Flame rod

The most dangerous of all mid-evil devices is known as the flame rod. The reason it is classified as mid-evil and not high-evil is due to its somewhat mild murdering capabilities. 

More to come on the flame rod in the upcoming days/weeks/months/years as for now I must enjoy this cereal.  


Don: The man behind the meatloaf

With anticipation for the forthcoming, and wildly delayed, 'You'll never get me alive, Carlyle: An interview with Don Meatloaf. Part 2', I have decided to inform the salivating public on why, exactly, the drool is exiting your mouth's.

The reason is the man, not the loaf. It was many years ago when I secured a squirrel to which I considered a pet. Although, it was an 'outside' squirrel so I was never sure if it was always the same one cuddling up to me in bed a night. All I knew was that I loved it. One day and during a game of Charades with my little grey pal, which I named Loretta, it took off down the street.
I ran as fast as I could down the side street, over a small stream, through a yoga class, and finally lost sight of it as I made it to the main street.

It seemed Loretta was gone forever and I was visibly upset sitting on the curb when a waft of freshly fried meatloaf traveled up my nose. I looked up and there he was. Don Meatloaf and his fried meatloaf cart right on the busy intersection of metal and misery.

Don came over to me placing his large, hairy hand on my shoulder to comfort me and with his other hand he held out a freshly fried slice of his now famous meatloaf. For a second I forgot about Loretta and the great times we had. The meatloaf consumed by senses and transported me to an infinite world of possibilities. I was swimming in glistening streams of warm gravy. Jumping off crunchy meatloaf cliffs into pools of pale yellow frying oil. My spirits began to engorge and I quickly replaced my lost love Loretta with Don Meatloaf and his fried meatloaf cart.

Over the years Don and I became very close. We even shared holidays together. He would come over my place and I would clear a few seats off my dining room table in the 2nd floor ballroom. My taxidermy jungle collection never minded taking a place on the floor to watch us enjoy our food together. Or I would go over his place where he would set up some cardboard on the ground next to the dumpster for me to sit on. We would talk for hours even though he spoke no English--we connected on a higher level.

Ok. I have to go.


A letter to Santa

Dear Santa-

Hello. It's that time of year again. The cherub's are nesting in tinsel and the unicorns are sharpening their horns and gathering in the backwoods-it's Christmastime, Santa, and it got me thinking about you.

To put it bluntly, I feel that you aren't pulling your weight. Let's get real casual here for a minute here. You work one day a year. I believe you are capable of so much more. Not to mention, you haven't been looking so hot recently. You let yourself go. But whose to blame you really, sitting around for 364 days of the year-I'd probably be in the same boat. High blood pressure, diabetes, poor hygiene, and going on your what, 3rd bypass? Looks grim doesn't it? But don't jump off the sleigh just yet-I have a solution. MORE CHRISTMASES!

What I'm proposing is adding several more Christmases a year. Obviously, we'd start off small and ease your way into it. Maybe one a season until you get your shit right and you can get off the oxygen tank. I can take care of the initial marketing. I have a connection with a local ad agency that makes those diner placemats. I can get the new Christmases on all the diner placemats in Passaic County for a good price. From there, and if you haven't stroked out yet, we can add more and more Christmases until your heart rate stabilizes and your feet turn flesh color again.

Please think about it. I'm here for you, Santa.


You'll never get me alive, Carlyle: An interview with Don Meatloaf. PART 1

It was the grease that got me excited. The burning fat that cradles our own survival. Grease, as I quickly concluded, is the life blood that fuels our society, bringing it to the lightning pace of the modern world. Besides providing the proper status needed to digest, it lubricates our own midi cables that connect and feed our mainframes. "Without the syrup and filling, the hole becomes a barren wasteland. Its purpose then becomes a gateway to utter and complete damnation," as they say. 

That being said, who better to share an afternoon with then Don Meatloaf? A man whose grease is as old as his first flu. 

For this exchange I will be going by the name Carlyle. This is for purposes affiliated with, but not entirely certain or secure, the "Elf Share"campaign.

You'll never get me alive, Carlyle: An interview with Don Meatloaf. PART 1 will be continued at a later date and under the heading "You'll never get me alive, Carlyle: An interview with Don Meatloaf. PART 2" as I believe your current and immediate benefit at this point will consist of the elaboration of the "Elf Share" campaign.  

The Elf Share campaign is an underground movement concerning elves and their rights. The campaign suggests, if not implies, we all should share with an elf. Whether it be some of your leftover roll, a morsel of a thing, or a simple handshake. The goal here is to acknowledge elves as the backbone of our society. Holding us "sized" people up, mainly due to the stature of an actual elf. 


The Hand Clam


           A tiny treasure is placed in the palm of ones hand.          The hands are slowly opened to reveal the hidden
               Both hands are then cupped and one is placed on           treasure/surprise. In this case, 2 M&M's and a
               top of the other.                                                         diamond ring.

Although there is no proof of its exact origin, the Hand Clam is believed to hold its roots in 18th century France. As the story goes, King Louis XIV, commonly referred to as the Sun King, was walking down the Hall of Mirrors in his Palace of Versailles one afternoon when a court jester came running towards him shouting the phrase, "Main de palourde, main de palourde." The jester knelt down in front of the King. His hands were cupped with one on top of the other and he raised them in the air. As he slowly opened them a shard of light shot out and bounced off the mirrors illuminating the entire hall. The King, impressed with the presentation so far, reached out and took the object from the jester's hands only to cut himself on a piece of broken glass. Apparently, a stained glass window in the palace had been broken the night before and the jester held the foot of St. Francis in his hands. The jester was beheaded shortly after dinner that night and the King outlawed the "main de palourde" or "Hand Clam," even though he did enjoy it. Some even say the King practiced the technique in his quarters late at night. But the Hand Clam disappeared in public for many years.

Enter modern hands.

The Hand Clam is indeed making a comeback in today's society as people yearn for the simple pleasure that it can hold. It has been seen on the outskirts of major cities and even in some high profile offices.

Hank Terdeski of Private Stock Inc. says, "I thought I invented the Hand Clam while giving a coworker a paper clip. I get so bored sitting in my cubicle all day and thought I'd liven up the day a little. After doing some research, I was surprised to discover it's rich history. All I can say is that I am proud to be part of the movement to bring the Hand Clam back from the dead."

"Being on the receiving end of the Hand Clam can be a utter delight," says Mary Scheller of Patty's Pastries in Hamburg, MO. "Our local dog walker here in town surprises us everyday with the Hand Clam, granted we don't necessarily want to see what our dogs do at the park, but he always keeps us guessing."

For anyone who hasn't heard of or seen the Hand Clam in action, the pictures above should provide all the information you need. So next time you want to add a little something extra in your otherwise useless existence, try the Hand Clam.
The Hand Clam holds endless possibilites, as long as they can fit inside your hand.


The severe exploits of Mandog Mandart. Part 56.

Mandog held the body of Mother Ape tightly, weaving in and out of the crowds that had gathered for her funeral. Flower petals suffocated the ground leading up to the River Ganges. The soft hum of an Indian death song filled the air, drowning out the cries.

Mandog's feet reached the riverbank. He raised the body up with all the strength he had left in him and with a sorrowing scream, closed his eyes and let Mother Ape's corpse fall.

He waited for the splash.

It never came.

His eyes opened to see the body of Mother Ape levitating over the river. There was a blinding light underneath her holding her in its arms and starting to rise. Her body was floating on a bed of light towards the sky. Higher and higher it went until she disappeared into the clouds.

Just as Mandog turned to start his journey back, he noticed a firefly struggling to keep itself in the air, flickering on and off. He reached out his arm and the insect landed on his shoulder...and his shoulder is where it would remain.