Tag Archives: Revenge

Blork

Um, sorry, dudes. We’re having some unexpected technical difficulties

That is, I’m seriously stressed out over a lot of RL issues and having a difficult time finding the time (hah!) to sit down at this new fangled typing machine.

If you’re in dire need of finding a couple of minutes to kill, why not go check this out?

Fifth-Grade Fiction

It’s the cover to a new Amazon.com Kindle story collection featuring yr hmbl blogger. Me. The real draw, though, is the young dude who’s in there with me.

In my role as a Title 1 Tutor at Awesome Elementary School, I’ve been working with some of the fifth graders, trying to get them to see anyone can write and do it well. ish. Wellish.

Anyway, this young dude was the only one to answer the call for a winter-themed story. Give it a try. His story is fun.

My story is called Mission: Terminate Santa Claus and it’s about time travelling revenge-minded 10-year-olds shouldering a big-time beef with the Jolly Old Elf. It’s sort of funny.

Well, I liked it.

I’ll be back soon.

 

 

 

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Operation Mighty Hunter II: The Aftermathening

by Richard

Thanks to my cunning plan, lightning-like reflexes, eagle eyes, steely determination and the good luck of sitting down and doing nothing while a mouse ran by and then stopped to cower where I could reach him, I had managed to overwhelm the enemy.

With extreme-ish prejudice, I semi-terminated the mouse leader, exiling him to the great outdoors, home to many wonderful sights to see, like swooping owls, slithering snakes and ravenous raccoons, all ready and willing to show a mouse a good time. Well, a good time for them. The mouse? Not so much.

Still, dudes, I had to conclude that Operation Mighty Hunter II was an unqualified success. What I didn’t know was that, although I had struck a mortal blow to the leadership and the morale of the Rodentia enemy, Mickey still had some fight left in him.

Through painstaking intelligence gathering techniques too classified to go into here, I managed to piece the following together to explain the horrific events that took place on the morning after the conclusion of Operation Mighty Hunter II.

During the night, numerous members of Mickey’s warrior elite met and screamed at each other, all knowing their cause was lost. All determined to strike one final blow against the massively noble warrior who had taken out their leader. In other words, dudes, me. They wanted to take out me.

Finally, the biggest and meanest of Mickey’s fierce fighters, staggered free from the SqueakerDome where many mice entered, but only one mouse left. He knew what he had to do.

Working swiftly, Mickey cobbled together an explosive suicide vest made from C4 and gelnite as well as some seriously destructive bits of cardboard he happened to have around. Strapping the explosives around his chest, Mickey went to stand sentinel in the laundry room closet, confident in the knowledge that he would drop to my head, cling to my hair and manage to detonate his explosives, thus wiping out the greatest warrior Mickey had ever known. And the mouse.

Fortunately, mice aren’t known for their prowess with explosives. Or suicide vests. Or, really, long-term memory. Apparently, they forgot that I didn’t have any hair on my head.

I went into the closet to get food for the lazy, good-for-nothing cat who couldn’t close the deal on Operation Mighty Hunter I and Buzz, the garbage disposal that walks like a dog.

From high above in the closet, Mickey dropped squeaking his ultrasonic battle cry. Fortunately for me, I was so very sleepy, I didn’t notice when Mickey hit my bald head and then started sliding free. I just casually brushed it away.

Mickey fell to the floor. Well, almost. He hit in the middle of Buzz’s water bowl, the sides too steep for him to climb out. With the vest weighing him down, Mickey didn’t stand a chance.

Later that morning, I went back to the laundry room to find Mickey floating, face up in the water dish, his corpse poisoning the water hole in one final act of defiance, the vest nowhere to be found.

That’s the part that worries me, you see. That there might be another Mickey, maybe even a female, who desires revenge, who we could call Minnie, just for the heck of it, waiting. Waiting and planning.

And remembering the ancient Rodentia proverb: Revenge is a dish best served. . . with cheese!

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It’s Not Like I Was Going To Put It To A GOOD Use

By Richard

 

The way I see it, going to Vegas doesn’t have to end in a horrorshow of blood and sirens and flashing lights and horrible cramps as you try to recapture your breath while being as silent as possible so you don’t get caught by the mob button man who wants to extract revenge for that little incident at the roulette tables. It usually does, but I’m just saying it doesn’t have to.

You know, The Hangover really made it a lot harder to do Vegas jokes like that. That’s me, working harder for your enjoyment.

So. Vegas. Right.

No, what I was saying was that I try to look at time in Vegas not as a complete time and money sink, but as a vacation I’ve already bought and paid for.

This is, so I don’t end up as one of those sad stereotypical dudes who’s trying to pawn his watch so he can replace the plane trip he sold to cover his losses at the sports book. I just set aside x amount of money.

The key here is not the amount, but how I think about it. I think about it as having already paid for the weekend.Sort of like an all-inclusive vacation. One where you still have to pay for the food. And the drinks. And the room.

All right. The analogy doesn’t really hold up all that well. What do you want? I’m in Vegas. We  don’t do coherent thought out here.

No, what I’m saying is I think of the money as being already spent. That is, I’d feel completely justified as the dude who paid $x for the weekend. It’s just in Vegas, I have to pay that fee over several days and some spectacularly bad bets.

Which makes it all the more fun because I’m not just signing a credit card receipt. No, I’m basically making’ it rain up in here. Only I’m holding  an umbrella and the rain only falls behind the betting counter.

Still, better here than lost in the desert. What? That’s a perfectly good comparison. No? What’s a straw man?

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