Tagged: animal

Haus of Haunted Smellz

  • k-avatarbitten by a green lizard
  • just take rotten eggs
  • if you don’t want to cry today
  • painstakingly coded virtual replicas
  • no better than a haunted house

Video Game Review: Haus of Haunted Smellz

If you don’t want to cry today, don’t spend any money on this game. There’s not much to it, and it’s lame. You just take rotten eggs, well, painstakingly coded virtual replicas of rotten eggs, and throw them at things. The setting is supposed to be creeptastic, but it’s no better than a haunted house in the kiddie section of a milquetoast theme park. The ghouls in the mansion are easy to evade, but getting to level two without being bitten by a green lizard — which sends you back to the start — is nearly impossible.

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It Was The Kind of Memory

  • k-avatarmadly dig at your ears with a Q-Tip
  • endless chain of consequences
  • the submersible’s robotic arm
  • aka the Maine lobster
  • a solitary llama was squeezed in

It was the kind of memory that makes you want to madly dig at your ears with a Q-Tip, or with a fork, some implement that can eradicate it from your head. One little lapse that led to an endless chain of consequences and ever deepening despair, depths both figurative and literal. Allowing the code book to be thrown overboard, which meant the message from HQ couldn’t be deciphered and the ambassador’s questions couldn’t be answered. Now, a mile below the stormy surface, using the submersible’s robotic arm to retrieve the errant codex from the muck. Hoping to complete the task quickly and avoid a run-in with the armored patrol sub of Jack Rabies, aka the Maine Lobster. The ambassador knows more than he’s telling you, has some disturbing personal stake in the outcome. At his insistence, a solitary llama was squeezed in with you on the tiny sub. Fortunately, it knows how to operate the sonar array.

 

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In the UFO’s Holding Cell

  • by jenlike a malicious genealogist
  • the fireflies’ sexual organs
  • with a jackknife
  • manners, gestures and physiologies
  • This was his sole fear

In the UFO’s holding cell, Kevin felt like a firefly in a jar, like the ones he spent his childhood collecting in the backyard. The alien scientist assured Kevin that he and his race came to Earth merely to study humankind’s manners, gestures, and physiologies. They had no desire to mate with humans, to tamper with their family tree like a malicious genealogist. The alien peered down with the same detachment Kevin had employed as a child while removing the fireflies’ sexual organs with a jackknife. This was his sole fear, that they would treat him the way he had treated those long ago insects.

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Poet, Sir?

  • by jenPoet, sir?
  • lie festering in the crowded alleys
  • inherently disturbing but not gory
  • a jar of warm sputum
  • concentrating on my landlady’s cat

Poet, sir? You dare call me a poet? Do I have the look of one who would lie festering in the crowded alleys of Paris, drunk and penniless? The insinuation behind your “casual” inquiry is inherently disturbing but not gory, much like a jar of warm sputum. It tells me much about you, this assumption of yours in regards to my occupation. You presume I am concentrating on my landlady’s cat in preparation of writing an ode or a sonnet or — shudder – a limerick, when that is not the case at all. I am concentrating on my landlady’s cat so that I might learn to read his thoughts and gain valuable intelligence about my landlady’s comings and goings. Good day to you, sir. I say, good day!

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Aarto Hammersmith Was a Tall Norwegian Man

  • by jena pair of filthy feet
  • an enormous cantilevered balcony
  • a bin of oval fish
  • On a sailboat?
  • Free-Range Antelope Chops
  • a tall Norwegian

Aarto Hammersmith was a tall Norwegian man with blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a penchant for sailing inherited from his viking forefathers. Standing on the prow of a ship made Aarto feel like he had discovered an enormous cantilevered balcony over the fjords of his homeland.

When the ship docked in Tokyo harbor it took on several passengers and a bin of oval fish of a type Aarto had never seen before. Intrigued, he tracked down the owner of the bin to ask what the odd oval fish were called. He found her sitting on the deck, dangling a pair of filthy feet through the railing. They were, in fact, her own feet, which was good news to Aarto because she was gorgeous: a beautiful Japanese marine biologist named Hiromi Sakai. They spent the afternoon together talking fish and falling in love. That night at dinner Hiromi, explaining that she never ate the fish she adored, ordered Free-Range Antelope Chops.

Antelope chops? thought Aarto. On a sailboat?

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I Had Been Tracking the Missing Goats

  • by jenthey sup at alien tables
  • the missing goats
  • kiss the girls
  • “Bandits — Bandits! Bandits!”
  • water-gypsies!
  • the toothed circle of a reconstructed Stonehenge

I had been tracking the missing goats for almost 24 hours, ever since my sister ran from the barn screaming, “Bandits — Bandits! Bandits!” The trail led me here, to the toothed circle of a reconstructed Stonehenge on the lonely, windy Salisbury Plain. Who could have re-erected these enormous stones in a single evening? And then the answer came to me. Water-gypsies! Harnessing their intrepid water-moose, the lovely aquatic extraterrestrials could accomplish nearly anything. I sat on the cold, damp ground and leaned my back against one of the towering sarsen stones and waited for my chance to kiss the girls from another world. As for the goats? Well, I’m afraid to say that tonight they sup at alien tables. We shan’t be seeing them again.

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“No! Not a Poodle, a Paddle!”

  • k-avatarthey drank their soup
  • postdated receipt
  • you’re so inept
  • He was giving her clothes!
  • a fat paddle with a handle upside down

“No! Not a poodle, a paddle! A fat paddle with a handle upside down. You’re so inept.”

Simon, chagrined, led the dog away. Martin shook his head and sighed. What else had Simon screwed up?

A quick glance at his desk provided the answer in the form of a postdated receipt from the women’s department. This had Shirley’s signature all over it, as much as if it were literally inked onto the strip of paper. She loved to mess with Simon’s head, and now she was really taking advantage of him. He was giving her clothes!

Martin stalked down to the commissary to find Simon and Shirley at the same table. They drank their soup like old friends. It made Martin seethe with disapproval.

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Marguerite Entertained a Feeling

  • k-avatarclearly jacked around
  • a feeling of ennui
  • sitting passively while her mother combed her hair
  • Rabbis singing
  • a minor avalanche

Marguerite entertained a feeling of ennui, even sitting passively while her mother combed her hair. In the hallway she heard Rabbis singing, their stentorian chant releasing a minor avalanche of Gentile spiders fleeing the resounding Yiddish. The apartment in the synagogue had cheap rent, but the landlord clearly jacked around Marguerite’s impressionable mother.

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Harry Would Always Try Like Hell

  • k-avatartry like hell to tailor
  • it would look like a slump
  • theoretical mathematical inherent possibility
  • flight only smaller cats
  • $2000

Harry would always try like hell to tailor his advice to the particular needs of the recipient.

“Fight only smaller cats,” he recommended to the scratched and bedraggled dachshund. Not fighting at all would generally be better advice, but a weiner-dog has to think about the standings. It would look like a slump if he didn’t notch any victories.

“Go for it,” he called up to the woman on the ledge. To the aghast bystanders all around, he said, “She might float down slowly and be fine. It’s a theoretical mathematical inherent possibility.”

Every time Harry’s prescription ran out, he enjoyed at least a day of such lucidity and wisdom. And to think, he thought, I spent $2000 on those pills!

 

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“Abigail! Bad Dog!”

  • k-avatarthe seven battalions of the Lepracaun
  • rent all her needlework asunder
  • made a merry, scornful sound
  • the princess’s spaniel
  • “Hop! Hop!” he cried

“Abigail! Bad dog!” exclaimed Princess Flamisham after Abigail, the princess’s spaniel, made a merry, scornful sound and rent all her needlework asunder.

But soon the princess marveled at her pet’s alertness, for revealed beneath the ruined coverlet were the tiny General Shamrock and the seven battalions of the Lepracaun.

“Good dog, Abigail! Sic ’em!”

Shamrock issued commands in a frenzy, hoping to avoid a total massacre. “Hop! Hop!” he cried.

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