Thursday, December 4th - Unrequited Love

I sit alone in my forest

Nothing but a notebook and a pen

Drawing self portraits to fill the void of no friends

Then you come along and take a look at my art

I though maybe this one's different, maybe time for a new start

So I walk up to make the introduction

You run and scream and force me to abduction

This wasn't the idea, this wasn't the plan

Love is so hard when you're Slender Man

Tuesday, December 2 - CTU

Japan has compromised the whole western seaboard...need...countermeasures...

I hear these words from underneath my pillow fort I have built to sleep in, as is my custom on snow days. I hear my wife having a very badly disguised radio conversation with people from her work. Running water doesn't really mask hissing radios and human talking. You would think all that training at the American Espionage Institute would have taught her that. Anyhow, I cant shake the feeling I probably shouldn't have heard that conversation, but now it has peaked my interest. I relinquish rule over my pillow fort kingdom to my dog Fredrick Douglas as I go snooping. I find her laptop and open it. Password protected. I think for a while and then it suddenly comes to me. Of course, the password couldn't be simpler! I type "brodyisthebestever" into the password bar. Denied. Out of ideas and a little hurt, I see Fredrick Douglas peering at be from inside the feather-stuffed gates of the pillow fort. I squint my eyes at him in thought, and type "fredrickdouglas" into the password bar. Access granted, now back to my super sleuthing. I see a folder on the desktop titled "TOP SECRET" and immediately click it. Inside is a document that spells out the whole situation. Masaya Nakamura, founder of the Japanese organization Nakamura Amusement Machine Manufacturing Company, better known as NAMCO, has been secretly developing in his underground laboratory the next installment of the Pac Man series of arcade machines using the latest in brain control technologies. The first wave of these machines have been unleashed in California, infiltrating every arcade and game pub, players everywhere are coming under the suggestion of the game, causing them to take out their life savings in quarters and play the game until they are all gone. Shocked by this new information, as well as the TASR my wife had to the back of my neck, I regain consciousness an hour later. She left for work and took the laptop with her. Great. Good thing I printed a copy. I walk to the printer and take the paper sitting there. Continuing my reading, it seems there is only one way to defeat this threat and free the people who have already become enslaved by the games. To set them free someone has to find the master game machine in Nakamura's lab and beat the 256th level of the game. I am not trained to break into high tech facilities nor am I trained in espionage or any form of sneakery, but I have seen every James Bond movie a thousand times so I think I am more than qualified. I call my best pal Steven Spielberg, who is also the best Pac Man player in the history of existance.

Hey, ever been to Japan?

Friday, November 21 - Ekphrasis

Man on the Moon
from a ship through the stars
Searching for the answers
to who we really are
Ground of black
painted on a sky of gold
Man stood face to face
with the Creator of old
Disconnecting his oxygen
vapours of steam from the ports
and mix with the atmosphere
Sending red alarms to the bioreport
Man found the one, finally found his home
In a galaxy with beings far beyond our own

Thursday, November 20 - Inside Out

Here I am. Sitting in Creative Writing class, trying to work on my Dreadful Dictionary for the end project of this unit. Only problem is, I have lost all my words.

"You could just make up some new ones," a voice inside my head says.

"I could I suppose..."

"Or you could just not do it at all, think of all the work you put into it and now it's all gone. Its not worth it." Another voice says.

"This is a valid point..."

"What are you thinking?! That't not at all a valid point!"

"This is also true..."

"C'mon, forget working on the project and just play some games!"

"NO, he can't do that, this project needs to be done so he can get a good grade!"

The voices argue back and fourth until a third one chimes in...

"Woah, what is all this noise about?"

"HE thinks Brody should just play games instead of doing his work!"

"He's already lost all his work, c'mon it's ridiculous to have to do it all over again, HE thinks Brody should do it all over again! That's ridiculous!"

"Wait. Have you written that screenplay yet?"

I reply to the third voice.

"Yes..."

"Set your ND filters?"

"Uh huh..."

"Buy your film stock?"

"Yeah..."

"...Is it casted yet?"

"Well no..."

"Okay, make sure you finish up preproduction stuff, then I don't care what you do."

The first voice returns.

"Which will be your work!"

"...Fine."

"Good. Now hurry up and post this blog entry so you can get started."

I finish typing and press "Publish". 

Tuesday, November 18th - Treason

Surprise!!

Giuseppe Marco Fieschi came home to see his friends had thrown him a "congratulations on getting out of prison" surprise party. They all had cake and a grand time, but Giuseppe couldn't get this one thing off his mind.

How could King Louis imprison me like that? After we went to high school together! I broke him out of detention with only a paper clip and a MacGyver rerun! And he just locks me away! Stealing the councilman's checkbook and forging checks into my own account isn't something worth ruining a friendship over!! Banking fraud is not that big a deal!! Ill show him...

A group of Giuseppe's friends walk over and offer him the chance of a lifetime. They plan on assassinating the King, and they want him to do it.

Of course I'll do it! He needs to pay.

Now Giuseppe, this needs to be clean and you need a discreet way of killing him, you need a creative and clever plan to be able to pull this off...

Oh don't worry about that, I'll be super discrete and creative, no one will ever see it coming.

* * *

Giuseppe awaits the king to pass by with his family on his yearly review of the Guard. He looks down at his weapon of choice for assassinating the king. An enormous custom built 25-barrel shotgun.

Nailed it.  He thought.  Total sneaky and stealthy, like a shadow in the night...

The king passed by, this is Giuseppe's chance. He pulls the trigger and unleashes a hellfire of bullets upon the king and surrounding peoples. The massive kick of the 25 shotguns duct tape and krazy-glued together sent Giuseppe flying into the wall, dazed. The enormously impractical and supervillainous contraption killed 18 people, injured 22 more. None of them the royal family. The king was grazed in the forehead by a bullet but not injured. Giuseppe woke up from his daze to see a crowd of people surrounding him looking pretty disgruntled with him. So they put him in a guillotine and hes dead now.

That's what you get Giuseppe.

Moral to the story: If you are going to assassinate someone, don't do it with a ridiculous 25 barreled shotgun.

Friday, November 14th

Franz Gurgenspielheim woke up to a completely ordinary day and walked to his kitchen for some ordinary coffee. He looks at the calendar; November 9, 1989. He walks outside to do his ordinary routine everyday. He walks to the park and sits on the same bench with the same notebook and the same fountain pen. He looks over to the tree he has been admiring for the longest time, and the same little squirrel on one of the branches, and continues his drawing. For a moment he thought of how strange it was that it seemed the squirrel never moved and how the tree never changed with the seasons, but though the idea silly and wrote it off as just him not noticing. He was so focused on his pen strokes, he didn't notice the wrecking ball that smashed through the wall that the tree and squirrel was painted on. When he looked up to take another look at the tree, he saw a man with an equally dumbfounded facial expression as his looking back at him. He saw the man was sitting on a bench, with a notebook and a fountain pen. Looking down at the concrete wall Franz noticed on the other man's side was the same tree with the same squirrel. The two men like reflections of one another stood up and walked toward the newly discovered person. They each looked at the other's notebook, and saw the drawings of the same tree on both of them. Franz looked back at the man and walked back to his bench which he pulled over to the hole in the wall, and the man did the same to his bench. They sat next to each other and shared drawings and stories. The other man was Jorgen Franzheimstien, and every day he woke up to a completely ordinary day and walked to his completely ordinary kitchen for some ordinary coffee. Then he would take the same notebook and the same fountain pen to the same bench to draw the same tree with the same squirrel in the branches. He was too focused on his drawing to notice the wrecking crew smash through the tree, which he now realized was a wall, where he saw a man on a bench just like him, doing the same thing, named Franz Gurgenspielheim. As the two men shared their drawings and stories, they realized that November 9th of 1989 was not just an ordinary day.

Thursday, November 13 - Macabre Art

Emaciated souls in the dying void
The spirits of the damned draw closer
One by one they see the light
And breathe in its breathe of life
So they may continue living singing sullen anthems
Personified misery in the form of a thousand phantoms

Wednesday, November 12 - The Haunted House

This whole town is deserted

Thought detective Blair. He looked down to his left side and winced as he pressed against his blood soaked dress shirt.

Broken ribs, great.

After his train derailed a mile and a half away, an in-shock and barely alive Blair saw a light in the distance, a place he thought he could get help. Upon reaching the town he found the source of the only light. A gas station and convenience store, looking dirty but fully operational. Except there was no one, anywhere. He took some chips and a doughnut and threw some cash on the counter. As he ate to refill his strength, he noticed the door to the back office was ajar and the light inside was flickering. He stood and cautiously moved toward the opening in the office and rested his hand on his holstered pistol. He pushed open the door and walked inside. The office was bigger than expected, and had a disheveled desk in the back corner. The corkboard above the desk had newspaper clippings, headlines about disappearing children, paranormal activity in the local area, and several about mysterious cultish rituals and other crimes. Blair went through the notes on the desk, they documented connections between the news clippings. This guy was looking for something. In the bottom of one of the drawers he noticed a little discrepancy between two segments of the bottom of the drawer. He blew away some of the dust and pushed on one part, and it sprang up, a secret compartment. Inside was a wooden box, and Blair picked it up to examine it. he flipped the latch and opened the box revealing a set of glasses. He removed the glasses and looked at them more closely. There were intricate mechanics in them, and there were three sets of lenses on it, all situated on arms with gears so they could be positioned to bee seen through by the wearer. He puts the glasses on and twists one of the dials, setting one set of lenses in place. Immediately the world took on a bluish hue. Blair walked to the front of the gas station and looked out to the house on the hill. And the grotesque creature running from it toward him. He grabbed his gun and fired at it but it didn't seem to do anything. The creature was on all fours now, contorting its frame unnaturally. Blair ran back into the office and closed the door. The creature rams the door and it comes ajar. Blair can see its disgusting yellow eyes and its unnaturally wide mouth with an unnatural amount of sharp jagged teeth. Blair glances at the creature through the top of the glasses, and its gone. He looks at it through the glasses again, and its trying to bust down the door. Blair tries to take off the glasses, but some force will not allow him to. In a frantic attempt he turns another dial and sets in a new set of lenses. The creature is still there and is crawling through the opening it has bashed through the door. Blair looks for a last stitch effort to escape, and notices the wall at the back where there once was nothing now has a door. He runs through it with no time to spare. He collapses in the floor of the next room, and everything blacks out. He comes back into consciousness and he is lying in a bed. He is relieved that everything he just experienced is forever stuck in the dreamscape and that he is now finally back in reality. That is until he realizes that this is not his room. This is not his bed. Looking out the window he can see the gas station below, from the window of the house he saw earlier. He goes to rub his eyes not believing any of this could be real, but his hands are blocked by the strangest pair of glasses...

Friday, November 7 - Macabre Poetry

A dance with the Devil in the pale moonlight
To somber sullen tones in the graveyard of temptation
Where forbidden fruit grow with barbed wire vines
Salsa with Satan in Luna's faint glow
Will be the last dance of your eternal soul

Thursday, October 30 - Steven Spielberg

Jaws, ET, Indy and Jurassic Park

What new film shall I make today? I need a creative spark.

But whatever I decide, the world will behold

For everything I touch becomes cinematic gold

So I sip my coffee and look out on the West Coast

I'm Spielberg, my films are so good I don't need to boast

Like Michael Bay who is all about the big explosion

But subtlety and adventure are the true Hollywood notion

No one wants real world conflicts and strife

People watch movies to escape normal life

And so I come up with the next summer blockbuster

While Michael Bay's career sits in lackluster.

Tuesday, October 28th - IDEK

Walter White woke up on the beach of Never Never Land. He scratched his head and blinked hard. Everything was so different since he left New Mexico. After killing everyone he ever knew, he faked his own death and moved to Far Far Away, and into the small beach community of Never Never Land. He met a woman named Winter, and together they had a daughter which they named Snow. Walt walked back to his beach home and went down into his basement where his meth operation has grown exponentially in size. The three pigs where working diligently pumping Methelyne Blue into the vats. He nodded and liked what he saw and went back up to the living room. Snow White came into the room with all the teenage angst a 15 year old would have.

"Can I take the Aztec to school today?"

Walter looked disgruntles at the request.

"I told you Snow. I haven't finished cleaning out the guts from that cocaine dealing Wolf yet. I had to hit him 4 times. Not an easy cleanup."

Snow gave him a very angry look and responded frustratingly

"Why didn't you just strangle him with a bike lock like you did Peter Pan to end his 'pixie dust' operation, Dad?"

Walter flipped the page on his newspaper. The headline read "Giovanni "The Gingerbread Man Gambini takes over family, organize crime explodes in Far Far Away."

"I already told you, the FBI would be suspicious of that."

She screamed as bratty teenagers do, and the arguing continued while Scruffy the family dog happily ate all the papers out of Snow's backpack, even the textbooks. She stormed off to school and failed out, forcing her to turn her focus from college to taking over the White family business.

The End.

Monday, October 27th

Paranormal Investigator

International Man of Mystery

Nautically Inclined

Oceanaut with Aquaphobia

Conqueror of Cats 

Cinema

Hats

Iconic Movies

Outlaw Filmmaker

Friday, October 24th - Pirates

It is day 82. The first mate Hennington Nickelbaggs and I are the last survivors on board the Jolly Roger. Ironically, Captain Roger was  the first to go, and he was not too jolly about it. We were sailing through the Himalayan Sea on our way to the Monopoly Islands, then disaster struck our seadog crew. They were fast and merciless. They were too much for us to handle. It is the thing of all mariner's nightmares, the thing that makes most naval officers avoid the Himalayan Sea. Yes, dear reader. I am talking about the dreaded Yeti Crabs. They were first spotted by our navigator, Crusty the Narcoleptic Pirate. Upon seeing these creatures he was struck with such strong fear he just fell asleep, and fell out of the crow's nest. The battle was swift, all hands were lost save a few. I wear the corpse of one of the fallen Yeti Crabs as a hat to strike fear into their hearts. As our ship ran up the coral reef and was rendered unseaworthy, I looked upon the nearby beach. There was a boardwalk where many a pirate ship and merchant ship alike were moored, free parking. I saw the gardens that were kept by Marven, the island's groundskeeper. I saw the green siding on the houses and the red brick hotels. We had arrived at Monopoly Island.

Thursday, October 23rd - Puns

There is a place in dirty slums of the city, where you can't quite tell if that smell is from the open sewer drains or the people sitting next to you at the bus stop. But this is no ordinary bus stop, the bus lines that traveled through here have been gone for some time indeed. You are searching for the mysterious underground competition that only the most hardcore of street-dwellers know the location of. But there is a way to enter with the help of an inside source, and this bus stop is the meeting place. You wait, and then suddenly a black hostage bag is placed over your head and you are taken and thrown into a van as it speeds away. You cannot see, but you feel the van descending an incline, stopping, and you hear the driver give a password to someone. You hear the sound of concrete moving along concrete. You ask yourself: Am I in the parking garage on 5th? The van moves on and stops, and you are thrown out onto the ground and the blind is removed. You look back just in time to see the large concrete wall slide back into place, a hidden door. You get up and dust yourself off, then look at the new place you have arrived in. A large stage and a gallery where hundreds of screaming fans cheered for the men on stage. Blue, green, and yellow laser lights and strobes illuminated the room a frenzy of colors. The men on stage were battling with mics, one dressed as a dapper gentleman and the other a mad scientist. The scientist opened with his first line.

So I'm reading this book on anti-gravity, it's impossible to put down.

The crowd roared and cheered at this declarative showcase of wit. The dapper gentleman took his mic of the stand and made his way across the stage to make his retort.

Whats the difference between a dapper on a bicycle and a poorly dressed man on a unicycle? A tire.

This continued on and on, and you recognized the men on stage. They were two of the best punmen in the world, battling right here in the underground Pun Pit. The scientist was thrown off the stage and you are ushered onto the stage. You pick up the mic, and see the sea of people cheeering. You look up and see a large throne in a balcony over the crowd and immediately know who it is. The rather rotund man in the throne is none other than Attila The Pun, the most undisputed master of puns to ever exist. This underground tournament is to select a successor. You start out, and are not nervous because your stage name proceeds you. You declare into the mic that you are Brosideon, King of the Brocean, eater of Brotato chips, listener of Brohemean Rhapsody, conquerer of Broseph Stalin, part time Brodeo clown, ancestor to Han Brolo space pilot, and descendant of A-bro-ham Lincoln. The crowd falls silent, and Attila the Pun gives a slight nod. You are carried away by the crowd, who no longer cheer but "ohm" in a religious manner. You are taken to the balcony where Attila The Pun personally hands you his crown and steps down into retirement. You seat yourself in the throne, take the scepter and look down to your people.

"Let the games brommence."

Tuesday, October 21 - Deja Vu

Black cat crossing the door
I'm half sure I've seen these things before
Half sure twice makes two halves, make a whole
Crawl through the hole to the mind's console
The door behind which the origin is shut tight
Subconscious barriers from my own insight
Using a mirror to see what I'm sure saw in the past
Take that saw and cut through the door to see at last
What I'm searching for doesn't exist at all
A glitch in the matrix caused the double-event I saw
A glitch in the world or a glitch in the perception?
A glitch in the mind causing its own deception

Thursday, October 16 - Rain

Rain, rain go away
Come again another day
All the world is waiting for the sun

Rain, rain go away
Come again another day
Go away and stop ruining all the fun.

Because truth be told I'm pretty tired
with the way the rain puts out campfires
when I'm trying to enjoy the great outdoors
the rain has to go and turn the sky a dull bore
So go away rain and don't come back 'til you're needed
But while you're here, level 3 needs to be defeated
video games are the only entertainment indoors can provide
so go away rain so I can just go outside

Wednesday, October 15 - I Remember When

Anthony, my dear boy: 

I remember when they reemerged from the shadows.

They had exited our world centuries ago, only leaving behind the remains of the fallen. A grand testament to a great race of beings only surpassed by ourselves in being the most dominate species this planet has ever seen grace its surface. We thought them to be long gone, what we know of them learned from what they left us to find. This could not be farther from the truth. They didn't leave, they never left. They only went into the shadows. Advancing their technology as we advanced ours, growing their civilizations as ours grew. We thought we were the most advanced lifeforms in the universe, then they decided to reclaim their spot on the throne of the world. The technological advances made by the ancient species were far superior to our own. The beasts had developed laser weapons and attached them to their  large frames. In addition to powerful jaws and killer instinct, their Generals were near unstoppable. The creatures are on their way to London, conquering every territory they pass through. I have enclosed a photograph of the war. Keep it safe, my son. I shall return to you soon, but my duty to the Eastern Front are not yet over. The Mecha-Dinosaurian Human war is far from over. 

Your Father:

J. Henningworth Nickelbaggs

Friday, October 10 - Pet Peeve

Ever played paintball? If you answered no to that question, then I am truthfully sorry that you have not begun experiencing life to its fullest extent. But if you have, you have ran into everyone's least favorite paintballer, the wiper. There is a special place in Hell for people who wipe hits when playing paintball, right next to people who talk during movies. This is by biggest pet peeve, because being an avid paintballer and advocate for the sport, wipers kill the game for new players as well as aggravate me to no bloody end. Its even worse when you hit a player, you see them cheat and wipe, and they shoot you out of the game. This will send any paintball field "regular" into a rage. First you are tempted to stoop to their level, but then you realize that would mean becoming the very thing you hate most in this world. So like a respectable sportsman, you play by the rules and call yourself out. Then the equivalent of the Satan of paintball starts trash talking about how he demolished you in the last round and how you didn't have a chance against his skill level and super expensive gun. The rage gets to be too much. How do you solve the problem? Well dear reader, I will tell you. In the next game you run up to his bunker and blast him point blank with several paintballs in the back of the head. This technique is called bunkering in the tournament paintball world, and it is especially useful to take care of cocky cheating punks. This is my numero uno pet peeve. The moral of this story: Don't be a tool.

Tuesday, October 7th - Flip Side

Sitting in Creative writing trying to think just what to write
I think to myself perhaps Kaitlyn might have some insight
So I roll on over and shes immediately irritated and writing stops being so active
This is MY space she says, go away, but I know she finds me attractive.
But by now in this class she should really know
This is OUR space, not hers or mine, and her aggravation with this fact really shows.
But when I leave "her" space she immediately enters "mine"
She wants me around for entertainment but won't accept this space is both hers and mine.
Sooner or later she will learn that I'll never go away
Because once someone and I become good friends, I'm here to stay.

***

Here I am trying to write, hoping it doesn't happen again but I know it will.
Yep. There he is. Rolling over on his chair with wheels.
Invading my space, reading over my shoulder, I'd really rather he not
Always in what he calls "our space" annoying me, at least he's kinda hot.
I tell him to leave but my efforts fall fruitless just as always before
And when he does go back to his space, it leaves me really bored.
And as all double standards go, this one is the same.
"our space" only exists when I want to talk to him, I write the rules to this little game.
Even though he's annoying and won't leave me alone to write.
He is a comic genius with humor that can make any day bright.

Thursday, October 2

Once upon a time there was a science student named Tony. Tony was in biology class, with a frog pinned to the metal tray in front of him. he takes a sharp scalpel and is about to cut into the frog when he hears a voice.

I wouldn't do that if I were you.

Tony looks around for the source of the sound. No one around him seemed to have said it. Not an unusual occurrence, because Tony had no friends.

Down here.

Tony looks at the frog. It was talking to him. He leans in close. He had never met a talking frog before. Tony speaks in whispers.

What do you want?

The frog replies in an aggravated and sarcastic tone.

Well I'd like some Burger King, but first I would like to be set free. Also turning into a human would be nice.

Tony ponders the situation.

Well how do I turn you into a human?

The frog goes over the question in his head.

Ahh, I heard this one guy was kissed and that did the trick for him.

Tony immediately shook his head.

Nope. Not gonna happen.

The frog thought a while.

Alright, I have a idea but you have to do everything I say. Here's the plan...

***

Mr. Daniels looked up from grading last weeks labs, only to see Tony arguing with the dead frog on his desk. Tony then picked up the frog and held it to the heavens, chanting something and spinning in circles, smashing lab equipment and slapping Sammy's head with the frog, causing him to stick himself with the scalpel. Great. Another incident report Mr. Daniels had to do. As Tony told the frog it was not the boss of him and he was his own man and then proceeded to throw the limp frog body out the window, Mr. Daniels wondered why schizophrenic Tony had to be in his class. He decided tomorrow he would just call in sick.