there's a lot more creepy flowing through air than just All Hallow's Eve.

It could be this time of year.  Days are getting shorter, nights longer, and the holiday imagery is getting terrifying. Pumpkins, skeletons, witches, ghosts, Puritans who dress like undertakers, smiling turkeys unaware they're about to be eaten, elves, snowmen, and an immortal flying through the air passing judgement on children.

Maybe some ancestral memory is coded into our DNA that tells us we need to be in a constant state of terror from now until the winter solstice so we don't get eaten by wild animals or freeze to death.  Maybe that's why we make our holidays around this time so eerie.

When we get to spring time holiday imagery, we get hearts and cupids and shamrocks and pots of gold, and bunnies and pastel colors and other super-cheerful stuff, probably because of a similar instinct that makes us just thrilled we survived the winter.

Of course Halloween is supposed to be spooky, and Thanksgiving is a bit of a two-trick pony of pilgrims and turkeys.  But Christmas is full of joy and wonder and warmth, etc, etc.  Christmas imagery on the other hand; when you really look at it, is a lot scarier than Halloween.

Back in the day, my parents had this door covering, vintage 70s/80s.  It was a full-size picture of old St. Nick complete in his holiday garb. I couldn't even look directly at it because Santa was always making eye-contact with me...and reaching out to me.  Open the door it was hanging on?

Hell. No.

I searched the internet to see if I could find an image to share.  While my memories from that era are dim, I'm pretty sure I didn't find the actual one we had, because I didn't start sobbing uncontrollably.

I did find this, which is bad enough:

See you soon kids...real soon.

Then there's this unholy abomination from the 1980s:

That video is like The Ring, once you watch it, you have seven days to makes someone else watch it, or a dancing snowman will find you.

I would run screaming from the room whenever this commercial would air.  There is one very distinct memory I have of burying my head between our couch cushions and yelling as loud as I could until it was over.  I mean, for the love of God, why isn't the audio for this commercial just the two kids bloodcurdling screams at the sight of a monster dancing in some demonic ritual in their front yard.  WHY ARE YOU GOING OUTSIDE?!?!?!

I'm ok....really....

Even as an adult, I used to go for walks late at night, years ago.  One Christmas season, some family made this gigantic angel out of cellophane wrap or something.  It was easily ten feet tall, arms outstretched, featureless face.  I kept expecting it to rip itself loose and chase me down the street.  Silently, of course because it had no mouth.

Oh God, I just found another one.  Remember that Ronald McDonald ice skating one?  Where Ronald just happens to be skating in the woods at some pond where the local kids are heading.

He appears during a full moon, no less.

Oh, and that one about the kid who's a snowman and eats Campbell's soup and melts.

Or the kid is long gone, and the snowman is taking his form.

So, as you pack away your inflatable witches and styrofoam tombstones and start digging out your inflatable Santas and styrofoam igloos; take a good look at them.  And if you don't think they're the stuff of nightmares, I leave you with this:

What has been seen, cannot be unseen.

For the Record

So I bought 2000 record albums last week…it was glorious.

After whittling out the duplicates and thrift store fodder, I walked away with about 200 gems.  That may not sound worth it, but it's tough tracking down decent vinyl these days.  Gospel/Christmas music from the 60s and 70s, however, continues to be abundant (and made up about one-third of the entire batch I picked up).

I've been asked why I bother, considering the fact that I have 15,000 songs digitally archived; and have no less than 3000 songs on my phone at any given time.

While I like to think I have a bit of talent at writing, even I can't come up with a term that can adequately convey exactly how godawful I am at music-ing.

So I'll just make one up...Musicsucktonedeaficness.  That pretty much captures it.

On the other hand, I do rule at listening to music.  Or at least I used to.

Since the dawn of the MP3, I've found myself listening to less music the more I have available.  Kind of like how you have your Netflix queue filled with hundreds of movies, but you keep re-watching seasons of Family Guy.  Or all those E-books you have sitting on your Kindle that you'll get to eventually.*

On my ten minute drive home from work yesterday, I cycled through at least 30 songs.  The longest point I stopped was on the Beastie Boys - Paul Revere.  After singing along for a minute, while trying to keep the other commuters from seeing me try to rap; I forgot the rest of the lyrics and switched to a new song.

Hang on…

My name is MCA, I got a license to kill!

I think you know what time it is, it's time to get ILL!

Oh yeah…I sang the crap out of that part.

Where was I?  Right, my non-existent attention span.

With records, I can't do that.  I'd have to get up and walk to the player every time I wanted to skip to the next song/album, and I'm way too lazy for that.  It's forcing me to slow down, savor my musical feast.

I listened to my James Taylor's Sweet Baby James and Carly Simon's No Secrets records all the way through the other night.  It was inconveniently awesome.

Never heard of those albums?  It's where Fire And Rain and You're So Vain comes from.  Two songs that are sitting on millions and millions of digital devices right now.  Orphaned from their album of origin, while most people only have this vague idea that Fire And Rain was on James Taylor's Greatest Hits and You're So Vain comes from that Pure 70s album**

For the first time, I sat and experienced the albums those songs came from, the way they were originally intended to be experienced.  Not just one or two tracks on a 70's playlist while mowing the lawn.

The digital age is great and all, and the Internet is way better than No-Internet.  But the other night, I actually sat and enjoyed music for music's sake once again, rather than using it as background noise.  And for that, I thank the vinyl gods for bestowing this bounty on me.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go figure out what to do with 1800 records tying up my side of the garage.

But before that:

Nowwww here's a little story I've got to tell

About three bad brothers you know so well

It started way back in history

With Adrock, (M.C.A.) and me (Mike D.)!

Awww yeah.

*E-books are still awesome, especially Fractured: Arrivals; now available on Kindle and Nook!

**I am fully aware that I'm not properly italicizing song/album names.  Thank you Grammar Police.

Justice Blade 2016: Chapter 1...the Final Chapter.

The year is 2016, and mankind has fallen.

How? No one remembers.  The truth has been lost to the mists of last year.  All that's left is chaos and lawlessness.  Warlords rule over this fractured land; brutalizing their subjects and stealing their wi-fi, and using it to troll online forums anonymously.

I'm the only one who can stop them, and soon they'll face my flying sawblade...my Justice Blade.

I step on the central feet clamps, once again marveling at the technology that allows the blade to spin while I face forward.  This was humanity's greatest achievement, before the fall.  It's the only one of it's kind.  I can only hope I carry on the legacy of its creator Dr. Scienceman.

The blade rises in the air, and I launch off into the night sky.  Along the way I chop down the overgrown grass in ditches of the old, unused highway.  I know this will help local farmers prepare for winter.  For good measure I knock down several telephone poles, just because.

I approach the castle of General Villain, crashing through the window.

"Justice Blade," says General Villain, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You killed my partner," I say, because he killed my partner.

"That was last week man," Villain says.  "You're still all bent out of shape over it?"

I really wasn't.  My partner was kind of a jerk, and always made fun of my whistle collection.

"I'll never forgive you."

I probably would have, for some cash. Until then, I'm outraged.

"You'll pay for your crimes," I say.

"Fine," Villain says.  "Would you accept prepaid gift cards?"

I would.

And as I fly away into the night, sorting through the cards, I can't help but think that justice has been served; and that I could totally make it to Taco John's before they close...get me a chalupa.

I. Am. Justice Blade...and I am hungry...for justice...and chalupas.

Riding that flying sawblade of awesomeness

So when I was a kid, I used to have this daydream whenever we'd go on long drives.  I would stare out the window, and envision myself riding a flying sawblade that swept back and forth through the ditches, mowing down grass, power lines, fence posts, and so on.  It was awesome.

Then one day, it occurred to me that, if I was riding a spinning sawblade, I would be spinning too.  All this time, I'd been playing out the story as though I was facing straight ahead while the blade under me spun, ignoring the laws of physics.  I felt really stupid.

To recap:
Flying sawblade that I can ride on: Good
Ignoring the laws of physics: Bad

And that's exactly how it should be, especially with the oddities I read/write.  The audience is already giving you leeway with whatever weird premise you're telling them about.  They shouldn't have to swallow shoddy plot drivers so that you can 'guide' the story to the end.

I read a book once where the premise was that electricity and gunpowder stopped working one day.  Great concept, and I wanted to see what humanity would do.

Apparently, humanity would turn to cannibalism within weeks; while Renaissance Fair actors would take over the world because they know blacksmithing and how to make mead...I guess.

Seriously, that's what happened.

The guy who wrote that one had a clear goal: Turn Earth into Middle-Earth.  To that end, every person who had a medieval type hobby was automatically clearly better suited to survive.  And everyone else would just give up and eat other people.

This is my promise to you, my faithful  theoretical readers.  I will take my creations and put them in a jar, poke them with a stick, torment them like a malevolent god or small child with a magnifying glass over an ant hill, just to see what they'll do; but I will never make them act a certain way just to further my plot.  I would hate writing it more than anyone would hate reading it.

At the same time, I'm totally going to write a story about a guy that rides a flying sawblade...OF JUSTICE!

Just go with it.

Guess who didn't finish his books...

No, silly, not Stephen King.  Me!

OK, I'll level with all of you (ha ha 'all of you'), I got burned out on this.  The eight month gap between this post and my last one should make that pretty clear.  Plus my last post was set to the tune of 'Oops I Did It Again', so yeah, something was off there.

So what does that mean for my writing endeavors?  Have I given up?  Will Steve win Head Of Household?  Find out on Biiiiiig Brother!

Wait, scratch that last one.

No, I have not given up.  I've actually been pretty active-ish with my next two books.  Are they ready for publication, like I said in my Britney Spears parody?  Not if I want anyone to actually enjoy them.

And the sequel to Fractured: Arrivals is...resuming.

I spent the first half of 2015 dealing with a lot of stress on the day job front.  I'm not going to get into it, because that's not what we're here for.  We're here for the booze that I promised I would give out to anyone who read this.  Which you totally know I'm good for.

Without getting into too much details, I've found myself with a new day job, and life is much happier.

So, after being on the writing ropes, I'm back swinging...a pen...at paper...I guess.  That was a bad analogy.

When can we expect these to be available?  That is a fine question.  I'm researching through some other aspects of this business that, honestly, I should have done before publishing last time.  Once I have all of that straightened out, I'll know which path I'll be heading down.

Either way, it will be forward.

Oops, I did it again.

I think I did it again.
I wrote a first draft, quite happy with it
Oh baby, it might seem like seem like it's rushed
Been working on it, for over two years
Full of magic, and weirdness
That is just..so..typically me!
Oh baby,baby

Oops! I did it again
I wrote a new book, got lost in my work
Oh baby,baby
You, might think that it's great,
And you would be ri-i-ght
But it's..not..quite..finished..yet!

You see my problem is this
It's just the first draft
Which means that it-needs a-lot of rework

I tried something different
Got really nothing to-do with the last-one
Full of magic, and weirdness
That is just..so..typically me!
Oh baby,baby

Oops! I did it again.
I wrote a new book
Well actually two
Oh baby, baby

There's...two...books to-this-one
Takes place at the same ti-i-ime
It's..kind..of..hard-to-explain!

yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah

[Spoken]
All aboard!

Adoring masses, before you go, there's something I want you to know.

Both of these books should be ready to be published sometime this summer.  They go together, and it won't matter which is read first.  I'll keep updating you as I go.

But I thought the old lady dropped it into the ocean in the end.

That makes no sense in this context.

Oh, you shouldn't have.

....?

Oops! I! wrote on paper with a pen
Got lost, making a new wo-orld
Oops! You hope-full-y will enjoy it-it-it
But it's..not..quite..finished..yet!

Oops! I did it again
I wrote a new book, got lost in my work
Oh baby,baby
You, might think that it's great,
And you would be ri-i-ght
But it's..not..quite..finished..yet!

Oops! I did it again
I wrote a new book, got lost in my work
Oh baby,baby
You, might think that it's great,
And you would be ri-i-ght
But it's..not..quite..finished..yet!