Friday, August 04, 2006

Some general Goodkind parodies, or ones that I don't know the reference for

'Dear diary,

Today I will go to the Cathedral to see the new statues that the benevolent Order commisioned our enemy, Lord Roland Reich, to carve. I couldn’t understand why our beloved leaders asked someone that is against our social system to make those two statues but they must have some reasons to do so.
On the way to the Cathedral I have decided to stop by the Orphans House and the Healers House for the Poor to give them some money. I know that they have money thanks to our taxes but I cannot forget how they helped my family when dad died after a long and terrible wasting disease. Knowing that my money will be used to buy some sweets and books for the children warms my heart and makes me feel better, being part of a community and knowing that we are ready to help each others.

Dear diary,

Something strange has happened. I arrived to the Cathedral with high spirits but what I saw there completely changed the way I see the world. Lord Roland Reich uncovered two statues that were marvelous to behold. They represented a man and a woman and they were filled with a dignity that went beyond to cold stone that they were made of. There was truth in them, just looking at the serene face of the man I felf my heart beating hard and realized that my soul was hungry for truth. The woman was something different, even though she was covered she represented the true ideal of feminity and I felt a “thing” rising in me. I would have been embarrassed if the same wasn’t happening to the rest of those that were gathered in the Cathedral, in fact most of the men felt uncomfortable like I did when they looked at the statue of the woman.
Then there was an uproar when the wise leaders of the Order commanded Lord Roland to destroy the statues. I couldn’t understand why they were so angry with him, after all they had brought him to our city and ordered him to make those two statues.
I left, I was disgusted and while I was leaving I heard a greater uproar inside the Cathedral. I didn’t particulary bother with it something had changed in me after seing the statues. Suddenly I saw things clearly. On my way home I burned to Orphans House. Seeing the two statues had made me understand that we cannot help people, that by helping them we are not allowing to help themselves, and this is bad. Every one has the right and the duty to pursue his path for freedom and truth. I feel cheated because the Order helped me, they didn’t have any right to do that, really.
It was a shame that all the children were in the Cathedral because I felt a thing in me rising, a thing different from the other thing when I saw the statue of the woman, and I wanted to kick some of their faces. I would feel better now.'

- Agulla

'Imperial General: "What is best in life?"

Jagang: "To crush your enemies balls, to see their testicles eaten by your followers, and to hear the lamentations of their women as they get shafted by broom handles."

The same question put to Richard:

Kelton General: "What is best in life?"

Richard: "To crush little girls jawbones with a good sharp kick for to do so is an affirmation of life and to do otherwise is to seek death which is morally wrong, (2) to see them all bow down before you and recite the ritualist worship of me for to do so not only protects them from the Dreamwalker but can allow my fellow objectivists to have a spiritual moment of white light even though it is raining and it is totally not because I get off on the hero worship, no shut up it's true, (3) and to hear the lamentations of their women as they cry out at the nobility of the human spirit which is the purest nobility there is, except for goats of course which are almost as equal in nobility, (4) and also to destroy chickens who are not chickens for they are evil incarnate . . . ."

Richard: ". . . only morally right thing to do you see, (235) and another thing . . ."

Kelton General: "He really won't shut the fuck up will he? I think I'd rather be on the side which has bollocks rammed down the mouth than through the ears. I'm out of here!" '

- theMountainGoat

'The evil sovereign Bertrand skulked into the debating theatre, his narrow eyes scuttling from student to student. This was the great debate, the ultimate struggle for power over the entire philosophy department. Ayn Rahl greeted him with joy - today she would smite her enemy once and for all.

A dance with death.

The wizened octogenarian smirked. "Surely you cannot deny that reason must be subordinate to ethical considerations?"

The students gasped as one. They turned to one another and said "He's right you know." They started to mutter uglily.

Ayn could feel her thing rising. These students were being influenced by the power of evil. It was time for a demonstration of the nobility of the human spirit.

"Blade, be true this day!"

She spun around faster than the eye could see. "You are obstructing my pursuit of Life, but no longer!" she cried.

Flexing her mighty thews, she drove her hand through Bertrand's stomach and ripped out his spinal cord. He staggered, but remained standing - but his power was gone.

Ayn shook the blood off her hand, and laughed, a clear, ringing laugh that brought joy to all who heard it. Soon the students were weeping with joy. But Ayn's task was not over. Pulling the head and right leg from the aging philosopher, she fashioned a crude club and swiftly slaughtered the faithless students, until not one supporter of Logical Atomism remained to pollute the campus.'

'Kahlan: "No, they have summoned the Violas of Vengeance to negate the effects of our Moraccas or Moral Clarity!! Richard, quickly, use your 'thing' and innate brilliance to conjure something new!!"

Richard: "I cannot, Kahlan. Until the people can appreciate the evil of Violas, they are not worth saving. Oh, I could come up with something, perhaps Flaying Flutes of Frightening Fluidity, but why should I? Those are soldiers over there, and you know I only kick girls in the face and slaughter civilians. Our soldiers were falling under the spell of collectivism. This, then, is their fate. To be destroyed by the Violas of Vengeance. They have brought it upon themselves, thus I condemn them in the name of the Yeard."

Zedd: "Bags, you're absolutely right Richard!"

Kahlan: "Richard, your war-wizard outfit is so big, and your 'thing' is so powerful...I am going to go get kidnapped and almost raped."
(Kahlan leaves)

Richard: "Kahlan? Kahlan?!? KAHLAN?!?!?!? NOOOOOO!!!!! YOU MANIACS!!!! YOU BLEW HER UP!!! DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU ALL TO HELL!!"

- Lightning Lord

'Instantly a hundred severed limbs flew up in the air as Richard suddenly ripped out a dozen spines through the soldiers stomachs. In an instant Richard had disemboweled all the officers after suddenly making them eat their own shit. Instantly the Imperial Order troops realized that they were totally outclassed, but in that instant they were all consumed in a mighty blast of flatulence from Richards Rectum of Truth, and instantly the flesh of all the Imperial soldiers melted off their bodies, which Richard suddenly turned into instant oatmeal. Suddenly Richard realized he was out of brown sugar, and in an instant, Richard instantly tore Six and Violet apart trying to suddenly find some.'

- The Mad Moose

As he stalked into the gloominess of the dark cavern, his eyes ajusted to the gloominess, they're puples widening to let in more light. From the corner of his peripheral vision he could barely scrutinize a mysterious object in the gloom ahead. Ponderusly he edged further into the dark cavern, getting himself deeper into it and closer to the more distant and non-proximus parts of the cave. Whom was there he could not fathom to think. Whom? Indeed.

Suddenly, a slow movement of the obstructed object he had been looking at caught his eye. It was nothing but an avariciously meticulus specter of ashen fury. Turning towards it he got into a war stance like no other war stance. The luminous walls of the dark groto thrummed with the power that was corsing through his pulsing veins. It seemed as though everyone stood still, holding their aspirations, tension filling the air.

"You there, I can see you, I know you are there. Get out and stand up right now, this is your final warning," he howled through clenched teeth.

The object wheeled about and through itself at him with a sudden lurch. Almost imperseptably fast, and with amazing speed, he whipped around, turning, and dropped into a fighting stance. Before anyone knew what was going on, he slowly stealed himself and gathered his rage for his assault. When it came, it came so fast that even the damp walls of the cave shuddered with exhilerant surprise. He shattered the object's face with a single blow of the sword. Bits of unidentifiable brain, skin and bone fragments sprayed everywhere, oozing.

"You can come in, now," he called out to the outside of the cave. And the goat entered, flooding the enclosed space with silent nobility.

- Hard but Soft

"We've rounded up all the orphans in the city Mother Confessor. What shall we do with them? Feed them? Find loving homes for them?" Captain Ryan looked at Kahlan with an eyebrow raised.

"No Captain. I want you to tie each one to a stake and set it on fire. I want to hear them screaming til they die."

Captain Ryan was appalled at the thought. "But Mother Confessor, they're just sweet innocent children who haven't harmed anyone!"

"No arguments Captain! Just do it. I have a hunch."

"Well, all the children are burning Mother Confessor, what shall we do now?" Captain Ryan's face had turned a shade of green and tears streamed freely from his - oh, lets say brown - eyes.

"Just wait."

[suddenly amid the screaming is the sound of tearing flesh. From the bellies of the screaming and burning children burst forth.....CHICKENS THAT ARE EVIL INCARNATE!!!!]

"Wow Mother did you know? How could you even suspect that the children would be possessed by evil chicken-things?"

Favouring the captain with one of her 'special smiles'. "Don't you know by now Captain, that when you are steeped in moral clarity - as I am - that barbarism of the worst sort always turns out to be for the best?" She giggled slightly. "Had it not been chickens, then no doubt these children would all have turned out to have dreams of joining the Order when they grew up, or any number of things that would justify my killing them." Her giggle grew into hysterical laughter. "Here, I'll prove it to you. Guards! Seize the captain and cut off his head!"

Captain Ryan's scream was cut short by the blade cutting cleanly through his neck.

"Let's see, ummm, take off his soldier pants."

The guards hasten to obey, fearful that they may be the next to fall prey to the Mother Confessor's "clarity". Once his soldier pants were removed the men were shocked to see that instead of the manhood they were expecting, was something huge and shiny-black, covered with barbs and spikes.

"How about that." Kahlan said, unsurprised. "A big barbed Namble cock." She glanced at the other men. "I told you it would all work out. Now round up those chickens." Kahlan laughed maniacally, some of the soldiers joined in the laughter. Others threw horseshoes around the Namble cock and laughed, soon all the soldiers were laughing.
- The Mad Moose

Elrostar stared down with raptor-like eyes at his computer screen.

"Don't be blank. I don't want to have to do this. Just display my unwritten thesis now and we can all go home."

The computer screen stayed blank, a pustulent whiteness of pure evil.

"I'm telling you again, don't make this happen. Only one of us will leave here alive, and it will be me."

The computer screen taunted Elrostar with a repulisively blank screen. It was the blankness of uniformity and conformity. Not a single pixel was an individual. It was the blank whiteness of a chicken's egg. An evil chicken.

Elrostar felt his rage beginning to rise. "I tried to warn you," he said. "Now you must die."

Bringer of Theses.

Elrostar's rage flowed through him. There was a thunderous crashing and snapping. Keys shorn from their keyboard sailed through the air. An acrid blue smoke filled the room. The monitor was sundered. The computer's case rent open dripping its liquid coolant into a growing puddle on the floor. Elrostar, now an embodiment of rage advanced on the printer. The printer spasmed weakly before spitting out 97 pages of thesis. Elrostar felt his rage cool. "It's a nice attempt, but you didn't fool anyone. There's no table of contents or citations." The printer made a whining noise and a sheet of heavy bond crinkled as the machine lost control of itself in pure terror. Suddenly 15 more pages spewed forth containing a detailed TOC and a proper citation section.

"That's better." Elrostar said, feeling his rage ebb. "Now prepare to hear a 15 page speech on why it is your duty to join my objectivist army of small appliances."

- Gylfie

Richard: Everyone is allowed to believe what they want to believe.
Random Guy: I don't agree with you!
(Richard kills Random Guy)

- Cynthesis

The Trouble with Luggage

It was a valley, grassy once and artfully bestrewn with small trees. It had all been quite green and fine – but in a masculine, outdoorsy sort of way and not in a sissy, commie, bleeding heart, cry baby way. It was all quite pleasant and fine and then, a dirty great army had descended upon it and the ground had been churned up and the trees hacked down and now it had become something altogether more brown, and in this way you could tell that the Creator* had artistic sensibilities and knew symbolism when conjured it into existence**, because any army that churned the ground and blackened the earth where it passed was clearly a thing of evil.
In this way, the careful reader will become aware that it is a dark and malignant force they behold here.

Were one a small creature, a lemming perhaps, and were one nestled down among the few remaining patches of slowly browning grass at the edge of the army’s encampment, one might have heard a strange conversation.


“I beg your pardon?”

“I’m sorry, I tripped over something. I think it was a lemming.”

“No, that word, I never heard it before.”

“Oh, I heard it from a sailor. I think he heard it somewhere foreign.”

“I see. It’s a good one.”

“I thought so too.”

“It’s strange, you know, so much nasty stuff happens around here, and for some reason we just don’t seem to have the vocabulary we need to deal with it. I think if more people had access to this wondrous word of yours, life would be just that tiny bit more bearable.”

“Do you think so?”

“I do. I heard the Generals chef refer to something a ‘drat darned by lordy satchel of a device for totage’ the other day.”

“What had him so riled up?”

“I think it was something about a lack of celery. I can’t remember.”

“Still. It was a good swear.”

“Yes, but somehow unsatisfactory. Somehow your word encapsulates all that he was trying to say, and requires no references to luggage.”

“Amazing isn’t it. You know, I’ve a mind to go back and share it with the others. It would make me happy to do some good.”

“No, Lurge, we can’t. My home was burnt to the ground by these monsters and my family murdered. My cat was murdered and my turkeys. They sodomised everything in sight that could be sodomised, and when people start doing that, you know they’re evil. You just know they are! They sodomised my mother and my grandfather and the pig, the horses, ducks and sheep, even Mr. Pentanacles door knocker.”

“They sodomised a door knocker.”

“Yes, it was one of the amusing ones. You know the sort that Master Fingus used to carve and which were so popular for a while.”

“You mean the ones with the…?”

“Exactly. Anyway, then the torture began, and not the good, right, morally applaudable torture that your might be imagining either… Evil torture… with pointy things.”


“Yes. And then began the taxation… without representation! And even though this may appear to be a proto-preindustrial fantasy land, which has made scant few advances in moral philosophy let alone economic and political theory, even I understand that that is just wrong, wrong, wrong.”

“It sounds terrible.”

“It was. The forced prostitution, poor diet, dysentery, beatings and humiliation I have endured since seem almost irrelevant by comparison. But now we will escape, Lurge. I know you’ve suffered. I know you were a simple baker and critic of fine pastries when your home town was destroyed. I know you and your brother were pressed into service and that they held you both, each a guarantee to the other’s good behaviour. I know you despise the small aid you’ve been forced to render in the form wholemeal loaves and fresh tartlets. You’ve seen terrible things. They’re evil. They really are just evil, evil, evil, evil.”

As the author feels that the reader will understand subtlety once they have been beaten about the head with it, it is the author’s belief that a more pointed summery of the evils of this particular army can be dispensed with. Suffice to say that they are quite bad.

“We’re going to escape, Lurge. We will give their secrets to their enemies and they will be finished.”

It would have been at about this time, had one been that furry critter in the stubbly underbrush, that one would have seen an odd thing indeed. First there would have been the sound of hoof beats, and then a horse, galloping fast, would have emerged from the surrounding woodland, on its back would have been a woman, apparently glowing in the dark and behind her would have ridden a small army.

As most of you aren’t furbearing rodents, you’ll just have to trust me that it happened.

The couple, upon whose conversation we have been eavesdropping, didn’t see the horse riding up behind them, although it is unclear why they didn’t hear its hooves. They had stopped to look, one last time, at the hateful camp. They stood arm in arm, and if the woman on the horse assumed it was "at a price" then that was entirely her own value judgement and had nothing to do with the facts of the situation. The man was on the far side of the woman as the glowing lady raced up behind them, so with a mighty swing she took off the woman’s head, instead. The stupefied Lurge clutched the headless body as it began to fall.

“That’s what happens when you provide material aid and comfort to the enemy in the form of sexual favours!” screamed the woman on the horse.

“And baked goods as well!” the elderly fellow at her side added skewering Lurge as he rode past. “By jeezely knapsacks of gosh darned pursely holdalls!” The man disappeared leaving a trail of muttered oaths and baggage behind him.

And thus began the great prostitution purge of '08, what is commonly believed to be one of the most successful millitary actions of all time on a pure ration of kills to casualities


*Who was a secular sort of fellow and had nothing whatsoever to do with faith or morality which is to been seen as the sole providence of humanity at least from around book 4 onwards.
**Without effecting, in any way, the existence of human freewill or moral causality which is to been seen as the sole providence of humanity at least from around book 4 onwards.

- Will

What Happens When Pa Wears His Pants


The problem was only this: her grandfather was just a little senile and prone to wondering off, not always safely enpantsed or berobed, and an elderly man wandering the town and sharing with the masses things best left unshared was not a way to promote peace, even in a community as sharing as this one. Peace may have been the ideal, but the sight of Pa Winderly’s saggy buttocks wobbling their way down the street tried even the most patient people at the best of times.

Lotty sighed. This was not the best of times. Peace was all very well until war came, and then holding on to your peaceful intentions became something of a trial. But one persevered. And then, when the leaders, in their right honourable honourability declared that if one is peaceful and can’t fight one’s enemies then one ought to bloody well march out and find someone who can, well, one persevered. And when one’s leaders further decide, in their infinite wisdom – because it is sooo wise to set a child up as one’s head of state because they are sooo innocent, as if innocence is what one looks for in a leader and not shear Machiavellian cunning with a façade of selfless public interest – when they decide that they are going to poison their new champion because that will really get him on there side, then one dies a little inside, grits one’s teeth and, basically, perseveres. And finally, when the champion declares that what he need is heads on pikes and an awful lot of them – as well as, for some reason, some bloody antidote – and a separate group of one’s own people become a little squeamish and decide that they don’t want any massacres and start screaming John Lennon songs at the tops of their voices – although that may have been another book as she was a little confused by now – well then one bloody well hides under one’s table, very quietly, and hopes for an equitable resolution.

The problem was, of course, one’s stupid grandfather.

“Pa!” she called, from the door of her house. “Pa, where did you go?”

She could see someone shuffling down the street, but in the early evening gloom she couldn’t tell who it was. She hurried after the figure. At least, she thought as she ran, he’s wearing his pants. And then she thought, oh dear.

Their little street intersected the main road just ahead, and the intersection was a blaze of orange light. People, only black silhouettes against the torch light, crowded the cross roads, chanting, and the figure – she could see that it was her grandfather now – wandered in among them.

The chanting grew loader as she drew closer. “No war! No war! No war!” they were yelling.

Really, Lotty thought, is that it? Is that the best you could come up with? I mean, granted. a mob is not the best location for intellectual discourse, but surely someone could have come up with something better than, no war.

She reached the crowd and pushed her way among them. She was getting a very strange vibe here. People, as she knew them, really didn’t act this way, the hate on their faces, the screaming, the lockstep marching, the stupid bloody chant. It was almost like they were being controlled for some higher purpose. She grabbed one of the men, a neighbour she recognised, and shook him.

“No war! No w…” He stopped and looked at her, seeming just a little dazed.

“Ferdinand, what are you doing?” she asked him.

“I was… he… going to kill…” He paused. “I’m not quite sure,” he admitted.

“This isn’t right,” she told him. “It’s only going to cause a lot of trouble.”

He blinked at her and then nodded.

“Try to break it up,” she told.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, it might be a good idea.”

“Have you seen my grandfather.”

“Isn’t that him at the front?” Ferdinand asked.

“Oh crap,” she muttered. “Break it up!” she told him pushing through the crowd.

“Hey,” Ferdinand yelled, and started shaking people, “hey, look. This won’t help!”

Lotty struggled to the front of the crowd. She reached her grandfather and seized his arm just as a group of new figures appeared at the end of the street. She recognised the front one; he was the poisoned champion who’d been lecturing everyone. Behind him came troop of armed men.

“Get out of the way,” the champion called. He was charging toward them at quite a rate. “Get out of the way! This is your only warning! Get out of the way or die!"

“Stop the hate! Stop the hate!” Somehow, in unison, the crowd had slid into another, even more ridiculous chant.

“Move!” the champion called.

“Stop the hate! No war! Stop the hate! No war!” What was impressive about this one was that half the crowd was chanting one slogan and the half was chanting the other. The two chants had somehow coalesced into a sort of rhythmic heartbeat.

Lotty seized her grandfather’s shoulder and pulled him toward the side of the road. She really was so angry with people.

“Move,” the champion yelled, “or die!” He Lotty turned to find him charging straight at her. She held out her hand.

“No, wait!” she yelled at him. “I’m not sure what you’re angry for. Wait!” But her voice blended with that of the crowd. The champion’s face was a mask of righteous rage. She took a step forward still holding out her hand. “I know they poisoned you. I guess they’re murderers. They’re murderers, but they don’t deserve this.” The man didn’t even seem to hear her, or her voice was again sucked away by the chanting. The man gritted his teeth as he screamed in fury – no mean feat I’m sure you’ll agree. He took a powerful swing and lopped off Lotty’s head and her upraised arm. Gore splattered his face and she sank to the ground.

At least Pa will die with his pants on. It was the last thing she thought.

Ferdinand’s efforts must have been bearing some fruit, because more people were stirring now, seemingly coming back to themselves. At first they looked bemused, but when they saw Lotty cut down they panicked, fleeing for the side streets.

Perhaps in a state of shock, Ferdinand stepped toward the champion. He might have had some thought of taking the man’s weapon. He might have had some thought of telling the man he could pass freely. Whatever his thoughts, he took the full weight of the champion’s charging thrust.

The men behind the champion hit the rows of packed townsfolk with unrestrained violence. People fought, desperately to get out of the way but the press was too tight. Others, armed only with sudden mental clarity, a sudden realisation that there was no escape, turned to face the attackers and fell bloodied, terribly injured and dead. The line of people collapsed beneath the merciless charge. Some of the townsfolk, screaming in fear and desperation, used their fists on the attackers.

They were met with swift and deadly steel.

- Will


"You are standing in a forest. Roll 1D10 for random encounter:"
1 = Almost raped by a bear
2 = Almost raped by a namble
3 = Sleep in wayward pine. Have dreams about almost rape.
4 = Almost raped in wayward pine
5 = Encounter non-magical talking dragon. Almost rape.
6 = Almost raped by wayward pine
7 = Quad (almost rape)
8 = Leather-clad dominatrix. Rape.
9 = Meet a man. Roll 1D4. 1= as tall as you 2= taller 3 = shorter 4 = taller than most men, but not as tall as you. He almost rapes you.
10 = You are separated from your comrades. Spend 1D6 months wandering the wilderness pining for their presence. Become enslaved and almost raped. Encounter one random magical artefact capable of destroying the world. Resolve situation through magic. Laugh."

A letter from Terry on ARCs

No, I won’t be sending any ARC!

I’ve been asked if there will be ARC of my forthcoming book and I would like to address this matter because I believe that is far more important than some would think.

I do not send ARC on principle. After all, what is an advance reader’s copy but a theft of the writer’s well earned economic rights; each ARC means one less book sold, and a pathetic way to try to win the hearts of a few more readers by simply stroking the self inflated egos of a clique of bloggers, who happen to be just a bunch of frustrated writers.

In real life you have to deserve what you want, an ARC is something that is not deserved. You have not paid for it, you are given it for free; you have not earned your right to own it. Not only this, ARC are bad for publishers, some of them have given up so many ARC of a single book, like the case of that fantasy novel by Scott Lynch; "Red Seas Under Red Skies", that now their stocks are so low that is unable to cope with the demand and are having problems shipping the books in time.

There is only one way to prove yourself as a writer, this way is the harsh battle fought day after day on the bookstores’ shelves. It’s here where those who are fit survive and sell millions and those who are not good enough sink, unable to cope with their inability to create art or simply write one more book of their failing series.

Do not expect ARC’s of my next and definitive work. I’m not playing this game nor are publishers. They know very well that you, faithful readers are mature enough to know what you want to read without a literary guru telling you. They know that if you are reading my books is because you understand their message and this message is totally opposed to what an ARC is.

Be ready for the last battle; be ready for the moment when my next book hits the shelves.

Mr T

- Agulla

Tairy sat at his desk, dried ears laid out before him, an erection throbbing in his pants. Breathing, his eyes bugging out and bloodshot like red tomatoes of red redness, and sticking out with bugginess of bugness, like a bug's would. He breathed, instantly breathing in and out like a bellows. Picking up the pen, his hand was a picking up instrument, a claw of up-picking. He uncapped it instantly, and the silence rang with it's characteristic ringing sound. Breath rasping in and out, the Yeard, Bringer of Writing, put pen to paper. The pen scratched like noble goats tapdancing across a scraping surface. The Pen of Truth instructed him in the wisdom of its previous writers.

Start with a metaphor. Now a subjunctive clause. Now a metaphor. Now another one. Two more metaphors. Say something is something else, like you would a metaphor. Put in a comma. Take your pants off. Two similes and a metaphor. Compare their actions to a summer's day where a body is on fire while someone is having sex with it. Now a metaphor again. Period. PERIOD!! Stroke yourself gently. I don't think there's enough metaphors, better put in one more. Make it three. And a simile. Tell the soldiers how civilians are choosing death by not fighting. Sign with your own semen.


Put in a post-script, comparing your ejaculate to something. And describe the orgasm using a metaphor.
Oh yeah. Bringer of Writing.


Richard was born as a simple Pit Bull. He was taller than most pit bulls. But the pit he faced tonight was taller than him. Despite the years of torture and abuse he believed in his noble spirit and would not do as his master wanted. In other circumstances this other pit might be his friend with ass sniffing exchanged with much delight. But he was about to be attack and he was not going to let himself be harmed.

Despite never having fought before - having only heard about it from other dogs in his kennel - his rage was up and since he had such a strong belief in himself and knowing only he knew the truth of his character, how to truly live his life for living life is the only reason to live life and makes life worth living by living for life, he attacked with all his might and despite years of torture was able to take the other champion train pit bull down and win the fight with one melon size bite causing blood to bath him as a victory shower and Richard liked it he laughed his doggy laugh knowing that his life was worth living and he was alive to live his life to the fullest the life can be lived.

The woman who tortured him was clad in one piece of highly shined leather it ran from her impressive crotch with a thick tong up the back that was split to cover her large chest pillows hit Richard for being too good and knowing that his life was to full of being lived to the fullest at all times even when he was sleeping. Her small daughter of 8 also started to beat him and threaten to kill him and rape his girlfriend whom he had loved all his life even thought they had just meet a few hours prior and as she was laughing he felt his thing rise up and his rage for his life that was worth living as only he could live the life that was worth living so he lunged with all his doggy might and mauled that 8 year old to shreds as the mother beat him and then he shat on the girls corpse and ran off into the night knowing that he had done the moral thing.

Vicgang, the owner of the Kennel found out about what Richard had done and realized that his life might be in danger if Richard escaped the boundary put Richard's lover on the rape stand and for the next several days had dogs almost rape her only to have Richard come and kill the dogs, but somehow in the most unlikely and inane way she was always recaptured and placed back on the rape stand. Finally everyone but his lady love Klan got tired of the almost rape game and so Richard went to confront Vicgang once and for all to show him that his life was worth living to the most that life could be lived and that despite having no thumbs he could draw and make violins better than anyone who had ever lived, he was also a great fighter, lover, plumber, carpenter, teacher, chemist, doctor, engineer, civil rights leader, nascar driver, lion tamer, pirate, hair stylist, and most importantly he was an artist who inspired others to realize that all his works are about moral choices to make sure that all lives where lived to the fullest even though no life was so fully lived as his for only he could live his life to the fullest.

Vicgang set many trials and battles in Richards way but with melon sized bites he fought his way though until finally surrounded by many other pit bulls who had no idea how to live life the way he could live life by living his life for his life to be worth living. Knowing he was out numbered Richard pretended to stretch in the down dog style and as the gaurds dogs relaxed he killed them like he was dancing, as dancing was breathing and breathing was sleeping and sleeping was like being born and nothing he had done before could have made him any happier than killing all of the pit bulls before hamstringing Vicgang. With curses so foul that Richard wanted to lick him self clean Vicgang was forced to the rape stand and there he was to stay and for all time to be raped by all passer by for they knew he was lame and didn't know how to live life for life that is worth living in all the ways life has to be lived everytime life is lived by the living.

- Higravity


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Thanks for posting all this stuff Alice - aka Min Donner. My parody on this page is from a Genghis Khan quote which was immortalised by being included in the film Conan the Barbarian. Great blog by the way! Keep up the good work.

10:59 am  
Blogger Andrew C said...

The Trouble with Luggage looks like a Pterry Prachett attempt. :)

12:32 pm  

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