FAMILY PORTRAIT
September 6, 2010
LOON (timid and frightened) LOONETTE (angry and suspicious)
LOON PRINCELING (cunning and devious)
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THE JARS OF KENNETH
September 5, 2010
The jars of Kenneth attacked from the left, fracturing every rule of engagement. Wilhelmina’s cutlery fell back in disarray. The rout was on, the field taken, victory assured. That night, many a token of esteem was distributed by the camel handlers. The jars of Kenneth knew now no new news could negate their feelings of euphoria. And so they were unprepared for the slaughter soon brought to them on the fanged wings of the cutlery’s counterattack.
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A SENTENCE BY J.R.R. TOLKIEN
September 4, 2010
“Praps ye sits here and chats with it a bitsy, my preciouss.”
How could the loon possibly fail to highlight the gollum? He couldn’t, I tells you. Oh, and the definitive gollum voice was created by a most monumental loon, Brother Theodore.
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CARTOON FRIDAY 66
September 3, 2010
FIDDLING IN PAINT SHOP
September 2, 2010
While Rome burned, the loon fiddled in paint shop.
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FREE SAMPLE
September 1, 2010
Here is a free sample from my work-in-progress, Dodden in Jom, a story from the world of Bekka of Thorns. I posted my sketch of Dodden a few weeks back:
In my eighth bar year, I lost my eye. One afternoon the training class gathered by custom to sing the Cragger Anthem before being released to scatter individually for Evening Rumination. This was ever my favorite part of the day. We sang: “Our wrinkly heads are full of brains, Our slender bodies feel no pains, Our shiny hooves and spidery hands are famous throughout all the lands.” By the time the last fragment of harmony faded, I was beyond the Training School gate and sprinting at a formidable gallop toward my favorite rumination spot on the green sands rimming Winedarque Lake. I myself was to blame for the accident. Too eager to be on the sands, I fell and quickly arose, of a sudden blind in my right eye. Thick seepage ran down my cheek. A popped globe of liquid was my eye. I felt no pain and immediately thought, Of course. Our wrinkly heads are full of brains and our slender bodies feel no pains. I walked carefully back to school because I thought I should. I regretted missing rumination on the green sands. Master Cheddor Bo trembled when he saw me. I suppose I was a dreadful sight.
“What happened?” he gasped.
“I think I fell on something jagged,” I told him.
Master Cheddor Bo nodded and rushed me to the infirmary. All Mistresses and Masters were bell summoned. One by one by two they arrived, and with my one good eye I watched them grow pale at the sight of me. They fell together into a whispering huddle. Not alarmed in the least, I sat on a plank bed and poked at the eye gunk on my cheek. Had my fall punched both eyes out, I surely would have been rightly alarmed. But so said, I still had one good eye, my left.
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PARENTHETICALLY SPEAKING
August 31, 2010
Parenthetically speaking, the members of the troika announced:
(I’ll vote yes in spite of not winning the hen stacking competition.)
(I’ll vote no because my guardian angel’s chiropractor told me to.)
(I’m not even going to vote. That ‘ll show them.)
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ONE WINDOW, 4 VIEWS
August 30, 2010
This high Sierra cabin window offers four views, one for each pane.
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NOT A GRIM FAIRY TALE
August 29, 2010
The Smoke King
A youthful king set out one day to find a bride. He vowed to discover a maiden neither like an ax handle nor surrounded by a flock of beetles. After wading through flocks and flocks of wenches surrounded by beetles and elbowing his way through hordes of ax handle-shaped maidens, he encountered in a glade a poor orphan girl who had been raised by a renegade tobacconist. He bowed low before her.
The orphan girl blushed crimson, curtsied, and said, “Care for a smoke?”
“Verily yes, and you shall be my bride,” replied the young king.
And so they were wed and smoked happily ever after. And they liked playing cards, too.
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A SENTENCE BY FRANCIS PARKMAN
August 28, 2010
The lightning flashed all night, playing with its livid glare upon the neighboring trees, revealing the vast expanse of the plain, and then leaving us shut in as if by a palpable wall of darkness.
In 1846, Mr. Parkman of Massachusetts wandered the plains with a traveling village of Lakota people and wrote admirable sentences about his adventure.
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By this guy (grown old):
dochorton - at - live - dot - com
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5 of 5 stars to The Great Train Robbery by Michael Crichton goodreads.com/review/show/55…
