Living the Dream

Here for my Tumblr friends who don't read my facebook. NEW MOCKERY MACHIEN MOTHERFUCKERS

Thu, 15 Sep 2011 23:57:01 -0400

Here for my Tumblr friends who don't read my facebook. NEW MOCKERY MACHIEN MOTHERFUCKERS

Tales of the APD Part 3: One if by land, two if by Jackson Clone

Thu, 01 Sep 2011 10:56:45 -0400

Fucker was selling Alphas. Goddamn Alphas. I don’t care where you stand on the Jackson Clone issue, you don’t sell citizens.
I radio HQ, I’m taking this Grey down, I don’t care about promises.
Kitty picks up, “HQ, what’s the situation?”
”Hi Kitty, it’s a 13-6, some nasty piece of shit is selling Alphas. Jackson Clone workhouse in Kolingwood, you’ll notice it when you get there.”
”Ten four Abdi, we’re on our way.”
She hangs up and I walk back into the workhouse. The Jackson Clones look up at me from their sewing. These idiots aren’t Alphas, just regular Clones. Regular, stupid, impressionable, Clones.
There are benefits to living forever; downsides too but you try not to think about it. I’ve made a lot of friends in my time, and friends, whilst only ever temporary, are useful. I take out my phone and punch in a number.
”Hey, I need a favor.”
There is a crunch on the other line and then, “Howdy motherfucker! What can I do for you?”
”I need some clones to exit a building, and fast.”
”No worries hombre.”
I put my phone on loudspeaker and hold it to the sea of Jackson Clones, their idiot faces look up at me with half witted wonder.
A screaming, abusive, angry voice bullets out from my phone, “ALRIGHT FUCKNUCKLES! GET YOUR STINKING ASSES OUT ONTO THE STREET! DON’T MAKE ME FUCKING ASK YOU AGAIN.”
I hang up. Like magic the Jackson Clones rise from their seats and begin heading toward the door, I’m swept up in the ocean of sweaty clone and jostled onto the street. I casually step away and light up a cigarette. In the distance I can hear the sound of a police siren. This fucker’s going away for a long time, and I have lead in the case.

johnnyoctane: O, not in cruelty, not in wrath, The Reaper came...

Sun, 28 Aug 2011 10:17:10 -0400

johnnyoctane:

O, not in cruelty, not in wrath,
The Reaper came that day;
‘Twas an angel visited the green earth,
And took the flowers away.

We must do this again sometime.

This City (Tales of the APD) Part 2

Fri, 26 Aug 2011 10:07:04 -0400

I’m in a Jackson Clone Workhouse. It stinks, they always stink. The working conditions are deplorable, but who cares, they’ve got less rights than the rats in the walls.
A skinny looking Grey with a nasal voice stands nervously too my right. He’s wringing his hands and looking persecuted. Fuck him.
”I hope everything is satisfactory.” he whines at me, I hate him. In that second I hate him with every fiber in my body.
”Yeah, it’s fine.” it’s not, if I was here on inspection he’d be in the slammer before I could say: day old meat.
I step over a dead Jackson Clone, and light a cigarette. Of all the Jackson Clone Workhouses in the city, this was the only one under suspicion of selling. Selling was a bad thing, unless you were a supplier, you didn’t sell.
I ask it plainly: “You selling?”
He freaks, his brain getting torn between running and fighting. I get a mild headache, greys are like that.
”You’re not in trouble, calm down.” I grab his shoulder, “just answer the question. Off the record.”
He’s still nervous but he answers, “…yes. Yes we are. We sell them at half retail price.”
I sit down on a bench next to a Jackson Clone, he’s cutting fabric. “Hello!” his idiot voice grates, “I’m making pants!”
I light a cigarette on his face and turn to the grey.
”You ever sell Alphas?”

New Mockery Machine: Scooby Doo and Mummy, Too!

Fri, 26 Aug 2011 05:37:30 -0400

New Mockery Machine: Scooby Doo and Mummy, Too!

Thomas Danger Bear and Maxine Starky Hologram and the Curse of the Pirate King

Wed, 17 Aug 2011 09:49:06 -0400

Contrast is at least half of the universe. Night and day, black and white, dead and alive for example. Contrast exists on a smaller scale as well, such the inky coldness of deep space and the firey warmth of a tavern, at tavern known as Marcelline’s Neck.

Marcelline’s Neck exists because pirates exist, even in the emptiness of space. Pirates, whilst not having the most colonial of minds, still often find it within themselves to colonize. In this instance they colonized SET 1332, an asteroid more commonly known as Old Beluga. And on Old Beluga Mercelline’s Neck was erected, so that wraps that up.

Inside a Spacebear and a Hologram share a pint of Hourly Ale, a colony brew. Perhaps shared isn’t the correct term here, however, as Holograms can rarely drink anything they do not sell, rest assured however, if asked she would have declared the Ale as belonging to both parties, because deep down she hated the Spacebear in question.

“Pretty sure it’s a myth,” the Spacebear says, his long ursine tongue lapping away at their drink, “from what I know there hasn’t been a king for centuries. Plus, you know, who cares.”

The Hologram shakes her head, “it’s not a myth, and you know how I know that? Because the whole time I was locked up in that cell on C2 I was reading what little there is written down about the early years. Still haven’t really forgiven you for that.”

The Spacebear grizzles, “well when you’re caught commandeering a Cracker Tanker with a mouthful of Zirconium and Opalate there is bound to be backlash. That’s just sense.”

The Hologram does not seem convinced, “well even ignoring all that, we still have this.”

With a flourish the Hologram empties her backpack, a piece of glass the size of an eye falls onto the table with a tink.

The Spacebear drums his claws on the table and rubs his muzzle, “now that,” he says slowly, bringing the Ale to his mouth, “is something to think about.”

Time Traveller John's Christmas Carol

Wed, 17 Aug 2011 09:47:00 -0400

It is the nature of Christmas to be ever changing; what began as a way of keeping the sun rising is now an excuse to drink Willcorp Synthesized Eggnog and open gifts, the slaughtered pig becomes a roasted Jackson Clone and the whole thing changes once again. And if you brought one of those early warriors trying to keep the rising sun across time to the twenty first century and showed them the bright green, red, and white of a Christmas tree, they would long for the smell of blood and their own Christmas. And it is that same want for Christmas that sent John, displaced Time Traveller and emissary for the President both, on a quest through the snowy white streets of Atrox in search of a Christmas Goose.

A weak sun shone through the fluffy clouds, and John, hands in pockets, strolled down the empty early morning streets of Footzgrey. If you listened to rumour and stories then this was the best place to get waterfowl, a rare commodity in this day and age.

As a light snow began to fall, a chipper, lilting voice called out from the shadows of an abandoned building, “hey squire,” the voice sounded youthful, “you lookin fer a shelduck?”

John had not the slightest of clues as to what this meant, and so he replied: “Uh… what? I’m looking for a Christmas Goose. For Christmas.”

With a bang as loud as cymbals crashing, and the swiftness of a proud hare, the youth in the shadows had grabbed John and violently pulled him into the dank, musty smelling alleyway.

“You wanna get busted fuck ‘ead?” the delightful youth questioned our hero, “geese is illegal what’s wrong wif you?”

John lamented once more his station in life, and with a heavy sigh said aloud: “I’m sorry man, I don’t want trouble. I’m just a guy, looking for a goose

Awesome tumblr. So rockin.

Sat, 06 Aug 2011 06:38:46 -0400

Awesome tumblr. So rockin.

Sheeping

Sat, 06 Aug 2011 05:18:00 -0400

They called it sheeping. From the phrase: “as easy as finding shit in a sheep”. It meant selling to the colonies, and it was used because doing so was so easy. Colonies are always desperate for Homeworld product. Whether this was because their own produce wasn’t up to scratch or because of a certain misguided nostalgia I couldn’t say, all I know is that this was what I was meant to be doing, and that the crowd waited.

I step out from behind the steel curtain and into the centre of the stage, the crowd watched me with wide eyes, like frightened and slightly furious cows.

“You might think you know Jackson Meat. You might think you’ve tasted the best. Well I’m here to assure you that you have not.”

Behind me two giant gleaming carts are brought out, covered in the finest cuts of a Jackson Clone. I stroll over to the one on my left and pick up a nice juicy rump steak. By this point a large nova grill has been wheeled out to the centre of the stage. I place the juice steak down and hear it sizzle. The hot oil spits and crackles, moving harmlessly through my hologram body as I keep the steak moving to stop it burning.

“Did you know nine out of ten colonists have never had a good piece of quality Jackson Meat?”

The steak has begun to cook nicely, and the smell wafts over the watching crowd.

“Can I have a volunteer from the audience to come at try this delectable meat?”

A young man raises his hand. He’s twentyish, skinny, sideburns frame his chin. He tentatively approaches the stage and is brought next to me by my two human assistants.

I pick up the perfectly cooked steak and put it onto a plate, its oils and juices spreading out and creating a powerful delicious aroma. A knife and a fork are provided and the youth is encouraged to eat.

Things always go the same way. The meat is delicious, the volunteer is impressed, and more meat is provided. The entire town or village becomes hooked. I flash them a smile and finish with:

“If you want a meal, go somewhere else. If you want quality, try Butterbie’s.”

As easy as finding shit in a sheep.

New Mockery Machine! Hooray!

Mon, 01 Aug 2011 06:40:04 -0400

New Mockery Machine! Hooray!

solus-xisle: Trust the thief.

Sun, 24 Jul 2011 08:53:44 -0400

solus-xisle:

Trust the thief.

Fire in my Belly

Sat, 23 Jul 2011 04:13:00 -0400

Ladies and gentlemen / it was incidental then / it’s incremental now / a passion that happened all of a sudden started off as a bud but it’s not gentle now / it’s raging / every day that I’m aging / paging dr. blue / are you listening / can’t you see this thing is glistening / what was once a whistle’s now a wailing howl / what started off as some rhymes and a sweatervest / to fill the emptiness / it’s just an empty nest / and a broken record / a mind that’s full screaming empty this! / Try and catch it / bury the hatchet / two quarters nihilism / one third Terry Pratchett / whatever is left’s just a little bit blue / satiate the voices screaming rap little boy blue

This City (Tales of the ACPD)

Fri, 22 Jul 2011 13:42:12 -0400

This city. This fucking city. Some cities never sleep but this one never really wakes up. Like a frog eating a rat it squats in place, daring, just daring, someone to stop it. It’s nearly one o clock, and if I had it my way I’d be asleep. I’m not though; I’m kneeling in front of a murdered Jackson Clone trying to figure out just what the hell is going on.
I turn to Dan, my partner, five years together on the force; he’s a good man, even if he is a bear. “No witnesses?” I ask, standing up.
Dan shakes his head and takes a sip of coffee. We both know we should be somewhere else, Jackson Clones die all the time in this city, it’s no big deal, but this one’s an Alpha and that means he’s a citizen. That means we gotta care.
“Give me the details again, Dan,” I say, lighting up a cigarette and leaning against the hood of the squad car.
Dan puts down his coffee and pulls out a notepad, “right,” he says, “Jackson Clone 737, knife wound in the back of the head, died approximately eleven or twelve tonight, no witnesses. Worked at a bakery.”
I nod and take a drag of my cigarette.
“How long’s he been free?”
“Pretty recent, last year some time. Not sure exactly we’ve got the boys back at headquarters checking the serial code right now.”
I go over the clues in my head: Knife wound, someone didn’t want a laser wound, too traceable. A hate crime perhaps? No there was no pleasure here, this was almost professional. A neat wound. A neat murder. Odd because Jackson Clone’s have a hard time making enemies. At least, on their own.
I turn to Dan, who is about to buzz HQ on his wrist communicator, “Dan,” I say, “check for Jackson Clone workhouses in this area, I need to check something out.”
This city. This fucking city.

Today’s a day for extra reality / I gave banality / a combat fatality / I haven’t sleapt...

Wed, 20 Jul 2011 22:12:02 -0400

Today’s a day for extra reality / I gave banality / a combat fatality / I haven’t sleapt so I’m quite buzzed / what d’you wanna do bro? / I’m not fussed! / No stress / I’m so fucking focussed / imagine all those other chumps / sleeping on their sofas / hopeless / coz they don’t know where their hope is / is it chilling with the pope or wandering with Moses / dude no one knows this / which stitch in time is which / but bitch I don’t have time for this nonsense / tell me, / what’s your conscience say? / don’t do it? / I suggest you do it anyway.

Just digging this at the moment. Quit judging, I aint your...

Wed, 20 Jul 2011 10:10:23 -0400

Just digging this at the moment. Quit judging, I aint your stableboy.

So to Appease TDB....

Wed, 20 Jul 2011 09:44:27 -0400

I got a tumblr. Panic and freak out. Woah sudden thought, if I made up T-Shirts with all of my catchphrases on them do you think I could convince people I was from a show? That would be ‘the tits’. Man I would do that. I had this idea a while back where I would make T-Shirts for all of my friends with pictures of them on them that I had drawn. I guess that would be a little creepy though.

So yup, there we go.

Sayonara!