minicomp dental traverse
pumphouse anthill burial
finger tell envelope
Monday, February 28, 2011
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Nursery Rhyme Noir sample story
From "Nursery Rhyme Noir," available in print and electronic forms.
Print: http://store.albanlake.com/?s=nursery+rhyme+noir&submit=Search
E: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/42875
Give your dog a bone
I was cutting through an older residential neighborhood on the south side when I ran into a scruffy little black-and-white mutt hitchhiking with a battered brown suitcase.
“What's up, pup?” I asked.
“I'll tell you,” he barked, “I used to live with an old woman. I thought she liked me, but she doesn't feed me anymore. I need to earn my own money to get food.”
“I'm getting around on shank's mare myself,” I replied, “so I can't help you there. But I could talk to the old lady. Where does she live?”
“It's no use,” he replied, but he gave me directions. It wasn't far. The house was small, painted white, and in need of repairs. Daffodils bloomed in the front yard. I knocked. After a few minutes, the door opened and a stooped white-haired old woman appeared blinking at me.
“Can I help you young man?”
I cleared my throat. “Ma'am, are you missing a dog?”
She peered around me. “Why yes I am. Did you find him? I've been worried sick.”
“If you are so worried, then why didn't you put up “lost dog” posters around the neighborhood? I haven't seen any. Also, was there some reason your dog would run away?”
She couldn't think of a thing. Finally I suggested that he might have felt neglected.
“I don't think so,” she responded. “He did say he was hungry, but it had only been a little while since I fed him. I went to the cupboard to get him something, but it was bare. I don't get my Social Security for another week, so there was nothing I could do.”
She could have been on the level, but my instincts were tingling over this one. My name is Hasp Deadbolt. I'm a P.I.
"Ma'am, what kind of dog are you missing?"
"Well, you know, he's some kind of spaniel, little and fluffy, not too little. Have you seen him?"
"What color is he?"
She said he was brown.
"The real Mother Hubbard would know what her own dog looked like."
All of a sudden I felt something cold on my neck. I raised my hands slowly.
"That's good," said a deep voice. "Step inside."
I did that thing. Directed by pokes from the gun barrel I walked to the back of the house. Whoever he was, my captor was staying way to close to me. He was an amateur. He was breathing hard, and smelled like he needed a shower. I thought I could control the situation, but I wanted to learn more. I played along. Following instructions, I sat down in a plain wooden chair, and "Mother Hubbard" tied my hands behind me and my ankles to the chair. I continued to play along. Finally, I saw the guy with the gun. He was a wolf, walking upright. He had an overdeveloped chest. The gun was a carved bar of soap. A couple of choice expletives slipped out, and the wolf grinned.
"What if your girlfriend heard you talking like that?" he asked me.
"Shut up," said "Mother Hubbard." She turned to me. "Why are you here?"
"Well, I, I was walking, see, and I met this dog. He said you didn't love him anymore and..."
She slapped me. Hard. "The REAL reason."
"This going to be loooong night," I said. I had no idea what she thought the real reason was.
An hour later, I had picked up quite a few bruises, most of them on my face, and the wolf was pacing back and forth, its tail twitching.
"He doesn't know anything," it burst out. "And even if he does, he's not talking. Lemme just plug him, and we'll get back to work." She nodded, and he raised the pistol, pointing it right at my face. "Say your prayers Deadbolt," he growled.
"I'm an agnostic," I mumbled, "I don't do prayers."
"That's interesting," said the wolf. "That you remain agnostic in the face of imminent death. I admire the strength of your lack of conviction."
"Thank you," I replied. "I've always tried to stick to my uncertainty."
"It seems to me though," said the wolf, "that the odds are against you."
"How do you mean?" I replied.
"Simple. Suppose there is no deity. Believe anything you like, it doesn't make a difference."
"I follow you so far," I said.
The wolf held up one finger. "Ah. But what if there_is_a deity? Suppose he, she, or it wants to be worshiped. You ought to do that. Simple matter of self-preservation."
"I think you're missing something," I said. "I don't know if there is a deity or not, and I don't know (supposing there is a deity) which one is the real one. I don't want to worship a false god. That might anger the real god even more than agnosticism."
"No," began the wolf, "I think you'd get E for effort if you sincerely worshiped some sort of god, and"
"Mother Hubbard" grabbed the pistol from the wolf. "You make me sick," she said. "I'll do it myself."
"Oh no you don't." Three little pigs had slipped into the room while my captors were distracted with my execution. The pig in front was armed with a 357 Magnum, trained on "Mother Hubbard." "Elizabeth Porgy. I might have known. Also known as Elspeth Porgy, Betsy Porgy, and Bess Porgy. The terror of three counties. And B.B. So nice to see you again. Not! My brothers and I have been watching this house for days, and now we've caught you red-handed. You'll never find the pudding or the pie ... in jail!" His brothers fanned out behind him. One was armed with a quarterstaff; it looked like the other was carrying a half dollar one.
"You were barking up the wrong tree here anyway," I said. "The real Mother Hubbard never has any food in her house. But what have you done with her?" The pigs all looked at me.
One of them said "Hasp Deadbolt! Wow! When this is over can I have your autograph?" Amateurs.
The pig with the gun said to his brothers "Focus, people." And that's when it happened. The false Mother Hubbard hit the floor and rolled, firing as she went. The pigs screamed and dropped their weapons.
The autograph hound clutched his chest. "I'm hit, I'm hit! Um, no, I'm not. What happened?"
"Because it's a carved bar of soap you idiot," I said. "They're getting away." The wolf had already gone out the window, taking the sash with it, and "Mother Hubbard" was stuck in the hole the wolf had left behind.
That all happened a few weeks ago. Liz Porgy is doing time for assault with a non-deadly weapon, kidnapping, pet neglect, and several other things. No one found the wolf, and no one found the pudding or the pie. The authorities have upped the reward for their recovery, but it's my opinion they've been eaten long since.
We found the real Mother Hubbard in her shed, thirsty, hungry, and covered with spiderwebs, but otherwise none the worse for wear. She and her puppy were reunited, and, so far, are living happily ever after. I even got paid: eight jars of home-made strawberry preserves. Not as versatile as cash money, but quite tasty when spread over freshly made toast.
The end
Print: http://store.albanlake.com/?s=nursery+rhyme+noir&submit=Search
E: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/42875
Give your dog a bone
I was cutting through an older residential neighborhood on the south side when I ran into a scruffy little black-and-white mutt hitchhiking with a battered brown suitcase.
“What's up, pup?” I asked.
“I'll tell you,” he barked, “I used to live with an old woman. I thought she liked me, but she doesn't feed me anymore. I need to earn my own money to get food.”
“I'm getting around on shank's mare myself,” I replied, “so I can't help you there. But I could talk to the old lady. Where does she live?”
“It's no use,” he replied, but he gave me directions. It wasn't far. The house was small, painted white, and in need of repairs. Daffodils bloomed in the front yard. I knocked. After a few minutes, the door opened and a stooped white-haired old woman appeared blinking at me.
“Can I help you young man?”
I cleared my throat. “Ma'am, are you missing a dog?”
She peered around me. “Why yes I am. Did you find him? I've been worried sick.”
“If you are so worried, then why didn't you put up “lost dog” posters around the neighborhood? I haven't seen any. Also, was there some reason your dog would run away?”
She couldn't think of a thing. Finally I suggested that he might have felt neglected.
“I don't think so,” she responded. “He did say he was hungry, but it had only been a little while since I fed him. I went to the cupboard to get him something, but it was bare. I don't get my Social Security for another week, so there was nothing I could do.”
She could have been on the level, but my instincts were tingling over this one. My name is Hasp Deadbolt. I'm a P.I.
"Ma'am, what kind of dog are you missing?"
"Well, you know, he's some kind of spaniel, little and fluffy, not too little. Have you seen him?"
"What color is he?"
She said he was brown.
"The real Mother Hubbard would know what her own dog looked like."
All of a sudden I felt something cold on my neck. I raised my hands slowly.
"That's good," said a deep voice. "Step inside."
I did that thing. Directed by pokes from the gun barrel I walked to the back of the house. Whoever he was, my captor was staying way to close to me. He was an amateur. He was breathing hard, and smelled like he needed a shower. I thought I could control the situation, but I wanted to learn more. I played along. Following instructions, I sat down in a plain wooden chair, and "Mother Hubbard" tied my hands behind me and my ankles to the chair. I continued to play along. Finally, I saw the guy with the gun. He was a wolf, walking upright. He had an overdeveloped chest. The gun was a carved bar of soap. A couple of choice expletives slipped out, and the wolf grinned.
"What if your girlfriend heard you talking like that?" he asked me.
"Shut up," said "Mother Hubbard." She turned to me. "Why are you here?"
"Well, I, I was walking, see, and I met this dog. He said you didn't love him anymore and..."
She slapped me. Hard. "The REAL reason."
"This going to be loooong night," I said. I had no idea what she thought the real reason was.
An hour later, I had picked up quite a few bruises, most of them on my face, and the wolf was pacing back and forth, its tail twitching.
"He doesn't know anything," it burst out. "And even if he does, he's not talking. Lemme just plug him, and we'll get back to work." She nodded, and he raised the pistol, pointing it right at my face. "Say your prayers Deadbolt," he growled.
"I'm an agnostic," I mumbled, "I don't do prayers."
"That's interesting," said the wolf. "That you remain agnostic in the face of imminent death. I admire the strength of your lack of conviction."
"Thank you," I replied. "I've always tried to stick to my uncertainty."
"It seems to me though," said the wolf, "that the odds are against you."
"How do you mean?" I replied.
"Simple. Suppose there is no deity. Believe anything you like, it doesn't make a difference."
"I follow you so far," I said.
The wolf held up one finger. "Ah. But what if there_is_a deity? Suppose he, she, or it wants to be worshiped. You ought to do that. Simple matter of self-preservation."
"I think you're missing something," I said. "I don't know if there is a deity or not, and I don't know (supposing there is a deity) which one is the real one. I don't want to worship a false god. That might anger the real god even more than agnosticism."
"No," began the wolf, "I think you'd get E for effort if you sincerely worshiped some sort of god, and"
"Mother Hubbard" grabbed the pistol from the wolf. "You make me sick," she said. "I'll do it myself."
"Oh no you don't." Three little pigs had slipped into the room while my captors were distracted with my execution. The pig in front was armed with a 357 Magnum, trained on "Mother Hubbard." "Elizabeth Porgy. I might have known. Also known as Elspeth Porgy, Betsy Porgy, and Bess Porgy. The terror of three counties. And B.B. So nice to see you again. Not! My brothers and I have been watching this house for days, and now we've caught you red-handed. You'll never find the pudding or the pie ... in jail!" His brothers fanned out behind him. One was armed with a quarterstaff; it looked like the other was carrying a half dollar one.
"You were barking up the wrong tree here anyway," I said. "The real Mother Hubbard never has any food in her house. But what have you done with her?" The pigs all looked at me.
One of them said "Hasp Deadbolt! Wow! When this is over can I have your autograph?" Amateurs.
The pig with the gun said to his brothers "Focus, people." And that's when it happened. The false Mother Hubbard hit the floor and rolled, firing as she went. The pigs screamed and dropped their weapons.
The autograph hound clutched his chest. "I'm hit, I'm hit! Um, no, I'm not. What happened?"
"Because it's a carved bar of soap you idiot," I said. "They're getting away." The wolf had already gone out the window, taking the sash with it, and "Mother Hubbard" was stuck in the hole the wolf had left behind.
That all happened a few weeks ago. Liz Porgy is doing time for assault with a non-deadly weapon, kidnapping, pet neglect, and several other things. No one found the wolf, and no one found the pudding or the pie. The authorities have upped the reward for their recovery, but it's my opinion they've been eaten long since.
We found the real Mother Hubbard in her shed, thirsty, hungry, and covered with spiderwebs, but otherwise none the worse for wear. She and her puppy were reunited, and, so far, are living happily ever after. I even got paid: eight jars of home-made strawberry preserves. Not as versatile as cash money, but quite tasty when spread over freshly made toast.
The end
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
Layout Job
With CyberWizard Productions
The publisher told me she needs layout help. This is what she says:
If they have their own copy of InDesign and are skilled with it, I can pay 50.00 a book. Nothing fancy required, just the main layout and then send me the files and I'll do any tweaking and adjustment after the author looks at the proofs, but they have to have CS4.
If you're interested, please let me know.
The publisher told me she needs layout help. This is what she says:
If they have their own copy of InDesign and are skilled with it, I can pay 50.00 a book. Nothing fancy required, just the main layout and then send me the files and I'll do any tweaking and adjustment after the author looks at the proofs, but they have to have CS4.
If you're interested, please let me know.
National Bite-Transmitted Infection Day
when coarse fur grows where no fur ever was
werewolf bite and moon jointly are the cause
werewolf bite and moon jointly are the cause
Thursday, February 24, 2011
oh well
Cole remembered, just too late, that he'd left the Hole on after emptying the garbage pail.
new perspective
from eating the house AI
this world is MINE
new perspective
from eating the house AI
this world is MINE
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Evolution redux
Christopher diCarlo will be
speaking on “We Are All African: Can Scientific Proof of Our
Commonality Save Us?” at 7:30 p.m. on February 24, in the Biology
Building Auditorium on the University of Alabama campus in Tuscaloosa.
The lecture is free and open to the public.
diCarlo is a philosopher specializing in the philosophy of science,
ethics, and the evolution of cognition; he is the author of the
forthcoming How to Become a Really Good Pain in the Ass: A Critical
Thinker's Guide to Asking the Right Questions (Prometheus, 2011).
His presentation is the fourth in the 2010-2011 Alabama Lectures on
Life’s Evolution, known as ALLELE. The lecture series, in its fifth
year, is supported by UA’s College of Arts and Sciences and the
departments of anthropology, biological sciences, geological sciences,
philosophy and psychology.
For further information, visit:
http://bama.ua.edu/~evolution/alleleindex.html
speaking on “We Are All African: Can Scientific Proof of Our
Commonality Save Us?” at 7:30 p.m. on February 24, in the Biology
Building Auditorium on the University of Alabama campus in Tuscaloosa.
The lecture is free and open to the public.
diCarlo is a philosopher specializing in the philosophy of science,
ethics, and the evolution of cognition; he is the author of the
forthcoming How to Become a Really Good Pain in the Ass: A Critical
Thinker's Guide to Asking the Right Questions (Prometheus, 2011).
His presentation is the fourth in the 2010-2011 Alabama Lectures on
Life’s Evolution, known as ALLELE. The lecture series, in its fifth
year, is supported by UA’s College of Arts and Sciences and the
departments of anthropology, biological sciences, geological sciences,
philosophy and psychology.
For further information, visit:
http://bama.ua.edu/~evolution/alleleindex.html
Great lecture coming Thursday
"We Are All African" human-evolution lecture, Tuscaloosa, Thursday night http://bama.ua.edu/~evolution/schedule10-11.html
yesterday
Mon-
day seems
so very
far away cos each
midnight resets the calendar
tho I try to improve myself Groundhog Day it ain't
day seems
so very
far away cos each
midnight resets the calendar
tho I try to improve myself Groundhog Day it ain't
Monday, February 21, 2011
new fantasy flash
http://www.dailycabal.com/2011/02/breakfast-world/ Life isn't ALL about food ... and death.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
loverboy
Love those dimensions
Love those dimensions
where I didn't survive the crash.
Me and my girl snuff
the parallel Susie
spend the insurance $
move on.
Wouldn't have
to do so many
of her
if I hadn't been so cheap
when I bought the insurance.
end
Love those dimensions
where I didn't survive the crash.
Me and my girl snuff
the parallel Susie
spend the insurance $
move on.
Wouldn't have
to do so many
of her
if I hadn't been so cheap
when I bought the insurance.
end
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Nursery Rhyme Noir now an ebook
https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/samsdot
Talking animals, murder, low humor. Yes, we're talking Mother Goose. Hasp Deadbolt was never needed more than right now! It's too late for the pussy in the well, but who may be next?
Here's the direct link. The book's available in lots of formats.
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/42875
Talking animals, murder, low humor. Yes, we're talking Mother Goose. Hasp Deadbolt was never needed more than right now! It's too late for the pussy in the well, but who may be next?
Here's the direct link. The book's available in lots of formats.
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/42875
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
new sf flash--it's all about cosmology, baby
My new story bout god & the universe! http://www.dailycabal.com/2011/02/happy-13000000000th/
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Don't let this happen to you!
Some Anniversary
our romantic weekend
Cancun
sex, drugs, etc
woke up drifting at sea
rescued by oil-rig workers
ANOTHER weekend
bailed you out
hitched home
and my Farmville plants
were DEAD
cos of you
you're history, bub!
our romantic weekend
Cancun
sex, drugs, etc
woke up drifting at sea
rescued by oil-rig workers
ANOTHER weekend
bailed you out
hitched home
and my Farmville plants
were DEAD
cos of you
you're history, bub!
Monday, February 7, 2011
Sunday, February 6, 2011
my cat really does this
a bang on the door
cat waits to run
till I open it
again a thump
open run close thump repeat
cat waits to run
till I open it
again a thump
open run close thump repeat
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Friday, February 4, 2011
Evolution comic
Forwarded msg from Matt Powell. I read & enjoyed the excerpts.
Folks,
A colleague and friend of mine has published a comic book that might be of interest to paleontologists. The book--"Evolution: The Story of Life on Earth" by Hosler, Cannon, and Cannon--has quite a bit of illustrated Earth history and macroevolution. It has been getting great reviews and for a while was the #2-selling book about evolution on Amazon. I've read it and it's very high quality. (No, I'm not getting a kick-back for the endorsement....)
A few example chapters are online:
Chapter 1: The Slow Simmer of Life: The First 4 Billion Yearshttp://www.tor.com/stories/2011/01/preview-evolution-the-story-of-life-on-earth
Chapter 3: E is for Extinction
http://ncse.com/news/2010/12/evolution-story-life-earth-006379
Chapter 6: Getting a Leg up on Evolutionhttp://www.scientificamerican.com/article.cfm?id=evolution-the-story-of-life-on-earth
Matt Powell
Folks,
A colleague and friend of mine has published a comic book that might be of interest to paleontologists. The book--"Evolution: The Story of Life on Earth" by Hosler, Cannon, and Cannon--has quite a bit of illustrated Earth history and macroevolution. It has been getting great reviews and for a while was the #2-selling book about evolution on Amazon. I've read it and it's very high quality. (No, I'm not getting a kick-back for the endorsement....)
A few example chapters are online:
Chapter 1: The Slow Simmer of Life: The First 4 Billion Years
Chapter 3: E is for Extinction
Chapter 6: Getting a Leg up on Evolution
Matt Powell
Thursday, February 3, 2011
poor feller
Old Stone
Only a strong or lucky troll
scores a bridge
all-you-can-eat traffic
fresh air, the works
this here rock shelter
it ain't no bridge
really, not a shelter atall
et my share of aborigines
in my day but lately?
few stringy hikers
forget when last I caught one
can't cook neither; a fire here
would lamp me out
to what calls itself the law nowadays
tain't the script I wrote
fresh eyed, eager of tooth
and tongue
but it's the one I sing
we're a solitary folk
but get together anon
ain't seen ary troll in
long and long years
looked, I did, on a time
could snatch me a bridge now
may be, save I'm
cold now
old
hungry
weak
a hiker came by now
I'd have the worst of the meetin
nothing left for me
but take the way of all trollflesh
least my aches'll be gone
end
Only a strong or lucky troll
scores a bridge
all-you-can-eat traffic
fresh air, the works
this here rock shelter
it ain't no bridge
really, not a shelter atall
et my share of aborigines
in my day but lately?
few stringy hikers
forget when last I caught one
can't cook neither; a fire here
would lamp me out
to what calls itself the law nowadays
tain't the script I wrote
fresh eyed, eager of tooth
and tongue
but it's the one I sing
we're a solitary folk
but get together anon
ain't seen ary troll in
long and long years
looked, I did, on a time
could snatch me a bridge now
may be, save I'm
cold now
old
hungry
weak
a hiker came by now
I'd have the worst of the meetin
nothing left for me
but take the way of all trollflesh
least my aches'll be gone
end
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
under the Wizard's house
Thoughts upon a Door
Corroded hinges
all that remain
of the heavy oaken
Door, hidden beneath
the Old Man's house,
long gone
Centuried gables
and cedar panels destroyed
by That Which ate Boston
as an hors d'oeuvre
Who was it
loosed upon humanity
a horror
older than time?
Termites
Corroded hinges
all that remain
of the heavy oaken
Door, hidden beneath
the Old Man's house,
long gone
Centuried gables
and cedar panels destroyed
by That Which ate Boston
as an hors d'oeuvre
Who was it
loosed upon humanity
a horror
older than time?
Termites
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
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