50th post! Ah my drastically inconsistent blog...

we've been through so much together...

Fighting in Vietnam...

Being arrested last week for picking fights in Vietnam...

Playing rock, paper, scissors with ninjas...

Mopping up where they committed Seppuku...

Shooting the moon...

Planting the rifle on the sun...

Ripping off Strong Bad...

Good times.

Still, there's no time for sentimentality! The fight must continue!


MAX VERSUS THE INTERNET PART 9B: STEVE JACKSON'S SORCERY!

'Steve Jackson's Sorcery!' (yes, the exclaimation mark is part of the title), was written by Steve Jackson, and beautifully illustrated by John Blanche, in 1983 and has been re-published several times since then (including recently with new cover art in 2003, under the new shorter title 'Sorcery!').

BASIC OVERVIEW

'Steve Jackson's Sorcery!' is similar to the 'Choose Your Own Adventure' series, as it gives the reader the freedom to choose what path the main character takes, and to some extent, what choices he makes along the way. The series was unique, however, in its incredibly in-depth combat and magic system, which had many similarities to early dungeons and dragons.

Combat, testing for luck, and other game features that rely on chance, are all resolved by the roll of two six-sided dice. If the reader does not have a pair of dice, they can flip to a random page of the book, and look at a pair of dice printed on the bottom of the page, to see their roll (this was exploitable, however, as the pages most read would probably be the pages most flipped to).

There are four books total within the series, all a part of the same single storyline. To go along with the four books was an optional spell-book, which had to be purchased seperately, but came free as part of the final book (most likely as a way to get people to buy all four books at once).

GAME SYSTEM

The first step is to choose whether to play as a warrior or a wizard. The warrior has a skill rating (used in combat, we'll get to that later) of six plus the role of a six sided die. The wizard has a skill rating of 4 plus a six sided die. Warriors actually get kind of gypped, as it's quite possible to have a wizard much stronger than an average warrior, but wizards are more complicated and carry other, inherent risks.

The starting stamina (the generic life in the game) is 2d6 plus 12.

The starting luck is d6 plus 6 (luck comes into play only a few times per adventure, but it can literally be the difference between life and death, so it should not be used frivolously).

The starting equipment is a sword (if you lose it and don't have a backup weapon, your skill receives a penalty of -4), a backpack (assumed to carry all your items), two meals (eating is important in the game), and twenty gold (the money system).

Your character also worships the goddess Libra, the goddess of justice, and once per adventure you can call on her to raise all your stats to their original level (which is good if you're about to die), or to save your life. This often (especially if you're the warrior) can be your only way to escape death.

Every day you must have at least one meal (which heals either two stamina if it's your first meal, or one if it's your second), or else you lose three stamina the next day. You also lose a measure of stamina (one to three) if you skip sleeping.

Combat is resolved by rolling two dice, adding their sum to your skill rating, and then doing the same for your opponent/s. The side that had the lower roll loses two stamina (usually). If there's a tie, no one loses stamina. This continues in turn until one side is dead (unless otherwise prompted by the text). Sometimes there are special rules, for multiple opponents, special attacks and other miscellaneous circumstances. Most opponents have a comperable skill to yours (theirs is usually 7 or 8), but you have far more life (again, theirs is usually 7 or 8), so usually the challenge is the wear and tear of several fights, or one very difficult opponent.

Magic is usually used before combat begins (and usually only once per battle), where you receive a choice of five spells to choose from. Magic always costs stamina (the cost varies by the relative power of the spell), and there's a large 5 stamina penalty if you make a choice that isn't actually a spell, but a trap to trick people who are guessing.

Why would they have to guess? For security reasons, the player is not allowed to read the spellbook during the quest. You're expected to memorize the spellbook before the first book begins and then go from memory from there (although there are ways of collecting new spell books). Some spells also have material components which are found through the quest, and the stamina for the spell is lost regardless of whether you possess the item or not.

Magic may seem difficult, but many fights are ended immediately, or are placed largely in your favor. Magic can also save your life in situations where only Libra would suffice otherwise, although it can only be used if your character can speak, and has both hands free.

The spells all have a three digit name that hint at their power, and the most powerful of them (costing a whopping 4 stamina a piece, when most cost 1 or 2) are: Hot (Fireball), Zap (Lightning Bolt), Fof (Forcefield), Wal (invisible, invincible wall), and Law (commands animals). Most of these spells are powerful enough to end an encounter immediately, but the choice to use them is not always given (I guess the circumstances must be right).

PLOT OVERVIEW

You are a brave hero of the kingdom of Analand, and Analand, like its surrounding countries, has benefited from ownership of the Crown of Kings. The countries have taken turn possessing the Crown, and it has given them to mysterious power to control their nations, and bring peace where there once was war and disharmony. That being said, there is no actual evidence of how the Crown works, or even if it does anything at all (and the benefits are largely imaginary), but in any case it works and has always worked...until it was stolen.

The neighboring war mongering country of Kakhabad has always been a problem, but their complete lack of focus and leadership has kept them from being an actual threat to the kingdom of Analand. The Archmage Mampang, however, sent birdmen who successfully stole the crown, bringing it to him. Without the Crown, your country is doomed to fall into disharmony, while Kakhabad is destined to fall under the control of a brutal tyrant!

The kingdom's only hope is for you to seek out and re-claim the Crown. The book doesn't mention why it doesn't send more people, or give you more supplies, but I assume you're not expected to succeed, and they're usuing most of their resources to prepare for the almost inevitable war.

Your quest starts in the nearby Shamutanti hills (a generic fantasy setting), which lead up to the city of Khare (which rests upon a wide, highly dangerous river, leaving you no choice but to pass through the city, rather than around it), and then opens up into the Bakland plains (a wild and feral land). After the plains, you have to make your way into Mampang Fortress, the capital of your enemy itself, find the Crown and then find a way to get back safely.


OVERVIEW OF PLAY

This game is almost impossible. To beat any single one of these adventures will require several plays through, mostly due to the traditional 'turn left and die' gameplay within the 'Choose Your Own Adventure' genre. Yes, some of the traps and instantaneous deaths are the result of bad choices, but there's just as many random deaths that are not the fault of the reader, giving the story a try/fail gameplay system. (It's a good idea to keep a copy of your character from the start of each adventure, as kind of a 'save point')

Depending on the adventure or situation, it's also quite possible (especially in the fourth book), to miss something and then have no way of winning, but not know until much later in the adventure.

This aside, it's always been my favorite of the 'Choose Your Own Adventure' type books, both for the wonderful fantasy setting, and amazing artwork. Nearly every serious encounter includes a full page drawing to accompany it, which is always very well drawn, often very scary, and carries a grungy, dark ages feel to it.

I've never minded playing through several times, which is a good thing, as it's often very easy to miss something vital, and going back to the beginning of that book is often all you can do (or two books, in one despised instance which we'll go to later). The depth, importance of clues and special items (often codes that tell you what passage to go to) practically necessitate several plays through, especially if you're a warrior (more on this later).

The books are also unique in that you are often free to steal and murder on a whim, with no obvious penalty or punishment from your goddess. I guess it's assumed that since so much is at stake, the ends justify the means.

The magic system is also absolutely wonderful, requiring both a good memory and a good imagination, as you not only have to remember what the spells do, but decide which will be best for each situation, and if it's worth the cost in health.

BOOK OVERVIEWS *SPOILERS BELOW*


BOOK 1: THE SHAMUTANTI HILLS

This book has a frightening manticore on the cover (part lion, dragon and scorpion, the leader of the book), is the shortest of the four books, and is a good introduction to the series.

There are a few situations that can be seen as unfair (if you succeed a luck test at one point, you die, and although you get the option to intentionally fail, there's no logical reason why you would), and for the most part it's a standard and interesting fantasy setting.

About two-thirds of the way through the adventure you get accompanied by an infamous fairy Jann (called a Minnimite), that magically keeps you from casting spells. You have to find someone to remove it by the last dungeon, or you won't have your magic, which is basically death for your average wizard.

The last dungeon is a quest to save a Svinn (basically an elf) chieftan's daughter from the manticore. The dungeon is filled with danger, near death experiences (especially for warriors, as they can only call Libra for help once, and often have no other way of surviving random dangers), and the manticore is very dangerous, but can be defeated by magic alone if you choose correctly.

Victorious, you get some gold, the key to the next city (which is basically useless) and your stats refilled.

BOOK 2: KHARE, CITYPORT OF TRAPS

This is probably my favorite of the four books, as it has a very interesting setting (a grimy and crime filled city), an interesting twist to the quest and an optional reboot button at the end.

In order to get through the crime and trap filled city, you're going to have to find the four lines (although you really only need three) of the password that opens the gate at the other end. The lines are known by four important men within the city (a scholar, a priest, a beggar and a dead man...who's now a scary killer ghost), and within the lines are numbers which you use at the end to decipher the passage you need to go to leave the city.

Overall, the puzzles and traps within this book are the most fair and intuitive of the series, although you can easily miss one of the men with the lines of the password of no fault of your own. This is somewhat negated, however, by the book's option to start over, and be more careful in finding the lines of the poem.

Now, it's a little unclear as to if it's giving you the option to literally have your character walk back to the beginning of the city or if it's saying GAME OVER, but there really isn't any reason why your character would die at the end if they didn't know the password. They could literally make their way to the front of the city and start over, as the text says to do, so I've always taken this as a 'go back to start with what you already have' option.

Granted, it doesn't make sense why everything would be back to the way before you went through it, but there's no other clear resolution (you only die if you screw up the password, but to even do that you need all the necessary lines).

For the record *SPOILER ALERT!* the lines of the poem are:

I bid thee portals open wide... (from the priest, not necessary)
I bid thee TWO tumblers open wide... (from the scholar, kind of redundant)
ONE lock made out of golem's hide... (from the dead guy)
By Courga's grace and ******'s pride! (from the beggar...sorta)

The beggar forgets who's pride it is (damn him!) so you have to go to the temple of Courga and go through this highly deadly and unfair kissing ritual which will kill you several times before you get it right. Afterwards, you will find out that missing word is FOURGA (for the love of...).

With that, you make it through to the Baklands...


BOOK 3: THE SEVEN SERPENTS

This book is interesting, but has several small (and one giant) unfair traps along the way. In this book, you have to track down and defeat the seven serpents of Mampang, before they get to the fortress and rat you out. The benefits you receive in the final book depend on how many you defeat (usually a bonus or penalty to skill, luck and stamina, although there's a big reward/penalty for defeating all/none).

Each serpent reflects an element, and each has their own weakness, if you can figure out what they are through the clues. Each weakness either severely weakens them, or defeats them outright (or may be the only way to defeat them).

This adventure is an interesting counterpart to the city adventure, as it includes far more combat than puzzles/traps, and is also far longer.

The only downside is Sham.

Sham is a humble dwarf who is actually an enchantress in disguise, and if you give her an item that she happens to like, she'll give you a magic vial.

Now, I don't believe you always necessarily run into this encounter. You also have to give them something that they randomly happen to like. Then, and only then, you get the vial which is NECESSARY in order to complete the game.

You can easily miss the encounter, choose not to randomly give something to a passerby, give her something she randomly happens to not like, and then go on to the last quest, not knowing that one of the items you need in order to get through the game WAS IN THE LAST BOOK!

This is the only really unfair puzzle in the whole game, because it relies so heavily on chance (in an earlier book there's a clue that you have to find Sham, but it's still random as to whether you run into her, or get her to help you), and you can go all the way through to near the end of the game, not knowing you lost halfway through the third book.

This is what I call 'feeding the eagle a pie' (in honor of the much loved and despised King's Quest series).

Otherwise, a great book.


BOOK 4: THE CROWN OF KINGS

The last book will break your back over its knee like a Mad TV pro-wrestler. Not only is the combat very difficult, and the story includes many instantaneous deaths, but it's also filled with clues, secret words to open passages and vital magic items which are easily missed.

That said, it's not completely unfair, as most of the really dangerous traps and encounters have clues received earlier which help you know what to do (with the exception of a room with a mask on the wall, where if you walk into it, you die). The danger is made even worse by the fact that a third of the way through the adventure, Libra comes in a vision to let you know she can no longer help you when you go inside. Dag.

This adventure is INCREDIBLY difficult if you're a warrior, as you have to find a very specific item near the beginning (a genie bottle) in order to survive, and in any case you have to find a wooden spear AND get it blessed by a priest, or you have no chance (however the weapon is amazing when you finally get to use it).

There are a lot of difficult puzzles, a stone ram that can only be defeated by the vial from Sham (god damn them), many scary mutant goblin things, the chance to mutate into a horrifying monster (always fun), and an interesting near-final scene, where you're imprisoned, meet that evil Jann the pixie again (which keeps you from using your magic). Jann does, however, tell you the secret identity of the Archmage Mampang.

In an interesting twist, all the artwork for the Archmage is actually, in fact, pictures of his apprentice. The real Archmage (who is one sneaky bastard), is disguised as a fat, humble peasant, who resides around the middle of the game. With this knowledge, you can now expose him and get the Crown of Kings.

There you have to either use the genie, or cast the ultra-mega-forbidden spell ZED (costs seven stamina), to go back in time to an earlier part of the game (the only time in the game you get to do so), which is either random or if you discovered who the Archmage really is, you can go directly to him.

The Archmage is not a particularly difficult fight, but if you don't defeat him quickly, he'll automatically win.

With that, you get the Crown, and assuming you found a way to get rescued, you get to go back home, the savior of your land! Congratulations, you really earned it!

...

Let's see how that measures up...

The wiki site has a lot of good details, pictures and random facts...and only about a paragraph of description for each book, and absolutely no description of the game system other than a brief description of magic!

KRAKKA-KOW!

MAX VERSUS THE INTERNET WIKIPEDIA DUEL: 1-1

I AM GEEKIER THAN WIKIPEDIA! I'll have to slip some of my stuff into there to see if it sticks (he, he, he...).

Well, enough of the random geeky things I obsessed on when I was young, next time...for better or worse...I'm going all out.

Amber thinks I'm crazy for my choice of the last Wikipedia battle. Will you?

Hey everyone! I've been a bit busy lately, and I lost internet for a little while, so I'm afraid I didn't have time to continue the absolute thrashing that Wiki has been giving me, but I wanted to mention that I just won an online writing contest through www.writing.com (my screen name is Blompkin)!

YAHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

I'd like to thank Raymond Chandler, who drank himself to death so that we might have awesome detective stories!

Anyway, here's my first place winning story. It was for a 'twist ending' contest, where every story had to have a twist ending. I hope you like it!

Black, White, and Dead All Over


Laura's world was monochrome. Soon it would be gone.

It was night outside, but that meant nothing to the city. The city had virtually eliminated the night with a never ending supply of neon that flushed out the darkness. The only purpose the endless, hanging fluorescent monstrosities had was to inform the world around them that just inside were Beautiful Girls, cheap drinks, and/or the greatest show on Earth.

There would be no girls within those towering blocks of steel and wood. Those hard eyed, stern faced, half naked, and incredibly accommodating women all stopped being girls a long time back. That was just fine with me. I liked my women to have shattered lives. It saves a lot of time and trouble. Sure, you couldn't believe a word those women said, but it was an honest form dishonesty. You know they're lying, and you don't care.

The shows would only be as good as the ticket price required, as anything more would be a waste. A normal Joe or Jane didn't need the best show ever anyway. They just needed to be moderately entertained before their next shift.

There would be drinks of course, a seed of honesty in an ocean of lies that warms even the hardest hearts with its sweet, mind destroying waves of tranquility. It's almost enough to make a hard drinking detective tear up a little.

None of this mattered in Laura's apartment, of course. Laura's world was monochrome. The rug was an off-white, leaning slightly into grey, save for near the door, where some stupid detective forgot to wipe his feet. It was nothing a high priced cleaning lady couldn't handle, and with Laura, everything was high priced. I expected nothing less from the daughter of a senator.

The shelves and furniture were a more pure, immaculate white, save for the tables, which were all an equally pitch black. The appliances tended to be dark, a welcome contrast to the grey tiling in the kitchen and traditional white icebox. I don't know where Laura managed to find a black bathtub, but she had managed it.

There was no place for unnecessary color within Laura's world, not even lipstick or eyeshadow. The only color she allowed herself was the emerald green of her own eyes, which she used no makeup to bury or hide. I understood this. I understood this all too well. What I didn't understand, was why that perfectly sterile world held a place for me.

If life had taught me anything, it was that everyone wanted something. Laura could be no exception. Everything I had was up for sale, I made no attempt to hide it. All it would take was the slightest movement of an inked pen over a rectangular piece of paper and Laura could own me lock, stock and barrel for the rest of my life.

So why was I sitting on her couch, staring directly into those emerald eyes? Why was my brown jacket and hat hanging on the hook by the door, instead of still upon me as I sat in a bar, chatting up a shattered, honestly dishonest woman? Why did Laura's pale fingertips slowly encircle my arm? Why were her pale, full lips slowly moving closer towards me? What could she possibly want that her father's checks couldn't buy?

I didn't care.

Laura's face was sweet, like a child's, but serious like a woman's. I allowed my calloused hand to encircle her palm and I discovered her skin to be smooth, but her muscles to be firm. Her choice of clothes suggested she was in mourning, but her small smile told me she was pleased.

It was at that moment that I first realized that everything within Laura's life was opposed to itself. Happiness and sorrow. Love and hate. Pure and dark. Success and failure. Black and white. Her and me.

She slipped completely into my arms. My thin, tanned lips were a stark contrast to hers as they pressed against each other. Cupped in her arms, it would have taken a maniac, kicking the door in, to have gotten me to let go.

In fact, that's exactly what it took.

The front door was a mere fifteen feet behind us when a slam of a boot shattered the premium lock of her apartment. The chain held strong though, literally saving both our lives.

The part of my mind that refused to believe in miracles and happy endings had me on my feet in a flash, ready for violence...somehow vindicated by the violence. My other hand pushed against Laura, trying to get her to stay low, but she was adamant, and with surprising strength she pushed herself to her feet. Why? I will never know.

I fumbled for my pistol as the intruder elbowed the door off its chain, scattering metal links over the front stoop. As the entryway swung wide, I could tell it was McGrady. He was even carrying his lucky Tommy-gun, with the thirty-four tiny stars upon the side. I was determined to keep it from becoming thirty-six.

Everyone who had ever heard about McGrady could have easily recognized him on sight, thanks to the news reports of the giant scar going down the center of his face. I didn’t need any news report to recognize him though, not when I was the one who gave him the scar.

For a moment, I blamed myself for bringing a sadistic lunatic such as McGrady into Laura's perfect world, but somehow, inexplicably, his rage and fury were directed at my monochrome angel, not me. That had to change.

"McGrady!"

The better of his two eyes shifted towards me and widened. I hadn't been expected. For all I know, McGrady didn't even know I was working for Laura. What had brought him there? Why was he alone, unwilling to share the kill with any cronies? To find out, I'd have to spare his life.

That was much too high a price.

The tommy gun whipped towards me, but the arm holding my pistol was already extended. The blast shattered the silence, and the small slug of metal spun through the air. The shot caught his shoulder, whipping his gun arm high and to the right, sending a volley of bullets tearing through the unoccupied half of Laura's apartment, shattering everything in their path.

Why didn't Laura run? Dive? Duck? Anything except stand there? I didn't have time to ask. The cleaning woman would have her work cut out for her, as now drops of blood were dripping to the floor from McGrady's wound. Somehow, the maniac didn't seem to care. McGrady was fueled by the same dark, primal drive that allowed small wolverines to kill bears. Luckily for us, those instincts did nothing for his aim.

Before he fully regained control of his gun, I put another slug in his torso, this time in the center of something vital. Besides throwing him off balance, the bullets seemed to have virtually no effect on McGrady. A piece of metal ripping into his body merely meant he had to re-adjust his aim.

Seemingly immune to pain, McGrady placed both hands on his favorite cop killer, and raked it straight across the center of the room. I dove forward with the drive that allowed rabbits to escape from wolves, and fired once as I sailed through the air. I aimed the bullet upwards, directly at the scar, and that is exactly where McGrady received it.

Almost a year ago, a bullet of mine had ripped directly up his face, tearing and splitting as it flew. This time the bullet caused considerably less visible damage. All it left was a small round hole.

Even the fiercest beast can't survive without a mind. McGrady' made a last sideways stumble straight into the wall. At first I thought he'd just lean there, but it wasn't long before he slowly slid to the floor, leaving a long red streak all the way down to the floor.

I hardly noticed. It didn't matter. The damage was done.

McGrady's final spray of bullets had cleaved straight across Laura's chest.

I dove to her side, feebly examining the numerous bullets that littered her torso. Her breaths were short and silent. Besides a slight clutching at my arm, she did nothing more before going limp.

Her emerald eyes gazed up into mine and a final, single tear ran down the length of her porcelain cheek.

What could I do?

What was there left to do, now that my angel, my last glimpse of light in a world of darkness had been taken from me?

I did the only thing I could.

I selected 'Continue'.

If she dies again, I'm switching the game to easy.

MAX VERSUS WIKIPEDIA PART 1: Woops!

'Woops!' is surreal sitcom, in the spirit of Herman's Head, that aired on Fox for a single season. The plot of the show is that a malfunction during a parade caused nuclear missiles to fire and accidentally start World War 3. According to the plot, the entire world is wiped out in a flash of light, except for a few survivors, who all find a farm that's mysteriously untouched from the blast. On this farm, the survivors attempt to rebuild society, which is difficult, considering that the remaining survivors are:

1. A normal, everyday male schoolteacher who only survived because he was inside a Volvo.

2. A middle aged feminist that's a bit of a goody goody, and a control freak.

3. An incredibly greedy stock broker who can't get over the fact that his money has no meaning anymore.

4. A slightly unethical male doctor, who is possibly the only remaining black person alive on the planet.

5. A ditsy female salon worker.

6. A slightly crazy, overweight homeless guy. (The best performance of the cast)

Despite the grim topic, the show is played off as a ridiculous oddball spoof, attempting to capitalize on the trend of over the top, zany network comedies. Plots included:

*POSSIBLE SPOILER WARNING*

- The pilot, where the survivors gather.

- A giant mutant turkey, the size of an elephant, wrecks havok on their farm, almost eats the survivors, and would have been unstoppable, had it not looked up while it was raining, and drowned. The homeless guy almost perishes in the same fashion, but the everyday guy manages to get him to look down by using the 'hey, a quarter' trick. This episode was easily the funniest of the series.

- Mutated berries, that cause LSD-like hallucinations when crushed against your head, causes the survivors to become 'berry heads'. Only the main hero refuses to immediately try them, only to become a full blown addict just as the others are kicking the habit. Includes an 'even stranger than usual' hallucination scene during his recovery, with the rest of the cast dressed in giant berry costumes.

- The survivors decide to begin repopulating the planet, with contests to decide the best suited couple. The main guy and the teacher are chosen, but he finds he isn't ready to go through with it, and as the rest of the cast gets in a giant fight over the name of the child to be, they all decide they're not ready to take care of kids yet.

- The survivors experiment with starting their own businesses and money system (twisty-ties), only to have a few members of the cast become completely corrupt with power. The homeless guy has a surprisingly somber and thoughtful speech on how money changes people right at the end of the episode.

- The homeless guy and the supermodel fall in love.



...


How did I measure up? Let's find out...


Man...there's actually a halfway decent wiki page for this show...but only halfway decent.

According to the wiki, the show aired in 1992, and although thirteen episodes were made, only 10 were aired (who the hell kept track?). My description doesn't include as many fine details (as I expected), but I go a bit more in-depth into the plot.

The character descriptions are on par with mine, but include their names (both characters and actors), which I had all forgotten. I actually made one small mistake: the greedy guy isn't a stock broker, he's a venture capitalist (a small difference, but still worth a point).

The wiki lists all the plots of the episodes, including ones I missed, but my plot descriptions, again, are far more in-depth.

Hmm...all things considered, we're pretty much going neck in neck...until the Christmas episode.

In the Christmas episode (I can hardly believe it), the group gets a visit from Santa Claus...no, not figuratively, but the real Santa Claus. It turns out he's having survivor's guilt, as he made it to the North Pole bomb shelter (they nuked the north pole?), but Mrs. Claus and all the elves didn't make it, and it's up to the gang to cheer him up!

My God.

I want to see that episode.

That is the single darkest and most ridiculous plot for a sitcom episode in the history of mankind.

How the hell did I miss that one? Why have I never heard of it? Damn it, I've got to give them this one.

POINT WIKI

Ouch! I was pretty sure that one was a safe bet, but I guess I underestimated how much attention a fifteen year old show, that only lasted two and a half months, gets.

Oh well, next up...we relive the statue kissing nightmare...

My cousin Jenny had her babies! Twin boys, Sean and Nick! So much is going on, I don't have time to post a full message! Instead, here's a short story (that's possibly the first chapter of a full story) I wrote that's been getting some good reviews. Enjoy! (I started writing this a long time ago, so if the names match people I know in real life, it's not intentional)

DEAD MAN'S JACKET


It was summer in the evening and I…wait a minute. It was June 20th. Is that summer yet? It was the beginning of Summer break, I’m sure, but is that officially Summer? I remember it being a little cool…no, it was definitely Summer, I’m sure of it.

Okay, let’s start over.

It was summer in the evening and I was about to…I guess it was more like seven forty-five. That’s evening, right? I mean, it wasn’t totally dark. The sun was almost completely over the horizon though, and it was cloudy…so yes, yes it was definitely evening.

But IS June 20th summer? God, that’s really going to bug me.

Okay….It was June 20th (which I’m pretty sure is summer) and it was DEFINITELY evening (or at least dark out) and I was about to…or should I say had committed…oh well…anyway, I killed a few guys.

Before we get to that, let’s focus on a pimpled convenience store clerk. I assure you, the violence will soon follow.

The said clerk in question was at that moment downing what had to be his tenth cup of French vanilla coffee as he reclined in his boss’s chair, opened up the paper, and continued to man the front register of the most backwater, out of the way, convenience store in New Jersey, situated conveniently between the Oak Hill Elementary school for rich kids with severe emotional disorders (or O.H. E. S. 4 R. K. W. S. E. D. for short) and a giant stable (used for as far as I could tell, the production of horse shit). I don’t know much about that kid except that his name tag said Jim, and that he probably didn’t deserve what was about to happen to him.

A van screeched to an abrupt halt outside the shop, and at once, three men dressed head to toe in black (complete with dark hoods pulled over their heads) rushed inside the shop in unison, guns already in hand. The tallest carried a shotgun, which was conveniently sawed off. The shortest carried a revolver, and from what I can tell, had no intention of using it. The one in the middle also carried a revolver, but he and his short companion had vastly different opinions in the appropriate frequency of its use.

The tall one did a quick scan of the storefront, pointing the shotgun down the first isle or two, to see if anyone else was there. The coast, from where he was standing, appeared to be clear. The middle one situated himself in front of the register, with the intention of doing all the talking. The short robber stood by the door and stared outside, determined not to see what was about to happen to Jim.

The middle one cleared his throat, but before he could speak, Jim interrupted him, without looking up from his newspaper,

“Thank you for choosing Ed’s Farm, home of the Super Duper Hoagie and Ultra Slam Extreme Berry Coolata. My name is Jim, how can I offer you excellent service today?”

He had said it forty-eight times that day, and about ninety six hundred times in his entire lifetime. This would be the last time.

There was a confused moment of silence, but the middle robber knew how to handle these situations. He pressed his revolver firmly against Jim’s head, and waited until he had Jim’s undivided attention.

He received Jim’s undivided attention.

“Jim, I’m afraid I don’t give a shit about your farm, hoagie, coolata, life or wellbeing, but if you can spare the time, you could show me excellent service by placing all of the money in the register and safe into a paper bag.”

“OR HE’LL KILL YOU!”

The thief of moderate height sighed and gave a small nod to his tall companion.

“Yes, I do believe that was implied.”

To his surprise he only received silence from Jim, despite the fact that the robber had spoken quite clearly and made a very straightforward request.

“You just can’t get good help these days.”

If you would, I would implore you to take a moment and look at that robber of medium height within your mind’s eye. Just look at him, pressing a pistol hard into the forehead of a defenseless, pathetic sales clerk, with the full intention of firing.

Could I have possibly sunk that low?

Could I have possibly had such little regard for human life?

Could I have been such a despicable character, devoid of any redeeming characteristics? I have to look back and ask myself a very important question:


Is that really me?


No.

No, of course not.

Don’t be silly. I’m further to the back. No, no not towards the door, back by the chips, with…Jen…

Memories flood my mind even now. Crashing, flying glass, an Angel descending from…but never mind that for now. The tall thief began moving towards me.

You may be wondering how I know all the fine details of this encounter, considering that I'm in the back of the store. Let me assure you, the truth is merely embarrassing, so I'm putting those details off as long as necessary.

Anyway, the tallest of the thieves had heard the rustling of bags coming from the back of the store, and in response he moved his mouth close to the robber’s ear, and then carefully muttered at the top of his lungs,

“I THINK SOMEONE ELSE IS IN THE STORE!”

The gun pressed against Jim's forehead shook in the gang leader's hand, and Jim was very lucky that it didn’t accidentally blow a hole straight through him. The middle robber turned towards his friend and whispered back,

“Thanks for the information, kid. I’m a bit busy here having a nice conversation with my favorite living sales associate, Jim.”

He turned his eyes to his short companion and commanded,

“You keep watching the door. You…”

The leader glared at his tall companion,

“Go see what's making that noise, and you…”

His gun flicked back at Jim.

“…put the money into the bags…and that safe better be open by the time my friend gets back.”

The tallest of the thieves took two steps towards the back before he heard the words,

“Ranch? How can possibly like Ranch? It’s disgusting!”

The melodic, feminine voice echoed through the back of the store, and for a brief moment, every man in the building felt a tingle go down their spine. It was a good tingle.

A bag of chips flew over the aisle, and hit the tall guy in the face, but he could hardly care after hearing a voice like that.

The feminine voice rang out again with a random exclamation that was high enough to almost be shrill…had it not a magical, poetic ring to it. There was another nice tingle.

Jim especially felt quite warm inside, and he found it a pleasant distraction from the fact that he had no idea what the safe combination was.

The female speaker had the kind of voice that could lead the choir of any religious establishment you could possibly name (even the Church of Our Holy Mother of Ridiculous Expectations), and could have just as easily been used to get 1.99 for the first minute and 3.99 for each additional minute. Currently, the voice of the heavenly angel was proclaiming:

“Jesus Christ, you're retarded!”

A metal rack shuddered as I feebly attempted to grasp onto it. I’m not sure exactly what I was trying to accomplish, but I have a feeling I was trying to get the robbers to dial 911. It was just as well I failed though. I doubt they would have helped me.

Above me, Jen was rolling her eyes and snapping at me,

“Stop pulling things off the shelf if you don't want me to buy them! You can’t have everything you know! You know what? I’m just going to get the standard, normal potato chips.”

I desperately tried to grab onto something, but Jen yanked on my collar, and continued to proclaim, as she dragged me across the floor,

“No, you can’t have the ones with ripples, you can’t have the ones in a tube and for the last time you can’t have the ranch ones! God, you’re strange…you still bleeding?”

Jen nudged my head over so she could check on the huge gash on my neck.

“Yeah, you’re bleeding…”

The tallest of the robbers swung his shotgun down the aisle just as Jen’s mouth was about to touch my fresh injury. He seemed slightly surprised. He probably had expected a mother and child, not the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life dragging a chubby guy across the floor.

His eyes studied her figure, which was petite, but at the same time curvy and voluptuous. He paid careful attention to her bright red hair and porcelain white skin. He could hardly have missed her perfectly small, yet pointy nose, and he was practically entranced by her emerald green eyes and deep red lips (she didn’t wear makeup…that wasn’t the reason her lips were red). The only thing that didn’t fit her perfect body were her incredibly ill-fitting clothes: loose jeans, large black shoes and a grey t-shirt with a vaguely Celtic symbol on the front.

Now that I reflect back on it…Jen was a living, breathing contradiction. She was small and full bodied, dark and pale, green and red, lovely and horrifying…

Well, he probably didn’t find her horrifying. He wasn’t at the crash.

A part of my mind will always be with the crash. The world slowed as our speeding vehicles collided, smashing towards each other instead of away, probably due to the fact that Jen had turned her car directly to face mine just as I thought she was going to pass me. I lurched against the seatbelt, feeling my insides beginning to squeeze and crack under the strain. Jen hadn’t worn a seatbelt. I know because I could see her through her windshield, despite the smeared blurry hand prints that had coated it on the inside.

Her body erupted through the glass like an angel ascending to the heavens. A mostly naked limp body flew through at the same time (no doubt the original owner of the car and Jen’s baggy clothes), slammed spine first right through my windshield, and sent the glass crashing into the compartment above my lurching head. The limp dead body, either a woman or small man, landed in the passenger side seat with an odd thump, and its blood leaked down into the upholstery.

I could hardly care.

My eyes were turned towards the heavens, locked upon the perfect sight of Jen, my beautiful contradiction, as she flew effortlessly through the air, spinning gleefully as she ascended upwards.

Without warning, her perfect green eyes snapped down towards my stunned expression, and without a single word she curled her legs up to her body, so her calves touched the back of her thighs, and she froze suddenly in place, above my limp, bruised and partially broken frame. Our eyes explored each other’s depths. Mine were but a shallow pond. Hers were outer space.

Instead of continuing forwards, her body defied physics and dropped directly down towards me, face first. She parted her lips, and I parted mine. I was in agony, but I was also in heaven.

Agony in heaven. Can you imagine that? I'd imagine you'd have to force a lot of smiles. You wouldn't want to embarrass Jesus in front of his guests.

Anyway, as Jen descended fully towards me, I craned my mouth towards hers, but I missed by several inches.

As I moved towards her lips, she had moved towards my throat. I found my lips upon her ear. Still, I had to make the most of it. I lovingly planted a long kiss upon her perfect earlobe, just as my reality became a world comprised of nothing except pain.

Her perfect, white teeth tore into the flesh of my neck.

Her teeth weren’t any sharper than normal…so she had to press quite hard.

None of this was known to the robber of course, who only stared in stunned disbelief as the ivory skinned beauty glanced up to him, glanced at his gun, and with no change in her expression, focused once again on me, the chubby teenager wearing old jeans, a red t-shirt, and a long jacket (despite the warm weather outside).

Yup, one sentence. That’s all the description I get. Trust me, there wasn’t much else to say…other than I was comatose and half dead. Well, that and I was wearing the jacket of a dead man...but you couldn't tell that from looking. Pretty soon I'd be dead too, if Jen didn't do something about it quick.

“You like cookies, Danny? Are you a crème filled guy or a chocolate chip guy?”

The robber felt that he should say something, but before he opened his mouth, the girl had picked a bag of cookies and then lifted me by the collar, up to my feet, with a single, effortless pull.

The lead robber playfully toyed with his gun, spinning it around his finger, getting ready to make an end of what would be a simply glorious night, when the tall robber walked back and said,

“There’s a chick dragging a dying guy through the snack aisle.”

“Doughnuts! Look Danny, there's doughnuts! Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

Jen gave a childish squeal of glee, as she quickly ripped the package open and shoved a handful of doughnut holes straight into my gaping mouth.

“Go ahead! Eat up! We can pay for it later.”

The head robber turned momentarily away and the clerk (who had already decided to run for it…if her could only figure out somewhere to run to…the fire exit was in back). The main robber glanced down the aisle to confirm his assistant’s story. Indeed, he clearly saw my pale, shuddering body, once again sprawled on the floor, obediently chewing a large handful of doughnuts. I didn’t have a choice.

The robbers could think of nothing better to do but follow, as my angel pulled me towards a cooler, from which she plucked an ice tea. She carefully, almost tenderly placed it within my hands, which were beginning to feel numb.

“Drink it.”

I did. I unscrewed the top of the bottle with a surge of surprising strength (I felt half dead a second before), and then I began to happily guzzle it down. It felt good, but at the same time I felt curiously empty. Jenny smiled and then nodded her head in the direction of the robbers, who were beginning to regain their senses. Through her perfect, blood stained lips, my own person Jezebel whispered,

“Kill them.”

What could I say?

“Okay.”

“Freeze!”

I didn’t. I had no intention of doing anything the tall man with the shotgun said. In fact, he was dead to me.

The world was once again moving in slow motion, just as it had during the crash…but curiously enough, I wasn’t moving slowly at all. I stepped up to my feet and had practically an eternity to reach the tall man and slap the gun out of his hands before he pulled the trigger. Since he was disarmed, I really didn’t have a reason to kill him anymore.

I did anyway. I really don't know why.

My arms moved like a marionette, with a will and drive all their own, smashing the large man straight into the stone wall, my right hand crumpling his arm like an empty plastic bottle, and my left flattening his chest until it was as thin as a folded up newspaper. Of all the helpless spectators watching the man's death, the expression that was the most horrified was my own, staring back at me from the security mirror. The gang leader, on the other hand, barely hesitated a moment, and casually fired his gun, tearing apart my left ear.

I turned to face my attempted killer. With a grim expression upon my face, I spoke to him through slightly parted lips,

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!”

Somewhere, deep in my mind, I had always expected a situation like this to someday happen (it came with reading comic books), but in every version of my trite and shallow power fantasy, I was completely resistant to pain.

I was already dreading what the security footage was going to look like…with the corner of my brain that wasn’t contributed fully to feeling pain of course…which wasn’t much. In a blind fit of anger, pain and fear, I clenched my eyes shut and began furiously punching forward, over and over again.

Eventually the pain subsided enough for me to compose myself, open my tear filled eyes and notice that my hands were red and sticky…and the gang leader wasn’t standing in front of me anymore.

Something was leaning on my feet.

I glanced down far enough to see the figure in my corner of my eyes…and then I decided to never look down at it again. I carefully made my way to the soda machine, and with no hesitation or thought, I began to run the fruit punch over my gory hands.

Pretty soon my mitts smelled like corn syrup, which was far better than blood, and I could focus upon the world again. Jim was hiding behind the counter. The shortest of the robbers was staring at me, in disbelief. He held that stare forever.

A bullet ripped through his skull, from the gun in…my hand. Jen was smiling so happily as her hands clenched around mine, forced the gun into my hand and tugged at my finger to pull the trigger. It all happened in the single blink of an eye...even by my new standards.

For a while, we didn’t say anything to each other at all, and merely gazed once again into each other’s pupils. I felt like a single drop of rain being enveloped by an ocean.

Jim hopped the counter and bolted out the door. Jen didn’t seem to mind.

I realized that she was waiting for me to say something. It was only fair. I mean, three men had just died by my hand. The situation probably deserved some comment.

Only one statement came to mind.

“Who are you?”

Her expression didn't even flicker. She merely parted her thick crimson lips, gave them a lick and answered back,

“Jen.”

I nodded. My expression didn't change either. I casually replied,

“I love you.”

Jen gave my quivering, gun-toting hand a gentle kiss as she cooed,

“I know, Danny. I know..."

Her lips broke into a smile, as she added,

"Nice jacket, by the way.”

With a small giggle, Jen gave the top of my left hand another small kiss…and then with a purring hum, she proceeded to sink her teeth right in.

What can I say? Chicks love the jacket.

Hey everyone! Work's been a bit busy, so I'm going to just make a short post to announce the...

MAX VERSUS THE INTERNET: FINAL ROUND

That's right!

I'm declaring victory in the fanfic competition, as both of my entries outdid the original fanfics the themes were taken from (Amber said my Mac/PC story was far better, and Pat grudgingly muttered something and gave a small nod, so I'm counting that as a win). So there, I can out-write any of these fanfic penning losers, even when I only have ten minutes in which to do it, whereas they had as much time as they wanted.

MAX VERSUS THE INTERNET: 4-3

The Myspace challenge I'm going to have to call as a draw. I didn't get any more response than I previously listed (at least not from the original people I wrote), leaving the record as 1 creepy, 1 not creepy, and one who split the middle, or 1-1-1.

Myspace has a LOT more people on it than I realized. I've connected up with lots of people I haven't seen in ages, it's very user friendly, and there are a lot of options. That being said, there's a ridiculous amount of trolling, advertisements and camwhores out there as well, flooding my inboxes. So with the judge's permission, I'm calling the competition's first draw.

MAX VERSUS THE INTERNET: 4-3-1

This brings us to what may or may not be our final round, depending on if I win/draw or if I lose. I've got to completely lose this round in order for there to be a sudden death match, so let's make this a good one...

Then again, what's there left to do? I've pretty much scoured the basement of the internet for overbloated, idiotic, and juvenile websites? What's left?

The grand daddy website of them all.

I've been getting a lot of wins here, but I have to admit that some of them were pretty easy. Taking on the IMDB, fanfics, and Google image search isn't that hard. Still, you can only pick on a bunch of harmless guys for so long...until their big brother shows up.

I've been battling the internet, and now that we're at what will most likely be the final challenge, as I've slain all the weaker foes that had blocked my path, I weakly stagger through the large double doors into the throne room. There, with my sword firmly in hand, I face down my final enemy.

MAX VERSUS THE INTERNET FINAL: WIKIPEDIA

I know what you're thinking.

'Max, be reasonable! Wikipedia is a fantastic website that the whole world uses!'

To that I say: I REFUSE TO BE REASONABLE! I set out to challenge the internet, and I can't chicken out and add on 'except wikipedia'.

Wikipedia is perhaps the greatest invention since the invention of the internet itself, and thus, I must challenge it!

The judge has approved the following battle:

I will write up three potential entries into wikipedia for three different topics, each from a completely different genre, and each without any foreknowledge of the status of their wiki page (or if they have a wiki page at all).

If what I write is more informative than what's existing, I get the point. If what I present isn't as substantial, then wikipedia gets the point.

Sure, wikipedia had a lot more time and resources to gather the data (and as with the IMDB challenge, I don't know a lot of dates and actor names), but to balance this, I get to choose the three topics, and if my stuff is better...what the hell, I'll enter it into the Wiki site and see if it sticks.

I won't spoil it by announcing beforehand what the topics are, only that the first is an old bad TV show that I believe only I watched (I don't have dates or actor names, but I'm pretty sure a basic description of the series will trump what wiki has on it), the second is a choose your own adventure-like book series, and the third is a popular kid's cartoon/comic/movie character (Amber looked skeptical when I mentioned this one, but I've decided to go with something hard rather than easy).

I'll write them up and check it out and then post the results. Wish me luck!

Hey everyone! This is a short story of mine that's being published in issue #5 of Mississippi Crow. www.mississippicrow.com

Special thanks to Pat, because I can't imagine anyone as being mad chef besides him. My sister Amber (Wandering Knitter) says it's because the character embodies how serious Pat gets when he's cooking. In any case, enjoy!



How to Cook Roast Dragon

Mr. Ivins, well renowned Master Chef, has always hated heroes.

Oh sure, you may very well say that he hated a lot of things. He hated waiters who dropped plates. He detested barmaids that spent more time leaning over the counter and flirting than serving drinks. He hated the small elven folk who shared a single meal between four of them, but still took up an entire table. He fumed at the dwarven folk who paid in large lumps of iron. He despised saffron with a passion that I cannot even begin to understand. Yes, all that is true, but I can tell you from first hand experience that what he hated most of all were heroes.

I can see by your expressions that you're asking yourself 'how could a chef of such well renown possibly hate adventurers, who are nothing less than the largest spenders of all time?'

They ordered dragon.

They always ordered dragon.

The chef took dragon off the menu and they STILL ordered dragon.

You must understand, my dear listeners, NOTHING is harder to cook than dragon. First, you have to get the meat from a source that is dubious at best. After the giant fell beast is slain by heroes, the knackers practically trip over themselves to be the first ones to the carcass. Each grabs whatever chunks they can get their bloody hands upon and then hurries it over to the designer restaurants who then have to pay whatever ridiculous price the knackers want to charge (which will be about a tenth of the ridiculous price that'll eventually be charged for it in the restaurant) for a pile of miscellaneous dragon meat that can range from a shoulder flank, a few ribs, the tail, or an entire stomach. From these random assortments of meat, Master Chef Ivins has produced dragon steaks, dragon soups, dragon ka-bobs, and in one case, from a dragon stomach, a very shaken and thankful elf.

Secondly, you're going to have to cook it, which is going to take DAYS. Ever wonder why dragons don't burn themselves with their own fiery breath? The oven would have to be practically volcanic in order to even singe a piece of dragon's flesh, and even though our master chef kept his oven charmed with fiery enchantments, they still have to burn all day and all night, for days on end, just to get the dragon flesh to the point of 'rare'. Thankfully, some adventurers have begun ordering Dragon practically raw…but their expectations are somehow the highest when the meat is completely uncooked.

Which leads us to the last, and possibly most relevant reason why the Master Chef hated dragons: they taste horrible. Nothing is worse than breaking your back to cook a piece of magical lizard, preparing it with the skill and craftsmanship of a professional, and then having some brainless, magic sword toting muscle-head take a single bite and announce that it tasted funny.

"OF COURSE IT TASTES FUNNY! IT'S DRAGON! DO YOU REALLY THINK YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO EAT DRAGON?! I OFFERED THE STEAK! YOU WOULD HAVE LOVED THE STEAK! BUT NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..."

Luckily, the chef wasn't the one who talked with the customer directly, or we wouldn’t be in business. No, he could only focus his rage upon the hostess, who in turn focused her rage on the waiter, who in turn went back and politely apologized to the customer, and offered to have the chef fix their dish.

"FIX IT?!!!"

The chef took a deep breath, extended his arms outwards, and then snapped them forward, stopping an inch from the poor waiter's face (the hostess had decided to hide in the women's room for the duration of the encounter, a tactic that the waiter, who happens to be myself, found slightly unfair). I stared at the end of an incredibly calloused and discolored finger, as the chef spontaneously regained his composure, and spoke in the voice of a wounded artist,

"How can you fix a catastrophe? You're asking me to redesign a ship that’s currently sitting on the bottom of the ocean. You're asking me to repaint 'The Bloodbath at the Crimson Gate' so that it's not quite so RED."

The chef stepped towards me (which was slightly intimidating, as the chef was by no means a small or weak man…in fact he was quite large and intimidating), and all I can do was back up, the dish still in my hand, as he continued,

"You're asking me to mend the broken leg of your great, great grandfather's corpse, in the hopes that he just might one day walk again. You're asking me to take a giant killer magical lizard, and make it taste like cow."

I was running out of room to back up. Any more and I’d have been knocked right down the steps into the old basement, leaving me no choice but to steer myself back towards the dining area. The chef hardly seemed to care.

"Well then, I guess you can march right back and let your adventuring friend know that he's free to ORDER THE BLOODY COW!"

I stumbled and spun out the door, a forced smile upon my face, and a deviously crafty plan for my survival already in mind. All I needed was a one of the spare chef's smocks, a fancy hat, a pinch of black pepper, a sprig of parsley, and an attractive waitress who owed me a favor.

A few minutes later, the waitress Penelope stepped up to the adventurer, the plate of dragon meat in her hands. The smock was tied tightly around her slim figure and the fancy hat was perched perfectly upon the top of her curly brown hair. She smiled nervously as she carefully placed the dragon steak back in front of the hero (who was either Barry the Barbarian, or Dan the Druid, I'm not exactly sure). Penelope then bit her lower lip in a disgustingly adorable fashion and apologized in a soft, quivvering voice,

"I'm so sorry, sir! I'm a little new, and when I heard that the meal was for you, I was so nervous that I forgot to finish adding the spices. I hope it’s alright now. I worked as hard as I could to make it perfect for you..."

Penelope practically purred the last lines as she batted her eyelashes and waited in anticipation. The adventurer gave Penelope a small smile, cut himself another piece of the slightly altered dragon steak, and then popped it into his mouth. His face was uncertain at first, but as he gazed up upon Penelope's beautiful, worried expression, his giant chin eventually broke into a smile as he announced to the entire restaurant,

"It's perfect!"

Penelope was visibly overjoyed, and the evening then proceeded as normal. I wouldn't be impaled by an angry hero, the cook wouldn't serve me up as a side dish for the next client, and all was well and good until the next disaster walked into the restaurant...which was roughly half an hour later.

It was another hero, but this one was slightly different than the normal bow/sword/staff/mysterious birthmark toting kind. This was the type of hero that didn’t have stories sung about them…although they were often mentioned in the news. This was the type of hero people talked about in hushed tones. This was the type of hero that the peasants hid from until he passed by. He was the type of hero that turned the tide of battles, killed legendary beasts, and brought down kings.

To put it bluntly, he was the type of hero that wasn't actually a hero at all.

He just happened to be VERY good at killing things. In fact, he had killed enough things to become famous for it. His name was Becksley…or rather Sir Becksley, ever since some king knighted him for slaying a minotaur, a gorgon and a thorp (by the time the exact details of the third slaying reached the king, Becksley had already left).

He stepped through the main doors of our restaurant about an hour before we normally closed, his giant, leather boots landing on the floor with ominous, echoing thumps. His face was dominated by a large, black beard, although the top of his head was neatly shaven. His cheeks were littered with numerous scars that ranged in sources from claws to fangs to what might very well have been human fingernails. Most of his body was covered by a large cloak, but he let it part open wide enough to let everyone see his dark, chain mail armor, and the oversized, spiky mace that hung off the side of his belt.

The pleasant banter, that had filled the air of our restaurant only a second before, came to a sudden and abrupt halt. People quickly settled their bills and in most cases didn't bother waiting for change. Half the waitresses darted into the back and the other half undid a few of the buttons on their blouses. The elves at the main table glanced at each other, tossed some coins on the table and then literally vanished into thin air. The hostess, who was already at her wit's end, calmly walked into the women's restroom, shimmied out the window, and was never heard from again.

This left me to be the one to smile widely, step forward, extend my hand and then get elbowed straight to the floor. Sir Becksley didn't seem to even notice my fall, or he just didn't care, as he stepped over to the main table where the elves were sitting moments before. With one long swipe of his arm, he knocked its contents out of the way, onto the floor. The dark knight then gave a single snort, took a seat, and then waited to be served.

I made my way to his table in a lightning quick rush, just as he took off his cloak. I carefully took it from him, carefully hung it upon a hook on the wall, and then barely made it back in time to take his chain mail, which I carefully placed upon one of the nearby abandoned tables (right before my knees gave out from its weight). I staggered back to the only customer left in the building, as he bellowed out the inevitable word,

"Dragon."

It wasn't a question. It wasn't a request. It wasn’t an order. It wasn't even a promise, really. It was a statement. The statement was: if dragon was served to him shortly, than life would continue as we know it. To show how serious he was, he tossed a handful of coins onto the table. The value of those coins would easily match my salary for the month. I began the regular 'dragon order' speech.

"Dragon will take no less than an entire hour to prepare sir..."

His eyes, little more than black specks hiding in the center of a hedge maze of scars, shot towards me...

I waited to see if my life would be forfeit.

"I know."

His voice was calm and collected, as he wasn't the type of man to get angry. He dealt with his problems long before they had the chance to make him angry. Sir Becksley had obviously ordered dragon at least once before, and knew what was entailed. I continued my speech,

"How would you like it cooked, sir?"

Those twin black dots slid towards me again.

"Cook it as little as possible...and it better be good."

Ivins, our chef, wore a smile of triumphant resignation (the kind of smile that's worn by someone who's finally being allowed to quit) as he announced,

"We're out of dragon! He'll have to order something..."

Suddenly, outside the kitchen, there was a clamor and then a sharp feminine cry. We both turned to face the entrance to the dining area as Penelope darted through it, her face filled with shock and pain. As the door swung outwards, I saw a half spilled glass of beer on Becksley's table. The knight was chuckling to himself. As the door swung in, I glanced back at Penelope, who had a hand up to an eye that was beginning to swell. With her other hand she refastened the top buttons of her blouse. The door shifted and swung out again, allowing me to see another waitress nervously place an unspilled drink upon the dark knight’s table. Becksley snatched it up without so much as a glance, still smiling quietly to himself. The door then swung in and out one last time, but only far enough for me to catch a glimpse of the large spiked mace hanging from his belt.

By the time my attention returned to our Chef, his defeated smile was gone. This wasn’t the kind of guest that would accept disappointment, and Ivins knew that. I was already envisioning a destroyed building, partially in flames, leading me to start thinking of every crazy escape plan, trick, detour, or misdirection that might get us out of this (including a contingency plan for a small fire, if that's what it would take to live through the night).

All Chef Ivins did was look at the door to the old basement. I began to tell him my plan.

"So, we have someone shimmy out the window and run around to the front..."

Ivins stepped over to the main oven and picked up his heaviest leather apron.

"...then he runs through the door and shouts that half the town is on fire..."

He carefully tied the apron upon himself as he stepped over to the knives.

"...then we all start climbing out the back window, as you turn the ovens up to full blast..."

Chef Ivins selected the largest knife on the board, and then turned towards the pans.

"...or I could. I mean, if you didn't want to be the one to turn the ovens up, I'd gladly..."

He selected his heaviest pan. He held it in his left, as he grasped the blade in his right.

"...so anyway! We point the ovens towards the door, and we open the door just as..."

The Master Chef began walking towards the old cellar.

"...A BURST OF FLAME SHOOTS OUT! He's got to believe the place is on fire when he sees...or a REAL fire! It’s so simple, why didn’t I think of it? Let’s start an actual…sir, you can't go down there."

As much as I feared the knight outside, somehow Ivins was scarier as he growled,

"It's my damn restaurant and I'll go where I please. You mind the store."

"Sir, you can't go down there! Don't you remember why we made a new cellar? Don't you remember the long speech you gave about 'not worth the risks' and 'dangerous even at that size'..."

"THAT DAMN KNIGHT WANTS DRAGON, THEN HE'LL GET DRAGON!"

Ivins pushed forward and stepped defiantly down the dark, poorly kept stairway. I grabbed a nearby lantern and followed down closely behind him, eager to at least give him some light to work with. He didn't complain, and we made it down to the bottom at about the same time.

It amazed me how little had changed since I had last been down there. True, everything was destroyed, but you know, the rubble was all in the appropriate places. The shattered pieces of wood were where the barrels of pickled fish once stood. There were layers of broken shelves stacked on top of each other, their contents mostly ripped apart and eaten, besides the glass.

The Chef gasped suddenly and raced forward, putting his current quest on hold, as he sprinted over to the remains of the wine racks. He gave a low, hissing growl when he found that not a single ancient bottle had remaining intact. His face was contorted into a fury that was usually reserved for discovering slain kings or valued family members. He placed the pan down and retrieved a lightly singed label amongst the fragments of glass. After reading the words upon it, he crushed it tightly between his fingers. Someone was going to pay.

Throughout all this, I took every moment I could to scan the shadows. It was a relatively large basement, about thirty by thirty feet (the new one was on the opposite side of the building). I wasn't the one who went down there when they first heard the crashing within this room. It was the man who trained me, Peterson. He raced downstairs, gave a not so manly scream, darted back up the stairs, ran straight over to the restaurant across town, asked if they were hiring, had a quick interview, accepted a reasonable position given his skills and current level of experience, and never spoke of the old basement again.

I, like everyone else who had been there, had heard the word the Peterson kept repeating as he took flight from the basement and restaurant. Everyone knew what was down in that basement...or at least they greatly suspected it.

I, on the other hand, knew it was a dragon, albeit a small one.

I knew it was a dragon because I knew Peterson, and knew he wouldn't say such a thing unless it was true.

Also, the dragon was staring right at me.

It was bigger than I would have liked, about the size of your average pig...and a belly to match. The creature hadn't quite gotten through to the end of the larder down there, and had apparently gorged itself to the point it could no longer fly. I assume it crawled down a hole with the intention of flying back through it, only to find it was then too heavy to make its flight back up. Despite the very well stocked larder, it couldn’t have enjoyed itself much down there, as dragons, above all else, crave fresh meat.

I didn't move. It didn't move. Warning the chef would require moving, so I didn't move. The chef began to walk further into the basement, directly away from where the overweight monster was perched. As Chef Ivins moved, he whispered towards me,

"Bring the light over here."

That would have required moving, as would telling him why I couldn’t move, and since I wasn’t moving, the dragon didn't move, so I didn't move.

"Over here, stupid."

That required moving. Sorry.

"What are you looking..."

The Master Chef suddenly went quiet as he began to realize what was happening. He gripped his makeshift weapons and shuffled forward towards me…and I really wish he hadn’t, because that was movement.

Had the beast been clean, no doubt its scales would have been a bright red, a fearsome blue, or even an unfortunate pink. As it was, you couldn’t even tell what color it was, as the wallowing and gorging in the larder had left his scales a sickly, ruddy greenish-brown. His wings expanded, but they did nothing except make its appearance that much more fearsome as it bounded towards us…well, actually just me…the chef wasn’t leaping in front to save me as I had hoped, giving me no choice but to leap back…broken glass…I mean to the side…it’ll still get my leg…I mean forward.

The dragon wasn’t quite prepared for my panicked lunge towards it, which landed me flat across its disgusting back, its wings slapping me in the face as it spun, biting at my shoes as the lantern toppled neatly onto the ground, still giving off enough light to let us see the horrible creature. Its large beak-like jaw snapped down on my left shoe and wrestled it off, checking to see if it was edible. In a sense it was, but it wasn’t quite fresh, which led it to focus on the chef, who was already halfway through his swing.

The frying pan slammed downwards, like an axe, over its head (the top facing the dragon). A swing across would have probably done more damage, but the Chef knew what was coming next.

The beast belched flames through its fearsome, fanged mouth, right into the inside of the pan, causing the flames to leap backwards into the dragon’s eyes, across its face, and right up the back of my pants. My sudden shouts of pain led the beast to rear back, hurling me off into the rubble behind him (which was just fine with me), as it clasped its maw around the edge of the pan. Chef Ivins began stabbing away with his butcher knife, but even his best blades needed to get between the scales to do any real damage. As it was, he could do little more than scratch across its hide, as his largest, heaviest pan began to bend under the dragon’s bite.

Ivins sneered, tossed down his blade and put his free hand around the monster’s thick neck. With a single yank, the Chef pulled the pan free, wound his arm back and then brought the twisted piece of iron straight down upon the fat dragon’s head as hard as he could.

This made the dragon angry.

It reared back quickly, pulling Ivins slightly off balance. The pan fell free of his hand, and clattered onto the stone floor. With a high pitched squeal, the dragon pushed the large chef straight back against the wall with a single powerful lunge forward. I tried to help, but just as I managed to quench my burning pants, a small lick of the flame spread from them to some nearby debris, and it was all I could do just to keep the basement from burning up around us.

Master Chef Ivins slammed backwards against the stone wall with enough force to almost topple it in entirely. He then slid straight down upon the scattered remains of the shattered wine bottles as he desperately tried to recapture his breath. The dragon hopped up upon him with a single small jump, and focused its fuming twisted mouth right down towards my fallen master.

Flames licked around the dragon’s lips as it sucked in a large lungful of air, reared up once more, and pushed a giant jet of flame straight out just as the Chef clasped his hands tightly around its mouth.

The dragon stopped and sputtered like a misfiring oven. The flames hit the front of its mouth, but had nowhere to go, shooting back up its nostrils, into its sinuses, and then right back down its throat. I can only imagine how hot the beast’s mouth must have been, but the Chef’s heavily calloused hands merely sizzled slightly under the heat.

The fire shot back out its lungs, back against its closed mouth and sinuses, leading to the only other path available…its stomach. The partially digested food must have burst into flames, as black smoke began to shoot out into the air, and the beast began a coughing fit that gave the Master Chef enough time to spot a single unbroken wine bottle leaning against some nearby rubble, hidden between two pieces of wood.

Chef Ivins grasped upon the bottle, reared his arm back, and then…saw the label. As he clenched his left hand tightly around the disoriented dragon’s jaw, he slowly inspected the wine bottle within his right hand, and then with the utmost care and diligence, he gently placed the bottle back down upon the rubble. After making sure the bottle was perfectly secure, the Chef clenched his right hand into a tight fist and proceeded to punch the monster directly in the throat.

I finally managed to stamp out the last of the fire as my boss shifted his weight and planted a single knee into the small of the dragon’s back, pinning it to the ground. I picked up the fallen pan, bit my lip as it burned both of my palms, and forced myself to carry it over to the Chef, who eagerly snatched it from my blistered hands.

I took a few steps back as slam after slam, accompanied by snarling shout after snarling shout echoed through the basement. I dared not say a word until both the slamming and the snarling ceased.

“Is it dead?”

The Chef stared up at me with the distinct expression that all artists wore when they spoke with amateurs.

“Are you kidding me? It isn’t even unconscious! It’s docile though, completely flat on the ground. I think I’ve shown it who’s boss.”

The Chef took a moment to catch out breath and craft a plan of action. Not even a near death experience could take his mind off the job. After a minute or so of thought, he began issuing orders,

“Alright, go over there and CAREFULLY pick up that bottle of wine and then CAREFULLY bring it upstairs. Then get me an assortment of knives and a large mallet. After killing it and dicing it up, we’ll take off a few underbelly steaks…”

The Chef’s voice came to an abrupt stop. For a moment, he merely stared off into space. Eventually he continued, as his face began to tighten up,

“Which we’ll cook at nearly volcanic temperatures…and prepare with the utmost care and skill…”

A sudden sharpness within the Chef’s voice gave me pause. That familiar vein on his forehead was beginning to throb again, as he continued,

“…and I’ll produce another DAMN dragon steak for another DAMN ungrateful customer who will whine about it not being DAMN good enough because dragon meat is DAMN awful…”

Master Chef Ivins wasn’t exactly being loud, but every word he spoke was positively dripping with bitterness and rage. To the submissive dragon’s surprise, the Chef clamped his hands around its mouth and then lifted his knee off its back. It wasn’t exactly pinned anymore, but at the same time it wasn’t about to try anything. Ivins pointed his free hand at me and then snarled through clenched teeth,

“…and at that point he might get a little DAMN violent, but more likely he just won’t pay a DAMN thing for the meal…”

The way he implied it, it sounded as if the Chef was angrier at the thought of not being paid than he was at violence. He slapped his free hand down on the confused dragon’s belly, and then practically screamed,

“AND THEN I WON’T HAVE A SINGLE DAMN THING TO SHOW FOR THIS EXCEPT THE LEFTOVER REMAINS OF DAMN HALF EATEN…”

Ivin’s expression, without warning, went immediately from ‘fuming with rage’ to ‘completely calm and placid’ as he asked,

“How did he want his steak cooked?”

…

“Your steak will be ready in just a single moment, Sir.”

Becksley didn’t pay any interest as to why my clothers were filthy, singed and smelling of sulfur. He merely grunted and then gave a mean smile towards the waitresses, who were all huddled in the corner, as far away as possible from the knight. I leaned forward and mentioned, in my most polite and formal voice,

“As requested, our Master Chef has cooked the dragon very little.”

The black knight turned his bemused expression towards me, glanced up and down my destroyed outfit, and then muttered, as his eyes narrowed to a squint,

“If it isn’t perfect, then you’re dead.”

Once again, it was not a threat, command or promise. He was just letting me know how things were going to be.

“You got that, kid?”

Years of practice allowed my smile to stay frozen in place, as I assured him,

“I can say sir, with absolute certainty, that it is humanly impossible for our Chef to have cooked your meal any less.”

Sir Becksley locked his gaze upon me, but seemed momentarily satisfied. His large, gloved hand grasped upon his mug of beer and he downed it in one gulp just as the kitchen door swung open, and Chef Ivins stepped out. He wore as wide as smile as I’ve ever seen him give.

Becksley turned slightly towards the Chef, looking through the bottom of the glass mug as he finished his drink. The knight shifted his eyes down towards the chefs hands, eager to get a look at his meal.

It looked back at him.

For a short moment (which I treasure with all my heart), Sir Becksley and the chubby dragon grasped within Chef Ivins’s arms just stared back and forth at each other, through the bottom of that glass mug.

By the time reality finally reached Becksley’s brain, he spit a long, sputtering spray of beer directly into the dragon’s face.

Dragons that young are never too smart, but even a beast of a limited intelligence can tell when a bad situation had gone completely too far. That was it. That was the last straw.

The beast screeched and erupted flames, and the effects were nothing short of disastrously hilarious. Becksley’s glass shattered and burst from the heat, spraying small shards of broken glass over half his body…by no means fun, but not deadly, or even enough to take his attention away from the fact that his beard was fully on fire and that blisters now covered over half his face.

The shock and the pain sent the knight toppling backwards onto his back, sprawled out in a way that was so absolutely hilarious that I almost forgot to slip off his spiked mace and toss it across the room.

Almost.

Like a delightful cherry perched on top of an elegant dessert, Master Chef Ivins completed the perfect scene by casually tossing the dragon onto Sir Becksley’s chest.

I really wish Penelope was there to see that, but unfortunately she was far too busy untying Becksley’s horse and spooking it away.

Within a few moments (a few GLORIOUSLY horrible moments), our hungry knight was toppling out the front door, crawling his way towards the main road on all fours, too terrified to slow down for even a second, lest the small, furious dragon catch up with him.

The ruddy, fat monster lunged out the door only a moment behind him, all too eager to catch up with the focus of his rage.

The last I saw of Sir Becksley was the back of his smoldering clothes as he ran directly back the way he came, with that wonderful, bouncing, magical lizard snapping at his heels every single step of the way.

By the time I made my way back in, the coins were gone from the table and the only waitress left was Penelope. Her eye was beginning to blacken, but I don’t recall ever seeing her happier. Without a word, the fair lass stepped over to my side, planted a single kiss upon my left cheek, and then with what distinctly sounded like a jingle of coins in her pocked, skipped right out the door.

I wanted to leave…in fact I wanted to sleep for twenty-four hours, but I had to check on the Chef first. I found him in the kitchen, fishing a corkscrew out of a drawer as he smiled at the recovered bottle of wine. With a flick of his wrist, Ivins screwed out the cork, checked it, gave a smug nod, and then joyfully tossed the tool aside.

I hated to be a mood killer, but I had to ask,

“What should I do if Sir Becksley comes back?”

Master Chef Ivins didn’t seem too concerned. After the fight with the dragon, I imagine it’d take quite a lot to ever concern him again. He merely shrugged and casually replied,

“Nothing. We’re closed.”

With the bottle in hand, the Chef slowly descended the basement steps, eager to begin a very well deserved break.

WIZARDS OF THE COAST LIKED IT!!!

The highest achievement a hopeless geek can hope to achieve, is getting something they wrote on their hobby's official website. Remember the list of impossible questions I answered a while back?

http://www.wizards.com/default.asp?x=dnd/dnd/20070502a

BOOYA!!!

They used my answers for almost every question and I even got special thanks at the top!

That Sam is going to be trouble though...he was right about the invisibility question (still think flour isn't going to work as well as they think though) and he's probably right on the astrophysics question, but his sarcastic tone is going force my hand.

*GLOVE SMACK*

Sam, I challenge thee to an honor duel. I don't think of it as a fight or battle, but more like the end of a well played game of chess...

I'll be at the top of the waterfall at dawn. Dress is casual. Bring a covered dish.

Anyway, in no particular order, to protect the innocent:

MYSPACE RESPONSE #1

Posted Comment:


"Hey, check out this great survey site! They pay for your opinions! Use the following promo code..."


Next Comment:

"I AM SO SORRY! I didn't mean to send you that! I thought you were one of my other friends, and I accidentally posted a website we were talking about before...

the site I MEANT to tell you about was THIS one! Use promo code..."


Last Comment:

"Check out this site!"


No.


0-1 (The judges decreed that I can't pass judgment without hearing responses, so this is the real final scoring)


MYSPACE RESPONSE #2


Comment:

*Huge cartoon image of a pair of lips, with the words 'MUAH' over them*

Okay. That really isn't much of a response...I mean, that's all I got. It's positive, definitely, but uh...that's it. Still, overall it's positive. I definitely wasn't disturbed and there's no scam, so yes, positive.

1-1


MYSPACE RESPONSE #3


Friend request.

They want to be my friend. Cool. I made them a friend and...no response. Huh. I guess they're leaving it up to me, but still, if someone sends you a message, and you offer to be their friend, don't you think they'd give some kind of message of their own with it? Cartoon smooch? Sales pitch? Anything? I'm going to have mulligan this one. I'm not sure if she's just busy, or if she's the type to just silently stare at me from across the table/room/internet. That's a little creepy.

1-1-1


We're all tied up! What the results be? Stay tuned!

STOP THE PRESSES!!!

I just discovered that Myspace is even scarier than I realized.

Just as I was about to message all those scary, sketchy people...they began messaging me...let's watch!

Friend request #1:

'User and Abuser' is a sexy, shameless cam-whore who isn't afraid to appear completely naked in front of an internet camera. I'm not horrified by any means...but I'm pretty sure I can get herpes from touching the 'approve' button, so I'll call this one even.

0-0-1

Friend request #2:

'Broken Poets' starts their (it's about three people) page with the quote "everything in nature has its own will". It seems less a person as a group of people, and less a myspace page as a free advertisement for a band that's recently opened for Seven Mary Three, James McMurtry, and Ian Moore. The band has had recent performances at Los Angeles “hot spot” venues such as The Key Club, Whisky A Go-Go, Molly Malone’s, as well as some of New York’s top venues like Arlene Grocery, The Gaslight, and The Bitter End.

For more information, please contact: Kelly MacGaunn * kelleemack pr

0-1-1

Friend request #3: "Jayda" (no picture) who is just an average girl going to college, making her with with the help of PAIDSURVEY ADVERTISING! You can just take a look at the graph of how much money she's made through PAIDSURVEY ADVERTISING and click on the link to go directly to the PAIDSURVEY ADVERTISING site! She's a real person!

0-2-1

Friend request #4: "Lucy" has a wonderful picture of her pretending to...insert something in her mouth...something vaguely cylindrical shaped...I'm sure Amber will let me know when I'm a bit older. Or I can just ask Christian. Again, nothing too scary, I'll just click to the link her to see more pictures of her...on this amatuer porn site. Wow! How very interes...HEY WAIT A MINUTE! Still, that picture was worth clicking on.

0-2-2

Friend request #5: "Black Soap" is an amatuer rapper who's using myspace as free advertising...but unlike request #1 it is HIS myspace page...and he lists contact information so that he can actually communicate with people...and he's not making any shameless attempt to sell me anything...he's okay.

1-2-2

Friend request #6: "Morgan" is another shameless REAL PERSON and would like to let everyone know about her favorite website ADULT FRIEND FINDER! Nothing new. Mulligan.

1-2-3

Friend request #7: "My Shirt Sucks.com". Personal information: Coupon Special! $5 off!

1-3-3

Friend request #8: "White Mike". Another rapper, this one white and completely shameless.

1-4-3

Friend request #9: "Sara" is a bikini model who would like you to visit her website! Uh...I just might...no no Max, stay strong. Still, mulligan.

1-4-4

Friend request #10: "Christian" is some guy with a beard and...oh hey Christian. Already a friend. Mulligan.

1-4-5

Friend request #11: "Mia" is a sexy 19 year old girl who would like me to go to...oh, she doesn't have a porn site. She's just a sexy 19 year old girl on Myspace. I didn't realize they actually existed.

2-4-5

Friend request #12: "Rachel" is a young attractive woman who lives in...holy cow! Freehold, New Jersey! She likes Family Guy, Goonies, Labyrinth and Lost! There's probably a scam in there somewhere, but I'm too intrigued to care!

3-4-5

Friend request #13: "Abigail" is wearing a t-shirt that says 'I wish these were brains' and she's a shameless cam-whore. Well, can't blame her for being open about it. Wait, I could probably blame her little.

3-4-6

Friend request #14: white rapper "Nominee"! In stores now!

3-5-6

Friend request #15: "Michelle" is another shameless bikini wearing...well she isn't selling anything directly, but the lack of personal information and her messaging of random guys is fairly sketchy. Mulligan.

3-5-7

Friend request #16: "Amber". Hey Amby! Mulligan!

3-5-8

Friend request #17: "Nicole". An 18 year old Asian girl who wants to meet me, played by a 30 year old Asian cam-whore.

3-5-9

Friend request #18: "Tracy" is 29 with no picture...but no scam...not enough information for a scam. Alright, I'll bite.

4-5-9

Friend request #19: "Angie" wants to know if I remember her! She makes no attempt to identify herself, and I've never met anyone remotely like her, but she would like you to check out SINGLESNET.COM. Her screenname is swtk877...and there's no such person on SINGLESNET.COM, but now that I have seen the website, I am SO interested in finding out more about this wonderful...moving on.

4-6-9

Friend request #20: "Sophia" appears to be a nice, normal woman from New York. Cool.

5-6-9

Friend request #21: "Robin" is a nice woman from Freehold, New Jersey. No, no scam here (at least not an obvious one). I might be in trouble.

6-6-9

Friend request #22: "Christy" wants to know if I remember her! She makes no attempt to identify herself, and I've never met anyone remotely like her, but she would like you to check out SINGLESNET.COM. Her screenname is kg136783...and there's no such person on SINGLESNET.COM, but now that I have seen the website, I am SO interested in finding out more about this wonderful...wow, deja-vu.

6-7-9

Friend request #23: "Laura" appears to be a nice young woman who would genuinely like to hear from me. You know, these are probably all scams, but at least these ones are plausible.

7-7-9

We may need a tie breaking round, unless this next one is...


Friend request #24: "Alta" "Christy" wants to know if I remember her! She makes no attempt to identify herself, and I've never met anyone remotely like her, but she would like you to check out SINGLESNET.COM. Her screenname is jennyk7...and there's no such person on SINGLESNET.COM, but now that I have seen the website, I am SO interested in finding out more about this wonderful...

You know, they probably would have been more effective if they only did this once.

7-8-9

Satisfactory judges?

MAX VERSUS THE INTERNET PART 8A: MYSPACE

I'm not sure if I've won the last challenge...Amber gave me a decisive win for my PC/MAC story (not having gay sex definitely helped), but Pat hasn't handed down a decision on the Discworld fic, so I might need a fanfic from Steve. In any case, I might as well get started on the next challenge: Myspace!

I made a myspace...http://www.myspace.com/187415896...I'm not sure if I did that right, so if you get some strange fifteen year old emo-freak, then it's probably not me.

For this challenge I'm going to test this site's ability to deliver what it promises: contact and interaction with people in your area who aren't trying to scam you, don't scare you, and are actually a human being you wouldn't mind speaking with. I'm going to randomly select ten people, give them each a general greeting, and...who knows, I might meet some interesting people...but if the creepy/scamming/horrifying responses outnumber the nice responses, I win.

I might as well kill two birds with one stone and search for single women within my age range...let's say 24 to 33.

Let's spin the wheel!


The first result has a "<3" after her name. She's 24, has a glittery image of Ariel the mermaid instead of a picture, and her page has her name in giant glittery letters over a sunset. She's a high school graduate, single mother, and her occupation is 'bus driver'.

I had a good feeling.


Girl #2's profile is dominated by her description of the wonderful brand of diet pills that have helped her to slim down painlessly in virtually no time at all! Oh, and would you ever guess, she sells said product! I definitely get the feeling that I want to get to know this girl, and the product she has casually mentioned within her perfectly normal Myspace page, a little bit better!


Girl #3 starts with a faraway image...hard to tell what she looks like...so I click to see her page and BAM! EVERYTHING HITS ME AT ONCE! A giant anime/chibi picture of herself! A giant Dominican flag on the background! A video of a giant waving Dominican flag! All this and midi Spanish music blasting at top volume!

What's she like? I have no idea! I'm now blind and deaf!


Girl #4...Gizmo the mogwai (from Gremlins) drinking a beer and wearing a Yankees hat. more Godawful midi music...Calvin peeing on the number 20...her picture has two other people in it and does not indicate which is her...and makes patriotic cakes.

I somehow have an even better feeling than before.


Girl #5...What's with the godawful midi music?! OFF! Let's see...favorite movies are Meet Joe Black and Meet the Fockers...promotes the test 'which Victoria's Secret angel are you quiz' (apparently I'm Tyra Banks)...her occupation is Alcohol Coordinator...is that a fancy name for a bartender? If not, it should be.


Girl #6 OH GOD! MONKEES! *MINIMIZE* Okay Max...calm down. They're just monkees. Your extreme dislike of monkees hasn't interfered with your life up to now so just *MAXIMIZE*

Oh god they're hideous. *SCROLLS DOWN TO MORE MONKEES* What the fuck? She even has a link to special monkey picture hosting. Seriously, what the fuck?


Girl #7 More shitty midi music...pictures of said shitty musicians...a page worth of listings of her favorite musicians...an active member of the non-Indians for Bollywood...childish anti-Bush cartoons...and a blog post entitled: "Kill Em' With Education???"

My heart palpitates.


Girl #8...is actually pretty cool. Under her picture are RPG-like statistics including a speed of 0.6 and an ambiguity rating of 20. Uh...then it goes on to a 'What's your inner Faerie' test. Her favorite movies are Boys on the Side and Girl Interrupted...things are looking a little downhill...and it culminates with the quiz "what is the center of your dark core". I'm hoping I get the result "tootsie roll"....

Oh wait, she's a lesbian.

You'd think the search engine would have filtered that out...wait, she's also a parent.

Huh.

Take two.


Girl #8 ...for the first time this challenge we have someone who has okay taste in music. It's R&B, which isn't really my thing, but at least it's good R&B. She has the most confusing image I've seen all day. It's raggedy old teddy bear...angel...and it's in a blue crystal sphere. That and apparently her hero is a naked female angel.


Girl #9 is straight from Hamilton, New Jersey...her background music of choice is 'Bitch' by Meredith Brooks...there's wall to wall Tinkerbell all over the page...and she's actually pretty cute in a Shelley Duvall kind of way.

You know, Shelley Duvall? The wife in 'The Shining'? Olive Oil in 'Popeye'? What? She's hot! I sat through 'Rock and Roll Mother Goose' just to watch her hop around in a Little Bo Peep outfit.

Oh yeah.


Anyway...this all leads us to Girl #10...and wall to wall drawings of half naked women (what's with straight women and pictures of half naked women?)...pictures of her trashed at a bar...all topped with more shitty midi music...


I'm ready to propose right now.


Wish me luck.