Tw' iter

After discovering a give us $40 and we'll inert your name and a few traits into a book thing I got a wild and crazy idea to write my own oh we'll call it story and instead of inserting just myself and my eye color (blech) I shall use all of my various twitter friends in some for or capacity. This is what follows.

Part 1- here 
Part 2 -here
Part 3 -here
Part 4 -here
Part 5 -here
Part 6 -here
Part 7 -here

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The sky roared with thunder not born of clouds or storms. People all across the land cried out as lives fractured under the heavy hand of their eternal nemesis. Wreckage and metal rained down from the sky while the monsters ripped apart all ships trying to make a getaway from the planet, all except one small insignificant craft. The lone woman turned for a brief moment from her controls to take one last glimpse as her home burned beneath before placing in the final destination and where rested all her hopes for salvation – the strange space station known as Tw’ iter.

Many are not sure what to make of Tw’ iter, it is so old that it has passed from a thing of legend to an antique to kitsch and then back to a legend again but one where you really don’t want to think about what’s on the walls and if anyone has ever thought of cleaning out the grease traps. It was said that if you needed to find anything in the universe your best bet was Tw’ iter either through a respectable merchant who would more than happily take your gold and when you were busy browsing their wares strip your ship down to scrap or you could pay for a bounty hunter that were a dime a dozen to hunt it down probably from the respectable merchant two doors down.

Tw’ iter was where people went to see and be seen though generally only by themselves. It was the second loudest place in the universe after the Big Bang.

“HEY! WE GOTCHER MEATS RIGHT HERE! GRYFFIN, UNICORN, FLAXOR, EVEN COW!”

“RETWEETS, GOING CHEAP! CAN’T GET INTO THE GROUP WITHOUT A RETWEET!”

“I SAID IT WAS JIM, HIM WHO OH FOR THE LOVE OF WOULD EVERYONE SHUT UP!”

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?!”

This would have to continue for about 5 million pages to have an accurate reflection of just how loud the station is but we have a story to be getting to and one of our many heroes just walked through the door. He was rugged (in that he looked like someone spun from a bunch of fibers and laid down on the floor for shoes) some might compare him to a handsome (in that he most resembled a carriage drawn by horses) but all of the lowly lives scattered from his wake, no one wanted to get on the Demon Dog’s side.

“Barkeep,” the demon mumbled at one of the numerous establishments set up to dispense with life fueling beverages and life forming edibles, “Give me your strongest stuff!”

The man, well for the sake of a lack of correct term in the English language we’ll call a man, shook his yarn hair and with the help of someone beneath pointed a finger, “Are you sure?”

The demon balked, never in his entire life had anyone dared question him in any decision. He struck fear into the hearts of his common man. Well he struck something anyway. “I said give me your strongest stuff and I meant it!”

Giggling the barkeep vanished beneath his wooden counter (where he got a bit of wood in this gods forsaken bit of space trash was anyone’s best guess) there were some strange noises coming as though the same person was having a rather heated pun battle with himself and he kept railing against an Andie Macdowell. An agreement seemed to be reached and appearing abruptly the puppet’s cloth arm heaved a giant sledgehammer up above smashing it straight down upon the demon dog’s head.

He only had time to widen his eyes before oblivion opened around the bounty hunter and he crashed to the floor. Anyone who’s been to Mr Wordsworth’s bar and novelty shop knows the secret, if you ask the puppet for anything he seems to be selling he’ll simply whap you over the head and steal all your belongings while you’re passed out on his floor. It used to be written on a sign outside but like all things on Twi’ ter that got stolen the minute he nailed it up.

Strangely this has done nothing to deter his business and people line down the street to get whacked over the head by him every Saturday night. This is really all you need to know about the denizens that haunt the station.

 “Oi, are you all right?” A steel toed boot kicked our, oh let’s call him, hero hard in the kidneys. He’d been rather enjoying his nap, the floor wasn’t too hard and after Wordsworth came to find that his latest victim had exactly nothing to his name had left him to the first of his requisite 30 naps a day. And now there was someone trying to break him out of it.

“I’ll move along officer, nothing to see,” he started to roll over his strange cobbled together trench coat (made out of five others and one petticoat) catching his arms underneath him.

The steel toed boots were getting impatient and helped to roll him over a bit faster, “I ain’t no officer, you twat.” Finally in a position to stand the Demon could take in the owner of the steel-toed boots who hadn’t left the lights on.

She, for it was quite obviously a she, stood in nothing more than a very tiny wossa things that people wore when around large warm sandy bodies of water and it looked as though it was clinging rather dearly to her womanly splendor. The demon realized he’d been staring at her chest for a bit too long just as he also came to notice the 6 foot sword she had somehow managed to stash on her back, the blade tip banging hard against the ground as she bounced from one foot to the other.

He gulped, only one race was some call it brave (other’s fool hardy, daring, and the dumbest fucking thing they ever heard) to bring a knife to a laser blast fight – she with the cacasding red hair was of the Amazonian tribe. No one was exactly certain if they were a separate species or just a bunch of well endowed women who snapped one day during a modeling gig and took to chopping off the heads of anyone that displeased them. “I’m sorry I was just going over there and . . .” he started, trying to shuffle off.

The woman looked at him and smiled, exactly one person had lived to see an Amazonian smile and he now spent his days in a padded room talking a great deal about pudding, “What’s your name, stranger?”

“Me, oh I’m absolutely no one special. Nope, not me. No one important and I,” the look she gave him could melt butter on Pluto, “Devtony, that’s what name they gave me but most call me hey you, ha ha ha,” He looked down at her fiery hair and fierce face (though Devtony looked down on everyone, that tended to happen when you were seven feet tall and had an unhealthy fixation on your shoes).

“My names, Hellena. Hellena Heavenly. And you best remember it, yeah.”

“Okay then,” so far no sudden movements and she didn’t seem in a rush to go for her sword. He might just make it out alive after all.

“I’m here to be famous. And you, you just became my new best friend.” The woman grabbed two of his fingers, the only ones she could fit her hand around, and crushed them hard.

“Oh hell.”

Puppy Apocalypse!

This weekend we had a few visitors, by visitors I meant some of Essie's brood and by a few I meant four.

That's right, five dogs in one house that frankly hadn't been puppy proofed in about a year and a half when we realized that Es is quite possibly the strangest dog I have ever known.

It started late friday night as all the dogs swooped in and proceeded to claim their own section of the house the only way dogs can (and our little turd kept bounding from one to the other demanding they play with her):

After a bit the older dog, Caesar, found the toy box filled with bones Es had long forgotten about and proceeded to chew apart every single one.

The rest settled down finding some bone scraps while my dog, who I swear has aspergers, bounced from one brother to the next barking at them and completely missing any signs of "Leave me the hell alone, I have eating to do."

Somehow we all got to sleep scattered across the house - but of course Es who is controlled by her stomach woke up early with dreams of food and play time dancing in her brain only to find all the puppies locked away in the back room and Caesar crashed on the couch in no mood.

Once everyone was up we had a very strict pattern of the parents stay inside and the puppies go out to wander around, chew on each other and stand at the door looking like the Three Stooges:

Gave all the dogs a treat, it's like a wonderland tea party watching them all up and change to another bone:

At one point I tried using my sonic screwdriver to try and get all the dogs to take a nap but it was a no go. Apparently it looks rather tasty though

Sibling rivalry!

After lunch was eaten, fought over, eaten again and then they all begged for some pizza off us the dogs puppies and other walking fur babies all settled down for a nice little nap before my parents came to take them all back home.

There are still muddy paw prints all over the carpet and a giant pile of old bones in front of the fireplace (I swear officer I can explain) but there doesn't seem to be any major damage.

Just keep swimming

The malaise of winter pounding its fist routinely against our shaky walls was rubbing away at what few nerves I had left. When not fighting battle with this new fabric softener allergy (oh did I mention I had that? Yeah kinda fun surprise after a week of wearing clothes that were doused in the stuff to find your chest in pain and itchy leading to a week of bendryl loopy highs and aloe baths) I was sitting in my painting room pretending I was far away from cold, snow and anything arctic.

Thus was born my first 12X12 animal painting, but not my first turtle:

It looks all warm and inviting and nothing like the icy doldrums that is late January.

I've got the original for sale here as usual, but I really like my turtle so much I thought I'd try putting this one up for prints and amazingly I've already sold two of him (the first print sales through the place so now to see how they do). He was actually done over top an old painting I had gathering dust that I came to despise rather quickly. I can see why so many masterpieces have things hidden underneath, sometimes ideas go wrong and well the canvas is right there.

The weather here has turned and is warming just in time to make a giant muddy mess for the visit of Essie's family - all 4 of them. The carpet cleaner is going to put in some major over time when they finally go home.

But it did put me back into a tree painting mood so one more for the road:

Wish me luck this weekend, I'm gonna need it.

A Very Dragon Valentines

As I have alluded in many of my own special and rather passive aggressive ways I am not a big fan of Valentines day. It, like most who don't go doe eyed at the sight of 10 yards of pink, strikes me as a bit strange that on a day when a man was beheaded and then later shot out of a cannon by the catholic church (that wacky pope) all couples everywhere are supposed to venture out into the sphincter freezing cold to suffer through a crowded restaurant that's understaffed, making forced small talk and exchange chalk colored brown and stuffed inside not very accurate anatomical organ shaped boxes.

In my world romance isn't just dead, it's stuffed and mounted in the back room of the Smithsonian near that two headed crocodile in a jar and Lincoln's backup hat.

But on occasion I like to rise to the challenge and reclaim a small piece of that day of love and flowers and other things that are trying to kill me. In that spirit and with march 8th looming ever closer I took to photoshop and created some Valentines for the RPGer in your life.

There's quite a few Dragon Age images so I'm going to hide them after the break. Feel free to print them off and share if you feel so inclined.

SNOW DAY

Whatever weather that skipped past us this Christmas has finally decided to visit us.

And when the white stuff piles across the ground and eves there's only one thing I want to do: take gobs of pictures.

This big Snowpocalypse I decided to pull some various props out and have a little photoshoot. First up: my Tom Servo in a little santa hat that Essie extricated from her toy hedgehog.

It was a fun challenge as Essie was pretty certain she was supposed to be eating that hat and kept trying to nose poor Servo's head off.

Bundling Servo up so he could thaw and dry off inside I then called out my Odin - the Norse god seemed at home in the snow:

 I used this as an excuse to play with photoshop some more, giving the god a diffused glow and aging the photo with a filter.

Why not try a bit of blue for Odin:

 

And a final Odin - using a top picture to make him look like a sad lonely man.

Moving on I had a wacky idea to pull one of our halloween props out for some juxtaposition of the white purity of snow against the ragged blackened death of a skull. My husband thought I was nuts.

Moving on from skulls and Odins to the Planet Express Ship that crash landed on Hoth (and also shows off the large flakes)

And to complete the snow photoshoot my friend the Gargoyle:

Finally, because it isn't a snow storm without my wacky lab puppy who adores the white stuff a quick movie of Essie hopping along like a crazed jack rabbit.

Happy Snow Day everyone!

The Birthday Cake - Take 3

If you've been with this blog from the beginning (I think there's me and one other person and possibly an ogre that's got weird stalking problems) you know that come early January I pull out my cake pans, my frosting tips and I make a banana cake for my husband.

The cake part itself is usually quite tasty (don't ask why it always has to be banana, it just does and as everyone knows once something becomes tradition it can never be changed upon pain of catapult) it's the frosting it bit when things start to get a bit interesting and the whole thing hits a wall.

Take two years ago - my first attempt when we were living together back in the apartment I created whatever in the hell this is:

It looks like big bird took a big yellow dump all over a chocolate cake. Also people should really stop feeding gravel to him, it doesn't seem to sit well with his digestion. I have vague memories of yellow frosting left over from the wedding and that's why there are yellow turds all along the thing but truly there is no penance I can pay for this monstrosity.

Fast forward to last year and ashamed of my previous attempt (of course why I shared it with the world lord knows) I worked extra hard to make something decent. Another banana cake, with a few spices added, and the first time I would try cream cheese frosting at home.

I actually had piping tips (which a blind monkey with a hand cramp could use better than I) to scrawl out some sort of writing on top and whatever in the hell is on the side. The turtles were tossed on in the hopes people would only see, awe cute turtles and I could run and hide.

Well, another January 8th is coming close so I bet you all know where this is coming.

I made the cake a bit different this time with the addition of a bit of molasses and some rum. But the big problem came when I realized that all of our cream cheese was moldy so I had to once again make a new untested frosting. We had no powdered sugar, so I looked to a recipe that called for milk, flour, sugar and butter. Big mistake.

Instead of fluffy and white I got goopy and pale yellow. I was adding anything I could think of to bind the sea green slop up into something passable but almost nothing seemed to be working (perhaps the gorilla glue was a bad idea). Tired of looking at it I slopped it onto the cake and called it a day.

May I present my husband's 28th birthday cake:

Note the giant sea green drips all around the bottom - this was the second round of it. It'd already wiped up the mess from round one.

I may be able to do a lot of random creative things but I think it's safe to say that cake decorating is like floral arranging or unicorn taming far out of my range. But this won't stop me from come next January pulling out those baking utensils and making yet another banana cake, except now I know that each cake will be the greatest eyesore to ever grace a cake stand.

After all, it's tradition.

Tree of Life

It's January which means everyone is working hard to fix themselves normally in some way that requires lots of really expensive products and unguents.

I, however; am not one much for resolutions. Mostly because I never know what I'm about to get into. I never thought I'd actually write a novel manuscript or create some Rifftrax shorts (the 5,000 or so hours of ball playing with the puppy I did see coming through). So about the only way I know to celebrate is by sharing some new paintings.

This first one I liked so much I've listed for sale as a print.

This tree grows from a rocky outcropping in front of a waterfall, but it is so much more. The branches start out dark and black and slowly blend to the blues of the sky and then to the greens of the land beneath. It grants a spark of life to all it touches as green grass and flowers begin to bloom upon the rock.

I've also got the original painting for sale here.

And I actually spent the New Year weekend working on this large 16X20 painting that's already been sold but well sometimes people like to picture rubberneck. Here is the 2010 meet 2011 painting:

Happy New Year