Saturday, September 27, 2008

Random Thoughts VII

Yes, it is (Finally) time for another beloved Random Thoughts (c)

Why are there no more witch-burnings? If one can kill with a word, than should not they be immolated? Perhaps modern society doesn't believe in such things, but how does one ascertain that they're not there? If I were (though I'm not saying I'm not) a witch, than I would be more careful since so many of my kind were murdered (Ears of Chicken, Tail of Bat, Lemon Gizzards soaked in Fat, Pickled Children in my Vat, A curse upon Salem for That.). Or, perhaps, the art of witchery has been lost and one may only here tell of it in mention to witchier times. Regardless the art would be quite interesting to see more of.

Witch is a gender-neutral term.

Met may be a witch.

Metaknight is a witch.

Ready the pyre at dawn.

Monday, September 22, 2008


Loosely based on:



The waters raged about him, threatening to pull him beneath with their might. He struggled, but in vain for the sea’s will is hard and unchanging. Pulled under for the last time he windmilled upside down, and yet as his body struggled all he could think of were the words she said. She mentioned some type of... he felt something brush against his leg and as it twined about him, he remembered.

He had lived in the villa for a mere three months, and already he knew the nature of the coast. It rained. When it wasn’t raining the sun shone long enough to coax one out before a new storm struck. The weather in those parts changed so rapidly that no sea-faring business was lucrative enough to last, regardless of the abundant sea life.
The weather had grown from a common downpour into what the man was sure was a typhoon when he saw her. He had just been peeking out through the window when a flash of lightning forked through the sky. A girl was standing by the edge of the cliff looking out over the sea. Her dress and hair blew about her wildly, and the man was sure that soon the wind would simply pluck her diminutive frame from the earth and take her away.
He donned a raincoat and boots, and grabbed his hat and electric torch from the wall hangers. Hesitating for one brief moment he wondered why she was out. However, reality drew him back with its thunder and he pushed the door. It remained closed due to the winds strength. He tried again, but failed. The third attempt , he threw himself against the door and managed to open it sufficiently to slip out, wedging it open with some debris. He stumbled out to the cliff when a lightning lit the sky. The girl was simply gone.
The next day dawned bright, but the man was too occupied with the thought of the girl’s safety to care. The minute he dressed, he flew out to the market. He asked all the vendors and townsfolk about the child, but none seemed to know her. Since the tavern had the only functioning television in the near area he went to check there for news. Upon reaching the door however, it swung open in front of him and the plump, friendly bartender emerged. He explained that the largest storm of the year, the storm that spawned the previous day’s rainfall, was to arrive within the hour, and that the man best return home.
The man reached his house soon after the winds started to pick up and the rains began to fall. He hurried in with his groceries and began to stock his fridge. Soon the rain sounded on his tin roof like a thousand drummers, and the winds shook the little villa down to its very foundations. The typhoon flung a large branch through his window, and as he went to patch it, lightning illuminated the scene. Standing out on the brink was the young girl.
Sparing no time for thought or grabbing proper garb, the man jumped through the window. Sprinting towards the cliff, he found the winds battling him every step of the way. He made to yell to the girl, but the winds snatched away his words. In a few agonizing minutes he reached the edge. He reached out and gave her arm a tug. The child turned and yelled something to him. Unable to make it out he motioned towards his house and gave her arm a tug. She shook her head and pointed out to see. The man made clear his confusion through a shrug, and the child stomped he foot impetuously, gesturing out to sea. Walking to the edge the man looked out and felt the water-softened ground begin to give way beneath him. As he fell his ears finally caught her words.
“It’s some kind of octopus!”

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

Sporadic Posting!

Yeah, I'm trying to get back, but between spore and life, it's failing to work. I haven't given up. Yet. However, to tide you over here is a cheesy, yet educational video.

Wednesday, September 10, 2008


Where to begin?
Oh! Maybe here?

Or here?

Or just go straight through like this?

I LOVE Spore!
All I have time to say now is that I started and finished three full interplanetary wars.
And I wiped out a few sentient species simply because I wanted their planet.
They were too primitive to fight back.
I am cruel.
And it rocks.