Posts Tagged ‘fiction’
Dudes and ladies! I made a game!
Holy moly it’s a game you can play on your computer. Another Oceanspirit Dennis one, I might add, this one’s called Blades of Passion and it’s pretty nice, if I do say so myself. It deals with some heavily Freudian psychological issues concerning OSD’s choice of sexuality, so some of you might pussy out.
I’ve been reviewed on the AGS Blog by a fellow named James “Dualnames” Spanos. He’s from Greece! I still wish it was John Stamos instead. We talked about games and such things, so if you so happen to be so inclined you can so read it by placing your cursor over these words and left-clicking.
I wrote another review for HardyDev about a glorious game called The Journey Down: Over The Edge, which I fully admit is better than Blades of Passion in just about every way. Read it if you want.
Here’s a touching romance tale I wrote a while back. I hope it makes you cry.
In North Dakota in late March, Jack Frost was having his swan song for the year. After a long, typically cold winter, the last blizzard of the season seemed intent on making an impact. Roads were impassible, stores were closed, and a large percentage of the small town of Rutmuffin was snowed in.
“FFFFUUUUUU-” Jeremy shouted, stumbling in the front door.
His wife looked up from her Better Homes and Gardens magazine. “I told you it wouldn’t run.”
“I hate the cold. I hate winter. I hate North Dakota and I hate the US Postal service,” Jeremy replied. “What ever happened to ‘neither snow nor rain’ and all that?”
“You know that was never actually their motto.”
“You know what I mean, Sandy.”
“Still,” she responded, “it is a shame that the replacement part for our furnace would get stuck in this storm.”
Jeremy was not amused by the irony. Something else was bothering him.
“Why don’t you take off that damn Snuggie?” he asked curtly.
Sandy looked in shock. “It’s warm! Plus I can read my magazine without having to adjust a blanket.”
“You sound like one of those freakin’ commercials,” Jeremy snapped. “How incompetent do you have to be to not know how to operate a simple blanket?”
“Are you calling me stupid?” Sandy said, her voice starting to crack.
“No… no, it’s just…” Jeremy trailed off. “I just think you’re better than a Snuggie. I watch the people on TV and they just seem so idiotic, so typically American, and I’ve always thought you were above that.”
Sandy’s eyes started to water. “I know how you feel about them, and I want you to be happy, but try to understand. I got this thing from my mother for Christmas and it’s really quite practical. You of all people should understand that.”
Jeremy sighed. “I do. I’m sorry I yelled at you. I want you to know that I really do love you.”
A grin creeped its way across Sandy’s face. “You know… ” she whispered, “there’s another reason I’m wearing the Snuggie…”
“Huh? What’s that?”
“I’m only wearing the Snuggie.”
“Oh…” Jeremy heaved as Sandy’s smile effected one on his own face. “Is there room for two in there?”
And they made Snuggie Love.
Journal found in the Willamette Valley in Oregon on July 2nd, 2009. According to name at front, belonged to “AHNOLD.”
April 23rd, 1848
Missouri has started to lose its charm. My family is beginning to have relational issues. My wife, TITTZZZ, in particular has become quite distant as of late, and our love life is severely lacking. The awkwardness of adolescence has increased the fights between PAMELA and TURD threefold. My brother, JAMESBOND, has been living with us since the Indians burned down his cabin and ate his wife last November, but he only seems to exacerbate the problems we are facing. I believe a road trip will do this family some good.
May 1st, 1848
This is it. We’re setting out on our family road trip to Oregon today. I can feel this will be the start of a new chapter in our lives, one where we can all work together for our common good.
Things got off to a great start when I successfully convinced JAMESBOND to leave his pornographic novels at home. He told me, “I think of this as turning over a new leaf, I don’t need those things now that I’ve moved in with you guys.” On the trail, however, he has for the most part stayed inside the covered wagon with TITTZZZ and PAMELA, leaving me and TURD to man the oxen.
May 15th, 1848
After crossing the Kansas river last week, things have not been going so well. TURD broke his arm fixing a wagon wheel this morning so I had to drag my brother out of the back to help me navigate. He is not particularly useful in that regard, spending most of the time telling me about the sensual shapes he sees in the clouds. On a positive note, our food supplies seem to be holding out nicely. Hunting is usually quite bountiful, but though with the might of my rifle, I may take down many a foe, I can never bring back more than 100 lbs. of meat as the idea of physical labor seems to be foreign to my family. Maybe I should go back to spanking.
June 9th, 1848
That yellow BASTARD! In the shadow of night, a cowardly thief pinched every damn one of my oxen! We now have no viable means of transportation. While I toil my time away attempting to trade with passers by, TURD and PAMELA bicker incessantly while my wife and brother go off to play isolated games of backgammon. Confound it all.
July 20th, 1848
After an entire month of fruitless bartering attempts, I was finally able to secure a single ox. Though we are at least moving, our speed has been slashed to a fraction of what it was when we set out from St. Louis. In the meantime, PAMELA has managed to get herself a snakebite… on her inner thigh. She becomes uneasy when I inquire about the circumstances or attempt to examine it. I have also had to decrease the rations by 20%. I frequently feel peckish during the night but convince myself to abstain from midnight snacks for the good of the group.
August 29th, 1848
Sickness abounds. TURD, despite being given slack for his broken arm, is suffering from exhaustion and JAMESBOND has caught the typhoid. I myself have been feeling light symptoms of dysentery, which our dwindling supply of fresh water does nothing to abate. Our food supply is nearly exhausted, partially due to our monthlong standstill and partially due to my brother being a big, fat ass. Without any men to help with hunting, my ability to bring back game is dwindling. As it stands, we only have 27 lbs. of food. My arm is looking quite delicious right now.
September 4th, 1848
My daughter has caught a nasty fever, but I’m attempting to keep illnesses quarantined in our small covered wagon. We found some wild fruit today, but our pantry still runs empty. Other emigrants we have encountered have told that a fort with a general store is not too far away. Of course in this pathetic excuse for a pioneering life, “not too far” equates to several weeks. Dagnabit.
October 10th, 1848
Our first funeral was today. JAMESBOND died of the fever he caught from PAMELA, despite my best attempts to isolate her disease. While I am deeply saddened, a part of me is relieved to be done carting around that lazy, worthless, mooching, sonofabitch. I dare not say this in front of my wife, as her grief appears much greater than mine. That is why I have you, Diary. To tell my secret thoughts. Nevertheless, it is a shame he did not last until we arrived at the fort where he could have received a proper burial instead of a shallow grave covered in cat food.
October 14th, 1848
WHY? First my brother, now my wife? TITTZZZ caught the fever earlier today and the potent demon killed her in a span of four hours. My children mourn their mother’s passing with me. We’re also running low on weed.
November 22nd, 1848
They’re all dead. Every one of them. I knew when TURD caught cholera last week that it was only a matter of time. Watching him die as I held him in my shaking arms three days ago, I cursed the heavens. My brother, my wife, and my son had been taken away from me. Today, though, the fever PAMELA had caught from JAMESBOND rose to an unprecedented level. Even my pedestrian medical experience could tell she was a goner. As she lay in a dizzy haze, she related to me a startling confession. She told me that JAMESBOND had been having sexual congress with both her and TITTZZZ simultaneously while I was driving the wagon, until he died. That was why the fever which killed him passed on to my wife and PAMELA without first affecting me or TURD. That lowdown, dirty, rotten, scoundrel! I no longer regret urinating on his grave, except for the fact that I could have saved my urine for drinking.
December 12th. 1848
i dont know how i manage to go on. all alone with no food and dirty water and a fever. i miss my wife so but i cannot help but feel animosity toward her and PAMELA, those lecherous whores. i still might be able to make it to the colorado river… but my head… i i ……_______________________
December 15th, 1848
To whoever finds this Diary,
SUCK IT BITCHES!!! I made it to Oregon, and it’s just as nice as everyone said it was! The streets are paved with cocaine and the primary form of currency is sexual favors! I’ve met a nice blonde with supple lips and a thing for Lucha wrestling, so I couldn’t be happier. I plan to start a career as a hardcore rapper and fulfill my dream of diving into a swimming pool filled with a mixture of money and beer. It’s Oregon, So Anything’s Possible!™ Man, I friggin’ LOVE the Beaver State!
Remember those? From the eighties? Well here’s one for the 21st century.
I freely admit that the story takes a couple cues from Jurassic Park, but one thing I want to make very clear is that the protagonist’s name was not originally intended as a reference to Dennis Nedry from JP. It was, in fact, chosen because Dennis is basically my favorite name ever and if I ever make any other works of fiction, there may be another Dennis here or there. Dennis Dennis Dennis.