Tuesday, March 30, 2010


Smile and the world smiles with you. This is not simply an expression, it’s verifiable fact. When a human being is exposed to generally contented people, he’s statistically more likely to be content. In this way, happiness spreads.

However, the opposite is true also.

And you, I fear, aren’t happy. I’m not sure what’s bothering you, but you’ve seemed somehow… off. Preoccupied. You’ve been this way for weeks. It’s as though something you can’t control is weighing on you. Making you miserable.

Thus, you are sentenced to solitary confinement until such time as you cheer up. Bailiff, take him away.


Smile and the world smiles with you. This is not simply an expression, it’s verifiable fact. When a human being is exposed to generally contented people, he’s statistically more likely to be content. In this way, happiness spreads.

However, the opposite is true also.

And you, I fear, aren’t happy. I’m not sure what’s bothering you, but you’ve seemed somehow… off. Preoccupied. You’ve been this way for weeks. It’s as though something you can’t control is weighing on you. Making you miserable.

Thus, you are sentenced to solitary confinement until such time as you cheer up. Bailiff, take him away.


Worry not, for when I die I’ll be reborn in fire.

It’s been this way for countless aeons. You wouldn’t believe the things I’ve seen of this world and its wonders, empires rising and falling, every moment a treasure. And the future’ll be even grander.

It’s truly a life of surprises. Eternal life of infinite surprises.

So cry not for me here upon my deathbed, this death is but a fleeting small thing.

Cry instead for yourselves. Because when I’m reborn, in fire, the flames will take most of this city out with me.

And you, friend, shan’t be reborn.

Monday, March 29, 2010


I tried to tell her she misunderstood what it is I do, but she wouldn’t listen.

She was busy screaming.

I tried to get her to my car, but she wouldn’t budge. I tried to call an ambulence but when I grabbed for the phone she’d grip my arm like a vice.

It wasn’t fair, I’d only wanted to bring her pizza.

Still, I did what I could.

And it turned out to be enough.

Cradling her child in my arms, I looked back on the experience and smiled.

I guess I was that kind of delivery man after all…

Sunday, March 28, 2010


The station’s crew left for earth with the findings of our planetary study, and I stayed to keep the station operating. It’d be eighty years before they got home. By the time the next crew arrived I’d be long since dead.

I’d volunteered. It wasn’t the perfect mission, but somebody had to do it.

I watched the ship lift off, abandoning me to what remained of the colony. We had food, enough for one, and oxygen was provided by the hydroponic garden in the east wing. I’d be fine. I hoped.

Ok, then. It’s time to explore my new world…

Friday, March 26, 2010

Crowbar (Shameless Self-Promotion)

I appear to be featured in the new online issue of Black Heart Magazine. Click the link below to read my story of the day:


so there you go, read it, comment on it, enjoy it! The story is creepy and violent, because sometimes y'all gotta write something creepy and violent!

My New Home

I’ve built a house of cardboard.

Three bedrooms, two baths, attached garage. It’s beautiful. I’m terribly proud.

Some say a cardboard home is an ill conceived undertaking, that the materials are too flimsy and the house won’t stand. I’ve joyously proved them wrong.

The secret to it’s construction is thus: Two layers of cardboard, one atop the other. The seams sealed tight, with duct tape.

I’ve also sealed the ducts this way.

My furniture arrives in the morning, to my new home, proudly built by my own two hands.

I’ll be happy here, as long as there are no wolves.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

I'm getting home from the pub at 3:30...

...thus, y'all get a twitfic from earlier in the week that i was pleased with/embarassed by. enjoy!

As the room went silent I knew the joke about miscarriage had been a miscalculation. Truly it was all about the delivery…

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

The Hunt

As the sun goes down I wake.

And thirst.

The new tools of my hunt are simple, yet shockingly effective. Hair product, much, much more hair product than a sentient being ought ever to use, and silver glitter I bought from the makeup aisle of an all-night Wal-Mart.

That’s all it takes nowadays.

I never thought it’d come to this. When that damned movie was first released, I was offended by it’s portrayal of my kind. Profoundly so.

Since then, I admit, it’s grown on me.

Hunting has never in my exceedingly long life been easier than this. I play dress up, put on my best sulky face and women who think I’m brooding and romantic fall into my lap like ripe fruit. When I get them home they’re putty in my hands.

By the time they realize life isn’t like their story books, it’s long since too late.

It’s humiliating to be seen in public looking like this, but I’ve never eaten better. And a silly costume is a small price to pay for a good, hot meal.

I run my hands over my rock hard, overmoussed hair, run my tongue over my razor sharp fangs and smile, though I wouldn’t be able to see myself do so if a mirror were handy.

It’s about time I got some young blood around here.

Monday, March 22, 2010

Your Purse

Seven in the morning, and I’m still awake. Searching.

Exhausted, feeling barely alive, but there’s no respite for me. Not here. Not now.

I must search until my quarry‘s found, but I grow to suspect my quarry doesn’t exist. It’s a myth, a cruel hoax, and the indifferent universe looks on and laughs at my expense.

This is what Hell is, it is Purgatory. Searching endlessly without any hope of success or respite.

I try to explain, but the words can’t be made clear.

Your purse isn’t here, you left it at the bar.

For God’s sake, stop harassing me.

Sunday, March 21, 2010

The Engines

I tend engines. I keep parts in working order, and I make sure the engine’s properly fuelled.

I’ve done this since childhood, working at fathers side. As he aided his father. It’s always been thus.

Someday, my child will tend engines alongside me.

I don’t know what the engines do, I don’t know what’s outside the hull of this world. But I have faith.

If I tend engines properly, I’ll be rewarded at Betelgeuse. I’ll see father and grandfather, and my journey will end.

I don’t know when I’ll arrive, I don’t need to know.

This is what faith is.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

The Watcher

I hide myself in your closet and silently watch as you enter your room.

You aren’t doing much, merely puttering around the room, preparing yourself for bed. Soon you’ll settle down for the night and, with luck, you’ll be quickly to sleep.

You have no idea that I’m here, watching you, and waiting. You’re completely unselfconscious in your bedtime routine.

For the love of God, I hope you get to sleep quickly.

I need to get out of here, and I need to do it quickly.

If you find me in here, I have no clue how to explain myself…

Friday, March 19, 2010

My Army

I’m not a general, and I’ve no head for tactics. I’m the first to admit that, and I admit it freely.

However, I do have an army. It is vast and, so far as I can tell, powerful. My soldiers stretch out as far as the eye can see, and from my balcony they seem a formidable force indeed. Their armour shines in the morning sun as I inspect them, and they stand, proud, waiting for my word.

To march.

I wish them nothing but the best, after all, they have families waiting for them, I‘m sure. I hope they succeed, though I’m not exactly clear what they’ll be fighting for. The seem fierce, and brave. So far they’ve proved loyal to me. A fine army, one I can be proud of. I wish I could offer them better leadership.

Three days ago I was working at Red Lobster, you see. A man came in, told me I was the chosen one, and brought me here.

To be honest, I have no idea what I’m going to do with this army. But they’re mine, and I feel I owe them something, so I’ll try to do right by them.

I played a bit of Risk in university.

How hard could it be?

Thursday, March 18, 2010

no update today...

...due to the fact that i'm only on a brief break between birthday parties. oh good lord, the drinking. what am i doing to myself? i'm not 18 anymore, i know my body doesn't react teh same way as it did at the time. pray for munsi...

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

New Toy

Nobody knew what it was, or what it did, or what we’d use it for, but everyone agreed: We simply had to have it.

It would be amazing, groundbreaking. It would change the world forever.

I was no better than anyone, I admit. Mine was pre-ordered months ago, I’d receive it the day of it’s release.

I couldn’t really afford it, I’d put it on a credit card and had no idea how I’d pay it off.

But I’d have it first.

And I’d no doubt it’d change my life.

When the iDdiction was released, I would finally be complete.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

a little something i cooked up (bonus content!)

i'm still giggling about my Greeting Card story, so i thought i'd put together the card mentioned. feel free to give a copy this mothra's day!

Death of a Spaceman

The end is coming, as all ends must.

We’d travelled farther than our grandparents had ever dreamed possible to study this black hole, and when it was discovered partway toward our destination that, due to a minor miscalculation during our ships design phase, we wouldn’t have the fuel or oxygen reserves to make it home, we did our best not to let it phase us.

We had a job to do, after all.

And we were living the dream.

Mankind had hungered for this since first it turned it’s eyes skyward, hell, I’d hungered for it myself when I was a child, fantasising about being a spaceman while the other children played at being soldiers, or athletes. The fact that we’d been inadvertently stranded in the icy void of space was distressing, to be sure, but we weren’t going to let it stop us sating that hunger.

We weren’t doing this for ourselves, after all. We were doing it for our world.

How could we do any different?

So here we are, running our tests, sending our updates back to earth, trying to be cheerful but mainly just doing our work in silence. Our updates will make it back to earth, in time, even if we never do, and because of them humankind’s knowledge of the universe in which it lives will grow.

But I do admit, it would be nice to see my wife, my children, one more time.

But I know I can’t. I do my best to be okay with that.

I hope they’re proud.

I think they’re probably proud.

And when our fuel reserves finally run out, three or four days from now, we’ll be pulled gradually toward the very black hole we came here to study.

Toward that last great adventure.

No regrets.

Monday, March 15, 2010

Never Satisfied

It began with a simple question. Can any squid be giant or terrifying enough?

Decades of genetic tampering and cybernetic enhancements later, my dream’s come true. On my yacht a safe distance away, I watch my creation destroying the small town in which I’d so long done my work.

The titanium of it’s exoskeleton shines in the morning sun as men, women and children scream in abject horror, lost in panic.

Some will escape, but not many.

My heart swells with pride at my creation. Truly, I have built a giant, terrifying squid.

But is it giant or terrifying enough?

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Greeting Card

When I saw the misprinted greeting card at Walmart, I had to have it. It struck me as hilarious, so I bought it then and there, to show to my friends.

We all had a good laugh together.

Now it seems less funny. Large swaths of the city lay in ruin, and the fires burn still, with no one left to extinguish them.

It hovers above me, it’s massive wings beating so powerfully I can feel the wind they generate pushing me backward.

I’m paralyzed with fear, but I’m the only one with anything to offer it.

Happy Mothra’s day?

Saturday, March 13, 2010

Memoir of a Genetic Construct

The tests returned, and they proved definitive.

Yes, as I had long suspected, I was a genetic duplicate created by a secret government project in the late nineteen seventies.

DNA had been taken from Groucho Marx before his death and, after a decade of research, I was created using it.

It explains a lot. I mean, I’ve always been a quirky fellow, and I love to laugh.

But I can’t help think that it robs me of a certain something, like my existence is somehow cheapened by this knowledge.

I suppose it’s true what they say…

…tears of a clone.

Friday, March 12, 2010


A few years ago, Calgary’s revolutionary anarchist cheerleading squad travelled to Salt Lake City, Utah, to attend a cheerleading summer camp. They hoped at this camp to learn to be better cheerleaders, and planned to bring their skills home and use them to protest globalization and corporatism.

Read the above paragraph again. Let it sink in. Try reading it out loud. The words taste good, don‘t they?

The best part of this story is; it’s true.

This is what I mean when I say that the world is brilliant, bizarre and beautiful, and it’s why I love everything in it.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Queen Sized Bed

“Don’t buy a single bed,” he said to me, there in the Ikea.

“A single bed is an admission that you don’t intend to have sex. It says you’ve given up, that you’ll never meet anyone, or connect, ever again, and that you don’t intend to try. Even if you’re alone right now, buy the queen sized bed. It’s a wish. It says you think things might get better.”

I laughed at the time, but I bought the bed.

Now, here in my queen sized bed, watching you sleep, I see how right he was.

I’ll have to thank him.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

the End

The barricades collapsed and the shambling hoard flooded the building. Most of us were killed in the ensuing panic, but Julie and I made it to the roof before the undead got to us.

So here we are.

On the roof.

Locked away from our guns.

Our ammunition.

Our food and clean water supply.

And the CB radio we’d used to communicate with the kids who’d sealed themselves away, behind the heavy stone walls of the university.

But I still have my pistol.

Two bullets left.

I love you, Julie.

I hope those kids fare better than we did.


Around the World

I’ve constructed a Zeppelin, and intend to pilot it around the world.

Because all my life I’ve loved travel, and it’s time to see the world.

And because Zeppelin travel is, contrary to popular belief, remarkably safe. Even in the case of the Hindenburg, visually impressive though it was, only thirty-six people were killed.

But ultimately because I’ve lately grown to realize that this world is only as weird and wonderful as you choose to make it.

So ask not why I’m doing this, ask what you’re doing this year.

Because there’s always room on my crew for one more.

Monday, March 8, 2010

I Am an Evil Mastermind

I’ve taken a kitten and dressed it like Rick Astley.

Having done so, I videotaped it wandering around a miniature recreation of the video for the single Never Gonna Give You Up.

I edited the video to include captions (which I called Cat-tions) of fun facts about kittens, Rick Astley, and the making of the video itself.

The cat-tions were, it goes without saying, hilariously misspelled, and the grammar was atrocious.

I want four million, in small, non-sequential bills, delivered to my by tomorrow morning.

If my demands are not met, I will release this video onto the internet.


Sunday, March 7, 2010

Garbeldina (for Billi)

She was Garbeldina, destroyer of worlds.

And the other super-villains constantly mocked her. They were relentless.

Because, awesome though it was, the power to destroy a world is oddly specific.

After all, if she destroys the whole world, what’s phase B of her plan?

And really, she couldn’t even threaten it. She lived in the world, all her stuff was there, when she threatened to destroy it all, it rang somehow hollow.


So she was treated as a punch line, and the world was a joke at her expense.

Because everyone knew she’d never do it.

Until she did.

Saturday, March 6, 2010

What Growing Up Is

All we do is while away the hours ‘twixt the cradle and the grave.

Searching for meaning, we throw our heads back and cry forth to the heavens.

Screaming to be seen.

To be understood.

“I’m special!” We scream, as though to convince ourselves.

“I’ve something to offer! Something meaningful, and real!”

The impassive universe looks down on us, uncaring.

To it, we are but specks of dust upon infinity, gone in the blink of an eye.

Eventually we realize this, grow to understand it, accept it, and move forward, seeking more personal satisfactions.

This is what growing up is.

Friday, March 5, 2010

Death of a Linguist

English is a confusing language. There are too many similar words that mean totally different things.

Like there, their and they’re. Or desert and dessert.

It’s a tangled mess, developed organically over hundreds of years. Those of us who learned it from birth are used to it, but I pity anyone who learns it in adulthood.

“Hunted” and “Haunted” is another example. On the page they look basically the same, but there’s a world of difference, as you’ve been learning for the past six months.

I was hunted.

You are haunted.

Your shotgun will not help you now.

Nothing will.

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

Queer Eye for the Felony

Five twenty-something homosexual cliché’s and a camera crew arrived at my house this morning. It was unexpected, but I’d seen shows like it before, so I did my best to be a good sport.

They toured the place first, critiquing my choices in clothes and décor. I tried not to let it hurt my feelings. I liked a lot of the things they threw out, but I knew I’d never considered such matters seriously, so I suppose it was no wonder that my home was not up to par, fashion wise.

Afterward, three of them stayed behind at my home as the other two took me shopping, and to get my hair styled. A lot of talk was exchanged about patterns that flatter my physique and colours that went well together.

I tried to keep up with what they were doing, but fashion really is a little bit beyond me. Still, I like what they did to my hair, and it was nice to get a little colour in my wardrobe. A few of the pieces they picked out for me I’d wear, for sure.

After the afternoon out was done, they took me home. They dropped me off in front of my house, and as their car pulled away, I opened my front door to see the changes they had made.

And that’s when I realized they had robbed me.


The Overmaster was dead, long live the Overmaster. As soon as we figured out who the new Overmaster would be.

My eldest brother, Caleb, had spent a lifetime making allies among the senate and powerful families. He believes that should conflict arise, they’ll back him. He may be right.

Middle child Drake is a military man. A general, his soldiers fiercely loyal to him. Should he order it, they’ll storm the capital gladly.

I’m the youngest, the dreamer. Always in my lab working on my pet projects.

Watching Battlemechs come off the assembly line. Thousands of them.

Bring it, bitches.

Tuesday, March 2, 2010


In zombie movies, one guy always gets bitten, and tries to hide it from the group, and he winds up screwing things up for anyone.

And I laugh.

At his stupidity, and short sightedness.

Ignoring facts at the expense of his friends lives.

If it were me, I think to myself, I’d man up, eat a gun and save everyone a world of pain and danger.

But now, looking at the bite on my arm…

It’s barely a scratch.

And I’m so fucking scared.

I’m not ready to go.

Not like this.

I’ll tell them, I will. Just… not yet.

Monday, March 1, 2010

Bonus Track/Shameless Self Promotion

I've won the weekly 100 character story contest again over at Drabblecast (which all of you with ipod's, by whom I mean all of you, should already be subscribing to) and will be appearing (briefly) on the podcast this week. Y'all who don't already subscribe (what's wrong with you) should check it out! (these parentheses are unnecessary)

...oh, and the story is this.

He hit me with an atomic weapon. A weapon... MADE ENTIRELY OF ATOMS! Specifically a crowbar. It hurt like a sonofabitch.


A group of people I’d never met excelled at a sport that I ‘d never played, and my heart swelled with nationalistic pride.

Oh, to be sure, the group of people I’d also never met who happened to’ve been born across a border from me played well, but they couldn’t beat the team who, although not one of them so much as knew my name, represented me.

Outside the streets exploded in celebration, as across the nation people who’d contributed nothing to the victory each in turn took personal vindication from the outcome of the sporting match.

“Gold!” they howled.