The Reel Deal and Other Bad Jokes
Sunday, April 25, 2004
Lord of the Titles: The Fellowship of the Title
I acted in a friend's movie today, an adaptation of "Beowulf" set post-apocalypse, which was supposed to explain why so much of the movie was ass. He was shooting it for an English class, so it was not particularly professional. It was fun, however. I played "Guard #48" in one scene. I wore a burlap tunic that not only made me look like an asshat, it also itched like the itch that occurs about fifteen minutes after sex. I don't understand how people ever wore burlap. Maybe that was why they fought so much in the Dark Ages.
In the next scene I played Guard #4. I wore a beekeeper's helmet, sans net, and the gloves. I had to explain to my drunken king (Tagline: "I'm the king!") that the monster had killed one guard and chased the other one away. My friend's friend played the corpse, lying in a very uncomfortable position with intestines spilling out of his chest that were in reality deli ham bloodied with corn syrup and food coloring.
"So he's dead?"
"And you're dead."
"But you just said he was dead!"
"No, he ran away."
"You're dead, I'm the king!"
"Fuck you, king."
First installment you'll see of a short fantasy story I wrote a while back. It concerns a pair of unscrupulous town guards (Eric "The Maceman" and Kahnrad) and a mischievous dwarven pickpocket.
The Dirtwater Fox was hopping tonight. At least, it was as hoppy as things were going to get. Little did I know that things would soon get positively frog-like.
Kahnrad and I made our way through the crowd. I kept my nose in the air, reinforcing my leather armor with a shield of pompous aristocracy. The air being a fraction fresher near the ceiling was a bonus.
A very drunk goblin stumbled into me. He glared unsteadily at my breastbone.
"Hey, horse lover, you lookin' t' start somethin'?" he demanded in the scratchy, high voice of goblinkind.
"There's nothing to start," I said dryly. He looked up at me and belched. My eyes watered, and my retaliatory backhand slapped him to the floor. I stepped over his prostrate form, rubbing my eyes.
Stilletto's Last Ride
Stiletto Jack is a gangster who rats out his mob to the feds. Now he's on the run--in the Wild West! When his stash of hot diamonds is stolen from him on the train, Jack must enlist the help of a dominiatrix Calamity Jane to take down a gang of S/M cowboys (picture it--gimps on horseback!). That's the easy part. The hard part is going to be staying on one of those goddamn horses...
Stiletto has settled in as an eccentric (and rich) sheriff in Bullwhip City. He maintains order with a particular unorthodox flair that US Marshals observe with discomfort. When a veritable army of gangsters out for his head come to town, he's going to need all the order he can get (along with a little chaos), to beat them. At the same time, he's got to deal with a group of bandits that are based, of all places, on a ship! Luckily he's got the love of an aggressive woman and her six-shooters at his side.