8FOLD/HCC: Mighty Medley # 22, October 2015, by Brenton, Perron, Russell, and Russell
pwerdna at gmail.com
Fri Oct 9 07:32:41 PDT 2015
On 10/7/2015 8:27 PM, Tom Russell wrote:
> In last month's scintillating true-life Docrates adventure, a
> Doc-udrama if you will,
> Instead, the Mighty Supragato sent the ball screaming towards
> the bleachers, upon which were seated widows and orphans, each of whom
> had adopted a kitten and/or iguana that morning at a special event
> that Doc had emceed.
> Six million years ago, no wait, that's too far back. A hundred
> thousand years ago, no, still too far back. Tomorrow, whoops, wrong
> Li, his most-favorite tummy-scratcher, looked up from her laptop and
> nodded. "I'm getting a weird heat signature from centerfield with my
> FBI Heat and Evil Detector!" she said. "Wait, I'm detecting Evil as
> The invisible floating object was invisible no more. Sparks flew
> around the capsule and Red Fido, the reanimated Canine Communist
> Corpse, glared savagely towards his hated enemy. Doc blinked then hit
> the capsule with his paw. Red Fido's savage eyes widened and turned
> surprised as the alien capsule he had bought on ebay crashed downwards
> towards centerfield.
> As Docrates lifted him
> off the ground probably to return him to super-puppy-prison he barked
> in Russian Dog, "Foiled again. Curse you Docrates."
> Then he fell
> unconscious. He had a wonderful dream about being a puppy again and
> all bundled up in his person's arms.
Awwwwwwww! <3 <3 <3
> Speaking of tummies- aaahhh, it was so
> wonderful to have Mandi on his r&r boat ride. She really knows how to
> scratch his tummy. He couldn't see how all that gross mouth-pressing
> Steve and Mandi were currently engaged in could possibly be pleasant.
> Persons are weird. Oh, well, as long as she kept scratching his tummy
> he was purrfectly happy.
> "People mutton't get the idea that
> the language itself is under attack. That's just baad science."
> It was a close shave, and
> people finally understood that when something like this hits, you
> can't afford to be asheep at the wheel."
There is no apologizing for this. <3
> Deidre grinned ruefully. "I'm not going to disagree with that," she
> said as they wended their way across the street to a shop selling
> bratwurst and coffee - and in the process passing Marcus Oustler who
> had decided to indulge in sentimentality and enjoy one last evening
> among other happy people before his trip to Rastenburg on the morrow.
> Deidre poked out her tongue and made an indelicate noise. "A world
> where the Americas don't exist, but that's still where the chocolate
> comes from? Maybe I'm just overly tired, but I've stopped being
> surprised by any of this nonsense anymore."
That's what retcons do to ya.
> "Well, goodbye 1963," said Joan.
> The Berlin clock towers tolled midnight, and a renewed frenzy of
> celebration erupted. "Happy 1963!" people called. Deidre was briefly
> bemused but quickly got a sinking sensation. She reached into her bag
> for the newspaper that she had kept, the one with the article about
> the zombie plague, and together the human and the angel took note of
> the fact that the date had quietly rearranged itself to read 1962.
> "Hmm," went Joan. "A world where history doesn't work turns out to
> be literally a world without history."
> "Makes a dreadful type of sense," agreed Deidre.
> Joan didn't get a chance to answer, because it was at that moment
> that the ravening monster that Lee Ardock has been transmogrified into
> leapt through the crowd and attacked.
Wait, the who what now?
> "So, when you receive new information, you switch sides," said
> Strife, smiling. "And that's the naturalest thing in the world, sir.
> If I didn't think you were capable of that, I wouldn't be trying to
> talk sense into you."
You know, in general I agree with this concept, but somehow, here...
> "Well, you should," said Adams. "After all, your brother's still alive."
> Strife's eyes darted furiously at Peake.
> "He's lying," said Peake. "I shot poor Paul full of holes."
> "You shot someone who looked like poor Paul full of holes. An injun
> skin-walker hired by your brother to take his place. Just like the one
> sitting at your table now.
Ah, and here it is - wondering if/when something like this was coming.
> "Guess this bullet ain't for you after all, Jack," lied Adams. Then
> he put it in the injun's head.
Andrew "NO .SIG MAN" "Juan" Perron, now, how to get it back out?
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