Another Poem

Another Poem

Circling, ever moving
seeking, never finding
Growing louder, the din of battle
the unchanging songs of strife
the battle joined, taking your place upon the line
holding fast, pushed back, surging forward,
repeated over again

Offering up the children to the Red King,
to grant victory without battle
the spoils of war while you sleep

  -Christmas Shopping

A Poem

A Poem

O, how I long for you
when e’er we are apart
I return and its as
though time waited for us
Frozen ’til my return

All I build is through you
You are the foundation
Why did I wait so long
When you were always there
Waiting there patiently

For me to download you

-I call it “Minecraft”



Dr. Slamhammer saying something. Again. Him always talk. Him like talk.

Mongo not like talk. Leaky pipes drip on Mongo’s head. Mongo just henchman. Mongo not allowed to move from spot. Mongo contemplate upkeep cost of Evil Secret Underground Lair.

“Mongo!” Him yell, staring at Mongo.

“Yes, Master?” Him like when Mongo call him Master.

“I said, I am about to achieve my greatest triumph! Our… our greatest triumph.” Him trying to spread credit around after reading Jack Welch book. “I have created a new life!”

“Brother?” Mongo always want brother. Also want woman, but not made by Master because then she sister and Mongo not sicko.

“No, not brother. Well, not exactly. Certainly not biologically related although your creation did provide invaluable lessons and I think I’ve surpassed even that achievement. Don’t be sad, you are still my favorite.”

“Mongo not sad.” That lie. Mongo always sad.

“Then why are you crying?” Master squint. Master need glasses, but him not fond of acknowledging age related diminished capacity.

“Mongo not cry. Mongo stand under drippy pipe.” For super genius, him not very observant. Or good with basic facilities management.

“Then move from out from under it for God’s sake!” Mongo move. Mongo not sure Dr. Slamhammer’s best quality was consistency with orders. Him tell Mongo yesterday to stay put. Mongo not move since. Mongo follow orders. “Come, be the first to witness the dawn of a new era!” With flourish, Dr. Slamhammer wave at empty air. Well, empty air euphemism. Mongo know that air collection of molecules.

“I give you Cyborg Dinosaur Ninjas! I, Dr. Slamhammer, have taken a Tyranosaurs-Rex, fitted it with a laser-beam eye, rocket launchers for arms… you know, because T-Rex had those tiny, useless arms? Anyhoo, Empires will crumble, nations will fall!” Him find spotlight, raise arms and address the heavens. “From the wreckage a Ne World Order will rise with me, Dr. Slamhammer! A veritable God-King will I’ll be!” Dr. Slamhammer have dream to be God-King. Him always talk about it. It good to have dreams, he say. Mongo have dream. Mongo fly over rainbow on unicorn. Mongo think he not mean dream in same way. Mongo blink at empty space.

“Mongo not see dinosaur.”

“Of course not, he’s a ninja!” Dr. Slamhammer’s smile slowly fall. Mongo feel bad disappointing Master. Dr Slamhammer sigh. “I can see abstract visual imagination is outside your pervue.” Dr. Slamhammer not whistling Dixie.

“Very well, let me show you a Cyborg Dinosaur Ninja in training, so he’s still visible.” Dr. Slamhammer pull curtain. In cage a velociraptor with jet engine for tail and antenna sticking out head. “He’s just a brown belt.” Mongo not tell him brown belt have no meaning in ancient art of ninjitsu.

Dr. Slamhammer open cage. “Allow him to demonstrate.” Dr. Slamhammer grab old walkie talkie and press button. Dinosaur turn head and look at him. “Dinosaur!” Dinosaur cock head like doggie. Mongo like doggies. Especially cockerdoodles. “Demonstrate first kata!” Dinosaur does very good job with first kata even with jet engine throwing off balance. “Dinosaur, second kata!”

Dinosaur start off strong, but forgets place, demonstrating three strikes in row instead of two strikes and block. It try and correct, messes up again.

It start to shake, open mouth, hiss and roar. “No, dinosaur,” Dr. Slamhammer yell in walkie-talkie. Dinosaur jump on Mongo slash with claws. “No!” Dr. Slamhammer press red button. Electricity jumps around Dinosaur head. It start smoke.

It fall down.

Dr. Slamhammer run over to top half of Mongo. Bottom half Mongo still in Dinosaur mouth. “Mongo! Oh, Mongo, I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t worry, Master fix Mongo. Master fix everything.”

Master like it when Mongo call him Master.

Questing Is My Business

Questing Is My Business

It was a typical March morning, the rain just this side of annoying, so that you had to take a step just a bit bigger than normal in order to avoid the fresh puddles. I knew I was relatively sober because I wasn’t wearing my clothes from the night before. My tights and doublet were showing some wear, but could still pass as in style but new ones would have to be bought soon, and I was already in deep to my bookie, not to mention the rent I owed on the castle. I hoped this new client would solve all my problems. Little did I know then all she’d do is add to them.The herald announced her with a surly indifference. It tends to happen when you haven’t paid them in a couple of months, but still. I should probably have him flogged. She, on the other hand, was anything but indifferent. She strode in with confidence, the swing of her hoopskirt was threatening the stitching of my codpiece. She curtsied slightly but without contempt but without true subservience, letting me know she considered us possibly equal pending the outcome of this meeting. It was some curtsy. I offered her a seat. She took it. I offered her a drink. She declined. One for two.

Her name was Juliannata Von Vappinshultz del Oro MacMullhaney y Scheppelshake, Queen of Shastatanna. “Call me Jules,” she said, her accent sounded harsher coming out of such a face. It was the kind of face that could launch a thousand ships (Literally, Shastanna had a large fleet). A vulgarian would call her beautiful despite her age, but I had a hunch she’d be beautiful at any age (except maybe eighty. No one looks good at eighty).

“Jules,” I said, taking her name out for spin.

“What shall I call you, Charming? Prince?” One perfect eyebrow raised.


“Chuck,” she said, pronouncing it “Chook”.

“Close enough. How can I help you Jules?” I pronounced it “Jules” because I know how to speak. She let out a sigh, resigning herself to her decision to come to me. I’m usually the solution of last resort (or maybe she was asthmatic, it runs in some of the more inbred royal lines).

“My daughter…” She drifted off. I figured I could play it one of two ways; I could rescue her or let her twist, playing the hardboiled tough guy, but I’m in the rescuing business (besides, she crossed her legs and exposed nearly a quarter inch of stocking covered ankle. I’m a sucker for ankle).

“Your daughter’s gone and got herself trapped in some tower and you want me to rescue her.” I gave her my most sympathetic smile (at least I thought it was, mirrors were still polished metal at this time, Venetians wouldn’t invent glass coated ones for a few hundred years). I needn’t have worried, she grabbed my lifeline with both hands and didn’t let go.

“Yes, she was captured by Duke Lothgar.” So far, par for the course in the Princess rescue business. “He plans to marry her during the Vernal Equinox, and then sacrifice her to the Demon Xathrgroth, thereby bringing about the end of the world.” That was certainly a twist.

“End of the World? Most men don’t usually want to kill their wives until a couple of years after their wedding.” She straightened in her chair and raised her eyebrow again. It was something, this eyebrow. It was the homophone eyebrow; same eyebrow, different meanings.

“I don’t think the end of the world is a joking matter, my Prince, let alone the life of my daughter.” Uh oh, I really stepped in it. She didn’t me Chuck.

“My apologies, Jules, but in my line of work, I get many concerned parents who, let us say exaggerate, their daughter’s predicament. I just want to make sure that when I swing through the balcony I don’t find a princess who’s run off with the stable boy.” She relaxed in her chair.

“I understand, and don’t worry, It’s not a stableboy. We only use eunuchs.” I suppressed a shudder. “No, Lothgar’s a real piece of work. He blames the world for his condition.”

“Which is?”

“He’s a manotaur.”


“He has the body of a bull and the head of a man.”

“Oh, like a centaur.”

“No, a centaur has a chest and arms. He’s just got the head of a man. With horns. Also, he has a ring in his nose, but it’s a regular man nose.” I nodded my most sage like nod, as if it made sense.

“Well, I guess I won’t have to worry about a duel.”

“Oh, I forgot. His tail is an arm.”
“An arm…” Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. Two could play this game. She saw my call and raised.

“Yes. With a hand at the end… So he can hold a sword.” She relaxed and smirked. “He was also bitten by a werewolf,” she added, going all in.

“So he’s a weremanotaur?”

“Exactly. So, are you hired?” What could I say? I’m Prince Charming. I rescue princesses.

“Let’s discuss my fee.”

Hard Snow

Hard Snow

The blood in the snow looked like a Cherry Icee©. Blitzen lay dead, shot through the heart by a high powered marshmallow gun. None of the other reindeer claimed to have heard the shot. Typical.

I took one final drag of my candy cigarette before starting to chew the gum inside.

Last night a bunch of the other elves had gotten tooted up on Ecstasy spiked egg nog and went tooling around the village in Santa’s sleigh. You can’t imagine the paperwork. Santa loves paperwork. Well, with a Naughty and a Nice List, are you surprised?

My name’s Pipplechip. I’m three foot tall.

And I’m a cop.