Savage Dragon

you... you mean it's over. i'm alive? i survived? wow i feel so unfullfilled. its like i missed something important here. like it was going to come to big conclusion but didn't. like missing the end of a good movie. like leaving dinner before dessert. its like... its like... i cant think of a suitable metaphor

Mr. Coolio was trying his best not to lose his cool a this new young girl came up to him. This night had brought him nothing but aggrivation. The girl, she said her name was Alexi, was obviously trying to impress him by being bold and taking charge of the situation. It didn't impress him very much, he was usually the person in charge and he didn't like letting someone else take it from him. Mr. Coolio's attention wandered to a nearby by group of people discussing the recent event. He heard them express confusion as to why Stealth would release his own album. He knew, of course, that many artists released their own music on the internet in order to create hype for the album, as a way of free advertising. It'd been done before by one of his own clients, they lost their contract too. Mr. Coolio realized his mind had been wandering and that the girl was still talking to him. Finally he interrupted her saying, "Look honey, you can say all you want about your band, but i don't sign anybody until i hear some music, alright?" OOC: Vote for Mynx/ Carrie... voting so quickly is rather suspicous...

Stratego

Sweet now i like the poem even more i love the moon and i like being right

The shoes were still a bit new, chronologically speaking. They were a gift from his mother. She'd bought them only two months ago. He wore them the first time he arrived at his new home, they are the only shoes he's worn since then. They don't look new anymore. They've been trecked through mud and water. They have traveled great distances already, distances that allowed him to escape his reality a while. They pushed the pedals of a new bike, also worn by the 20 mile ride he took to the comfort of freindship, only to pedal another 20 miles back the next day. The pants were worn. They were a gift from his sister. They had been suprisilngly well-fitting, not an easy find for him. He'd worn them often. They had three holes in them. Two holes claimed each knee, caused by time. The third was on the thigh, caused by a friend with scissors who was trying to be funny. He was sad that they had worn so much, he'd have to get rid of them soon. He didn't like to get rid of things he cared about. The shirt was old, but still in good condition. It was a gift from a friend. It represented an inside joke that only a few of them understood. He only wore it when he hung out with them. He hadn't worn it in a while. It was tight and made him feel uncomfortable with his appearance. He wouldn't have cared with his friends around. Now he cared. The cross was old and tarnished. It was the last gift from his grandmother. It meant more to him than can be shared, but maybe understood by others. The cross had been completely tarnished when he first recieved it. Over time it had become less tarnished. He liked to think of it as a symbol of his growth. It is about half tarnished now. Its been like that for a while now. He hasn't changed for five days. He hasn't changed for two months.

Mr. Coolio was pissed. He grumbled as he tried to straighten out his jacket, Stealth's hands had been dirty too, the dark brown showed up starkly on his canary yellow suit. He took off the jacket and threw into the arms of Charles, who showed up long after the commotion was over, muttering, "Remind me to dock your pay later." Charles nodded and folded the jacket, not too worried seeing as Mr. Coolio didn't actually pay him. Mr. Coolio headed back to the bar, the girl from before forgotten.

for the record, if there was an artisit named Stealth... id buy his album

Have you ever stolen a 10 gallon container of ice cream from an abandoned resteruant only to discover the ice cream was 6 months old and spoiled? Have you ever had your father look you in the face, tell you he's Superman, and then precede to break the ceiling light when he "flys" up into it? Have you ever had a helicopter out looking for you? Have you ever gone back and edited a post twice because you thought of something you HAD to add? Have you ever had a person look you in the eye and tell you that they were an angel? Have you ever walked into a Borders in a crappy mood, accidently knocked a CD off the shelf, cuss, and then smile and feel better because its one of your favortie CDs?

Mr. Coolio's eyes rolled for the fifth time in the past three minute conversation. Some guy was trying to get him to agree to be his agent. The guy was trying to pass off as punk rocker, but looked the same age he did, if not older. The guy kept telling Mr. Coolio he was sure his band could make it big with Mr. Coolio's support, you know, once he'd formed one. Mr. Coolio's eyes rolled for the sixth time in the past five minute conversation. This expression usually expressed boredom, but this time it served a better purpose of alerting Mr. Coolio of the entrance of a young girl through the door, even later than he was. Mr. Coolio saw her leaning against the wall, trying to work up the courage to go out and talk to some one. He'd seen that before, she was definitely new to the scene. He wondered how she got the invite... Mr. Coolio dismissed the man across from him, handing him a card with a number on it that belonged to a different agent. He then braved the crowd in an attempt to go talk to this girl. He was soon lost in the mass of people at the center of the room and he lost her. He was trying to make his way to where he'd last seen her when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Mr. Coolio turned around and was surprised to see...

**stumbles in late** interesting.... I'll give it a shot **stumbles back out in search of character**

good poem! the word "eddies" just isn't used enough, glad to see it made an appearance look forward to more work

i dont know why, but when i read this poem it felt like the moon or the night itself was stalking the speaker.... then again, i'm pretty wierd great poem

She would not give him the last piece of pie. True, she did this only for his benefit, hoping to save him from a decision they both knew he would later regret. He was overweight and did not get enough exercise and the last thing he needed was the slice of empty calories. However, the fact remained that she would not give him the last piece of pie. It is a valid point that he had already eaten three full meals that day, the most recent of which was a supper that consisted of three servings of mash potatoes, six pieces of cornbread, and an entire bucket of KFC fried chicken. It should also be noted that he had already consumed the second to last piece of pie. Still, it is an undeniable fact that she would not give him the last piece of pie. He was also quite aware that he adored her and appreciated what she did for him. She took care of him, looked out for him, and, most importantly, fed him. She was everything he could want from a woman. But he did not want a woman at that moment, he wanted pie. And there is no mistaking the fact that she would not give him the last piece of pie. He already knew what had to be done. For too long she had held him back. It was time for him to release himself from these shackles and to go forth in search of fulfillment. He sat her down and he told her he was leaving. His mother asked, "Why?" Because she would not give him the last piece of pie.

Mr. Coolio strolled in late as usual, but without making a big scene. Neverless a group began to form around him. He let Charles, his right hand man, take care of them with the usual 'Don't call us, we'll call you' routine and made his way to the bar. He took off his hat and set it on the bar as he motioned to the bartender. Then, with a scotch in hand, he turned around and leaned against the bar as he scoped out the crowd, looking for the real musicians in the group.

Hatter

rose

"So would some one like to tell me what the ******* is going on in that ship?" The angry face of the Admiral of the Fleet was spouting out the regulation profanity from the display in front of Vaughan. The Captian of the Ship rubbed his forehead and tried his best to keep the look of utter despair that was creeping up on him off his face. Luckily for him, despair doesn't show up easily on the face of an angel. "Well Sir, you know as well as anyone that we're still learning how to operate the ancient Theodora technology that allows us to travel betwen star systems in these ships. you know that there is still a lot to be learned about these crafts that we have haphazardly entrusted our very lives to. you know that we've made some startling discoveries that have allowed us to perfect our society and reach out and teach other planets and cultures what we've learned and form the great Alliance." "Captain, so far you've told me what i already know, I DON'T WANT TO KNOW WHAT I ALREADY KNOW, I WANT TO KNOW WHY EVERY ********* ALIEN SUDDENLY HAS TOTAL CONTROL OF YOUR SHIP!" Vaughan's angelic face flushed. "We... don't know." The Admiral's face momentarily disappeared, only to quickly return as a subordinate righted the panel he had kicked over. "Sir," Vaughan tried again, "We think that the humans have the ability to telepathically connect with the ship's systems, systems that we have never fully understood. It's possible that the humans are physically, or genetically similair to the ships' original creators, the Theodoras, and the ships have begun to follow their every orders." "Vaughan, what is your current situation?" "Currently?" Vaughan began to read from his lower display, "All of the humans have left their cells. About half of the humans have teleported back the the planet with the command 'i just want to go home'. One human has left with an escape pod that contained all of our samples of the human culture and we have very content six year old boy in the galley eating all the ice cream he could ever dream of."

Anyone who knows anything about the music industry knows Mr. Coolio. Caesar Ulysses Leo (signs his checks C. U. Leo) works as an agent for newer musicians that are going to make it big (and its a well known fact that if Mr. Coolio is your agent, you're going to make it big). He frequently shows up to the studio with a small group no one has ever heard of with a big tune everyones going to hear. Mr. Coolio's been in the music business for over 20 years (his age is estimated to be late 40s, mid 30s if he's listening). He can be found in a business suit at all times, usually an unusually bright pigment (the sky blue is his favorite, it goes best with his eyes), though the neck tie usually hangs loose in a casual manner. Mr. Coolio deals only with small time musicians on their way up. If the hour is late enough and the mood relaxed, you might be able to get him to tell you the story of a young rock star diva who he gave the world to, only to be dumped when a better offer came around. Since then he deals only with people whose talent is bigger than their heads. Mr. Coolio is single, if you ask him he'll tell you he's married to the music in his soul. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- OOC: i guess I'll go ahead and play the game because well i love playing this game even though i know i'll get distracted for a day or two and when i come back i'll have been long since dead....like always, sigh oh well guess the people know a wolf when they see one

Exercpt from Chuck Klosterman's Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs: "You're missing the point," she said. "What you're saying makes sense in theory, but not in practice. You're trying to compare apples and oranges." "Why do you keep saying that?" he asked in response. "Apples and oranges aren't really that different, really. I mean, they're both fruit. Their weight is extremely similar. They both contain acidic elements. They're both roughly sphereical. They serve the same social purpose. With the possible exception of a tangerine, I can't think of anything more similar to an orange than an apple. If I was having lunch with a man eating an apple and - while i was looking away - he replaced that apple with an orange, I doubt I'd even notice. So how is this a metaphor for difference? I could understand if you said, 'That's like comparing apples and uranium,' or 'That's like comparing apples with baby wolverines,' or 'That's like comparing apples with the early work of Raymond Carver,' or 'That's like comparing apples with hermaphroditic ground sloths.' Those would all be valid examples of profound disparity. But not apples and oranges. In every meanigful way, they're virtually identical." "You're missing the point," she said again, this time for different reasons.

I grew up reading fairy tales. I grew up watching romantic movies. I became a romantic. I was a late bloomer when it came to girls. Maybe it was because i have three sisters, maybe it was because i had so many other things i was dealing with, but the importance of a girlfriend was lost on me for a very long time. Sure, girls were nice and i wasn't gay or anything, but it just wasn't a big deal. But then in my sophomore year of highschool, i met a guy who loved a girl. he wasn't just dating her, he didn't just like her, he loved her. that is something i firmly and whole-heartedly believe, and if you know anything about me, you know i take belief seriously. it was just like the fairy tale, just like the romance movies, it was happy, mushy, puppy-dog love. and from that point on, i wanted that love and nothing less. its the kind of love that make grown men do crazy things. its the kind of love that warms you down to your toes. its the kind of love that makes other people want to be around that couple, even though it only makes them sad, because they don't have that love. people will do anything for that love. they will humiliate them selves for it, they will humble themselves for it, they will sacrifice their pride, propose in front of large groups, and run through the rain for it. they will give themselves up completely for it. because that kind of love is worth everything. but a love of that kind is hard to find. people don't really spend their whole life searching for that love, because people are too impatient for that. once we've gotten a taste of it a single month seems far too long to wait, a week seems an impossible sentence to bear, and a moment seems a lifetime too long. and then the most terrible thing happens. they settle. someone comes along who makes them feel comfortable, but not really happy. someone makes them content, but not joyful. someone they like. not someone they love. in the fairytales and the romances, the hero must always overcome obstacles for the girl. in the fairytales they are usually physical; thorn walls, dragons, evil witches. in the romances they are usually symbolic; a stupid bet with high school friends, a personal flaw he must overcome, a rainstorm to run through. he makes a sacrifice, sometimes its trivial and other times its not. he is showing that the girl is worth it to him. if he had simply settled for her, he would not make that sacrifice. that’s the girl i want, the girl worth that sacrifice, and its impossible to describe what makes her worth that. there’s no physical qualities. either she is or she isn't. the heart will tell you if she is. if she isn't, the heart remains silent. and after so long of not hearing anything from your heart, you give up hope and you settle. i've been tempted to settle. but i refuse to settle because my heart has felt that kind of love before and it refuses to settle for some poor substitute. and i would endure any barrier of thorns or time to feel it again. i'm going to wait for the girl who is worth it

It had been a nagging feeling that had been growing as I made my way to the ship. If I had survived, then others may have, and if they had, they would have surely been brought to this ship as well. I had a chance to escape, was it fair to leave them out of it? And whether my plan succeeded or not, the ones who had brought them here were sure to increase their security after my escape attempt, meaning I may be ruining their best chance at escape as well. But what could I do? If there was anyone, I don't know where they are and I certainly don't have the spare time to go searching for them. I pushed the thought to the back of my mind as I continued to search for the door to the "Emergency Vessel", it wasn't as easy to find in the dark as I had hoped. Wasn't there supposed to be an opening.... there. The yellow paint on the door stood out easily in the darkness, well except that it wasn't really paint, it wasn't in english, and it wasn't like any other door I had ever known. No knob, no handle, no visible way of opening the door. It might as well have been a wall with any alien form of art displayed on it. If this was Star Trek it would have already opened by now. I spent a few moments pressing against different parts o the door, looking for a button. I said a few words hoping an audio command might provoke some response, but it probably wasn't wired for english. If i hadn't lost my faith in God at the arrivial of my "hosts", I would have said this was God toying with me. I was already tense and now i was frustrated. Maybe it was my imagination, but i was pretty sure I heard something coming towards me. With no where else to go, I ran opposite the noise and opposite of the way I had come. I didn't get very far, i've never been in the best of shape and I hadn't eaten much in the past few days, and i stopped to catch my breath after only a few minutes of nervous running, well jogging. When I put my hand on the wall next to me for support, it lit up. I said a prayer of thanks out of habit when I realized I had found a control panel of some sort. The technology was astounding, it somehow recognized that I needed English and then recognized that I wanted the door to the "Emergency Vessel" opened, which it then did for me. I headed back feeling pretty smug. When I returned I found the door open to a small room design to be lived in with a section in front where the floor dropped that looked more like a cockpit. The living room was actually pretty full, it looked like stuff that had been gathered from earth, some of the most random things, a speedboat, a microwave, and what looked like a dug-up sprinkler system among other things. I shrugged and moved to the cockpit area, some of it might be useful. Again the technology did all the work for me, realizing what i wanted and walking me through the procedure of taking off. A countdown began, and I was feeling pretty safe that my plan was going to work. That's when I remembered the possibility of other survivors. If only there was some way of finding any others and helping them.... The computer blipped. It told that there were 24 other humans aboard and would I like to open their doors? Heck, why not? I pushed the buttn that said "yes".

chopper

page

The Cape, hmmmm could get used to it Thanks for the loving and the hugging and the support and the hugging and the encouragement and the hugging from you all

bust