The Laughing Dead cont’d


I felt bones crack and splinter under the force of my punches as I downed the last of the thugs, and I couldn’t help but smile like a shark hiding under a school of overweight carp. Certainly one of the perks of being, in a manner of speaking, on this side of the law: breaking a few backs won’t usually land you in solitary. ¬†The blacksuits arrived a little too late to get anything but more computer work, unfortunately for them. I decided not to stick around and socialise, ducking into a narrow alley and over a steel wall, etcetera, etcetera. The town was little more than a maze of shadows and reflected light, a cold geometric wilderness of architecture and dim, private lighting, and it’s difficult to wax poetry when you can barely see past your feet. There’s only so many synonyms for “black”. Goes without saying that I know my way around Old Anashire regardless. If the place were a person, a woman, I wouldn’t just tell you she was pretty, or ugly: I could tell you the colour of her eyes, the curve of her nose, the shape of her mouth, the texture of the tentacular appendages bursting from her sides. I knew her intimately, and I could tell when something was off, like a hair slightly out of place. Someone had been following me for the last three or four minutes. Read more…


The Laughing Dead


I eat the dead. I mean, long dead.

Are you repulsed yet? I betcha you are. You’re probably picturing me as some sort of hideous bug-eyed thing right now, maybe a big, squishy talking maggot. Go on, you can admit it, I’ve heard the worst of it already. Well, pal, it’s just who I am and what I do, and you know what else? I dig it. Let me tell you, you ain’t gonna go starving when your lunch makes most people lose theirs. I like to think of it as a, whaddyacallit, vital service to society: if it wasn’t for me, pal, you’d probably be swimmin’ in corpses. Well, maybe.

I mean, sure, plenty of critters get eaten before they reach my tolerance level. And most decent, respectable folk, they get buried, or burned, or even shot into space if they’re particularly fancy. Critters ain’t always eaten in time, though, and… well… not all folks are decent or respectable. Especially after I’m good and done with ’em.

In fact, it was just the sort of indecent, unrespectable types that this story is all about. It’s a funny little story, really. Well, if your idea of a laugh is a bunch of dead guys, a bunch of stupid guys shootin’ at each other and becomin’ the dead guys, and plain old me wrapped up in the middle of it ’cause God ‘n his drinking buddies were probably bored. I suppose you could see it as unfunny. Even morbid. I’ve heard the worst of it already, though, and honestly? The more you’ve been around, the worse ya heard.. the funnier everything ya see, everything ya hear, really gets.

President Axehand

President Axehand sat on his luxurious throne of mahogany, ready to attack the day’s business with fervour. The flags of his glorious nation waved gloriously behind him, highlighting his own gloriousness as he fervently thrust his left hand (which is, as you might have guessed, also an axe) at the intimidatingly large pile of important and official papers on his mahogany desk. They crumbled like so many potato chips. “The time for work is over! SECRETARY, BRING ME COFFEE IN THE SKULL OF A GOAT!”, he ejaculated. The Secretary of the State sidled into the glorious Chamber of Presidency, expertly prepared coffee cradled in her mahogany hands. “Tell me, Secretary, what news of the war?”

“You ended the war last Tuesday, sir. I believe you ordered your chair to be fitted with their President’s spines.” President Axehand caressed the spine-handles of his mahogany chair, and realised this to be true. “Narrator! You should have mentioned my chair was only partially mahogany. How am I meant to notice these things if you don’t describe them in your prose?” “Sorry,” I lied, what a pompous git, thinking he could command me when I created him. Protagonists these days.

Before I could trail into a vague sort of inner-monologue, a giant robotic hand thrust itself into the Chamber of Presidency, making the roof crumble like so many giant potato chips. “PRESIDENT AXEHAND! Prepare to be handed the axe! As in being acquitted of your presidency because I’m going to kill you!” At this point I was starting to get a headache. What time period was this even set in? Anyways, President Axehand leapt from his throne of partial-mahogany, battle lust in his eyes and loins. “Fool! You’ll never take my empire! Prepare to die!” President Axehand thrust madly at the robotic invader, as the Secretary of the State cowered in the corner like some sort of corner. I sidled up to her. I’m allowed to do that. “Hey, baby, are you up for election, ’cause I want you in my House of Representatives – in the pants!” We’ll skip over what happened after that, suffice to say that trying to pick up a chick made out of wood can be rather painful. Oh, yeah, so like, President Axehand totally destroyed the Sentinel or whatever it was. He drunk gloriously and deeply from the skull of the goat. “SECRETARY! THE COFFEE IS NOW COLD! STOP FRATERNISING WITH THAT PERVERTED MAN AND GET ME MORE COFFEE!” That was uncalled for. “Hey, %^#@ you, man. I gave you life. I think I’m entitled to a little private time with the ladies.” “What?” “What??” “How do you pronounce %^#@?” “It’s a censor, man. I was insulting you.” President Axehand’s beard filled with battle-rage-lust, as he prepared to do to me what he would often do to so many potato chips. Luckily, he fell into a pit of ravenous goats at the last moment. I’m allowed to do that. President Axehand was ripped to shreds, so many shreds.

I sat on my glorious throne of glorious mahogany, the Crown of Presidency atop my head as I pondered the future of my glorious nation. But, more importantly, I sulked that the Secretary of the State still wouldn’t go out with me. Why am I not allowed to do that? %^#@.


I had to take photos for eBay, so... this is what happens when you're too focused on your food.

eBay-in’ some gaems

I’m about to put these (legit, lol) gaems up on eBay. If any of youse guise want them instead though, for some reason, let me know and I won’t sell them to random strangers on the internet.

– Super Smash Bros. Brawl (NTSC)
– No More Heroes (NTSC)
– Big Brain Academy
– Kirby Canvas Curse
-Pokemon Diamond oh wait, I lost that and all I have is the box :[

Zzzzzzzz… (Or: A Meandering Post on the Progress of Safeer)

Here lies the sleeping beast AWINABNAA, lying dormantly on hoarded words of ancient mustiness, ’til time comes to wake and breathe fire ‘pon the land (the kingdom of Unspeakable Evil, on the other hand, is still actively flowing with words of the media).

Life rolls on, though as usual for one so motivated for play and not work, there isn’t much to report in the way of progress. prose writing, game developing, hell, even University has been pretty slow and lethargic. What do I want to do after University? I’m not sure. Sometimes I feel almost dilettantic in everything I do. I guess, ideally, that stupid degree in Computer Science helps me land some sort of job I can stand. Independence, financial independence, would be a great thing to have: I do worry about my ignorance of the real world though (not to mention my familial situation, and the two are linked and intertwined). Life after education is a bit of a black fog for me, for those two reasons, the latter especially. Who can tell what will happen when I try to leave my comfort zone? Do I have the courage?

Ah, but enough of that nonsense. I recently ordered a new laptop. I am excited to get it. Perhaps that will increase my “productivity”? Well, it’ll certainly increase my video gaming.

And I guess, for now, that’s more than good enough for a slacker like me.

Help me pick my ringtone

I edited up a couple of songs and sound effects that fit my mood/what I’m diggin’ right now, but I can’t decide which ringtone and message tone to use right now. So pick for me! And feel free to use these, just don’t sue me okay.