What to write about?

So I was sitting around pondering things, thinking of anything and everything.  So yes, I was bored.  I seriously could not figure out what I wanted to do. I tired reading.  Nope, too boring.  Tried playing a video game, got bored pretty quick (WHAT??!?!), so then I tried watching TV, nothing good on, it got old really fast.  So then I decided to sit down and write in my blog only to realize, I have really nothing I want to write about!  So here I am writing this short, pointless, meaningless, blog post for you to read.  Aren't you happy I gave you SOMETHING to read at least?  

So now since I'm done writing already, I'm going to go and do nothing again (or am I?).  So yeah, bye whoever is reading this.  Don't be bored like me, it really is rather a dull situation.

The Hanging

I tell this tale based off of gathered information from persons who experienced these events and my own personal observations, piecing together all that I could, to the best of my ability.

            What drives a man to do the unthinkable?  Or, since man has thought it, is it really unthinkable?  Is the murder of another human being really as horrible as many make it out to be?  Let us venture into the life of a murderer and see for ourselves just how horrible murder is.  But I must warn you; you are about to enter into a twisted world of evil.  Evil that is so demonic and vile that those with a faint heart may not wish to continue to read this story.

            It was a dark and dreary day.  The wind was blowing ferociously and the rain poured forth from the dark and foreboding clouds.  The buildings were dark and bland looking.  They were made of red bricks that had collected dirt and grime over the years, so that they now looked black and gray.  The rain gutters on the buildings were all clogged up and water poured over the sides.  The cobblestone streets were littered with trash and large puddles filled the numerous potholes.  It was a dull city that was stuck by poverty and crime.  Here is where the foulest of all crimes is most often committed…murder.

            A tall man walked through a narrow alleyway.  He was dressed in thick leather boots, dark pants and shirt, a long traveling cloak, dark gloves, and a top hat.  He was a shady character indeed.  Had I been there in person I would have followed him.  Sadly, I was not there in person, but am only here, writing this story down on paper.  So as the man walked along the stone walk he glanced over his shoulder constantly, looking around in every direction, making sure he was not being followed.  The alley he was walking in came to a stop on the edge of a main road.  The man looked to his right and to his left.  There was no one in sight.  The sound of glass breaking was heard and the man jumped ever so slightly and once again glanced over his shoulder and all around him.  There was nothing.  Not a living soul was in sight.

            So he continued.  He crossed the street quickly and went into an even narrower alleyway.  This alley was even darker and dirtier than the last, thought the man did not seem to care.  He was wet and very cold, and simply wanted to get to his destination, or I can only assume.  Most people would wish to get out of the rain, unless of course you are a snail or a duck, creatures that seem to love the rain.

            The man walked along the alleyway until he came to a back door in one of the buildings.  He knocked on it three times, and then stood back and waited.  As he waited he stared at the plain wooden door, then at the dirty bricks of the building, then back to the door.  He began staring at the door intensely, as though something immensely interesting was there.  No one answered.  After several minutes he stepped up to the door once more, and knocked three more times.  This time there were footsteps behind the door.  The footsteps stopped.

            Click.  That was the first lock.

            Click.  That was the second lock.

            Click.  That was the third lock.

            Click.  That was the hammer of a gun being cocked.

            The man stepped to the side of the door, drawing his own six-shot revolver from inside his coat.

            “Who’s there?” called a voice from inside.

            “It is me, Ambrose,” said the man in the cloak.

            “Oh, Ambrose, you gave me quite a fright!” returned the voice from behind the door.

            “Well are you going to let me in, Henry?” asked Ambrose, “Or are you simply going to let me drown out here?”

            “Oh, yes, of course,” said Henry.  There was one final click and the door was swung open.  In the doorway stood a short elderly man with a small amount of short white hair on his head.  In his right hand he was gripping a cane and leaning on it for support.  In his left hand was a small two-shot pocket pistol.  Ambrose stepped inside and Henry shut the door and began securing the locks.

            “Why so many locks?” asked Ambrose watching the old man as he fastened a bolt.

            “To keep him out,” replied Henry.

            “Oh, Henry,” sighed Ambrose with a small smile, “you needn’t worry about him coming after you.”

            “And why not?”

            “Because he prefers to kill important people…that is…people who are well-known in the community, like political figures and rich people.  No offense to you of course my dear Henry, but you are hardly rich or even well-known to the community.”

            “I suppose you have a point, but you can never be too careful.”

            “Hardly.”

            “To what do I owe the honor of your visit Ambrose?”

            “Well, Henry, I came here simply to see how your health is.  You’ve been so frail these past few months.”

            “Well naturally of course, Ambrose.  I am an old man.  I am ever so slowly deteriorating.”

            “Are not we all?  Even I am beginning to feel my own age.”

            “You are but thirty years old Ambrose, whereas I am close to eighty.”

            “Still, I am beginning to feel tired all the same.  But I did not come here for that, only you.  Is there anything I can do for you, anything at all?”

            “Nay, my good friend.  There is nothing you can do for me now.  As I said, I am simply an old man, and it is only natural for me to be wasting away the way I am.  Tell me, how is your work going?  Are you any closer to catching that beast?”

            “I am afraid not.  We’ve come close to catching him several times.  Just last week a young man named Ian almost caught him.  We were in pursuit and losing ground.  Up ahead I saw the young man tackle the killer to the ground but as we approached the killer kicked young Ian off him and continued on.  We shot at him, but these blasted pistols can’t hit a blessed thing past a few dozen feet.  Whoever he is, he’s strong and agile, and knows his way around this city very well.”

            “Do you know why he is doing what he is doing?”

            “Well like I said, he goes after important people.  Anyone who has a lot of money or is politically important is a target of his.  He’s killed three city board members already, as well as five other well to do citizens.  Just last week he killed that nobleman and his poor wife, do you remember?”

            “All too well.  He did it in such a gruesome manner as well.”

            “Yes, I think he takes pride in what he does.  The more awful and horrendous he can make a death, the happier he is.”

            “What do you think of his work?”

            “I think it’s the work of the devil, that’s what I think.  I swear he’s possessed by a demon!  He’s an absolute mad man he is!”

            “Mad man?  I wouldn’t call him a mad man.  I think a mad man would not be as methodical and acute as this man is.  To me a mad man would be someone who goes around killing as many people as he can while running.  This man doesn’t really run…he kills many yes…but he does it in such a way…it is too clean if you catch my meaning.”

            Ambrose stared at Henry thoughtfully.  They stared at each other for a few more moments then Ambrose stood up.

            “Well whatever he is, he’s certainly evil.  I’ve got to get going, Henry.  You take care of yourself alright?”

            “Of course, Ambrose, of course.”

            “Oh, and, Henry,” said Ambrose, “what happened to your head there?”

            “Oh,” said Henry waving his hand in front of his face, “just bumped it on something.”

            Ambrose walked to the door with Henry.  Henry unbolted the door and Ambrose stepped outside into the dirt streets once again.  He set off back the way he came, back towards the police station, where he would learn some gruesome news.

            The building inspector walked up to the abandoned home and knocked on the door.  He did not know it was abandoned.  If only I had been there I could have told…but alas, I was not.  I am still here, simply writing these words down on paper to tell you the story of the murderer.

            The door opened and the building inspector stepped inside.  There was no one there, just an empty foyer.

            “Hello?” he called.  “I received a letter today asking that I come to this address to inspect this building.  I can tell you right now it seems terribly unsafe!”  He paused and looked around.  Floor boards creaked and he could hear mice running around in the ceiling and floor.  There was no reply at first.

            “I am upstairs,” came a voice from, well, upstairs.  The short, plump building inspector looked up the staircase suspiciously, but then then began to climb the stairs one at a time.  Being as he was, to be frank, fat, he was breathing heavily by the time he reached the top of the stairs.  He bent over, rested his hands on his knees, and began to catch his breath.  He wheezed and sputtered for a few moments then straightened up and looked around.  Before him lay a hallway lined with about a half dozen doors.

            “Hello?” he shouted.

            “In here,” said a voice as the door at the far end of the hallway opened.

            “Umm,” said the inspector, “why don’t you come out here and we can talk.”

            “No,” said the voice calmly.  “I want to show you my biggest concern in here.  Come in here please.”

            The inspector thought for a moment.  He put his hand inside his vest and gripped the handle of his small pocket knife.  He had gone to a house call before where there were three men lying in wait to mug him. They beat him, stole his wallet, but were then caught by two police men that happened to be walking by outside.  The short inspector had hated doing house calls ever since then, and was now very cautious every time he went to one.

            He approached the room slowly.  As he peered around the doorway he saw a fully decorated room.  There was a large four-poster bed with drapes around it.  There was a nightstand on either side of the bed.  On the opposite side there was a large marble fireplace with a roaring fire in it, perfect for the gloomy and rainy day outside.  In front of the fire were two large and squashy red armchairs.  The inspector stepped into the room and approached the armchairs.  He thought the speaker was in one of them.  As he reached them he heard a creak from behind.  He spun around in alarm just as the door clicked shut.  Standing in from of the door was a man with a dark hood over his face.  Two small holes had been cut in the hood for the man’s eyes.  The inspector stumbled backward and tripped over one of the chairs as the hooded man locked the door and threw the key to the floor.  He began to slowly walk towards the frightened inspector.  The inspector crawled back on his hands and knees inching closer and closer the fire place.  He was whimpering in fear.

            “P-p-please,” he stammered, “p-please d-don’t kill m-m-me!  I’m a no-nobody!  Y-you d-don’t want to-to k-kill me!”

            “If I didn’t want to kill you,” said the hooded man in a deep raspy voice, “then I wouldn’t have led you here.”

            “What d-do you w-want?  I’ll g-g-give you a-anything you w-want!”

            “Money?”

            “Yes of course!  Anything!”

            “HA!  I do not want your money you fool.”

            “Then w-what do you w-want?”  The hooded man stopped walking closer.  He stared at the inspector on the floor.  The inspector stared back at him, into the hooded man’s evil red eyes.  There was silence for a moment.

            “Your blood,” said the hooded man.  He again began to walk closer and closer to the inspector who began to shriek hysterically.

            He crawled further and further back until one of his hands landed in the fire.  He cried out in alarm, but then got a sudden idea.  He picked up a burning log and, ignoring the pain in his hand, stood up and swung it violently at the hooded man.  The hooded man stepped back, but too late.  The small inspector caught the hooded man with log on the side of his head.  The hooded man let out a howl of pain, but again began to advance upon the inspector.  The inspector swung again, but this time the hooded man grabbed the log with gloved hands and yanked it out of the inspector’s hand.  The hooded man threw the log to the ground.  Then he drew a wooden police baton from his cloak and knocked the poor little inspector out cold.

            The inspector woke up on the four poster bed.  He was tied to it, each limb tied to one of the posts.  His head was pounding with a headache and his vision was slightly blurry, but he looked around the room in search of the hooded man.  The man was standing at the end of the bed simply watching the inspector.

            “What are you going to do to me?” asked the frightened inspector.

            “Guess,” said the man.

            “Kill me?”

            “How on earth would you come to that conclusion,” said the man as he laughed.

            “Do you want to know exactly what I am going to do to you, sir?” asked the hooded man.

            “W-w-what?”

            “Well first, I am going to slowly cut off each of your fingers and toes.  Then I am going to cut off each of your limbs.  If you have not bled to death by then I’ll finish you off by beheading you.  I hope for your sake you bleed out before then because cutting one’s head off slowly with a shaving razor can be extremely painful…or so I imagine.”

            “Y-you’re joking aren’t y-you?”  There was a long pause as the hooded man and the building inspector looked at each other.

            “No.”

            Ambrose arrived at the police station and was immediately swooped down upon by multiple police officers.  They were all speaking and trying to be heard over one another that Ambrose could not hear any one of them.  He shouted for silence and then told the sergeant to speak first.

            “Captain Ambrose,” said the sergeant, “we had a man come in here an hour or so ago saying he heard awful screams from the building next door.  We sent a couple of officers to check it out and what they found was not pretty!”

            “Well, what did they find?” asked Ambrose.

            “They found the chief building inspector, Mr. Robert Andrews,” said the sergeant.

            “And…?” Ambrose said waiting for more information.

            “He’s dead,” said the sergeant, “he’s chopped up and tossed around like a salad.”

            “I see,” said Ambrose.  “Did the police stay there?”

            “Yes, sir.  We also sent a few more out, to secure the crime scene.”

            “Good,” said Ambrose.  “I am going to go out there myself to take a look.”

            Ambrose walked along the dirty streets with two other officers.  Some people were looking out of their windows at them.  The citizens had obviously heard what had happened.  Word travelled fast in that city, especially when it came to a murder.  Had I been there I certainly would have been telling people the news, not as gossip, but as a warning for people to be more careful.  The murderer had struck again, in his same gruesome fashion.

            Captain Ambrose and the two other officers arrived at the building and made their way up the stairs and into the room that was the crime scene.  I would describe the crime scene for you, but my words could not it justice for two reasons.  For one, I was not actually present, and the scene has only been described to me by others who did see it.  Secondly, it was so gory and sickening that words cannot describe the horror that Ambrose and the other officers beheld there.  They called in a team to clean the room up, and poor Mr. Andrews’ body parts were bagged and brought to the morgue where they would most likely be burned and turned into ashes.

            As Ambrose and the police were walking among the house looking for any sort of evidence, the man in the hood stepped out in front of them.  He held a long bloody knife in one hand, and a six-shot revolver in the other.  He began laughing manically and then raised the gun and began shooting at them.  One of the officers was killed, but Ambrose and the other man ducked behind some hall furniture just in time.  Ambrose pulled out his gun and returned fire, but the hooded man had already fled.  Ambrose and the other officer ran after him.

            “You’re not getting away this time you monster!” shouted Ambrose.

            They saw the hooded man slip into a room and they followed him.  When they entered the room he was on the windowsill and next thing they the hooded man had jumped from the window to the streets below.  As he landed one of his legs broke and he crumpled on the ground.  Ambrose and the officer raced back down the stairs and out into the street below.  The hooded man was lying on the ground, laughing like a mad man still.  The bone protruded from his leg and blood dripped from the flesh wound.

            “You screwed up this time,” said Ambrose as he walked up to the man, gun pointing at his head.  “Now we’ve got you.”

            Two days later the jury had found Henry Jacobs guilty of the murders of nine people.  He stood on a platform in the middle of the woods, surrounded by dozens of people who wanted to see this man hanged.  What most people were amazed at was that he was an old man.  He looked to be in his late seventies at least, yet he seemed to fit and strong.  He gazed out into the crowd, at no one in particular, until Ambrose walked forward.  Henry stared at Ambrose with a wicked smile on his face.  Ambrose looked back and shook his head sadly.

            I do not know exactly how Ambrose and Henry knew each other, but I do know that they had been very good friends.  I myself once had a very good friend who turned out to be a donut thief.  He stole donuts almost every day, not for himself, but so he could feed the bits of sugary bread to the pigeons in the park.  You never really do truly know a person, no matter how close of a friend they might be.

            It had been discussed in the court, evidence had been provided, and Henry had finally confessed, and he had been sentenced to death.  Earlier in the day Henry had murdered the poor inspector Robert Andrews.  Then he went back to his house just as Ambrose came to visit him.  By the time Ambrose and Henry’s visit was over, and Ambrose got back to the police station on the other side of the city, Andrews’ body had been found.  By the end of the day, the murderer had been caught.  Some were still puzzled and felt uneasy at how easily Henry was caught.  Even Ambrose himself felt something was wrong with it.  Several times before they had tried to catch the murderer, and none of those tries had succeeded.  Yet now, Henry was caught so easily, it almost seemed as if he wanted to be caught.  This fact only made Ambrose, and everyone else, more uneasy.  However, they went ahead with the hanging of Henry Jacobs all the same, wanting to get it over with as soon as possible.  It was the fastest court case the city had ever had, and it was the fastest hanging it had ever had.  Henry wasn’t even allowed to speak.  The executioner stood up on the platform and pulled the lever.  Henry Jacobs’ body fell down like a sack of potatoes, and swung from side to side.  Everyone heard the loud snap of his neck breaking.  He was dead.

            The crowd began to disperse.  Ambrose stood for a moment staring up at the dead body of his former friend.  Again he shook his head and then turned to leave.  Everyone was now gone but the executioner, and myself.  Though no one else knew I was there.  I was hiding in a thicket of bushes near the platform where the hanging took place, and had a clear view of Henry Jacobs’ body.  When the executioners back was turned, and when everyone else apart from myself was gone, Henry Jacob’s eyes opened back up, glowing redder than ever, and his lips twitched upward into a smile.

THE END

Teargot of Wothin-A Poem

Teargot of Wothin

A tale of Teargot the bird of Wothin, battling the enemy dragon.

BY: E. T. C.

BY: E.T.C.

Teargot of Wothin

Said the small bird of small stature

To the larger bird of larger stature.

Take thee far away from here

The Teargot of Wothin’s lowly fear

The whisper of the creeping trees

As they sway in the cool night breeze.

Free the wounds of hurtful past

Free the songs so long at last.

Sail on, sail on Teargot of Wothin

Take thine heart, ride the wind.

The Teargot’s Broken Fear

How ugly is the Teargot’s mind

He runneth down the moon so shine

He fly’s as though his wings are clipped

His tattered clothes, his jacket ripped.

The beat within is biting deep

Cutting at his heart’s safe keep

So flee, flee the damages done

Break the poison from he who stung.

Sail on; sail on away from your fear

Be free Teargot, shed not a tear.

The Teargot Has Not the Strength

Oh, I say unto thee

Your strength has failed, thou art free

Collapse upon the open ground

Hush now, make not a sound.

The sky is blue, the waters deep

Open thy heart, your secrets keep

Fly, fly on my dear Teargot

Thinkest free, but thinkest not.

The Teargot’s Enemy

Stumbling, bumbling through the trees

His heart as cold as the winter breeze

Winter ice runs through his blood

Dead, black heart, eyes of mud.

He searches far for dear Teargot

The fear he fears is often not

He looks to kill our beloved friend

He looks to kill till the utmost end.

What say you, what say you, do not defend

The evil enemy of our dearest friend!

Hide; do not strike for fear of loss

The enemy hates the golden cross.

He burns through wood with breath of fire

Smashes rock with hands of iron

He ruins all of what he sees

His heart as cold as the winter breeze.

Teargot is Found

Stand and fight, dear Teargot friend

Stand and hold, stand and defend

You must prevail, you must win

The battle of wits, to save thine kin.

The fear you fear is almost lost

Look unto the golden cross

Hold on, for strength is near at hand

Look not unto the dying land.

What haveth ye but a broken heart

Break his mind, and he shall depart.

Stand strong, my good Teargot of Wothin

Fly swiftly upon the wind.

Teargot’s Wound

Oh, beloved friend Teargot

Please tell me you hurteth not

I mourn your wound, your battle scar

I wish you to heal, heal so far.

Teargot is Healed

Oh, to feel the healing powers

Of the waving mountain flowers

Feel relief rush through thy blood

Look away from the eyes of mud

Rest now, then continue the fight

You are not lost, not so quite.

Wave your flag of victory

You still have strength, you still are free

Shout with a voice of happiness

Strength and power from peace and rest.

The enemy is weak and losing power

Let him fall within the hour.

He cannot last, not last for long

Teargot of Wothin, you must stand strong.

Fight until your fear is gone

Fight on, Teargot, for you are strong.

Teargot of Wothin-The Victor

Teargot of Wothin, standeth tall

You have conquered fear, and scaled the wall.

The enemy is dead, no more a threat

He never was, even when you first met.

You had the strength to push right on

Through the chaos and into the throng

You fought until the very end

Teargot of Wothin, beloved friend.

What Happened to Mr. Bill

A very wealthy man was old Mr. Bill

He owned a large house on the top of a hill

He had more money that he knew what to do with

So he spent most on a second home on a cliff

The home stuck out right over the sea

Mr. Bill could watch the waves while drinking afternoon tea

But one day there was a rather unfortunate event

It seemed Mr. Bills life had been totally spent

A rather rough storm blew in from the south

It was so strong it knocked over the house

Down and down the home went into the water

Mr. Bill died with no family, no wife, no son, no daughter

And with no will, the money was given to charity

A rich man with no will is quite a rarity

Though Mr. Bill thought his lifestyle fit him like a glove

His last thoughts as he fell, were that he had missed out, on love.

So the moral of the story to me is quite clear

I hope you understand, not to hold money so dear.

I will always be there for you.

She looked off into the west, the gentle sea breeze blowing through her auburn hair.  The sun was just starting to set on the edge of the ocean and the water was reflecting the light brilliantly.  She stood on a rocky cliff that hung out over the water, massive waves crashing against the surface of the overhang hundreds of feet below her.  She wore a plain red dress with flat bottom shoes; her hair tied up in a red bow.  She was beautiful, but the tears streaming down her face made her makeup run, leaving dark streaks down her cheeks.  Her arms hung limp at her sides.  She simply stood staring.

In her right hand she clutched a small piece of paper folded in two.  It was wrinkled and torn in a few places, but the hand written note on it was quite legible still, despite the blood that was smeared across the page.  Written on that piece of paper was a letter from her husband, who was now dead.  He had gone off to the war.  Both she and her husband had been expecting the worst, but they couldn't help hoping for the best.  Still their goodbye had been filled with many tears and sorrowful goodbye kisses.  She had been dreading this day ever since she had parted with him at the docks and she had watched him board that big ship and sail away.

She had been given the letter only an hour ago along with an official government notice of her husband's death.  Time seemed to freeze, and next thing she new she was standing here on the cliff looking out at the sunset.  This was their spot.  This was where they had spent much of their time on picnics, and where he had finally proposed to her.  It was where she had almost screamed yes in happiness and where they shared their first kiss at that moment.  It was also where they had spent the whole day together the day before he left for the war.  This was their spot.  She slowly raised her hand up that was clutching the letter.  She unfolded it once again and began reading it for the first time.  Se had read the official letter, but had waited to read her husband's hand written letter at their spot.

The letter read:

My dearest love,

I am writing this as quickly as I can because time is pressing and I want to say all I want to before I must go.  But know that every word I say I mean with the utmost love and care.  I miss you terribly, and my heart aches every moment that we are apart.  it aches especially right now as I write this because, my love, I know we shall never see each other again.  I want you to know exactly how I died, just in case the report you get doesn't get it right.  You'll most likely be told I died trying to drag a fallen soldier back to safety.  That is only partially true.  I don't want you to remember some false story about me when I am gone, but only the truth.  I am sitting here now with a bullet in my stomach my dear.  I was shot pulling a man to safety yes, but only after I was retreating.  We were ordered to fall back.  But I wonder if there is any honor dying in this way, retreating, rather than fighting.  My darling I want you to know the truth because I know that you will always love me no matter what.  But you must know the truth. The corpsman has patched me up as best he can, but he and I both know I will not make it.  So there you have it, the accurate version of how I died.  Make of it what you will, I just hope I died not in vain.

But now I must address the matter of you and I parting ways.  Know that you are the only woman I have ever truly loved.  God blessed me beyond my wildest dreams by bringing you into my life.  I thank God even at this very moment for all that he has done for me.  I ask only one favor of you my dear, please do not cry for me.  Do not mourn for me.  My death is but a part of God's wonderfully perfect plan, and sorrow is not the right choice of emotions.  Rather, be joyful, knowing that God indeed does have a perfect plan for both you and I.  Take comfort that you and I shall meet again in glory one day my darling.  Also, know that no matter what happens, whether in death or life, I will always be there for you.

With every last bit of love my body can muster,
Your husband

She was no longer crying when she finished reading the letter.  Her last tear fell from her face but no more came forth from her eyes.  Instead she was smiling as she read and reread the last paragraph of the letter over and over again.  She pressed the letter to her heart and looked up to the heavens where a lone star was just poking out into the darkening sky.  It twinkled at her and she let out a laugh.

"Thank you, God," she said.

The Adventures of Rob the Bob #3

We last left Rob the Bob at his friend's house where the cat Kritter was slowly approaching him.


Rob jumped behind a jar of pickles and held his breath.  Kritter walked by and did not see Rob behind the pickle jar.  Rob let out a sigh, which was heard by the cat.  Kritter turned and hissed and pounced at Rob.  Rob jumped out of the way, barely missing the sharp claws.  Rob ran to the edge of the counter.  He grabbed the phone cord that was nearby and threw it over the side.  He began climbing down, but when he reached the kitchen floor Kritter was there waiting for him.  That cat took another swing at Rob who dodged it again and ran for his miniature car.  he started it up and stepped on the gas.  He was going pretty fast swerving around corners here, dodging obstacles on the floor there.  Kritter was hot on his heels.


Suddenly Rob heard Jim call out and he turned to see his friend grabbing Kritter around the waist.  Jim put Kritter in his cage and locked it.  


"There you go Rob, sorry about that," said Jim picking Jim up and putting him back on the kitchen counter.


"ANY MORE SURPRISES?!?!?!"  asked Rob.

Tune in next time to see what happens to Rob while he's shrunk to fifty times his normal size!

The Hunter

The wind blew furiously over the tall grasses that covered the vast plains.  The sky was covered by dark clouds that flew swiftly through the air, heading south towards the sea.  You could see it coming, a massive black wall that came closer and closer, faster and faster.  It was a huge wall of rain pouring from the heavens, drenching everything it touched.

            The young man stood in the middle of the field watching as the sheet of water rushed towards him.  He watched it, only his eyes moving from side to side.  His body was motionless, completely still and standing straight up.  His muscles tensed as the rain swept upon him and washed over him.  It was cold as ice and stung his bare skin.  He was completely naked save for a small loin cloth he wore around his waist, covering his privates.  He began to shiver as the wet sank into his skin and seemed to chill his very bones.  He simply stood there, in the middle of the field, wind and rain swirling and rushing around him.  Then came the flashes of light, and then the booms of thunder.  The lightning lit up the field around him.  He looked towards a large clump of trees to his right.  He saw it, the outline of a great beast.  It was there for a second then it was gone.  Then the lightning flashed again, and was followed by a boom.  In the brief illumination of the clump of trees, there was only revealed empty space.  Further along the field though, closer to where he stood, was the large beast.  Hulking towards him like a great hairy hand, but with more than five fingers…eight fingers, it came closer and closer.  Then it was gone.  He was surrounded by darkness again.  He continued to look at the spot where he saw the thing last.  He heard an odd clicking noise.  He couldn’t move, wouldn’t move.  Then the lightning flashed again.  He was face to face with the beast, staring into its many eyes.  Its fangs clicked hungrily at him.  He could move now, fear had taken hold and adrenaline was setting in.  He stumbled backward.  He tripped over a log and fell.  The beast picked him up by its mouth.  He kicked it in the face.  It released him.  He stood up and began running as fast as he could away from the awful creature.  He foot was badly injured.  He could feel the blood pouring from it and every step was filled with agony.  He ran as fast as he could.  He looked behind him as the lightning flashed.  The creature was gone.

            He continued to run forward.  He was running in the direction the wind was blowing, the direction he knew the small cave was.  The cave was his only hope.  He could fit in it, but the hairy monster could not.  There he would be safe.  He ran through the tall grasses and as he ran by a bush his loincloth was torn off.  Now he was completely naked.  He was bare from head to toe.  He ran through the wet, cold rain, freezing and starting to feel weak as he lost more and more blood.

            The cave was somewhere close by.  He was sure that it was up ahead somewhere.  As he ran though, the creatures came running out of nowhere and pounced upon him.  He felt a sticky substance hit his arm.  He pulled back and continued running.  He only ran about twenty more feet when the beast was upon him once more.  He grabbed a sharp rock the ground and began slashing at the monster with it.  No matter how many times he waved the rock he did not hit the beast.  It picked him up again by the same foot it had before, and finished the job by pinching it clean off.  As he fell he lashed out with the rock once more.  This time the sharp edge made contact with one of the creature’s legs.  He felt the creature’s blood spray onto his arm and hand.  He stumbled back onto his one foot, and began to hop as fast as he could.  The creature followed him still, more slowly due to its injured leg, but followed him all the same.

            It was gaining on him.  He knew he would not make it back to the fort.  The wind grew stronger and began to howl loudly in his ear, sounding like a wounded beast moaning in pain.  He let out a yell of frustration and collapsed on the ground.  He looked up.  In the distance he could see the night lights from the fort.  He reached out with his hand and muttered an inaudible sentence then went limp.

            The creatures crawled up to him and stood over him.  It began poking and nudging him with its legs.  He did not move at all.  The hairy monster picked him up carefully and turned to bring him back to its nest in the large group of trees.  As the beast walked slowly back to home the man drew a knife, seemingly out of nowhere, and thrust it into the creatures head.  The creature let out a terrible screech as blood dripped from its flesh wound.  The man let out a victory yell that could be heard over the howling wind, the pouring rain, and even over the deafening claps of thunder.

            The beast dropped him on the ground and then collapsed next to him.  He brought the knife up into the air, where he held it for a mere second, then brought it down into the monster’s head once more, making sure that it was really dead.  Then he grabbed one of the legs and hoisted it over his shoulder.  He began dragging the beast back towards the fort.  He limped on his one leg.  Though he was losing blood fast, he knew he could make it back before it was too late.

            In order to be a good hunter, sacrifices needed to be taken.  Let the prey think you are beaten, wounded, left for dead.  When the prey thinks they have overcome you and are safe, then you strike.  If this means losing a limb or two, so be it.

            Anything to catch the perfect kill right?

Beware! Large Bird In Vicinity

So a large bird was perched on the telephone wire.  No big deal the old chap thought.  He could just keep on feeding those dumb pigeons the bread crumbs.  If the big old fatty bird wanted some it was more than welcome to come get some.  But instead the ugly brute sat on that wire and watched the old chap sitting on the par bench feeding the pigeons.  In fact it was the bench that was feeding the pigeon's and not the old chap.  The old chap was feeding them as well, I should say.  Both he bench and the old chap were feeding the pigeons.

The large bird sat on the wire and watched.  The bench was having difficulty throwing the bread crumbs, since it had no arms, only armrests.  The old chap was constantly having to aid the bench in throwing the crumbs to the stupid pigeons gathered round on the pavement.  The park was very still and quiet, for it was early morning.  But the big bird did not care, it just went on watching, watching, eating worms.  The worms crawled along the telephone wire right to the big bird so they could get eaten.  It was a sort of honoring ceremony for a worm to be eaten, especially by a bird as large and dumb as the fatty on the wire.  The big fatty bird watched the old hap and bench as they fed the pigeons.

The sun began to set and so the old chap patted the bench goodnight and then left the park.  On his way home he noticed the big fatty bird waddling along beside him.  It looked at him and screeched, then took off and landed in a nearby tree.  The worms no longer crawled to it, for they were taking a break from their honoring ceremonies.  The bird watched the old chap, and the old chap grabbed a chicken leg from his pant's pocket and began chewing it.  He sat down on the ground, crossing his legs, an sat there stubbornly watching the fatty bird, and the fatty bird watching him too.

And so night came.  The bright stars far up in the dark heavens twinkled and sparkled down at the old chap and the fatty bird.  Beware!  The stars said.  Beware!  Large Bird in the Vicinity.  They seemed to laugh at the old chap who had long finished his chicken leg and was now playing a small fiddle the size of a peanut.  He played a merry tune that seemed to say, this night is my day, and my day is too bright for you!  And so the old chap played on, while the large fatty bird watched.

Then morning came, and the old chap lay dead on the sidewalk.  People came from miles around to see the old chap's lifeless body.  It was rather incredible to see such a sight, the old chap, dead, and the fatty bird still sitting in the tree, watching, watching, eating.

Ouch! That hurt!

So this is a bit late I'm sure since I had this done over two weeks ago, but I just thought I'd write about it anyway.  What did I have done you might ask?  I had my four wisdom teeth taken out!  I had had mouth surgery before as well as some teeth pulled, so I was ready for this.  It wasn't exactly anything new, but it still sucked...like, a lot!  It hurt like crazy for the first week, and even now I still can't chew food in the back of my mouth.  I'll probably be chewing food with my front teeth like a gopher for another month or so.  But overall I seemed to recover quickly, which I was thankful for.  So here's just a rundown of what I remember from the surgery.

We got to the oral surgeon's office and I was brought into the room where I laid down on the chair.  I had taken a pill to sort of relax me before hand, and then they put laughing gas over my nose.  I won't lie, I enjoyed that immensely.  I wish they would just send you home with a tank of that stuff to help withe the pain!  So after I was nice and giggly, the doctor then began attempting to stick a needle in my arm.  He tried four times and failed to get a vein so finally he just stuck it in at my wrist area.  I usually am not a big fan of needles, but I can handle them.  But this time I was pretty much happy with being stuck so many times.  I couldn't feel a thing.  I was also too busy laughing at nothing.  So then I fell asleep and woke up.  Boom, just like that.  I was in the room for an hour I was told, but it felt like no time had passed.  That's drugs for you!  Then I went home and had to have that nasty gauze in my mouth.  Sure it helped with the bleeding, but still, it's not comfortable.  And from there I just sort of did my thing.  I had to eat soft foods and all that.  I pretty much just ate stuff that I could shove to the pack of my throat with my tongue and swallow whole.  Isn't that lovely?!?!?!?!  Sadly the pain killer they gave me upset my stomach, so I ended up taking Ibuprofen.  It wasn't bad at all really.  Sure I had some painful moments the first week, but the medicine kept me pretty well off.  I had no dry sockets thankfully!

The moral of this story is, eat your vegetables kids!

Peppy Pizza

She was a happy pizza.  Her cheese was all melted and bubbly, and her crust was  nice golden brown color. The pepperoni's were baked to perfection and the seasonings were just right.  Yes, she was very happy indeed....That is until she was carried out and set upon the table where a family of five savages stared at her hungrily.  Drool dripped from their open mouths and their fangs seemed to glisten in the light.  Their eyes were filled with a hungry fire and their hand went straight for plates and silverware.

Now at this point time seemed to freeze for Peppy Pizza.  She was about to be eaten by these monsters that surrounded her, and she had no way of stopping it.  Her life was about to end.  Her life flashed before her eyes and she saw everything that had happened since she had first been mixed together in the mixer.  She just remembered things coming into focus until everything was crystal clear.  Then the nice baker man had taken her out of the mixer machine and gave her a massage until she was all flat and feeling great.  Then all that sauce and cheese and spices that they put on her.  It tickled a bit but she enjoyed it.  The best part though had been tanning in the oven, oh by did it feel awesome!  Then she'd been taken out of the oven, happy as can be, but then she had been taken out to these beasts...these...humans, if that was what they were called.  She began to cry, sauce spilling out onto the table cloth.

"Do not cry child," said a voice.  Peppy Pizza looked up to see a jar filled with staring bread sticks.  All of them looked at her with pity on their faces.  One of the monsters grabbed a bread stick and began eating it, but the bread stick did not cry, in fact it seemed to be enjoying being eaten.

"Doesn't it hurt?" asked Peppy Pizza stuffily.

"Not at all, it tickles, it fees great!" laughed the bread stick just before the savage stuffed the rest of him in its mouth.

Peppy Pizza felt a little better, until they began slicing her up.  Her screams were heard all over the pizza parlor as the monsters cut her up into slices, red tomato sauce squirting all over the place.  The cheese and eggs in the fridge heard her, and the carrots and lettuce heard her as well.  Even the ketchup and salt and pepper heard Peppy's screams of agony.  And when they began to eat her, it did not tickle.  It was the most painful thing she had ever felt.  Actually it was the only painful thing Peppy had ever felt, but it certainly hurt.  She cried as the bread sticks laughed at her pain.

"Now you know what it feels like Peppy Pizza!" spat the biggest bread stick.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO" shouted Peppy Pizza, but then she woke up and realized it had all been a dream.  In fact she was not a pizza at all, he was a twenty-five year old man who lived in a nice apartment complex in New York City.  So Bill got up and ate breakfast and went to work.  He was a therapist.  So before his first patient got there he decided to talk to himself about the dream, to find out what it meant.  In the end he agreed with himself that the dream meant that you should never be a pizza.

The Adventures of Rob the Bob #2

When we last left Rob, he had just gone from being 5'5" to 1.3" tall...or short.

Rob had just climbed into the car that the lab techs had shrunken with the ray gun and was about to start it when the ground began to shack violently.  The lab techs were now wheeling the ray gun out of the room and it was causing quite a racket for poor rob.  Rob the Bob started the miniature car up and began driving towards the door.  He was almost at the door when the techs typed in a code on the other side, sealing the door shut.  There was a way to open it from the inside, but the keypad was at least a half a mile up in Rob's standards.  Rob growled in frustration and banged the steering wheel with his fist.  BAM!  The airbag went off and hit poor Rob in the mouth busting his lip and making it bleed.  He groaned in pain and then climbed out of the car.  He stared up at the door and then an idea.  He began honking the horn in the car, hoping that someone might hear it.  While it was plenty loud for Rob the Bob, he figured it was barely audible for a normal person, if at all.  Rob was certainly in a pickle right now.  Too bad he didn't have a pickle though he thought.  He was hungry.

The next day the door was opened once again.  Rob the Bob had fallen asleep inside the car, but he suddenly found himself being lifted off the ground.  One of the lab techs had picked up the car and was carrying it into the main part of the laboratory.  Rob began to beep the horn furiously.  The lab tech looked around and then realized where the sound was coming from.  The lab tech, Jim, looked at the car in surprise.

"Must have set the alarm off!" he said with a chuckle.  But then he caught sight of the tiny little driver that was Rob.  "Rob!"  exclaimed Jim in surprise.

"JIM!"  shouted Rob the Bob at the top of his lungs out the window, "AM I GLAD TO SEE YOU.  THE RAY GUN BEAM HIT ME AND SHRUNK ME.  CAN YOU MAKE ME GROW AGAIN?"

"Make you grow again?" asked Jim looking puzzled, "OH!  You mean with the ray gun?  Well I'm terribly sorry to tell you this Rob, but the ray gun is broken.  After the test it sort of died on us.  We're working on getting it up and running again, but I have no idea how long that will take!"

"WHAT AM I GOING TO DO JIM?" asked Rob in a distraught voice.

"You can come to my house," said Jim, "and I'll let you stay in my daughter's doll house."  Jim laughed until he saw Rob's expression and stopped immediately.  "Well seriously, I'll take care of you until we get this thing fixed Rob, don't you worry."


Jim took Rob home with him that evening.  They also took the little car so that Rob could get around more easily.  When they entered the house Jim put poor Ron the Bob up on the kitchen counter, not thinking about the great danger of doing so.  For up on that counter was sitting the family cat, Kritter.  It was the ugliest thing in the world, but had the sweetest disposition...except for one it saw small objects that looked good for chewing on.  Then it became a raging, terrifying monster.  When it caught sight of Rob the Bob, it let out a loud hiss that sounded like a roar to Rob.  Kritter's fur stood on end and it slowly prowled towards poor Rob the Bob!  The worst part was that Jim had left the room to get some things for Rob to use, and Rob was all alone.


Tune in next time to see how Rob the Bob get's away from Kritter the Cat in The Adventures of Rob the Bob!