The Adventures of Ivan the Midget. Part 23: The Penguin Gathering

Ivan waved goodbye to his newfound Mongolian friends. But now that they had successfully fought off the vicious sand sharks of the Gobi Desert, it was time for Ivan to continue his adventures. He created his magic portal and set off to wherever it would take him.

The scenery of the Gobi vanished and in its place was a barren landscape covered in ice. The light was dim. The first thing Ivan noticed, though, was the biting cold. It was almost too much for Ivan's little body. He stumbled across the harsh landscape until he heard signs of life. It was a chirping sound. Ivan knew the only thing this could mean. Penguins! Ivan was a prepared man, and he pulled out a tuxedo out of his rucksack. He knew well that penguins will only accept someone as one of their own if they are dressed in a tuxedo. Ivan wobbled his way towards the sound. As he made his way closer he saw a massive group of penguins huddled together for warmth. He made a skilled penguin call, and the penguins soon brought him into the huddle as one of their own.

As Ivan huddled near the penguins, relishing the sweet warmth they gave, he spotted a penguin looking at him with distress. The penguin rolled over an egg and made a sound. It seemed that the egg was now Ivan's. He put it between his two legs with a gentleness that very few men have achieved. It seemed that he'd spend his time with the penguins as he waited for the egg to hatch.

Months passed. Friendships were made. Finally, the egg developed some cracks. The air was filled with the most delightful chirp. The chirp was from the most adorable creature that Ivan had seen. He soon was surrounded by eggs belonging to the penguins as they hatched. Ivan knew well what he had to do now. He pulled a fish out of his rucksack and lovingly fed it to his baby penguin. The penguin took it and ate it ravishingly. Ivan's little heart was bursting with love for his little penguin. But then he realized that his stay with the penguins was near over. He gave a look to the neighboring penguins. They knew by that look that he had to leave. Ivan solemnly took the tiny wing of his new baby penguin companion and made his way into a portal that he had created. What adventures would await them in this next portal. Only time will tell.

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This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Davey Morrison, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, and William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden. This week's theme: 'Penguins'.

You Got to Do it

Eli stared intently at the computer screen. On that screen was the task that had consumed his life for the past year. The task was a game called About a Ball. It was a simple game made by Eli's good friend, John. The game was difficult, but only Eli had gone through a whole year of intensive playing without ever winning it. But know he knew he would win it. He was in the final stretch.

He had been practicing this last part for days, but he would always die at some point. But not today. He jumped out of the intensity of the situation at every difficult maneuver, and with a deftness of his hand, he accomplished every maneuver flawlessly. It was a wonder that it had only been a year ago that he had learned to use the arrow keys that he had now mastered. Eli moved the red ball that was the protagonist into the gate that would finish the game. The words "You Win!" came up on the screen. An beautiful sight after see so many "You Lose"'s written in a similar manner

Eli raised his hands into the air and shouted with delight "I won!" He ran around the counter for ten minutes. Everyone in the room congratulated him warmly and joined in the revelry. It truly was a great day.
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This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Davey Morrison, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'The Greatest Day Ever'.

First Supper

An optimist sat down to supper. "This supper is the first supper of the rest of my life!" A lighting bolt promptly struck him and killed him. A great voice shouted from the heavens "Make that you last supper!" God hates optimists

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This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, John Allred of clol Town, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'A Last Supper'.

More Hot Laundromat Sex

A man and a woman were both loading their clothes into adjacent dryers. The man came across a bra into his loading pile. He made a motion towards the woman. "Um, excuse me," he said. "I believe that you're bra got mixed up with my clothes."

The woman gave an awkward smile, "Oh, I'm so sorry she said. It must have dropped into your clothes" She grabbed the bra and shifted away from the man. The man shifted in the same direction. "You know what this means don't you?" He said.

"No." She tried to make more distance between the two. The man made sure that wouldn't happen "It means that we must have sex in one of these fine dryers" He patted his hand against a dryer.

"I've never heard of such a rule."

"Of course you've never heard of it. Its unspoken social law. But it still exists, and now we must film our social duty." The man said. The woman looked around for someone to defend her. Everyone surrounding them solemnly nodded. The woman sighed and said, "Very well." She stripped herself of her clothes and curled up in the dryer. The man followed close behind. It was a quite a large dryer. The whole laundromat crowded around to see the hot laundromat sex in action.

The woman at the counter gazed sadly at the scene asked herself why she kept letting this man in.

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This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'Laundromat'.

Fan fiction!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is an excerpt from a fan fiction by spacychick114

***
"Do you know why, I left Marianne, Elinor?" Willoughby asked tenderly

"Of course I do! It is because you're a cad! You only cared for your enjoyment and personal gain!" Elinor said as she readied her hand to slap Willoughby across the face

"No my sweet, It was for you." Willoughby lovingly leaned down to kiss Elinor. Elinor held her breath. She was trying with all her might not to swoon, despite the alluring presence of Willoughby. But as Willoughby's lustrous lips gently touched hers, she couldn't help it. She swooned.

Willoughby smiled, and caught her in his robust arms. He looked into her eyes as they slowly started to open. Elinor saw the fuzzy figure of Willoughby standing before her, as he helped her regain her balance.

"Let us lie together" he said to her lovingly

Elinor took a deep breath, taking in all the lovely aromas surrounding Willoughby. She smiled and breathed out, "Yes, let us"
***

I'm sure that was disturbing for all of us
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This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'Eleanor'.

Metamorphosis

Gregor loved lions. In fact, his number one dream was to turn into a lion, which was closely followed by his number two dream which was to meet Jeffy from Family Circus immediately after turning into a lion. Fortunately for Gregor dreams can come true. He woke up one day to find himself a lion. Overcome with joy, Gregor leaped from his bed and ran in face to face with Jeffy, who was playing with toys on the floor. I could elaborate further, but theres no need. The future course of events are the same as Metamorphosis by Kafka, except for this particular version has been revised to be about how dreams can come true, like all good literature. Jeffy is also there to add constant lols.

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This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'Metamorphosis'.

A Poem

Larry has no money
Larry has no friends

Larry's lack of friends isn't because he has no money
Larry's lack of money isn't because he has no friends

Larry's brother Harry has no money
Larry's brother Harry has one thousand friends

Larry's brother Harry has one thousand friends because he's a good guy
Larry has no friends because he's a horrible guy

Poor Larry
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This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'Poverty'.

Prosperity

It was the first time Billy had any positive attention. Fatty Mcfatfat Rich Kid Crapface Billy, as the other students called him, was always the source of ridicule in his 5th grade class. He always used his money to try to fight back, but it only made him get fun of more. But for once his money made him become an object of fascination.

It started in the morning morning after a particularly cruel mocking session. While saying the pledge, Billy said "I pledge allegiance to the hag" instead of "I pledge allegiance to the flag." The children naturally thought it was hilarious that Billy could be so stupid so they mocked him relentlessly. Billy was so upset that he threatened that if they didn't stop, no one would be invited to swim in his swimming pool of one hundred dollar bills. Since swimming in a pool of money is every child's dream, the children had to know if this was true. Billy said that they would only know if they stopped mocking him and came to his house after school. The allure of pools of money was too great. Not even the endless enjoyment of tormenting Fatty Mcfatfat Rich Kid Crapface Billy distracted them from this new wonder.

So sure enough, a swarm of children came to Billy's mansion. As they walked through the courtyards they couldn't help but wonder if the pool was actually real. If there wasn't Billy was dead. But Billy could live on, because when they came to the mansion they followed Billy to a door that led to a giant indoor swimming pool. But instead of water, the massive pool was full of one hundred dollar bills. The eyes of the children sparkled as they saw all shapes and sizes of slides, with a constant stream of money flowing down them. They swooned when the saw the diving boards plated with gold. And to add to that there was a soda fountain and a butler holding a giant platter of cookies. Everyone enjoyed the greatest day of their lives. Billy was finally popular.
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This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham,Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'Prosperity'.

Sanctuary

Many times in life we need to find a sanctuary. A way to find peace with the world, or to get away from it. When I asked of my sanctuary, whether or not I have actually been asked this question, I often give a nonchalant answer because it's a dumb question to ask someone. Perhaps if the person asking is a cool dude, it would be an alright question, but I imagine the asker is an estranged great uncle who is trying to create some sort of connection using such questions. The result can only end in failure. No one, including me can be expected to form a coherent answer to such a question, especially in front of an estranged great uncle. One thing I do know about my answer, though, is that I will never answer that question with the horrible words of "Rage Against the Machine." Perhaps that is my sanctuary.

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This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'Sanctuary'.

A Joke

1 is peacefully sitting a bench. 2, a complete stranger, sits next to him

2: Hey, wanna hear a joke?
1: No
2: Ok, here it goes. So I was in the forest the other day
1: Yeah?
2: Yeah, and there were lots of barrels

He waits for 1 to laugh. However, 1 is not amused.

2: You know, because they're both cylindrical and made of wood?
1: I still don't get it
2: You know, I thought the trees were barrels, because they were cylindrical and made of wood. It's funny
1: Why barrels?
2: Huh?
1: Why not something like pencils. They're cylindrical and made of wood.
2: Not all pencils are made of wood
1: Not all barrels are made of wood either.
2: No man, ALL barrels are made of wood.

1 sighs. 3, another complete stranger, walks up and sits on the bench

3: Hey guys! Wanna hear a joke.
2: Yeah!
3: Ok, so I went to the forest the other day.
1: Oh God.
3: Yeah, I saw lots of pencils!

2 and 3 break into laughter

2: I love that joke!
3: I know right!
2: Its even better if you say barrels instead of pencils.
3: Oh yeah!
2 and 3: Because they're all made of wood!

They share a great laugh. 1 face palms.
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This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'Forests'.

The Sad Tale of Gobelin.

There once was a man with the surname Gobelin. He lived in a quaint home in a quaint neighborhood. He was a good guy, and he enjoyed many things. His greatest hobby was drawing simple pictures of goblins in odd places around town, and label them with the phrase "Goblin!" It was his way of spreading peace and love.

The neighbors did not like Gobelin's goodness. They made many nasty rumors pertaining to his innocent drawings

"I found a goblin spray-painted on my driveway!"

"That's nothing, I found one drawn on my mailbox!"

"Why, the other day I found one drawn on a seat in my car!"

"I found one drawn in crayon on my bedroom wall, Gobelin must have snuck into my house!"

"Gobelin has gone mad with power! He must be stopped"

"I agree, I even think that he might be a goblin himself"

"Of course he's a Gobelin, that's his last name, isn't it?

"Well yes, but I mean a goblin as in those creatures he draws"

"Of course he's one, just listen to his name it sounds exactly like 'goblin.' He must be a spy sent by the goblins to draw a bunch of pictures of goblins so he can animate them and turn them against humanity. He must be stopped!"

"That makes perfect sense"

"That's the most true thing I've heard all day!"

"Well then, fellow neighbors, I decree that we shall arrive at Gobelins house and slay him for the good of humanity, a goblin has no right in our quaint neighborhood!"

Thus ended the life like of Gobelin. But his legacy was not done. People discovered his drawings and adopted them. The tirelessly drew the goblins wherever they went to spread the message of peace and love. And everywhere they went opposition followed. Many goblin drawers were persecuted and killed because they were accused of being goblins. Society wasn't ready for such goodness.
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This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden, and WiL Whitlark of The Real McJesus. This week's theme: 'Superstition'.

A Most Merry Disfigurement

The scene is not uncommon

A man is wistfully traveling on the path with a cart in his hands and dreams his heart. He begins whistling a merry tune and pondering the loveliness of life and the earth around him. The merry creatures of the woods join him in dance, and they have a most joyous time.

That is when some asshole comes and slits his throat. The asshole then proceeds to cut each limb off one by one, relishing in the violence. Once he is done with the corpse that was once a merry man he proceeds to slaughter each and every animal that dared to dance to a happy tune

The asshole walks off pleased with his work. Not long after, the merry man reassembles himself, as death does not exist in this particular world. He waits for the creatures to resurrect and he continues on his way, whistling a merry tune.
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This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, and William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden. This week's theme: 'Disfigurement'.

The Master Ventriloquist

It was a sad day at the Ventriloquism Society's Annual Talent Show. An audience hall that had once, long ago, been full of life, laughter and unmoving lips was now stale and tired from amateurs and washed up has-beens who didn't even attempt to keep their lips from moving. To add to that their jokes weren't funny and their dummies even failed to be jerks

The stage was unfilled. No one had the courage to take their dummy to the stage and attempt to redeem the day, because they knew that they would turn out be awful. But hope was regained when an old man stood up and moved towards the stage.

To say 'old' is to understate his age. He was as ageless as the stars, and looking at the antiquity of his dummy it seemed that he had practiced ventriloquism for an eternity. His lips were closed so tight, that they appeared as if they hadn't been opened in centuries. This old man truly was a master of the craft.

The audience held their breath as the man took his seat in front of the microphone. The dummy cleared his throat. I should say that the he cleared his throat, but that would be a shame to his craft. He knew that a true ventriloquist never ceases the act, and so it was the dummy that cleared his throat. The audience moved to the edge of their seats as the old man slowly opened the mouth of the dummy. As the old man, or the dummy, spoke, his voice emanated not only from the dummy, but the entire earth. They only entity that the voice didn't come from was the old man.

And thus, the dummy spoke.

"Well back in my day we didn't have ventriloquists. We just animated dolls and talked to them!"

The dummy laughed long and hard at his own joke. But he was the only one laughing. Vegetables were thrown.

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This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick and Miriam Allred of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, Sven Patrick Svensson of Sadness? Euphoria?, and William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden. This week's theme: 'Ventriloquism'.

Eifen Deifeiffen is a Cad

Eifen Deifeiffen was jauntily strutting down the hall when he caught the eyes of Gregory Millson. Why does this sorry little man keep turning up at my greatest moments? I should make him pay by informing him of my latest romantic escapade He strutted over to Gregory who was looking displeased.

"Good afternoon, Gregory" He said, "Looking chipper as usual." He laughed at his witty remark.

"What do you want Eifen Deifeiffen?" Gregory asked

Eifen Deifeiffen laughed. "Why do you always think I want something out of you, Gregory? I've merely come to inform you that I have seduced, slept with, and ruined the reputation of one of your prospective lovers." The chance that whomever Eifen Deifeiffen seduced had been one of Gregory's prospective lovers was very slim. Eifen Deifeiffen just had a tendency to refer to all women as prospective lovers of one man or another. Mainly himself.

"You really are a cad aren't you, Eifen Deifeiffen?" Gregory said

"Me? A cad? Really?" Eifen Deifeiffen said. He gave a sacrastic laugh. "Of course I'm a cad Gregory. Wouldn't you be one too if you had a name like Eifen Deifeiffen?" Gregory didn't respond. "I'll take that as a yes then. Well then, I have to seduce one of your other prospective lovers. Toodle-loo, Gregory!" He continued his strut down the hall.

Moral: It's hard not to be a cad if your name is Eifen Deifeiffen

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This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, and William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden. This week's theme: 'Eifen Deifeiffen'.

An Excerpt from "The Adventures of Ted Johnson: One Man's Crusade against the Decline of Morality

Ted stared into the eyes of the Herb, the evil screenwriter. “You don’t realize how much your show hurts the human race.”

“But it doesn’t, Ted! Sex, drugs, and violence are the most entertaining things around. What harm does it do if someone watches on TV?”

“I used to think the same way,” Ted stifled back tears, “Until I saw my five year old son kill his mother in cold blood. You don’t realize the damage you’re doing, Herb! Not until you see first hand the lives you’re ruining! The families destroyed! The dreams crushed!”

“You’re so hasty to blame everything on television, Ted. The truth is that these so called immoralities have no effect. Have you considered other reasons for your son’s behavior? Maybe he was possessed by the devil? Maybe he’s just a horrible child. Or maybe,’ He gave an evil grin, “It was bad parenting.”

“I am not a bad parent!” He got up from his chair and punched the wall

“No need to get all worked up, Ted. Parenting is a hard thing.”

“I’m tired of your games, Herb! You know that you killed my wife and you know that you destroyed my son! You just are too cowardly, too evil, too morally corrupt to admit that. Your TV shows may seem harmless, but the sex, the drugs, the violence - It does something to us. Something that makes us start killing relentlessly. All this killing has to stop!”

“Look, I think you’re failing to understand that---”

“No, you don't understand!” Ted took a small moment to regain his breath. “Do you see this fist?” He pointed to his left fist, “I like to call it Morality. And this fist,” he pointed to his right fist, “is called Justice. And do want to know what Morality is telling me.”

Herb stared at the fist coolly, “What?” He asked.

“It’s telling me that you have an appointment with Justice. And your late”
Herb opened his mouth, as if to say ‘You don’t have the guts,’ but he was interrupted by Ted’s battle cry.

“FOR GREAT JUSTICE!” As Ted’s right fist flew towards Herb’s face, a bright light emerged from its tip. The snap of Herb’s skull shattering was quickly interrupted by a fizz as pure justice disintegrated Herb into a pile of ash. Ted kissed his fist and uttered his signature phrase. “You can’t run away from justice” He then left the room.
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This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, and William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden. This week's theme: 'Vice'.

Exodizing

The rancher sat on a log staring at the vast expanse of his land. He was calm just staring, until a he saw a single cow running by. The cow was soon followed by many other cows all heading in the same direction. The noise of their hooves was deafening to the rancher. He merely stared, scorning the cows for trespassing. Once they left he let out a single sigh. "Why do these cows have to keep exodizing on my land?"
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This post is an installment in a continuing series of content coordinated by theme or motif with posts from Enoch Allred of Chiltingham, Jon Fairbanks of Funkadelic Freestylings of Another Sort, Eli Z. McCormick of Modern Revelation!, John D. Moore of Whatnot Studios, Joseph Schlegel of Sour Mayonnaise, and William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden. This week's theme: 'Exodus'.

King Arthur

Theodore enters his room to find Jim sitting on his bed looking pleased

Jim: Hey, guess who I am?

Theodore:Who?

Jim: King Arthur

Theodore: Yeah?

Jim: Yeah man, I was walking down the hall and I looked in your room and there was Merlin, and he was like 'Heres a stone, take Excalibur out of it.' And I was like alright. So I went up to he stone and pulled out Excalibur. And then Merlin just bowed down to me, and I felt pretty awesome. Then he told me to go back in time and to reclaim my kingdom. But I was like screw that, I'm gonna use my special powers in my time. And then Merlin, like, got mad and went back in time. I think he muttered something about murdering me

Theodore: Dude.

Jim: Yeah.

They share a short silent moment

Jim: Hey, wanna be Lancelot?

Theodore: Sure

JIM: Sweet deal. Let me go get the Lady of the Lake

He runs off, never to be seen again.

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This post is part of a coordinated content project with John D. Moore of whatnot and William C. Stewart of Chide, Chode, Chidden. Each Thursday, each contributor will do a post linked by some common theme or motif. This week's theme: 'King Arthur'.

The First Sentient Beetle. (Based on a true story) (!)

It’s been a couple months since I’ve met that beetle, but I will never forget it. For its extraordinary story has inspired me, perhaps, forever. I encountered it when it landed on a ball of duct tape I was observing. At first sight the beetle was a hideous thing, degrading my beautiful duct tape ball. It was not just an insect. It was a giant. It’s repulsively apparent insect features were only added to its hideous brown spotted shell. But I soon realized its brawn did not hinder its brains. After it landed on the ball, it seemed so wrapped up in thought that it didn’t even move. It merely sat. I wondered what had even caused it to land on the ball in the first place.

Perhaps it had been bullied by other beetles. They found him sitting upon something else, doing nothing but thinking. “Why do you just sit there and think?” They asked in whatever bizarre language beetles speak. The beetle, so deep in thought, wasn’t able to respond. The other beetles continued to scorn him. They didn’t like such a strange beetle. They scorned him so much that he was forced to move. Then he landed on my duct tape ball.

Here he was safe, and I would keep it that way as far as I could help it, even when I had to leave and observe other things, so I set him down gently on my windowsill. When I returned a day later neither the ball nor the beetle was there. I’m quite sure the beetle stayed on that ball till death. The ball probably blew away in the wind taking the beetle with it. If the beetle survived the wind, it would probably be too wrapped up in thought fulfill its basic needs for survival. I solemnly bowed my head in remembrance for the beetle. Although the other beetles would live long enough to procreate, that beetle would live on in a greater way. His thought passed into everything he touched. With him, the greater Provo area will be a beacon for thinking beetles. Perhaps someday, all the will beetles love him, despite the scorn he received from their ancestors. Someday they all will be too deep in thought to produce anymore beetles, and only their thought will remain.

Sex Tax, great idea or the greatest idea?

I have had an epiphany. Why not tax sex? I have a list of three positive effects if we adopted such a tax

1. It will fill up our coffers. After our economic crash, we need money. What better way to make money than tax one of our nations favorite passtimes?

2. Its a tax that the conservatives would like. Taxing sex implies discouraging sex. The religious right will praise whoever supports this plan.

3. It will slow down population growth. Our world has too many people. For those who refuse to use birth control, the sex tax will put an extra benefit in abstinence, not having to pay money. Not only will this solve the world population crisis, it will also decrease teen pregnancies. We all know how successful abstinence only education has been, so to add even more strength? Amazing.

So there you have it. The sex tax is my gift to humanity. I'd strongly encourage any congressman who reads this blog to propose it.

Movie Idea that probably came to me in a dream

A boy lives happily with his single father. But his father is tragically put into jail for a crime he did not commit. Out on the streets he learns that the president can pardon people out of jail. He vows to become the first child President of the United States so that he can pardon his father in this heartwarming tale of how dreams can come true.