“Bad Nogard!” cried Cliven. “Bad!”
The Veterinary Cleric writhed on the ground, clutching his charred intestines.
Perching in the shattered window frame, the little dragon licked its lips with a serpentine tongue, flames hissing through its dilated nostrils.
Cliven wagged his finger. “Do you want me to get the muzzle?”
The rocking chair moved back and forth, back and forth.
It was a family heirloom, a decrepit icon of past generations that had been hidden in the attic, alone and lonely, for years.
But that night, as I laid sleeping, I heard it rocking back and forth, back and forth.
“Yaarr! Where’s me rum?!” cried Captain Chubbeard.
He looked in his hammock. He looked on the poopdeck. He looked in the treasure chests. He looked behind the bulkheads.
His rum could not be found.
He asked Mister Scurvey, who said, “I think you drunk it, Cap’n!”
And so he had.
They stood back to back, gripping their handguns nervously, surrounded by a leering ring of well-armed henchmen.
“We’re so going to die!” Thicke sputtered, his eyes clouding with tears.
“Hush!” commanded Evan Edgelow. “No one is dying tonight!”
He paused, looked around, then grinned eagerly. “Ok, I take that back.”
His face was covered in bumblebees.
“Lookit me!” he shouted. One of the bees crawled into his nasal passage. “I’m gonna be the first human honeycomb!”
I shook my head. He was really stupid sometimes. “It won’t work,” I told him. “You aren’t hollow.”
We solved that problem easily enough.
It was raining.
I had spent years dreaming of and working towards that day. My creation was blood, sweat, and tears mingled with iron, wires, hope, and steam.
I had great plans for the technology I had built. I was all set to change the world.
But it was raining.
I sit here, tense. The clock counts down my last seconds. My fingers fly, in a flurry of keystrokes. I have only a moment to complete this final task. Hammering the keyboard, I execute the command.
I head home, and my computer shuts down behind me. The day is over.
This guest story comes from Matt Wiggins. Matt is a member of LoadingReadyRun, an internet sketch comedy group that updates with a new video every Monday.
There was a cowboy in my closet.
I told him I had to store my clothes there and he was going to have to stay somewhere else, but he laughed.
“Why do you need more than one set of clothes?” he asked me.
And that’s why I never go shopping.
George slaved beside a roaring fire, a wild look in his eyes.
“Fool me once, shame on you,” he mumbled, dripping sweat as he steadied the anvil.
“Fool me twice, shame on me!” he cried, swinging the hammer above his head.
He held his creations high. “WHO’S THE FOOL NOW!?”
“This is a massive, worthless pile of junk.”
“Don’t call my priceless rare collectibles ‘junk’!”
“They’re only ‘priceless’ because no rational-minded, intelligent person would ever agree to pay money for them.”
“Hey! I paid money for them!”
“And you’re incredibly, unbelievably stupid. Thank you for making my point for me.”