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Binatang Pun Tau Kasih Sayang.

2010-05-01T19:29:00.000-07:00

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Asal-usul Sebenar Perkataan Insaf

2009-01-13T18:30:00.000-08:00

Jika ditanya sesiapa sahaja Melayu-muslim di negara kita ini, mestilah mereka mengenal akan definisi 'insaf'. Untuk golongan yang kurang mengetahui, 'insaf' itu dengan mudahnya adalah menyedari sesuatu kesilapan yang telah dilakukan, dan seboleh-bolehnya berusaha untuk tidak mengulangi kesilapan itu. Contoh-contoh penggunaan 'insaf' adalah:

"Sebelum ini aku seorang kaki botol, kaki judi, dan kaki perempuan. Tetapi setelah aku hilang semua harta dan keluarga dan terpaksa hidup di kaki lima, barulah aku berasa insaf."

"Dulu masa aku kerje di CIMB, aku selalu pecah amanah. Setelah aku ditangkap dan dijatuhkan hukuman penjara 5 tahun berserta denda RM50 ribu, barulah aku insaf."

"Semasa Mawi masih bertanding di AF dahulu, aku selalu AFUNDI dia sampai habis beratus-ratus ringgit semata-mata untuk dia menang. Sekarang, harta dia dah berjuta-juta ringgit, ada kereta besar, rumah besar, majlis kahwin pon besar, tapi aku tak dapat apa-apa pun. Aku telah menginsafi perbuatan aku."

Hah, begitulah penggunaan perkataan 'insaf' dalam Bahasa Melayu baku. Tetapi kan, adakah kalian mengetahui akan asal-usul perkataan 'insaf'? Hah, tu diam dan terpinga-pinga tu memang konfem lah tak tau kan?

*****

Adalah cerita sekitar 1940 di sebuah madrasah yang masyhur di mana 3 pelajar terbaik sedang menuntut ilmu agama. Mereka adalah Atan, Ali, dan Abdul. Pada suatu hari, Tok Guru mereka memberi sebuah tugasan yang terakhir sebelum melepaskan mereka.

"Tugasan yang terakhir ini akan membuktikan ketabahan dan kecekalan kamu semua dalam mencari ilmu pengetahuan," kata si Tok Guru. "Saya hendak setiap seorang dari kamu membuat penyelidikan mengenai erti kata 'insaf' dan asal-usul sebenar perkataan tersebut. Tempoh tugasan ini hanyalah seminggu sahaja."

Jadi, selama satu minggu, ketiga-tiga pelajar tersebut bertungkus-lumuslah pergi kesana-kemari dan melapah buku-buku di perpustakaan dan kedai buku. Erti kata insaf semua orang tahu, tetapi yang peliknya tiada mana-mana unsur yang mengetahui akan asal-usul perkataan tersebut. Tetapi mereka tetap memperhebatkan kajian mereka, dan seminggu kemudian tibalah masanya untuk mereka mempersembahkan hasil kajian mereka di depan Tok Guru.

"Hah, Atan, kamu boleh mula dahulu," kata Tok Guru.

"Baiklah," jawab Atan. "Berdasarkan kajian saya, insaf bermaksud 'menyesali perbuatan kita yang salah'. Mengenai asal-usulnya, saya telah menjumpai sepatah perkataan yang hampir sama bunyinya di dalam tulisan Sanskrit yang berasal dari kerajaan Srivijaya pada kurun ke-13." Atan kemudian menunjukkan sebuah tablet batu yang terukir beberapa tulisan Sanskrit bersertakan perkataan yang dimaksudkan itu.

"Hmm, mungkin ada kebenaran dalam kajian kamu itu," kata Tok Guru. "Ali, kini giliran kamu pula."

"Ya, Tok Guru," kata Ali. "Mengikut kajian saya, 'insaf' bermaksud 'mengetahui dan mengakui akan kesilapan diri sendiri'. Saya telah menjumpai sebuah perkataan yang hampir sama bunyi dan maknanya dalam segulung papyrus yang berasal dari Tanah Arab dan berumur hampir 750 Masihi." Ali kemudian menghulurkan segulung papyrus itu kepada Tok Guru, dan dia pun meneliti tulisan Arab di dalam.

"Kemungkinan besarnya itulah," kata Tok Guru. "Hah, Abdul, sudah tiba masa kamu untuk membentangkan hasil kajian kamu."

"Iya, Tok Guru," kata Abdul. "Setelah seminggu membuat kajian, saya mendapat tahu bahawa 'insaf' itu sebenarnya bermaksud 'menyerah diri (kepada Tuhan) setelah melakukan kejahatan', dan perkataan tersebut berasal dari Bahasa Inggeris!"

Tok Guru terkejut setelah mendengar penjelasan si Abdul. "Bahasa Inggeris? Kamu biar betul Abdul. Takkanlah perkataan yang mulia seperti 'insaf' datang dari kultur barat yang kafir itu."

Dua pelajar yang lain dengan cepat mengeluarkan kamus Oxford untuk menyemak kebenaran Abdul. "Kamu janganlah menipu kami Abdul. Tiada dalam kamus ini satu perkataan pun yang bunyi dan ertinya sama dengan 'insaf'. Malahan, mereka mempunyai perkataan mereka sendiri, iaitu 'repent'!"

"Sabar, pelajar-pelajar sekalian," kat Tok Guru. "Abdul, adakah kamu apa-apa bukti untuk menyokong jawapan kamu?"

"Mestilah ada," kata Abdul. Lantas dia mengeluarkan sebuah pita video dari beg galasnya. "Mari kita kita tonton video ini bersama-sama."

Mereka pun berkumpul di bilik video, dan Abdul memasukkan pita video tersebut kedalam slot VCR. Terpaparlah di skrin tajuk "TALES OF THE WILD, WILD WEST."

"Ish kamu ni Abdul," kata Tok Guru, "kamu nak kami tonton cerita koboi apa fasal?"

"Cis," kata Ali dan Atan, "buang masa sahaja kita menonton filem kafir laknat ini."

"Kamu semua mintalah bersabar sedikit," kata Abdul sambil mem-fast-forward-kan video tersebut ke satu babak dalam filem tersebut.

Babak itu memaparkan sebuah perkampungan koboi di mana penduduknya sedang menjalani kehidupan seperti biasa apabila segerombolan pencuri dan algojo datang dengan menaiki kuda dengan tujuan untuk menyamun perkampungan itu. Mereka menembak pistol-pistol mereka ke udara untuk menakut-nakutkan penduduk perkampungan tersebut. Tiba-tiba, terdengar sebuah letupan yang lebih kuat dari pistol-pistol mereka, dan salah seorang penjahat dalam gerombolan itu jatuh ke tanah dengan dadanya berlumuran darah akibat ditembak.

Rupanya-rupanya Sheriff dan konco-konconya telah tiba berbekalkan senapang gajah. Selepas melihat penjahat-penjahat terketar-ketar ketakutan, Sheriff tersebut mengarahkan muncung senapang pada kepala ketua gerombolan tersebut lalu meneriak:

HANDS UP! (INSAF!)

Lantas gerombolan tersebut menjatuhkan pistol-pistol mereka dan mengangkat tangan mereka di atas kepala sebagai tanda menyerah diri selepas melakukan kejahatan.

TAMAT

PENGAJARAN: Janganlah kita tunggu sampai dah mati baru nak insaf. Kalau dah mati, macam mana nak angkat tangan, yer tak?

FALSE ALARM OF SEX PARTY IN POLICE RAID

2009-01-08T00:42:00.000-08:00

KUALA LUMPUR - Police raided an apartment unit at Damansara 10pm yesterday when their sources informed them of a sex party that was allegedly taking place, only to find out that they have busted the wrong apartment unit.

“The place was quiet when we arrived,” said Lieutenant Sri Ahmad bin Whatafak, “and I started getting suspicious, because most sex parties are loud and bright. At first I thought this was a new sex party theme where the kids would have pre-marital sex quietly and in the dark, but I was soon proven wrong.”

The police opted for the element of surprise and approached the apartment unit quietly. Without even knocking on the door, the police broke it down and rushed in, only to find five men. According to the lieutenant, “They panicked like hell when they saw us coming in. One of them was holding a crowbar and a flashlight, two of them were lifting a 25-inch plasma TV until they dropped it at the sight of us, another was next to a cupboard taking out precious trinkets and putting them in a large sack, and the last one was hastily making his way out through the window.”

“It’s quite obvious that this wasn’t a sex party,” said Corporal Khairul Nazri bin Dumshiat. “Sex parties usually involve varsity teens getting drunk and naked having godless orgies. The five adult men that we found not only wore full dark attire, they also wore face-concealing masks; two of them were wearing ski masks, while the others just improvised by using T-shirts to wrap around their heads. Besides, there were no girls around. How can anyone have a sex party without any girls?”

“It was either a false alarm, or we got the wrong house,” said Khairul. “Absolutely no sex party was happening there.”

Realizing their mistake, the police quickly apologized to the men, who for some odd reason were holding their hands high in the air and staring at the policemen with abject terror. According to Khairul, one of them even dropped down to his knees in front of him and repeatedly cried out ‘ampun pak, ampun’ until he burst into tears.
“Yeah, they were sort of a weird bunch, with the dark clothes and masks and acting suspicious and all that,” said Sri Ahmad, “but they weren’t participating in some lewd and shameful sex party, so everything’s okay.”

The corporal further explained, “We then explained to them about our mix-up, that we’ve mistakenly thought that they were committing the crime of flesh. They were rather confused at first, but after realizing what was happening, they started to laugh out loud and talked amongst themselves in an unknown Malay dialect, with words like ‘polisi’ and ‘goblok’. Even the kneeling guy was now rolling all over the floor laughing his heart out. It was totally weird.”
According to the police, once the men calmed down, they explained that they were just moving their relative’s furniture and other belongings to a new apartment, and the reason for the darkness was because of a faulty fuse. “That still doesn’t explain why the window grill was sawed off and the pane broken, but hey, at least their not spending their night sinning in some damnable cum fiesta.”

Before the police departed from the apartment, the law enforcers gave an example of good will by helping the five mysterious men load all the apartment’s stuff into a big black truck parked outside as a way to make amends for the little screw up. “They’re really nice guys once you get to know them,” said the corporal. “We helped them move the plasma TV, the entire home theater system, two PCs, the sofa set, the entire safe box that they drilled and yanked out of the wall, a collection of expensive-looking vases, roles of carpeting, about a dozen sacks containing valuables such jewelry, ornaments, DVDs and what have you. They practically picked the whole place clean.”

Police waved goodbye at the men as they drove off, and they laughed and waved back using an obscure hand gesture of forming a fist and sticking out the middle finger. “As the truck pulled into the main road, we noticed that the truck was missing the license plate,” said the Khairul, “but road regulations are really out of our jurisdiction. Besides, it’s not really a big deal compared to the evilness of sex with multiple partners.”

When asked about how the mix-up happened, Nur Haliza, the operator for the Damansara Police Department emergency line, said, “We received a call saying that there was an ongoing ‘burglary’ at the apartment. We have no idea what a ‘burglary’ is, so we just assumed it was another code word for ‘sex party’.”

None of the five men were identified as famous celebrities.

- BERNAMA

Two Friends and a Bear

2009-01-05T20:11:00.000-08:00

Two friends were walking along a path through the woods one day when they suddenly stumbled upon a grizzly bear.

“Run!” shouted one friend as he turned around and flee. The other friend quickly followed behind, and when he looked back, he saw the bear was already approaching fast towards them.

“The bear is coming for us!” shouted the friend at the back. “We’ll never be able to outrun it. Quick, find a tree to climb!”

The friend at the front heard him, ran towards the nearest tree and quickly climbed up 15 feet and rested on a strong bough. The other friend, however, was half way up a tree when he slipped and fell to ground on his back. He wanted to get up, but it was too late; the bear was already over him, sniffing his face.

The friend in the tree saw his troubled friend. “Stay still and play dead,” he shouted from atop the tree, “I heard bears don’t maul you when they think you’re dead.”

The friend on the ground already knew this, and he lay still and held his breath. The bear prodded his body with his paws for about several seconds before his nostrils came to the friend’s ear. The friend on the treetop saw that the bear seemed to be whispering something to the friend on the ground.

After a short moment, the bear left and disappeared into the woods, leaving the friend on the ground unharmed. The friend on the treetop quickly descended and rushed towards his friend, who was slowly getting up while brushing off dirt from his pants.

“I’m very sorry,” said the friend from the tree in an apologizing tone, “I know I shouldn’t have left you on the ground just now. The bear was right; as a friend, I should have come down and helped you anyways.”

“What do you mean?” said the other friend, puzzled.

“The bear,” said the other friend, “I saw it whispered into you ear. I’m guessing it spoke to you about being careful with choosing friends, especially ones who will leave you behind during troubled times, am I right?”

“No, not at all,” said the friend, laughing a bit as he placed an arm on his partner’s shoulder. “That wasn’t what he said at all, and I fully understood what you had to do back then; even if you came down, you’d have been mauled anyway. And I wouldn’t want my friend to be mauled just to save me, now would I?”

“But, if the bear didn’t say what I though it had said, what exactly did he say?”

“Owh, that,” replied the friend, smiling towards his puzzled friend. “The bear said that he was really a vegetarian, and that we shouldn’t have feared him. He whispered this to me because he was afraid other carnivorous bears nearby might hear and make fun of him.”

The other friend was speechless.

“Owh and one more thing,” continued the smiling friend, “the bear also said that, contrary to popular belief, the playing-possum trick doesn’t work against bears, because they’re generally too smart to fall for it.”

THE END

MAS to Use Hyperspace Technology

2009-01-05T20:07:00.000-08:00

KUALA LUMPUR - In order to achieve the targeted nett profit of RM880 million at the end of the year, Malaysian Air System Bhd. plans on installing hyperspace technology on all of their commercial jet airliners. With this newfound technology, passengers can fly from Malaysia to London in just 8 seconds instead of 8 hours.

“I feel that ‘fly’ isn’t exactly the correct term for it,” said Tan Sri Muhamad Munir Abdul Majid, chairman of Malaysia Airlines. “You see, by applying recently discovered laws in quantum physics, we can actually connect two points in the space-time continuum through a worm tunnel by folding reality itself, or at least that’s how I understood it when the technicians explained to me while they were installing hyperspace cores inside our Boeing 747s. My point is, it’s more like ‘alternate-reality shift’ instead of ‘fly’.

Furthermore, he added that passengers will not only be able to travel from one destination to another, they will be able to choose at which point in the time stream they will be arriving. For instance, a man in Johore Bahru who inadvertently missed an important meeting in Japan a day ago can be scheduled to arrive at the Tokyo International Airport safely within two hours before the meeting even started.

“The possibilities are endless,” expressed the chairman as he made a gesture of holding his palms close before pulling them apart from each other to represent endless possibilities.

Despite all the new and enticing services that will be available through the use of hyperspace technology, some questioned if such a technology is stable enough to be used commercially.

“Modern-day reality-altering technologies are too risky and unpredictable,” commented Dr. Cha Os Theo Ry, a respected professor from NASA. “One moment the hole takes you to your scheduled destination at LAX, and another moment it transports you to a parallel dimension inhabited by cosmic space beasts.”

Dr. Cha then explained an incident that happened more than two decades ago involving early experiments in hyperspace technology. “There was once a privately-funded top secret project that operated in a top-secret lab on a remote island, and they were conducting tests on opening portals by violently tearing the very fabric of reality. The project went for weeks until one day the entire island – and by ‘entire island’, I mean the whole land mass – disappeared from the face of the earth, just like that.

When asked about the possible destination of the hyperspace lab after it phased out of existence, Dr. Cha said that the last distress signal that was sent from that place contained distorted cries of human suffering mixed with creepy howling noises that turned out to be hidden satanic verses when the recording was played backwards.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” said Dr. Cha, “but as usual, Malaysia Boleh!”

-BERNAMA

Balasubramaniam Retracts All Statements Against Murder Case, Says “It Was All Just a Big Stupid Mistake”

2009-01-05T20:04:00.000-08:00

KUALA LUMPUR - P. Balasubramaniam, a private investigator who had actively made statements in the past about Datuk Seri Najib Tun Razak’s alleged involvement with the murder of Mongolian woman Altantuya Shaariibuu, shocked everyone yesterday when he retracted all of his statements against Najib, member of the nation’s think tanks and a powerful member of the Royal Family, saying that ‘it was all just a big stupid mistake on my part, my stupid, stupid god-awful mistake.’

“I wish to retract the entire contents of my statutory declaration dated July 1 2008,” said Balasubramaniam with an unnaturally throaty voice, which probably had nothing to do with his larynx having been crushed by a boot pressing down against his neck. “I…uh…had way too much Heineken that day and I…uh…I think my head bumped against…something, leading me to declare wild accusations against the great and infallible highness, Datuk Seri Najib Tun Razak.”

Balasubramaniam, who came to the conference in a shirt that didn’t quite hide the mysterious bruise marks on various parts of his body, was represented by his lawyer, M. Arulampalam. Arulampalam told the reporters that in no way was he physically pressured and harassed by unknown groups to turn his statements around, and that he retracted his statements of his own free will.

“My client is a reasonable and honest man who would never tell a single lie at all,” said M. Arulampalam while holding Balasubramaniam from keeling over, very unlikely due to a dislodged kidney or a fractured rib as a result of blunt-force-trauma from a metallic weapon such as a wrench or a crowbar. “He knew he had made a mistake of accusing The Great Najib of such heinous crimes, and now he is very, very, very sorry that he did that. Please have mercy on him.”

When questioned about the various bruises and deep cuts on his body along with his disjointed left leg, Balasubramaniam seemed to pretend that the injuries didn’t exist at first, saying “Wounds? What wounds?” When reporters pointed out the iron-shaped burn marks on his arm, Balasubramaniam said, “Ooooooh, that wound. Well, I…I…my wife hit me. And then I fell down the stairs. And my arm landed on a lit cigarette on the ground. Yup, that’ it, a lit cigarette.”

Despite Balasubramaniam’s claim, certain parties felt that there are darker, insidious forces at work behind Balasubramaniam’s decision to retract his statements, which is ludicrous because everyone knows how Datuk Seri Najib Tun Razak is such a fine example of a nice man who wouldn’t even hurt a fly.

“As I am familiar with the character of Balasubramaniam, having spent hours with him recording his statement, I am very skeptical that he has signed the second statutory declaration of his own free will,” said Americk Singh Sidu, his former lawyer who also happened to be Captain Obvious. “I am convinced he has been intimidated to do so by either threats or promises, as I can think of no other reason.”

M. Arulampalam stayed throughout the conference and answered further questions while Balasubramaniam left in his car, which was dented and scratched in all places with a hole about the size of a brick in the windshield. The car then blew up into a million pieces, with Balasubramaniam in it, obviously due to a faulty gas tank instead of a bomb planted on the underside of the car.

“THAT is, of course, a coincidental accident and has absolutely no connection at all with the murder trial,” explained M. Arulampalam about the unexpected car explosion.

- BERNAMA

Astley Is Never Gonna Give You Up

2009-01-05T20:00:00.000-08:00

BEVERLY HILLS - Area hunk, Rick Astley, has sworn that he will ‘never gonna give you up, let you down, run around, and desert you’, the ‘you’ possibly referring to his anonymous female love interest.

“Her and me, we’re no strangers to love, and we both know the rules,” said Astley while awkwardly swaying his body left to right and slowly swinging his hands in random directions, as if trying to imitate some poor dance routine. “A full commitment’s what I’m thinking of, and you wouldn’t get that from too many guys.”

Reporters met him the first time at a parking lot during the later part of morning, and he was wearing a blue long sleeve shirt with huge shades when they interviewed him. “I just want to tell y’all how I’m feeling,” said Astley, trying to make the reporters understand.

“The’ve known each other for very long,” said a local bartender, who happens to be Astley’s close friend. “Her heart’s been aching for Astley, and all this long she’s been too shy to admit it. It’s great that both of them have realized what’s going on, and that they’re finally gonna play the game.” Promptly after giving his comment, the bartender spun around three times and continued to do a number of fantastic acrobatic feats while two female dancers danced on the bar stage to some sort of 80s song.

Reporters met Astley a second time later that night at the poolside of his house, and he was wearing a black shirt over a large white overcoat. When reporters asked Astley on how he was currently feeling about the relationship, he only replied “don’t tell me you’re too blind to see.”

A pair of his friends, male and female, was also at the poolside. Reporters tried to interview them, but they were busy engaging in some sort of gay interpretive dancing. The bartender friend was also there, wearing very tight short shorts, and he was back-flipping all over the place.

Before reporters left, Astley added that he will also ‘never gonna make you cry, say goodbye, tell a lie, and hurt you,” the ‘you’ again possibly referring to his anonymous female love interest.

- AP

Latest Research Reveals Mahathir Has 12th Level Intelligence

2009-01-05T19:58:00.000-08:00

KUALA LUMPUR - A recent research conducted by The Institute of Tun Dr. Mahathir Mohamad’s Thinking revealed that the former Prime Minister of Malaysia possesses a 12th level intelligence, the highest degree of intellect that far surpasses any mortal being.

In comparison, an average chimpanzee has an intelligence level of 2, while great minds such as Stephen Hawking, Einstein, and Tesla are within the level 8 league. An average human is around 5.

“This revelation totally blew us away,” said Said Shahri, one of the members tasked with conducting the important research. “We had professors who came all the way from New Zealand just to examine an exact virtual model of Mahathir’s incredible brain. It took only a few minutes of observation before they came to doubt if Mahathir was ever human.”

“Yes, it is true that I have superhuman intelligence,” admitted Dr. Mahathir, who is now known as Mahathir Prime, who communicated with our reporters using high-level telepathy. “And I must admit that all of my actions during the 20 years of my term as Prime Minister were meant to steer Malaysians into the next evolutionary state of consciousness, thus creating a society comprised of meta-humans. Evidently though, I’ve discovered that you can’t turn monkeys into Da Vincis in one fifths of a century.”

It is widely believed that this is the very reason he left Barisan National only recently. The small and shallow mindset of the party must have been too constricting for his unimaginably vast understanding of the universe. “I had visions, VISIONS I tell you, that would have taken Malaysia to the next evolutionary step,” clarified Mahathir Prime, “but the neanderthals down at the hall of Barisan National were holding me back. The consequence? Oil-prices went up, ministers caught in sex tapes, mongolian women being blown up to bits, 8-year-old girls going missing every month, and Akademi Fantasia still getting air time.”

One reporter from another news agency questioned him about the infamous allegations of rigging judiciary appointments to his favor. Mahathir Prime disapprovingly stared deep into the reporter’s eyes, petrifying him for a brief moment before he dropped on all fours and started to make goat sounds. “Puny mortals such as him do not deserve to have human intelligence,” remarked Mahathir Prime as the brainwashed reporter ran out of the conference hall and shat into a flower pot right next to the elevator.

If this is true, then it explains how a third-world nation such as Malaysia rose from its humble roots as a backwater third-world country that nobody cares about to a modernized, developing country that still nobody cares about. It was Mahathir Prime’s 20 years of unparalleled leadership that transformed this nation from being completely unrecognized by the world into a nation that is at least vaguely recognizable and is often related by foreigners as ‘the large country just north of Singapore.’

According to The Institute’s Chairman, Professor Ivy Tan, Mahathir Prime has proven the sheer awesomeness of his intelligence in more than one occasion. “His mind is so powerful, he once shot his own brainwaves back in time and right into the late Tunku Abdul Rahman’s mind, bestowing him the idea of an independent nation in the first place.”

“During the Asian financial crisis of 1997,” added Professor Ivy Tan, “he almost strained his brain just to hold down the market inflation by sheer telekinesis alone.” Our reporters tried to confirm with Mahathir Prime on whether or not he really did accomplish those feats, but our questions were unheeded; our primitive human voice must have sounded like growling animal sounds to his vastly superior consciousness.

Despite his 12th level intellect, Mahathir Prime is a few points short of beating Lee Kuan Yew, the former Prime Minister of Singapore who currently possesses a 13th level Ultra-mind.

- BERNAMA

Terrorists Dispatched After Failed Bombing Mission

2009-01-05T19:53:00.000-08:00

DE_DUST - A counter-terrorist team has successfully brought down a group of terrorists after 5 minutes of violent gunfight in the middle-eastern ruins of De_Dust. It was believed that the terrorists were planning to plant a bomb at a secluded section of the area which was filled with unimportant-looking crates and boxes; the reason for this is still unknown. The terrorists comprised of five members; each wearing different attire representing 5 different terrorist cells from across the globe.

“It was a close call,” quoted Sergeant Sh4aRp_Sh00ta, the commanding officer of the counter-terrorist team, “when Lieutenant S3xorz shot the last terrorist in the head from behind a brick wall, the bomb was already planted and was at 60 seconds and counting. Luckily, Private D3agle had the foresight to buy a bomb defusing kit and managed to disarm the bomb at the last second.”

Ahmed 3leCtrofvnk, one of the terrorists who survived the confrontation and is now held in custody, disapproved of the counter-terrorist team’s method of attack. “They were all AWP sniper whores, and I’m pretty sure that one of the infidel cowards was using wall-hack technology.” Furthermore, there have been unconfirmed reports that some of the counter-terrorist members were camping, a tactic that is frowned upon by military bodies the world over and is banned by the United Server Admins Council.

Despite of the counter-terrorist team’s questionable acts, it is unanimously believed that the terrorists lost the battle because they were all a bunch of n00bs. “There was this one terrorist guy who tried to engage me in a frontal assault using merely his combat knife, while I was clearly holding an M4 Carbine,” commented the Sergeant on the terrorist team’s lack of skillz. “Another team member told me that one of the terrorists tried to throw a HE grenade at him, only to have it bounce off a wall and right back at the terrorist, taking himself out.

However, the n00bness does not fall squarely on the terrorists, as the Sergeant revealed that his counter-terrorist team had one black sheep. “We had this ‘tard early in who kept throwing flash-bang grenades at our faces. Later, he repeatedly shot his other team mates while calling them ‘FAGS’ out loud. He was acting like a real a dick.” There is no need for worry however, for the rogue individual’s misconduct has already been reported to the proper authorities and has earned him a permanent ban from the United Server Admins Council.

“We’ve won the battle, but we’ve still got the rest of the war to fight,” said the anxious Sergeant. “Next week we’re going to De_Aztec, an archeological ruin site in a South American jungle. We received a tip that terrorists are going to blow up a section of the area filled with unimportant crates there, the same as it was here.” When asked of their plans on the imminent attack, the counter-terrorist team explained that instead of taking pre-emptive measures such as red taping the whole place or conduct raids raiding the terrorist camp first, they will engage the terrorist the very second they arrive at De_Aztec, and both the terrorist and the counter-terrorist teams will start on zones furthest from each other where they will spend about five seconds buying weapons and equipment before the fight starts.

Finally, the Sergeant was quoted as saying: “Counter-terrorists win.”

- Reuters

Petrol Price Will Rise by Merely 78 Cents

2009-01-05T19:50:00.000-08:00

KUALA LUMPUR - Prime Minister Ahmad Abdullah Badawi declared at a conference yesterday that the price of petrol will go up by a trifling amount of only 78 cents per liter, effective today, which is far below the 87 gazillion cents predicted by world economy experts whose research was based on casually flipping the channel to BBC and glancing at the news briefly before turning the channel to Astro RIA to watch a rerun of Akademi Fantasia. This makes the current price of each liter of petrol RM2.70 more than a reasonably sane man can afford.

“Due to our administration’s superior governing skills, all Malaysian motorists can enjoy the very, very, very low oil price hike,” said Abdullah, who came to the conference in a petrol-guzzling limousine. “Now, everyone can afford to drive half-way to work every morning before getting out of their cars and pushing them the rest of the way.”

According to local financial think tanks whose opinions are most probably swayed due to their government employment, the world has experienced an increase in the price of natural gas yesterday, and while other countries such as China, Australia, The United States, and European countries have suffered severe price hikes of up to US$Arm-and-Leg per liter, the wise and highly-capable leaders of Barisan National initially succeeded in bringing down the price to just a 10 cent rise, but then they raised it up to 78 cents because the government needs the extra 68 cents to fund the next useless multi-billion dollar project.

“That’s a very nice move there,” said Domestic Trade Minister Shahrir Samad. “It’s this sort of thing that makes me glad that I voted for Barisan National in the last election. Now, if you will excuse me, I must return to my busy schedule of being totally insane.”

Malaysians have generally responded well to this small and unimportant price hike on one of the most crucial commodities to a developing country. “I used to have trouble making up excuses to not go to work,” said Zulkifli Taib, 29 and working in a private firm, “but now I can just say to my boss that in most days I can’t even afford to drive all the way to the nearest gas station, let alone my own office building.”

Shazmin, 23, says, “It used to be that after I subtracted all my monthly expenses from my salary, I’d still have about RM200 left, and without anything else to spend the remainder on, I was forced to keep it all in my bank account. But now that petrol is more costly, I’ve finally found a way to waste all that money. Thank you Pak Lah!”

Malaysian heavy industries, however, have taken this recent hike as a golden opportunity. For example, PERODUA is in the concept stage of developing a small, light-weight, engine-less car that has a large hole beneath the driver seat. This is so that the driver can stretch his legs out and power the vehicle’s mobility using the driver’s own legs, a brilliant concept that was born out of the brilliant mind of one of the model engineers while he was relaxing at his home on a Saturday morning watching a Hanna-Barbara cartoon about a family living in the Stone-Age. PERODUA representatives revealed that this new revolutionary line of cars will be available in dealerships in time for when the price of petrol reaches RM4.00 per liter.

-BERNAMA

Man in Iron Suit Saves Villagers

2009-01-05T19:38:00.000-08:00

GULMIRA - The peaceful people of the middle-eastern village of Gulmira were saved from being massacred by a well known terrorist group yesterday when an unknown individual appeared from out of nowhere clad in a hi-tech suit of armor and promptly ended the bloody conflict by neutralizing the terrorists.

“We have no idea who that guy was,” quoted a high-ranking US Army officer who wishes to be anonymous. “But we really owe him for this one. Gulmira was way out of our jurisdiction, so our forces can’t do squat about the terrorist conflict. I guess that guy in the suit knew about this and did the business for us.”

When interviewed, the villagers described the mysterious vigilante as ‘an angel who descended from the heavens in a red-and-gold scheme suit of armor.’ The suit was reportedly highly resistant to ballistic damage and was equipped with hi-tech weaponry, as witnesses claimed that the vigilante dispatched the terrorists using what appeared to be ‘energy bursts’ that came right out of the vigilante’s palms. According to eye-witness accounts, other armaments include a small missile that was launched from his suit’s forearm that took out a terrorist tank, and two shoulder-mounted cannons that were used in a hostage situation.

After the last of the subdued terrorists was handed to the local residents, the vigilante flew away on what eye-witnesses described as rocket-powered boots. “When I grow up, I want to be just like that nice man in the cool armor,” quoted Ahmed, age 9, who lost his both his parents in the conflict.

When pressed for details, Tony Stark, chairman of Stark Enterprises, the worlds largest developer of hi-tech weaponry, had this to say: “On behalf of Stark Enterprises and Associates, I would like to declare that we have no knowledge and connection with this ‘Iron Man’ character. However, personally, I would like to say that whoever it was flying in that shiny suit was a pretty nice guy, and a charming one to boot.”

In unrelated news, there have been unconfirmed sightings of a large, green humanoid creature wreaking havoc in several areas within New Mexico. General Thaddeus Ross of the U.S. army was unable for comment.

- AP

Bird or Plane, Scientists Debate Over the Taxonomy of Superman

2009-01-05T19:35:00.000-08:00

GERMANY – Scientists from all over the world gathered at the Zas Wilch International University of Modern Sciences yesterday to discuss the taxonomy of the world’s all-time favourite superhero, Superman. So far, it is largely accepted that Superman’s taxonomic classification is either ‘Bird’ or ‘Plane’, the choice between the two being a complicated topic that has been lingering in the scientific community for years.

“According to my long years of research in a myriad of avian species, I very much believe that Superman can safely be dropped in the ‘Bird’ box,” said Professor Ivan McSweeney, while pointing at a video footage of Superman flying through the blue skies of Metropolis. “See that red cape flapping in the wind? It’s movements appear to be similar to the wing movements of the South Brazillian Flying Cockatee.”

“I have to disagree on the ‘Bird’ hypothesis,” said Carl Limburgher, world-reknowned avionics engineer. “Superman looks nothing like a bird, unless you squint really, really hard. Seriously, the way his cape reacts to wind pressure as he flies in the air proves that he is more of a ‘Plane’ rather than a ‘Bird’.

Scientific opinion seems to fall evenly between the two ideas, with some claiming that The Man of Steel is both ‘Bird’ and ‘Plane’.

“I feel that there is no need to categorize Superman in any one of the two classes,” said Professor Beardy Tartakovsky. “Is it too much to accept that he might just be both ‘Bird’ and ‘Plane’?”

“Superman may have a lot of superpowers such as super-strength and heat vision, but being two things at once certainly isn’t one of them,” said Professor Ivan McSweeny. “Remember Schroeder’s Cat? This is the same thing.”

Despite ‘Bird’ or ‘Plane’ being the two most prominent hypotheses, there are several wild theories that attemp to explain Superman’s true class as a species. For example, one theory states that Superman is actually a Kryptonian, since he was born in the ill-fated planet Krypton before he landed on Earth. Most scientists seem to disregard this idea however, believing that such a fanciful theory is stepping out of the bounds of the scientific method and into the realm of pseudoscience.

“Superman, an extraterrestrial?Are we going to believe in alien UFO mumbo jumbo now? Zheeeesh,” commented Professor Chang Long Wang.

Finally, Professor Charlston McNamara, a renowned figure in the scientific community, had this to say: “Maybe, just maybe, Superman is neither a bird nor a plane, and that he is simply Superman.”

- AP

A Marine and a Monster in Space

2007-08-26T07:20:00.000-07:00

Sweat rolled down Pvt. Bitterman’s neck as he slowly traversed through the gloomy hallways of the Strogg base, his mind alert and his eyes scouring for any sign of the bio-mechanical aliens. Even in the dark, he could see metal pipes lining the steel walls, and he followed these pipes which he had hoped should lead him to the underground sewer tunnels, where he had at least a slight chance of escape from the dreaded fortress.

He was just about a meter from one among a series of geometrical-themed blast doors when he suddenly heard a faint hiss coming from the dark shadows of the hallway. He turned around to face what ever sort of creature that was threatening him, only to have the hiss coming again from his back. “The fucker is crawling up the ceiling,” Bitterman thought. So he spun around real quick and aimed his double-barreled shotgun about 45 degrees upwards before letting out a shot.

‘Boom!’ sounded the gun, and the buckshot went narrowly pass the shadowy creature and hit one of the metal pipes lined on the ceiling. Steam came rushing out of the ruptured pipes, and the creature squealed before falling from the ceiling and crashing down to a spot on the floor where what little light that was present shed upon it’s misshapen form.

Bitterman only briefly looked at the creature – it was part machine, part flesh, all monster. It looked like something Satan would have spawned from the deepest bowels of Hell, only with a dash of science fiction with its various gothic tech melded onto its already horrible body.

The creature was quick to get up from his fall and charged at Bitterman with the resoluteness of a mindless beast – claws, sharp teeth, and metallic spikes protruding from its body came rapidly at the soldier. But Bitterman only had to move his aim slightly to the center of his view – right at the head of the incoming tech-spawn – and again let off a blast. The creature’s head exploded as it leapt for him in mid-air, and it fell to the ground, forming a pile of mangled flesh and ruined hardware right in front of his feet, dead.

Bitterman shot the creature again, just to be safe. The adrenaline surging within him was gradually subsiding as he crossed over the bio-mechanical carcass and approached the blast door in front of him. He reached for the touch-sensitive panel screen and disengaged the door. The steel bulks that formed the blast door hissed as it slid open, with ominous vapors slithering out from the other side, which was totally devoid of any light. Another hallway.

Bitterman looked beyond the door, into the darkness. He took a deep breath, collecting what little sanity he had left before stepping into the portal and into a new realm of horror.

Another Story Involving Kittens

2007-08-25T06:51:00.000-07:00

This happened in a time period significantly later than the previous story. It was a weekday morning, and my parents were just one breakfast away from going to work. I was out in the yard enjoying the refreshing morning air when suddenly I noticed a kitten creeping under my mother’s Mazda Astina, a car that my mother has had for more than 15 years now. Curious, I checked under the car and found that a maternal cat had moved her litter into an open yet dangerous compartment within the bottom of the car, which was directly under the engine. I lay down and tried to coax the kittens out of the hole, but they were afraid of me – they would jump back up into the hole as soon as they saw my hand desperately trying to reach for them.

Then I saw my parents come out of the front door with their car keys, and they were about to drive off to work. I couldn’t even imagine what would happen to the kittens if my mother were to turn on the engine. I tried to warn them that there were kittens hiding under mother’s car, but they just wouldn’t listen – I was, afterall, a small child with a wild imagination. My late grandmother was in the house that day, and she came out when she heard the commotion outside. Gently, she assured me that there were no kittens under the car, but I knew better. I was powerless as I saw my mother getting into the driver seat of her car and turned on the ignition. Her engine roared, but I didn’t hear any meowing – perhaps the kittens had realized the danger and came out just in time. For a moment, I felt relieved.

When my mother tried to back the car out of the driveway, it was then when everyone heard a high-pitched squeak, and my eyes shifted quickly at the car tires. One of the kittens didn’t crawl out from under the the car in time and had his cute little paw run down by one of the huge tires. The kitten limped away, obviously in pain, and I was screaming and crying, at the same time scolding my elders for not listening to me in the first place.

The poor kitten survived the ordeal, but his right paw was permanently crippled, and it had to limp around for the rest of its life. It stayed with us for about a year or two, and the kitten grew up to be a cute little cat until the day it ran away. I never saw it again.

An Event from Childhood

2007-08-24T11:19:00.000-07:00

I once killed a small kitten by accident when I was just a small child. I was about ten years old, and we used to have a litter of kittens crawling around in one room in the house, which is where we were watching TV at that particular morning. My younger brother and I were anxiously waiting for The Power Rangers to come up. The Power Rangers was a famous children’s program back then, and we were so excited that we were jumping around the room wildly. I jumped off the couch and landed on the floor, but then I felt something furry and soft squished beneath my feet. I was horrified when I found out that I have accidentally stepped on one of the kittens. The poor creature was paralyzed and severely injured, but it didn’t die - it breathed in short intervals and had a thick line of blood trailing from his mouth. I wept the whole day, and at night I prayed to God really hard for the kitten to heal miraculously. The next morning, I fearfully checked if the kitten was okay – if my prayers were granted – only to find out that the kitten had already died. My father and I buried the kitten at a spot outside of our house later that morning, although that being a long time ago and having grown up now, I've already forgotten where exactly that spot is.

A Scenario of a Boyfriend's Worst Nightmare

2007-08-24T11:09:00.000-07:00

One cold, breezy night, Jamie and Karen are spending some intimate time in a beautiful park. They are sitting on a bench facing a lake, the side of their hips touching each other. The moon is beautifully round and bright, and an opera of crickets chirping complements the romantic scene

“Jamie,” Karen says, her hand slithering over her boyfriend’s lap, “there’s something I need to tell you.”

“What is it, sweetheart?” says Jamie, his arm going around Karen’s back and hugging her as his eyes gaze into Karen’s. “You know you can tell me everything. No secrets between us, right?”

“Owh, Jamie,” Karen replies, her eyes turning away from her before her face becomes a bit down. “You’re so sweet and all, but I’m afraid that you’ll-“

Before she can finish her sentence, Jamie releases his hug from her and stands up from the bench and faces her with a stern countenance. “Karen, please don’t say that there’s another guy.”

“No, Jamie,” she replies with a voice belying hesitance, “I love you, and only you Jamie. You know that’s true!”

Jamie is relieved to hear those words from her, but it still isn’t over. “But then what, Karen? What is it that you’re having a problem telling me?

Before Karen can open her mouth to reply, her eyes catch a faint glitter, like that of a small piece of shiny metal, from afar. She knows what it is, and quickly she grabs her boyfriend and pulls him to the ground before a small metal object narrowly whizzes pass them and hitting the wood of the bench. Perplexed, Jamie gets out of Karen’s embrace and stands up, only to see a deadly shuriken sticking out of the bench.

“Jamie, get down!” Karen yells. Still in bewilderment, Jamie quickly hits the dirt, just in time for two more shurikens to fly just above him.

“Holy crap!” shouts Jamie, panicking. “What the heck was that?”

“Jamie, that thing that I’m supposed to tell you,” she says, her eyes searching the shadows around them. “The truth is, I’m really-“

Her last words do not get to escape from her mouth before she is interrupted by sounds coming from a nearby bush. Two ninjas, dressed in black attire, jump out of the shadows before drawing their deadly katana swords.

“Heiya!” shouts one of the ninjas. “Karen-san, surrender the secret information now, or you shall meet your doom!”

“Come and take it from me!” Karen shouts back as she draws two pointy daggers that before were perfectly hidden underneath her sweater. Jamie gapes. “Stand back, Jamie darling, this fight is beyond you!”

One of the ninjas flies toward her with a flying kick, but she is fast enough to step away from the attack to land a hard stab into the ninja’s crotch. As the ninja falls to the ground and rolls side to side in agonizing pain, the other ninja closes in and swings his katana at her. She manages to intercept it with one of her daggers, and swiftly she uses the other one to impale his arm. The ninja collapses, with blood gushing out of his arm.

The other fallen ninja, after recovering from his injury, comes to aid his partner. What follows is a scene straight from a Jet Li action movie, with two ninjas battling a single woman with killer moves like Neo. Jamie only stands at the side, awed and dumbfounded by this turn of events. Karen has got a lot of explaining to do.

About five minutes later, all the ninjas lie on the ground, their breaths exasperated and their bodies beaten. Karen sheathes her daggers back inside her sweater and slowly approaches one of the ninjas who looks like he is still able to talk. She crouches down to him and roughly snatches him by the collar with one hand, her face looking fiercely intimidating.

“Who sent you, scumbag?!” she roars with one tightly-clenched fist shaking in front of his face. “Who do you work for? The Illuminati? The Secret Neo-Nazi Organization? The Hidden Soviets?”

“That, my dear spy, is something that you will never find out.” Swiftly and painfully, the ninja twists his head, effectively breaking his own neck. The ninja would rather commit suicide than to divulge any information about his secret faction. Karen then turns toward the other ninja, only to find out that he has done the same thing.

The scene turns quiet again, with only the chirping of crickets filling the air. Karen’s fierce face slowly changes into worry as she turns toward her boyfriend, Jamie. “Look, Jamie darling, I need to explain something to you but I need you to be a bit understandi-“

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” interrupts Jamie, with things becoming more clear for him. “I understand that you’re a super-secret agent who knows kung-fu and is working undercover for a the government for god knows what reason. I’m cool with that. I mean, it’s weird and all, but we’ll find a way to live through it.” Jamie smiles as he walks towards Karen, reaching out to hold Karen’s soft, blood-soaked hand.

“But Jamie darling, that’s not what I was trying to tell you. I mean, I know that hiding my secret identify from you was wrong, but it wasn’t it.”

Jamie is let down. “Then what is it, Karen? What else could you possibly be hiding from me that is bigger?”

“Well,” she says hesitantly, her cheeks turning red. “I’m seven weeks pregnant with your baby.”

You want a piece of me, boy?

2007-06-02T05:23:00.000-07:00

The grim chamber had been quiet, buzzing only with the faint sounds of electrical currents and small machine parts, before the loud lock mechanism of the blast door leading into the chamber was initiated. It whirred in a series of spins, twists and clicks until the mechanism was complete, and the blast door slowly slid open with steamy white vapor rushing out due to pressure from inside the airlock. The air soon cleared, and a silhouette of a large man was seen at the mouth of the entrance. The man stepped out, shedding light onto his topless, muscular body and his ragged, orange pants, and much lower were bar-linked shackles fastened around his ankles. His head sported a crew cut, his chin was stubbly, and his face bore many scares, along with a stern countenance of a grizzled war veteran. His eyes were dark; his pupils were so large that it almost swallowed all the white, perhaps a deformity caused by prolonged cryogenic suspension. And he had a cigar in his mouth, its wispy grey smoke gently drifting in the dark, moist atmosphere of the chamber.

He had been a prisoner frozen in lifeless suspension in a cryogenic coffin. Now he was about to become a Marine.

The man proceeded to walk calmly across a catwalk and onto a round platform that was at the centre of the small chamber. There were two foot holes fixed on the platform, and the man placed both his feet inside them. As soon as he did, small robotic clamps came from beneath the platform to disengage the shackles before firmly fastening his feet to the foot holes. The clamps then disappeared out of sight, and the platform slowly rose about several feet higher before halting. The man stood idly on the round platform for a while until a pair of tendrils came down from above and grappled the man’s wrist before slowly raising them higher, draping both of his arms just above the man’s head. Soon a whirring sound was heard; it was the power turbine, charging up and preparing to initiate the assembly of the Terran Marine Power Armor.

A computer screen came down in front of the man, showing the current progress of the power suit-assembling process. The word ‘ACTIVE’ was blinking at the end of a string of commands on-screen.

Robotic arms, which were fixed around the chamber and before had been dormant, then began to come alive, retracting from the walls as they were about to start their work on the man. Several of the mechanical hands procured a set of chassis and fastened them onto the man’s torso and limbs. Others helped by placing wires, tubes and mechatronical parts around the chassis with screws and bolts before covering them by welding pieces of armor plating onto the chassis. The plates were ultramarine blue, and they suffered from small dents, scratched paint and other signs of wear, perhaps taken from an older set of armor that had been through combat a few times. The mechanical hands worked from the ground up; the man was half-way through the process, and already his lower half was fully covered with high-tech armor while the machines worked on the aegis along with the insertion of plasma cells that will provide almost perpetual power for the battle suit.

One of the hands had finished implanting an artificial spinal cord to the back of the man’s actual spine. The two rows of needles on the artificial spinal chord automatically and subsequently embedded themselves into the man’s back, making impulse signal contact with his brain He would be able to command almost full control of his power armor just by willing its movement with his mind. Next was the extension gauntlets; due to the bulky nature of the power armor, the pair of robotic gloves would serve as an extension of his actual hands by the manipulation of gyro-servo devices that was placed within his grasp before the machines welded the extension gauntlets together with the armor around his forearm.

The process was 80% in completion; almost all of him was covered with metal while several tubes were pumping cryo-fluids into the armor cooling system. The tubes dislodged themselves and disappeared after they were finished, and the tendrils that had been draping his arms came down slowly before releasing his wrists. A pair of huge, round pauldrons bearing his unit ID on the left side and the insignia of the Terran Dominion on the right side came down and were attached to his shoulders. Once it was done, two exhaust ports at the back of the power armor started to light up; the suit was testing overall system functions for optimal performance. Everything tested well, and all the bonds that constricted the man’s movement were loosened. The man was now one with his power armor.

The finishing touch; an automatic rifle was lowered from above just within reach of the man’s mechanical gauntlets. The rifle weighs 60 lbs and uses depleted uranium shell cartridges for ammunition. It can fire up to 2500 bullets per minute in both automatic and in rounds, and it is also capable of launching a frag grenade that explodes on contact. It is the standard-issue firearm for the Terran Marine Corp.

And then all was done. Standing on that platform was no longer just any man. He was now a Marine towering 8 feet tall and fully clad from head to toe in power armor 8 inches thick, armed with a powerful gun, frag grenades and other devastating gadgetry. But all the armor and firepower won’t be enough once he is in the battlefield. He might have to face against the esoteric, relentless forces of the Protoss warriors. He might have to steel himself against the frightening claws and talons of the nightmarish Zerg swarms. He might even have to battle against other Terran marines, men and women serving their own factions with guns like himself.

No, the prerequisites for being a marine are more than just mere material armor or weapon. It takes stoic courage, guts of steel, and a special kind of sanity. These qualities are both a marine’s true weapon and shield against the horrors of war that await him. Any man can slip into a power armor and go into battle, but only a few can make the return journey alive.

‘ASSEMBLY PROCESS: FINISHED’

The Marine stepped forward, embracing his new amalgamated self. He had been in cryogenic suspension for longer than he could remember, and now he stood as one amongst millions who will bring forth the military wrath of the Terran Dominion. Just as the ice had thawed from his body, the same was with his mind. With the cigar still burning in his mouth, he pondered how he had lived his life before, how he was now, and the role that he was about take in the big picture of things to come. Four words came to him, and he uttered it grimly before bringing the glass visor down to hide his face:

“Hell, it’s about time.”

Reaper

2007-05-27T09:19:00.000-07:00

My head was throbbing with pain. Flickers from a hanging bulb above me seemed like blurry flashes to my tired eyes as I sat on an old wooden chair in front of an equally-old wooden table, trying to drown the pain away with a full glass of water on my right hand-side, now left third-quarters, while at the other side lay a silenced pistol, the only friend that I could count on in my years as a high-profile contract killer. The gunshot wound on the left side of my stomach still felt unbearable beneath the red-stained swathe of bandages around my mid-section, although it would have been worse without the painkillers and the anesthesia shot I applied to myself half an hour ago. I had never known dragging my bleeding self the short distance between the hit scene and the shoddy getaway apartment could be so harrowing.

Sirens. Police Sirens. Even in my weary state of mind, I could hear them coming without looking out the window, its twin panes flapping from the gentle night breeze. Not just one, but from two police cars, and then came some more. It didn’t take long until the whole police department parked outside the apartment building with their cruisers and their black vans. I imagined they were then scrambling all over the place, evacuating civilians in the vicinity and blocking all possible exits out of the apartment building while the dark-attired spec-ops team geared up before the inevitable storm-in. The whirring of helicopter blades filled the air outside while bright spotlights shone at the windows and balcony of my apartment. Apparently, I was trapped.

But that didn’t worry me. Or at least, it didn’t worry me as much as what had happened at the St. Lacroque Theater. The scene where I had been shot.

*****

I had a contract hit for a Francesco Orleon, a hot-shot politician famous for denouncing several other political personalities for getting their hands dirty in bribery. He didn’t really care much about justice; he also lived in a glass house, and he merely used the scandal to spearhead his own agenda of being elected as the next mayor of Paris. Naturally for such a politician, he had a long list of enemies, and he just happened to tick off the wrong sort of people – the sort who had strong ties in the organized crime business.

I was lounging rather excessively in one of the exotic resort islands in the Caribbean one day when I received an encrypted message through my ‘agency’, telling me that several distinguished ‘clients’ were looking for someone with my ‘special talent and high degree of skill.’ I made a call, planned a date and place, and all was set. The next day I took the first flight to Paris and met them there at a disclosed location. They gave me Francesco’s bio, particulars and other important information, and I gave them my word and my contract that Francesco won’t see another day after 28th of March, with a fee of $200,000 – a down-payment of $50,000 and the rest after the job was done.

Everything seemed to be going as planned. Francesco and his wife were at the St. Lacroque Theater, just like the info in his file said. And so was I, dressed in a black three-piece suit and a pair of shades, carrying in hand a briefcase of death. When the stage went alive with various exotic art performances, I was hidden behind a shadowy corner unpacking and re-assembling the sniper rifle that had been tucked in pieces in the disguised briefcase. I had Francesco in my scope and was about to pull the trigger when I heard someone shouting at me. It distracted me a little too much that my shot missed just about a quarter inch from his ear, but a quarter inch miss has just about the same effect as a quarter mile. I tried to snipe him again, but it was too late; his security team was quick enough to whisk him and his wife away from the opera house while everyone else ran in panic from the alarming shot.

Knowing that I’ve blown the job, I proceeded to my getaway plan. I snuck quietly out of the shadows and blended in with the torrent of the crowd rushing out of the theater, trying to escape from whoever pointed me out. As soon as I got out in the open, I whisked out of the crowd and lost myself into the dark labyrinth of alleyways. I ran through tight corridors amongst trash bins and juvenile graffiti, and for a moment I thought I was clear, but when I turned a corner, there he was.

The man, who was about my height, wore a shirt and slacks under a leather coat, stood only several feet away and was aiming his gun at me. “Freeze!” he shouted, an indication that he was with the law. I had a good look at his visage and found myself in a feeling of uneasiness. The way he looked at me was as if he had known me even before the events of that night. That was impossible, since nobody really knew who I was or what I looked like due to my thorough discretion in making witnesses who recognized me disappear. “You won’t escape this time, hitman!” shouted the person again.

FBI, CIA, MI6; who knows who this guy was. He must have had followed my case for months now, trailing the crumbs of dead bodies that I had left behind on my previous hits. You can’t be the most notorious and elusive contract killer in the gun-for-hire trade and not be pursued and hunted down by various law organizations around the world. The only reason the FBI didn’t put me on their Top 10 Most Wanted list was because they weren’t even sure that I existed. They had no name, no picture, no bio; all they had of me were spook stories about how politicians, company CEOs, celebrities and other famous figures took a bullet, poison, or a bomb under the car seat, while the perpetrator – me - vanished as if into thin-air. I was a ghost, a rumor, a ‘fabrication of the media as a result of public paranoia towards assassination conspiracies.’ I was that good.

But this guy in front of me, he knew that I wasn’t just a story, and that I was as real as the killings that I’ve done. And for some reason, I seemed to remember that mug of his from somewhere too, only that it was tucked inside the deepest recesses of my memory for me to know for sure. Perhaps I saw him on a contract hit I did three months ago in Peru. Maybe it was the job at Croatia. He felt like a recognizable shadow to me as I was to him.

I needed to act fast. The sound of footsteps rushing far behind me suggested that the police were on the prowl, and in front of me was a man with a gun. So I did what a desperate assassin would do after botching a mission and had nowhere to go; whip out a piece and let it settle things out. My hand was fast on taking out the silenced 9mm Glock pistol from my black jacket, but not fast enough to out-race the man’s trigger finger. Before I knew it, a sharp pain blew at my gut which had me down on my knees. I reached down to clutch the wound, and a warm, wet feeling surrounded my hand. When I held my hand up to see it, it was covered with a coat of crimson, with thick drops of blood trailing down from my palm and onto my cuff. It was then that my mind started to fail me as blood drained out of my brain and as it filled with feelings of doom and helplessness.

During all my years as an assassin, never had I been shot in any way. There were close calls, but to have a bullet traveling almost as fast as the speed of sound and sink deep into your flesh, the tremendous momentum coupled with the blunt end of the bullet piercing your skin and ripping through your sinewy muscles and tendons was a new, excruciating experience for me, which couldn’t come at a worse time than during that tense moment.

The man saw me kneeling down in pain from his shot and thought that he had me. But I was too stubborn to give up. With a small ounce of strength and a large keg of determination, I lifted up my gun and fired my shots. All of them missed him as he dodged aside and fell behind a wall. That gave me time to think before he comes out and pops another one that will take me down for good. I thought, and when I couldn’t think of anything, I thought harder. It was then that my mind was distracted by my watching my own blood dripping and trailing its way along the asphalt and filled the embossed texture of a man-hole cover.

That was it. I reached for the man-hole cover and tried to pry it open with one bloody hand while my other hand shot suppressing fire towards the general direction of the wall the stalker was hiding behind, hoping that he wouldn’t have the guts to spring out and take another round of shots at me. It didn’t take long before the man-hole cover popped open like a bottle cap, and a repugnant odor quickly rushed out of the hole and assaulted my sense of smell. Dubious movements and noises within the dark sewer made me think thrice about going in, but I had no other choice if I were to escape from this corner. And so I descended into the darkness, leaving my pursuer only air when he went out of his hiding for his turn to shoot.

The sewer was dark and grim. The tunnels were so devoid of light that I had only my outreached hands for navigation and my instinct as a compass as I waded through a stream of sewage water that was high up to my knee. The unbearable wound in my gut didn’t help, and my mind was racing, wondering over and over again who that mysterious man was and the consequences of him now trailing my every move. Sounds of rats and the creepy feeling that roaches were clinging onto my body made my skin crawl, but I steeled my nerves and stumbled forth until I came to a part of a tunnel with long light fixtures lined on the side of the walls. Then I came to dry pavement, and I walked for about half a mile through the twisted maze of tunnels and climbed out of the nearest man-hole and up into the streets above, to my relief.

I looked around the area once I got out, taking deep breaths of air to purge the vile gas that polluted my lungs as I checked on my wound. I found no exit wounds behind my back, so I figured the bullet was still buried inside my gut. I was in an alley leading out into a street, and I recognized the place. It was an unpopular part in the far edge of the city where the streets and sidewalks are usually empty as the clock approaches midnight, which is what I counted on to avoid unwanted eyes. Across the street and three blocks away was my getaway apartment, a fall-back place where I planned to hide if the hit job turns out to be a failure, which it did. I was about to cross the street when a young woman came from my right carrying a plastic bag, perhaps groceries and take-away dinner. She was probably walking home after closing shop, and she gasped, petrified at the sight of a bloodied man with wet slacks.

She had witnessed me, which I thought I couldn’t let her get away with. My hand was half-way towards my silenced gun in my jacket, but I second-guessed and decided that there had been enough shots fired for one night. Scared, the lady dropped her bag and ran away, probably thinking that I was a crazy psycho lunatic loose from an asylum somewhere and just gutted a homeless person. She might have went to the police to report me and have the entire department chasing after me as soon as they were certain that I was the man they’re hunting in the St. Lacroque incident, but my head was too woozy for such things to matter. The woman disappeared into the darkness of the night, never knowing how close she was from having a bullet swiftly embedded into the back of her skull.

I continued forth, crossing the street and hurried towards the getaway apartment with my head hunched and my hand clutching my gut to hold the pressure, with patches and splatters of red stain trailing in my wake. Finally I reached the apartment building and whisked pass the guy sleeping behind the reception desk. Since the lift was out of order, the flight of stairs felt like a descent into hell, with each step being a cringe-inducing torture as the malformed flesh in my wound twisted and turned. I was soaked in sweat and blood once I reached the 5th floor, almost drained of my mettle. Quickly I went inside my getaway apartment and locked the door behind me. But it still wasn’t over – I had to do something about my bullet wound.

I struggled towards the bathroom and opened the shelf behind the mirror up the sink. There sat a bottle of painkillers and an anesthetic syringe. The pain subsided a bit once I took both supplements, but the hard part was yet to come – the accursed bullet was still in me.

I closed the windows and the doors to the balcony before I turned the ceiling fan on three and sat down on one side of a bed. I took my jacket and ripped off my bloody shirt to give the wound some air, and I found out to my horror that it looked twice as bad as I thought it had looked like when I glanced it 15 minutes before outside. I took a deep breath and shoved a finger into the bloody hole, trying not to cringe as I probed for the bullet. I couldn’t stand the pain, so I reflexively pulled out the finger just before I cried out and fell onto my side. I collected myself and sat back up, determined to dig the little piece out before gangrene sets in. This time I chomped down a piece of white cloth and continued to shove the finger inside again, the pain much more excruciating the second time. Finally I felt a cold piece of metal touching the tip of my finger, and I kept digging and coaxing the bullet to come out of my flesh until it fell out and bounced off the wooden floor before rolling onto a floor mat.

I had only been through half the crude medical procedure – I had to stop the bleeding and close the wound before it gets infected. I took out the silenced gun from my coat, dislodged the bullet cartridge, and popped out a bullet. I reached for a knife from a drawer and carefully dismantled the cap at the base of the bullet so that I could access the gun powder inside. Once it was done, I sprayed some of the powder around my wound, and, with a piece of cloth once again in my mouth, I lit a match stick and dropped the flame onto the wound. My gut lit up like a firecracker, and the pain was too much that I fell out of the bed and rolled around the floor writhing and moaning in extreme agony. I lay on the floor for several minutes, taking rapid breaths while the sweat from my forehead and the pain in my gut evaporated under the healing winds of the ceiling fan. Soon the pain disappeared completely, and I got up and opened the windows and the balcony doors again to greet the calming draft of Parisian night air as well as admiring the nocturnal, romantic beauty of the City of Lights.

I reached for a roll of bandages.

*****

And that was how everything went. After a long shower to rid the funk from the sewers and a new black 3-piece suit fresh out of the closet, I sat alone in that small room with a thousand thoughts swirling up like a maelstrom in my mind. I lifted the gun from the table and stared at it, my draping fingers gently probing the cold, smooth surface of the man-killer, examining the nozzle, the butt handle, the recoil, every inch of it as if it was the clearest thing that I could comprehend at the moment.

“Attention, suspect!” boomed an all-too-familiar voice from a megaphone outside the building. “This is Special Agent Clarkson from the Federal Bureau of Investigations, the man who shot you earlier. We already have the entire building surrounded. There is nowhere else to go. Drop your arms and slowly walk out of the building with your hands up!”

Clarkson. That name stuck to mind so easily as his face had been, seeing as this person had been my bane for most of the night. What was an FBI agent doing in Paris anyway? And even if someone had known that I would assassinate Francesco, how could they have known that I would be executing it precisely at this very night, at that theater? I couldn’t have possibly been tipped off, since I’m sure all my negotiations and contact lines were completely secure. This Clarkson person knew too much about me. Too much for either of our sakes.

I was still deep in thought when several smoke bombs hurled through the windows and rolled on the floor, filling the entire room with black, suffocating smoke. Apparently the Gendarmerie Nationale, the French equivalent of the SWAT team, was about to go in. They were bringing in the big guns after me.

My time was up, and I needed to act fast. I finished what was left of the glass of water and picked up my gun, the butt handle squeezed tightly in my hand as I crossed towards the door. I avoided the windows – snipers had probably positioned themselves outside, ready to put me down at the first sign of my limb. Instincts told me that a team of six special-ops guys were rushing for my door right about then, so I just stood next to the door and spied through the peephole for their coming.

Just as I predicted, through the peephole I saw bulbously distorted images of the black team coming in from a staircase at the other end of the hall that ran straight facing my door. Each member hastily took their positions in front of my door as they wait for their captain to give the hand signal. I saw my chance in this and, with all my might, kicked the door down into pieces of wood and splinters. The team was taken aback from my sudden action, and if that wasn’t enough, the black, suffocating smoke that had stayed pressured inside my apartment instantly rushed out and enveloped them, bewildering them even more. I quickly stepped out and into their line of fire, and it was during that intense brief moment when time seemed to slow down for me. A hue of blooming sepia tone started to fill my sight which gradually came down to monochrome. It was the spirit of my gun taking over me.

Like a mongoose swiftly dodging the venomous fangs of a cobra, or a housefly whisking with ease through a barrage of swats, so was my perception and reflex when it came to close combat with firearms. All of us pulled the trigger, but I was like a formless phantom to them, swiftly moving through the smoke and evading their shots. I managed to plant three bullets inside three of their craniums. Another one of the remaining fired a line of rapid shots aimed at my face, but it was only a matter of moving my head just a little to the side as the bullets zipped pass a few inches away from my ear before I pointed my Glock at him and responded in kind.

Four down, and in a microsecond the other standing two were about to rain bullets at me. I dodged to my right when they fired their shots, all of them barely missing me as they punch holes through my flapping jacket. I landed on my side, and, with an aim that was perfect and true, I fired two bullets – the first one pierced through a guy’s throat, ripping his windpipe, while the second dug deep into another guy’s chest. The former victim died instantly. The latter collapsed onto the floor and tried to moan in pain before realizing that he was puking red from having his lungs drowned in blood. He tried to crawl away on all fours when I approached him, and when his fortitude failed him, he dragged and clawed across the floor like a slug. He flipped over to look at me, and I could see his eyes wide and unblinking at the terrifying sight of the Grim Reaper wading in smoke like a ghost and slowly approaching him in a three-piece suit with a pistol in hand, along with the ultimate realization that his death was near. I pressed one foot against his chest and, with my gun aimed at his head, swiftly ended his misery.

When the smoke settled, six agents of the law lay dead with their walky-talkies buzzing in French, and my perception cleared once more. I couldn’t waste any more time – the two hallways met together at one corner, like the shape of an L, the corner being where the door to my apartment was, or had been. I heard more voices of rushing boots coming up the staircase at the end of the hallway in front of me, so I turned to and ran for the other hallway for the emergency stairway. I passed four rooms on my left, and once I got to the fifth, I heard more of them coming up the emergency stairway. I was trapped, but it is when I’m cornered and desperate that I’m the most creative and resourceful.

I turned to the apartment door on my left and kicked the door open. I rushed in uninvitingly, hoping that nobody was in, and went straight for the balcony facing the roofless atrium of the apartment building. I looked up at the sky, the square opening of the atrium perfectly framing the crescent moon along with a formation of faint stars hiding behind soft sinewy clouds. I accidentally knocked a flower pot off the railing, sending it plummeting five floors down and crashing onto the rooftop of a garage below. It was a long way down.

But I had no other choice. I had to risk the fall. I climbed over the railing and, after a deep breath, leapt off the edge of the balcony. The plunge was a bit long, but when it came to the landing on the garage roof, it felt like I had broken every bone in my body even though I was perfectly fine and in one piece. I got up and brush the dust off my coat. I looked down from the garage roof and saw a couple of police patrolling along a tight corridor, and they were about to pass a spot right under me. When they did, I jumped off the roof and right onto one of them, instantly breaking his neck, while the other one stumbled and fell from my sudden descent. I hurried back up to my feet before he did, and when he was still on his fours, I got to his back, cupped my hands around his head and snapped his neck. The body count was raised to eight that night.

Quickly I dragged their lifeless bodies inside the garage, fearful of anyone else stumbling on them. I undressed myself and hastily exchanged my bullet-ridden attire with one of the dead police; the police cap, blue shirt, black slacks, baton, shades, cuffs, pistol, badge, everything, right down to the most miniscule detail. A few finishing touches and I was done, and I looked exactly like one of them; just a cop amongst the army of law enforcers crawling out there that night hunting for a sneaky assassin. His walkie-talkie was buzzing, so I had to shut it off before I hung it on my belt.

I went into the nearest door, entering back into the apartment building. I crossed several hallways, brushing against several special-ops guys who were rushing upstairs looking for the hitman who was no longer there. Then I came through the main hall at the reception and out of the main entrance of the building for the whole army of police officers to see. Not one of them recognized me, which might had been credited to the shades and police cap that hid most of my distinguishing features.

I walked down the stairs from the main entrance to the sidewalk. The atmosphere was buzzing with activity as the cops were moving everywhere to do small errands, most of them uniformed while a few others in plain-clothes. I kept my cool as I mingled amongst the crowd of police who stood by their cruisers and their guns at the ready, yet I couldn’t help feeling like I was swimming in a tank of sharks while wearing a shark costume; the dreaded feeling that any one of them could bust me at any time. All it would take was an officer with a keen eye and a substantial amount of curiosity and it would be curtains down for me.

Then it dawned on me; perhaps I could take this chance and look around for my pain-in-the-neck friend Mr. Clarkson. My eyes were scouring the place for his face before I felt a hand tapped on my shoulder from behind. I turned around to face a cop

“Hey, buddy,” said the cop in French. “I got a couple of guys who went inside the building and they were supposed to come out five minutes ago. I saw you coming out of the building just now, so did you see either of them?”

I know French, but it had been a while since the last time I spoke in that tongue. Five or six years perhaps, and I was a little bit rusty. So I braced myself and spilled it out:

“Oh, les. J'ai trébuché dans eux quand j'étais là dedans. Ils ont dit qu'ils ont trouvé quelque chose que menerait au meurtrier et qu'ils allaient le payer la note.”
(Oh, them. I stumbled into them when I was in there. They said they found something that would lead to the killer and that they were going to check it out.)

“Oh, I see,” replied the cop, satisfied with my answer. “You know, you don’t really look too good. There are still one or two donuts left in the van up there, so feel free to help yourself.”

I nodded in agreement and turned away from him. Then my sight fell upon a police cruiser with its front driver seat door opened, the keys still dangling from the ignition. Nobody seemed to mind about the car, so I walked in and stepped into the driver seat as if the car was mine and closed the door. I turned the ignition until the engine roared, released the hand break, strapped on the seat belt like a good police officer, stepped on the clutch and pedal, and drove out of there to my freedom. I glanced at my rear view mirror to see the cops still clueless about my sneaky escape. Suckers.

It wasn’t long before I left the twist-and-turning streets of Paris and was cruising smoothly down the highway, abandoned by all worries of apprehension. I turned off the cruiser’s buzzing intercom and switched on the radio, although it was unfortunate that all the songs were in French.

Then I wondered about Mr. Clarkson. The man who had known me. The man who shot me. The man who would hunt me down as long as he breaths. The man’s existence threatened mine, and I couldn’t have that.

I had to kill him. Somehow.

*****

Clarkson woke up to the buzz of his alarm clock, rising up from his bed and yawned to greet the morning air in his lovely house in a Los Angeles suburb. He tapped the alarm and rubbed the crud out of his eyes, just to be pierced by blades of light that came from the windows of his bedroom. When his eyes were finally well-adjusted to the early day, he turned towards the alarm clock again to see that it was 9 a.m.

“Gosh, I must have expired last night,” he thought to himself. It had been an entire week since the events that took place at Paris - the attempted hit on Francesco Orleon, the confrontation with the mystery hitman in the alley, the manhunt in the apartment building, all of them were still fresh in his head after all those days. He had been putting too much effort in the search for the hitman, and obviously it had taken a toll on his health by depriving himself of much rest. He had noticed this and decided to have the next day off from work.

Sluggishly he got off from the bed, pushing the white sheets away from him before slipping on his comfortable fluffy slippers. He noticed his wife Amanda wasn’t on the bed next to him, probably off to her secretarial job at the law firm. It was Tuesday morning, so he figured Kyle and Kim were already in school by now. It was one of those rare moments when he has the entire house all to himself, although the morning felt weird to him - as if something was out of whack.

After a long, refreshing time in the bathroom, Clarkson came down the stairs in his casual shirt and shorts and headed for the kitchen, hoping that Amanda had left him with some grub for breakfast. Nothing, or it seemed that way when he looked at the kitchen table, which was clear except for today’s newspaper. He was about to open the fridge when he noticed a note stuck behind a magnet:

Scrambled eggs are in the microwave, honey. Take good care of yourself, kay?

xxxAmandaxxx

Clark turned the dial on the microwave to ‘medium’ for five minutes, making himself a cup of coffee while waiting for his breakfast to heat up. Very soon he was on the kitchen table eating his plate of warm scrambled eggs and drinking black coffee as he read the newspaper. He was glancing through the headlines on the front page when one suddenly caught his eye.

‘Mystery Man Hunter Still at Large a Week Later’

‘Darn it’, thought Clark as he was reminded of his duties again as the FBI agent who was in charge in apprehending the notorious assassin. He couldn’t help but feel that he was responsible for his slippery getaway from Paris that night, even after he had received several tips from reliable contacts about the attempted Francesco hit. The hitman could have killed another person right about now and it would all be his fault.

His coffee mug was already half-empty when he felt a mild pain suddenly coming from his stomach. At first he thought it was nothing; probably something bad he had eaten last night, but then the pain grew and grew to the point of intolerable, and it wasn’t long before Clark was on the floor moaning and writhing in pain, his hands clutching tightly at his belly for dear life.

He was painfully crawling towards the phone on one side of the kitchen wall when an ominous figure stepped into his view. At first he could not recognize the man through the terrible pain he was experiencing, but then it came like a flash. He recalled the face of the man who now stood before him, his stern countenance looking down at the pitiful Clarkson.

It was the Hitman.

“Don’t try to move,” said the Hitman monotonously, “It will only hurt more. Since you have about four or five minutes left, give or take, perhaps this is the best time for us to get to know each other.”

“You…you…how…,” mumbled Clarkson through his gritted teeth. The Hitman then walked over to the fridge and pulled a carton of orange juice, reached for a glass from one of the shelves and helped himself with the beverage.

“Oh, and don’t worry about your wife and children,” said the Hitman before drinking from the glass and wiping the yellow residue off his lips with a handkerchief. “It’s not my style to harm people unnecessarily, although the same can’t be said about the two stake-out officers who were guarding outside your house. I can’t help but feel sorry that I offed them too brutally. Maybe you can send my apologies to them once you die.”

“What…do…you…want...from…,” said Clarkson, now lying on his back in spasms, too weak to even finish his sentence. Greenish froth started to dribble out from the corner of his lips, and he could feel his vision fading as the whites of his eyes swallowed his pupils; both were symptoms of the deadly poison.

“What do I want?” replied the Hitman as he crossed to Clarkson’s side and crouched to meet his face, his fiery glare locked dead into Clarkson’s lifeless eyes. “I don’t want anything from you, Mr. Clarkson. In fact, my life was already fine and dandy before you came into my picture. You followed me around and struck me when I was most vulnerable. I can say this, Clarkson; that night was the most…unpleasant night I’ve ever had in my life, and it’s not something that I’m willing to endure again, ever.”

“You…monster…must…be…stopped…,” said Clarkson, now almost blind and barely able to speak. He was in his last breaths.

The Hitman grabbed the collar of Clarkson’s shirt and pulled his face even nearer to his, his ominous breath falling eerily onto the pale skin of Clarkson’s face. “I don’t blame people for calling me a monster. Hell, if I were them, I would call myself a monster. I’m a killer, and I’ve always have been. They say once you taste blood, it changes you forever. I wouldn’t know, because it’s been a part of my diet since day one. What is worth killing for, you might ask? I wouldn’t know, since I hadn’t any other choice. In taking a man’s life, all I can say is…it’s easy, and more difficult than you can imagine!”

The Hitman’s parting words only fell on deaf ears. Clarkson was already gone.

THE END

Glorious Charge

2007-03-15T11:45:00.000-07:00

In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war.

*****

Brother-Captain Romulus prayed fervently to the God-Emperor, the Holy Codex clutched tightly in his ceramite power gloves as the extraction pod he was in entered the planetary atmosphere of Holy Terra. He sat there unflinchingly with his standard Imperial bolter rifle lying on his lap and his trusty warhammer hanging from his caped shoulders behind his back, and in front of him was a flat screen monitor transmitting images of the bloody aftermath of a battle which had ensued on the war-torn planet beneath him. They were only low-quality images relayed by Imperial satellites orbiting around Holy Terra, but from the blurry, huge-scale pictures, he could tell that hundreds of his brothers, the Templars, had struggled with the thousands of mindless, quasi-humanoid, metallic-skeletal drones that comprised the terrifying force of the Undying Armies of the Ska’arg. He turned off the screen and continued his prayer. He needed to concentrate on his mission.

He knew his pod had hit planet-side as soon as he heard and felt a really loud collision and the sudden powerful shock which rocked and halted the whole pod. Once the escape hatches were automatically opened, he braced himself, his warhammer now tightly gripped in his left hand while his bolter rifle on the other. After a few last lines of prayer, he hung the Holy Codex which was attached to a gilded rosary around his neck and then stepped out onto the blackened earth of Holy Terra.

The crimson skies shone solemn light, and the air was thick with chaos. His pod had landed right amongst the aftermath of the battlefield, and instantly he saw the flag of the mighty Templars waving triumphantly from a pole planted on a nearby mound. The fallen dead were strewn everywhere, most of them those of the Ska’arg, with their gauss rifles lying not far from their dead hands. Those who still stood around him in victory were the valiant Templars; his brothers-in-arms, huge juggernaut warriors in hulking ceramite power suits, just like him, and they were cleaning up what was left of the Ska’arg invasion.

Some were dragging the thousands of lifeless corpses of Ska’arg drones into huge piles to be incinerated. Corpses that were too big and heavy were heaved by the towering mecha-walkers, bipedal armored vehicles of war equipped with powerful weaponry on one mechanical arm as well as a mighty hydraulic gripping claw on the other. Other Templars took it upon themselves to make sure the surviving drones that crawled with their battered bodies around the battlefield were killed for good. Faint echoes of rifle shots and mortar blasts from the outskirts of the battlefield were signs that there were still a few remnants of the standing Ska’arg force, and they were being swiftly dealt with by his battle-brothers at the moment.

About a few arms’ length to Romulus’s right was a barely-alive Ska’arg drone, or what was left of it, since the creature’s lower-waist was completely blown away and was pathetically dragging it’s torso towards him by clawing the earth with it’s bony, frame-like fingers, it’s face a grim visage of a metallic skull shaped that way by the corruptive S’tan gods that they were bound to and serving for eternity. Romulus switched his bolter rifle to single-fire mode, pressed the muzzle against the cold hard skull of the Ska’arg drone, and pulled the trigger.

He wiped the green ooze off his rifle against his ceramite boots and prayed under his breath for the God-Emperor to give him strength. He then surveyed around, and not far from where he stood, amongst a busy battalion of Templars, he saw the Chaplain-Commander in his decorated power armor and chain-sword in hand. He was waving his chain-sword in the air like mad while fiercely barking orders to his subordinates here and there. From the insignia painted on the Chaplain-Commander’s shoulder plates, Romulus recognized him as the commander-in-charge of the current Templar ground force. He calmly lowered his rifle, hung back his warhammer and crossed towards the Chaplain-Commander, his mighty boots leaving imprints onto the dry earth and a few Ska’arg corpses that were lying along the way.

“Greetings, Chaplain-Commander,” greeted Romulus, holding out a hand towards the commander. “I am Brother-Captain Romulus. May the light of the God-Emperor shine upon you.”

“Likewise to you too, Brother-Captain Romulus,” replied the commander as he shook Romulus’ hand with brotherly spirit, “Although I’m surprised to have the honor of your visit right here amidst this war zone. I am Chaplain-Commander Grievous, and as you can see, we’re all just about done here. We’ve finally broken the Ska’arg invasion, their remaining ranks from afar fleeing as we smote the final blow upon the last of the Ska’arg drones.”

“You’ve done a commendable job, Chaplain-Commander, and you will be awarded once you return to Segmentum Command.” Romulus felt a strong urge to once more survey around the cratered and blasted lands of the battlefield, his face in a worried expression as if sensing an imminent threat. “But I fear our duty here has not yet finished. In fact, I have every reason to believe that we are quite far from finished.”

“Why, Brother-Captain,” said Grievous a bit perplexed, the smug look on his face hidden beneath staining layers of tar, dirt and blood from the battle. “I can’t say I’m not amazed by your assumption. Take a good look around, Brother-Captain. Thousands of dead Ska’arg litter the ground like a sea of dead wretches after a flash flood. Dozens of piles of their corpses are burning brightly like torches in the night of Imperium Day. Sure, we’ve lost good men today, but as you can see, we’ve won the battle. A few more corpses to dispose of and we’re all done for the day, just as the God-Emperor would have wished it.”

“Yes, it seems that you’ve won the battle,” replied Romulus to Grievous’s condescending remark. “It also mirrors your lack of experience in dealing with the relentless and undying Ska’arg. To be so naïve about their nature is your ultimate weakness.”

Distinct rifle shots nearby interrupted their conversation. It was only a fellow Templar doing his duty by shooting a few barely alive Ska’arg drones lying on the ground. Both men then continued.

“Too naïve about their nature, Brother-Captain?” asked Grievous condescendingly, “All I need to know is that it is their dead bodies, not ours, that litter the ground in defeat. Please, enlighten me if there is anything else that deserves to be known.”

Romulus didn’t reply immediately, for he was staring at a disembodied skull-head of a Ska’arg drone propped against a pile of rocks just a few feet from him. He gazed at the pair of gleaming green light within the hollowed eye sockets of the skull which seemed to stare eerily back at him, and for a moment he was reminded of how his homeworld of Tarsonis V, along with his family and almost everyone else that he held dear, was destroyed by these soulless monstrosities. He then turned back to Grievous, whose smug face still showed his arrogance which will be the undoing of every Templar on this battlefield.

“Countless millennia ago,” started Romulus with a solemn voice of reminiscence, “Before humans even ascended from the ocean with bipedal legs, there existed an ancient alien race beyond the Outer Rim. Although they were highly advanced in the fields of technology and infrastructure, the same cannot be said with their morality. Thus, their unethical pursuits of science resulted in them building a warp gate to the unknown regions of the Immaterium, where demons and half-deities called the S’tan dwell. The ancient race tried to fight back, but all their technology was futile against the dark powers of the Warp. Their entire race was enslaved by the dark gods, their souls encased in bionic mecha-skeletons of many shapes and sizes, doomed to serve their masters for eternity. This ancient alien race is what we’ve come to know as Ska’arg, and their main goal is to-“

“Please, spare me from your boring history lectures,” interrupted Grievous, a look of irritation slowly replacing his smug. “I’m sorry, but we’ll have to cut this chatter short. There are still other things worthy of my attention than listening to half-forgotten legends of alien races.”

“Have you not listened to what I just said?” snapped Romulus. “These…Ska’arg…are undying. Being their slaves, the S’tan gods granted their minions immortality. They can be harmed, but cannot be killed, at least not with conventional weapons. You can cut them, bash them, tear them to pieces, but their souls still remain inside their metal husks. You see them now seemingly lying dead beneath your feet, but it will just be a matter of time before they rise again. They are relentless, they are machine-like, and they will-“

“Enough I say!” shouted Grievous in a fit of anger. “I refuse to listen to this trifle! Now if you’ll excuse me, I have more urgent matters to atten-“

The sudden cut of their conversation, as well as the abrupt halt of the Templars’ activities stemmed from the creeping realization that a blanket of shadow was falling upon them. They all looked up towards the sky, and what used to be an evening-red was now greenish-dark as vast clouds of that particular shade had filled the heavens and loomed upon them. Not long after, green lightning forked out of the clouds, each loud thunder not even a second of delay from the next. Grievous witnessed the entire phenomena with awe, but Romulus looked down to his Holy Codex in search of the God-Emperor’s wisdom.

“It is too late,” muttered Romulus, half of his mind in prayer, “They have risen, and they will claim us all.”

“What do you mean-“

From the unholy clouds, a distinctly thunderous sound boomed across the heavens as a pillar of concentrated green light shot down from the dark clouds and struck the ground in the middle of the battlefield, sending reverberating shockwaves that were felt by every Templar in the vicinity. The pillar of green light then disappeared, and the green clouds dissipated to give way for the former red sky.

For a moment, everything was in deathly silence.

And then the Ska’arg corpses came to life.

Grievous was horrified when he saw with his very eyes all the Ska’arg that had previously fallen was rising from temporary demise. Those whose bodies were still mostly intact rose as if from slumber, and slowly picked up the gauss rifles nearest to them as they lumbered forward to answer the call of their dark gods. Those whose bodies are in several pieces twitched and squirmed and crawled, with little bits of their missing parts and appendages coming together to reassemble themselves as if by the power of some sort of black sorcery. Even the ones burning in the piles came to life, their bodies an infernal effigy as they crawled out of the pyres to reach for their alien weapons. They were silent and made no sound whatsoever; there were only the noises of grinding and twisting and screeching from the gears and joints of their automaton bodies.

The Templars, who had never seen such a thing, stood petrified at what they saw, unsure of what to do. Never had they heard of alien foes rising from death, not in their years of training in the Adeptus Academus nor in their lifetime of experience serving as elite warriors of the Imperium. The Templars were trained to kill, but what good are their bolters and warhammers against beings that cannot die?

It took a while, but Grievous was finally able to barely escape from awestruck to utter a few words of bewildered query. “By deacon’s hades, what is going o-“

He didn’t even get to finish his line when he felt a very sharp pain coming from his lower back to his gut, and when he looked down, he saw large blade-like claws protruding out of his mid-section, with enormous amounts of blood gushing out of the wound. He screamed, the pain so agonizing that he almost didn’t realize that his feet were leaving the ground. Romulus, who stood right next to him, saw in horror as a Wraith, a levitating worm-like variant of the Ska’arg with a set of blade claws on each hand, had skewered Grievous from behind with one of his claw hands and lifted him up in the air. Grievous squirmed in excruciating pain, kicking and screaming madly, before the worm-creature sunk another claw hand through his mid-section from the back and, in a gory show of contempt for the living, proceeded to tear his body into two lifeless halves, splattering his blood everywhere, including across Romulus’ power armor. The creature then threw both halves aside and set it’s glaring green eyes on Romulus with it's blade claws reaching out to him.

Romulus reflexively took up his bolter rifle and aimed for the worm-creature. He was just a few inches away from it’s razor grasp before he squeezed the trigger of his bolter rifle, the powerful impact of the .72 bolts in rapid succession pushing the Ska’arg minion back. Other Templars nearby who were shooting at other Ska’arg were alerted and instantly fired upon the creature, their bolts ricocheting off it’s metallic skeleton body and blowing off several of it’s appendages. The creature threw a spasmic fit before it collapsed to the ground, dead again.

That was only one Ska’arg. Surrounding them were thousands of revived Ska’arg drones of many variants, most of them holding gauss rifles which emitted greenish particle-decaying energies that could pierce through even the hardest of ceramite plating. When the Ska’arg drones started to shoot, the Templars knew they had to do battle again.

The flag of the Templars, which before had waved majestically as a sign of victory over these foul creatures, was instantly vaporized by a stray gauss shot from the Ska’arg rifles. The warriors witnessed in horror as the Ska’arg’s gauss fire flayed through their power suits one layer at a time like a sharp knife flaying an onion. They fought back, bringing down dozens of Ska’arg with their bolter rifles and battle axes, but their numbers were overwhelming, and too many of their own had fallen from gauss fire. Even the mighty mecha-walkers and their powerful cannons could not hold back the undying horde; they were so many of them that they swarmed under and climbed up the warmachines’ mechanical legs, bringing them crashing down with sheer weight alone. Within mere moments, no mecha-walker was seen standing, all of them lying in unmoving heaps as the deathless Ska’arg moved on.

It was not long until all that was left of the fighting Templars were a squad of about a dozen warriors, Romulus included, all of them forced into a tight circle surrounded by the Ska'arg. So many were the numbers of the Ska'arg that the dark minions' shoulders touched each other as they closed in on the desperate Templars. Within that trapped position, they desperately fought off the Ska’arg army, the spirit of the God-Emperor being the only hold of hope they had. Morale was dropping amongst them, and more so as they saw one after another of their battle-brothers fell from a gauss shot or an alien blade. It was during this dark moment of hopelessness when a brave voice was heard within the group.

“Harken, my battle-brothers!” shouted Romulus, seeking the attention of the surviving Templars, “I am Brother-Captain Romulus, and your chaplain-in-command has fallen. Rally to me now, and we might win this battle yet!”

This is the norm for the Templars. They are valiant warriors who would rather die honorably in battle than cower away and be shamed by defeat.

Being leaderless, the survivors heeded and acknowledged the call. “Brother-Captain,” hailed one of the Templars in the heat of the battle, “We are surrounded and outnumbered! What are we to do now except to fight ‘till the death and pray to the God-Emperor for a peaceful afterlife?”

Romulus did not answer. Instead, he grabbed the warhammer hanging from his back and said a few prayers of enchantment. Suddenly the arcanite head of the hammer started to glow with divine white light along with the humming noise of energy powering up. The noise grew louder as the hammerhead grew brighter, and soon it shone to such a blinding glare that when Romulus held it up towards the sky, all the unholy Ska’arg drones halted, as if discouraged and pained by the shining aspect of the God-Emperor. Even the other Templars looked in awe, their waning morale instantly boosted and were now in peak fighting spirit. Coursing through the warhammer now was the raw power of the God-Emperor himself, and Romulus was about to land His holy wrath upon the unholy Ska’arg.

Romulus pulled the divine warhammer back and swung the Fist of the God-Emperor with all his might against a Ska’arg drone in front of him. The impact was tremendous; so powerful was the force that not only did it utterly annihilate the drone who was unfortunate enough to receive the blow, it also generated a powerful shockwave and threw away scores of the Ska’arg drones several feet into the air, leaving an exposed gap in their circular entrapment in which the Templars could penetrate through. The Ska’arg was, for once, bewildered at what just happened, and Romulus knew that this was his chance.

“Battle-brothers!” he shouted in command while pointing towards a clear hill not far from where they were trapped, “We must make it up the hill over there, and we might be able to use the height advantage to win against them. I shall lead the way, for my warhammer is powerful enough to smite through their ranks. The rest of you shall follow me from behind to cover my back as well as holding off the Ska’arg that will be coming from your sides.”

The Templars unanimously and unquestioningly agreed, thus Romulus held back his warhammer and swung again towards the gap, sending more Ska’arg flying and clearing the way for their strive. With the holy warhammer, Romulus mauled through the Ska’arg’s thick ranks as his battle-brothers followed behind him in a narrow column, fiercely battling away the Ska’arg drones that came at them from their sides with their bolter rifles and battle axes. The Templars that were too far behind the column fell one after another, their screams of pain and their cries for help drowned within the thick crowd of Ska’arg. Although the hill was only a few yards away, Romulus felt it to be too great a distance as he struggled his way through the blanket of horror. Even he was losing hope of getting through.

But he kept swinging and swinging, still having faith that there were still a few of his battle-brothers following behind him. He didn’t even care to look at what was in front of him; all that mattered was his hammerhead forcefully connecting with a Ska’arg and blowing them out of the way while elbowing away the ones who missed his maul. Thus, he staggered a bit when he came to a point where he hit nothing but air, and he soon realized that he had gotten through the horde. With one last stride, he lunged out to embrace his freedom, and when he turned back, he saw that a few of the Templars were still making through, each one gaining in momentum as they saw an exit gap in front of them. In the end, Romulus and a company of five Templars were all who managed to get out of the narrow path alive, although just barely. Their power armor and miscellaneous equipment bore deep laceration marks from alien blades and thinned from the de-atomizing effects of gauss energy.

Having no time to waste, Romulus and his flock went further up the hill, trying to increase the distance between them and the lumbering terrors marching behind them while shooting suppressing fire at their relentless advance. Once they reached a suitable vantage point, he looked and saw that they were not the only ones trapped within the deadly sea of Ska’arg. They were several clusters of Templars out there who were struggling inside surrounded circles just like Romulus and his warriors had been before. There was no hope for them however, since they were too far away to be rescued, and the Ska’arg will overwhelm them eventually. From afar, Romulus could almost hear the litany of loud benedictions and valiant warcries of his trapped battle-brothers before they were silenced forever by alien weaponry. Romulus and the surviving Templars could only pray for their souls to find peace with the God-Emperor in His Kingdom.

Romulus turned away from the appalling crowd that was slowly marching towards him and his warriors. Without a second thought, he gestured for his men to follow him to a particular spot up the hill where they might be able to entrench themselves or rally any other surviving Templar in the vicinity - if they were any. Far up the elevating ground, he saw a loose line of several Ska’arg drones walling up, poised to pacify them. ‘No problem,’ he thought, since his company was more than capable of handling a few of those drones of undeath. Each Templar picked their targets, and soon trails of rapid bolter fire hailed the Ska’arg line, slowly killing them one at a time.

“Bolt them all, bolt them all to the ground!” cried one of the Templars in a rage. The warriors were beginning to gain hope when suddenly a maelstrom of green energy began to develop behind the Ska’arg line. At first, Romulus and his men were confused and feared at what they were witnessing, but then they soon realized that something colossal was materializing behind the line, slowly phasing into solid form from the ground up. It was a Ska’arg Citadel, a powerful, levitating, pyramid-shaped, 50-feet-tall, horrifying battle fortress of evil warped into the war zone by the uncanny powers of the S’tan gods to aid their already horrifying Ska’arg minions. The sides of the pyramid were veined with thousands of tubes coursing with green plasma, giving the monument a greenish glow. However, none of the Templars, not even Romulus, knew what that monument of war was, and they virtually had not even the slightest idea of what it was capable off. They saw from afar the apex point of the citadel lighting up with crackling green energy, much like the lesser energies fired from the gauss rifles of the Ska’arg drones.

The surviving heroes were awed and bewildered, so much that they almost stopped firing their bolter rifles to brace for whatever unfathomable threat the mighty Citadel was about to unleash upon them.

Suddenly, loud roars of jet engines were faintly heard coming from the sky at the horizon. They looked toward the direction and saw from a long distance four dots which grew bigger by the moment, and they soon realized that their prayers to the God-Emperor had been heeded; It was a squadron of three Imperial warfighters followed by a bulky dropship, probably carrying hundreds more of the Templars to aid them in the tight situation.

“Blessed be the God-Emperor!” cried Romulus as if all his worries were suddenly lifted upon him. “Imperium Command has sent air support along with more of our brethren to wage war against these unholy abominations. Continue the assault, and we will win this one for the glory of the Imperium!”

The shrieking warfighters streaked across the sky as their mighty cannons unloaded all sorts of devastating armaments into the thick of the Ska’arg, decimating hundreds of them, while the troop freighter circled around the battlefield searching for a suitable landing zone.

The climactic scene of th warfighters laying waste upon the Ska’arg riled up the spirits of Romulus and his men. Soon, they cheered loudly and shouted warcries as they continued their assault, shooting at whatever Ska’arg they saw, both from behind in the thick sea and from the front at the loose line.

“Death to the enemies of Man!” shouted one over-excited Templar as he emptied his bolter rifle towards the dark sea behind them.

“Taste the fury of the God-Emperor through my bolter!” cried out another Templar as he sniped the deathless drones in front of him, landing a headshot each time.

However, high-spirited and drowned in the heat of battle, they had forgotten about the Citadel that loomed from afar. They were too busy shooting to realize that the apex point of the monolithic structure had charged up to its maximum, the peak now glaring so brightly with alien currents that it was almost impossible to directly look at the light source without hurting their eyes. On the sky above, the dropship strafed too close to the peak of the pyramid, and suddenly a bright flash erupted from the apex point. A giant bolt of gauss energy shot out and struck the dropship, blowing out the rear side. The battered craft left a trail of black smoke as it cruised down and skidded into a group of Ska’arg before blowing up in a fiery display of erupting flames and flying metal parts, killing every Templar inside.

Pilots of the warfighters were shocked at what had happened. They then set the Citadel as their prime target and proceeded to lay fire towards the levitating doom. Bolter cannons were fired, photon bombs were dropped, but the Citadel showed not even a scratch on its surface. The pyramid was extremely impervious to damage, but the pilots realized this too late. The apex point charged up again and struck one of the warfighters, sending it crashing down. It charged up again, and shot the warfighters one after another with its deadly gauss bolts until all three of the metal crafts were grounded and burning.

Romulus could not believe at what he just saw. He and his men could not bear to look at the fate of their battle-brothers, their bodies now burning and crushed within the twisted heaps of scrap metal, which were being prodded and salvaged by the lifeless automatons. Their hopes and spirits were crushed, their excitement of possible victory replaced by impending defeat. They still continued to fire their rifles, but their warrior spirit had left their hearts, and the bolts that fired from the nozzle of their rifles felt ever so meaningless. The battle was over. They had lost.

Romulus, now downtrodden and beaten, stopped firing. To the surprise and morale chagrin of his battle-brothers, he broke down and knelt as low as his bulky power armor allowed him to. He looked down at the earth beneath his eyes and then looked around towards the Ska’arg that were beginning to close in on him and his men. He shed a few tears and sought with his hands the Holy Codex hanging from his neck, and from the sanctimonious tome he recited under his breath the Last Words of the God-Emperor.

‘In times of darkness and despair,
When you look up the sky and see no light of mine,
When the shadow of your enemies looms behind you,
When the warrior spirit has left your heart,
and in turn the demons of fear creep in,
When your righteous actions are as futile as turning the ocean waves,
When all things that pleased you and comforted you has left you alone,
When evil entities surround you like a concealing mist,
When death confronts you with his Black Book in hand,
Always remember me, the God-Emperor,
For even if you do not know it, my holy spirit guides you,
I am in your heart, always leading you, aiding you in your struggle,
Follow your heart, follow me,
And I will set you free.’

Romulus then closed the book and, with renewed strength, stood up tall amongst the hopeless Templars who had begun to realize their doom. He turned to the men to speak his last words.

“Today, our enemies have gotten the better of us,” he began, “I’m certain that this battle will be the final pages of our lives. I know that all of you are more than disappointed at how this will end.”

Romulus paused for a moment to hold back his emotions. He then continued.

“But does that mean that we should drop our arms and give up? Do we, as the venerated Templars, heroes of the Imperium, fighters for the cause of good, stand down and admit this defeat? As Brother-Captain of the Templars, I say not!”

Romulus’s men were shocked and inspired by his speech. Even against the looming darkness of the Ska’arg horde, they felt the warrior spirit as well as their will to fight returning into their hearts.

“Right now we only have two options. The first, we surrender and hope they will grant us swift death. Even if these vile creatures are even capable of mercy, we will cross into the afterlife in shame, knowing that we had given up. The second, we pick up our bolter rifles and our battle axes, shout our last warcry, and charge at them with the full fury of the God-Emperor. Make no mistake, each one of us will perish, but we will die with our duties fulfilled right down to the last breath!”

The men were now hysteric. These Templars had survived a thousand wars on a thousand worlds. Romulus made them realize that just because it would be their end, it did not mean that they had lost their glory. They had earned it from all their battles in the past, and that day, that moment, they were about to go out with their dignity held up high to their chests.

“Are we Templars?!” howled Romulus.

“Whoaarggh, whoaarggh!” the Templars howled back in unison.

“Are we Templars?!”

“Whoaarggh, whoaarggh!”

“Are we Templars?!”

“Whoaarggh, whoaarggh!”

“Great! Now let us charge our last charge. When the God-Emperor asks us in Heaven, we will tell Him that we did our best to give them hell!”

“Whooaaaarrrggghhh!!!!”

Romulus charged with his bolter rifle firing at the Citadel, followed by his inspired men. Although the monolith was overpowering and was guarded by the loose line of Ska’arg, he and his men could not care any less. They might die that day, but these men will be honored for standing their ground and, in the end, dying on it.

Once within close proximity with the loose line, Romulus threw aside his bolter rifle and brought his warhammer to bear against the Ska’arg drones. His frenzied battle-brothers did the same, ditching away their ranged weapons in favor of their battle axes. The squad slugged and cleaved their way through in no time while Romulus wasted none and continued his glorious charge at the Citadel.

The peak of the Citadel was charging up again. Romulus was aware of it, but it did nothing to shake his determination. The peak glared to the point where he knew it was about to let out another deadly energy bolt, and he knew he was about to meet his end. Thus he looked away from the glaring doom and towards the beautiful crimson sky which shot down blades of heavenly light through the thick clouds. He was comforted that such a magnificent view will serve as the backdrop of their last charge.

“For the God-Emperor!” he shouted one last shout.

A gauss bolt shot out from the peak. A surge of pain overwhelmed his senses.

And then everything went dark.

THE END

Dawn of the Killer Bunnies

2006-11-28T15:12:00.000-08:00

It is the 23rd century.

Rabbits have taken over the world.

They multiplied.

They rebelled.

They eat human flesh.

They are trillions of them.

And they have a plan.

Only 48,875 human survivors.

And they are fighting.

Fighting to survive.

* * * * *

Date: Friday, 17th of August, 2275 A.D
Personnel: Gabriel Angelus, Brother-Captain of the 101st Blood Raven marine squad
Subject: Remembrance

It’s been about a month since we started our mission to hunt down the queen’s nest among the ancient and desolate ruins of what used to be the thriving city of New York, or Los Angeles, or… I’m not really sure. None of us are sure. The last recorded history of pre-21st century human civilization was lost forever after the bunny rabbits overwhelmed the last human city of Honolulu, Hawaii when they somehow figured out how to swim in salt water and annihilated the city with a beach-head assault several decades ago. Now that city lies in ruins along with the rest of the Great Ruins of the Ancient World of Man.

Sigh. Bunnies. It’s hard to imagine that a long, long time ago we used to associate that word with small, cute and furry little creatures that hop and scurry around in meadows and gardens. Of course, their physical form stays the same to this day – they are still small and furry and cute - but what changed them was their evolution during the late 21st century – from gentle, carrot-munching rodents to flesh-eating, man-hating little devils capable of forming a hive-minded society. According to the Old Wisemen from the Cave of Chronicles, when humanity finally found out what was really going on, it was too late. Within less than 10 days they rampaged and scourged their way into almost every major city in the world, decimating the 8 billion population of Man to just a barely surviving 48 000.

Yes, only 48 000 of us survived the bunny apocalypse, and my great, great ancestor was among them. Humans lived in unspeakable hardship ever since then, forced to live in underground silos and bunkers to hide from the common yet terrible danger of bunny attacks. I remember the last time I saw the faces of my mother and father as they tried to run away from a horde of the furry beasts, trying to reach into the safety of our underground bunkers. They were running too slow, and those…bunnies…hopped too fast. The horrifying scene of my parents screaming in painful agony as they were devoured alive while I helplessly watched as the hatchet closed still haunts me in my dreams to this day. I even swore on my parent’s graves that I will send as many of those furry little bastards to hell, my plasma rifle as the primary tool for me to reach that goal.

Sigh. Why do I even bother writing this journal? Nobody will read it, most of all me, because reading the depressing entries of days gone by only makes me sad. Sad that people are being killed not by plagues, earthquakes or wars, but by being eaten by rabbits. Cute, little, furry bunny rabbits.

My wristwatch says the time is 2357 hours. Time to get some shut eye so that I can prepare for the preliminary recon mission to search for the cave of the Queen’s nest tomorrow.

* * * * *

Date: Saturday, 18th of August, 2275 A.D
Personnel: Gabriel Angelus, Brother-Captain of the 101st Blood Raven marine squad
Subject: Ambush

My god, we didn’t even saw them coming. It was dusk. Our squad of 50 men was somewhere near Perimeter 16-7 scanning for rabbit burrows when the bunnies ambushed us from out of nowhere and from every direction. They came out of the ruins and abandoned buildings, the dilapidated vehicles lining the desolate streets, the cracks and holes on the ground, everywhere. They were hundreds of them - our squad had finished emptying about 20 clips of plasma against those wretched rodents within a minute, yet they still came pouring in strong.

The fire fight lasted about half an hour. The aftermath was an incalculably huge number of rabbit corpses littering the whole scene, all mutilated by the hot plasma from our rifles, their blood still hot all over out boots. Unfortunately, we lost Rodriguez and Barclay in the fight. Both of them were cut off from the main group during the attack and were surrounded by the bunnies when they ran out of ammunition. They were brave soldiers.

(Although depressing, I think it should be worthy of note that it took the clean-up crew about 5 hours to pick up both of the soldiers’ torn and mutilated bodies strewn everywhere. Both of them have families back home.)

Before we left the scene, we cut off the heads of 20 of the bunny corpses and stuck each one of them on a pike. I just hope that rabbits have already evolved to have even a small bit of a conscience to recognize the decapitated heads as a sign of warning not to mess with us again. Ever.

We made camp near a riverbank in Perimeter 13-3A. Tonight we’ve held a ceremony, biding farewell to the fallen soldiers for one last time before we cremate their bodies. We cremate our dead not because of some religious or supernatural belief. Instead, it’s a long tried preventive measure so that those bunnies won’t be able to reproduce after nourishing themselves by eating the remains of our dead. We cannot bury them, because the hatred of those bunnies towards us humans goes so far that they would sniff out the buried bodies with their hyper sensitive noses and dig them up again. Once, we even tried injecting our dead with harmful poisons and chemicals, hoping that the bunnies would die after devouring them. It turned out that the bunnies have evolved to such a high degree that they are immune to most poisons and other harmful substances.

Nature has a way of telling us to sod off.

It is 2230 hours now. Once I’m done writing this, I’m going to take a shower and then go straight to my bunker for some sleep. After an entire day of seeing carnage and blood, a relaxing hot shower is the most I look forward to. It lets me wash away the blood of those who died under my command, along with the white strands of fur from all the bunnies that I’ve slain.

* * * * *

Date: Sunday, 19th August, 2275 A.D
Personnel: Gabriel Angelus, Brother-Captain of the 101st Blood Raven marine squad
Subject: Jake McLeod

We finally found the cave harboring the queen’s nest. At 0930 hours, the five-men scouting team that was sent to search the cave returned to the camp with only one survivor, Jake McLeod. Apparently, they had come too close to the cave and the bunnies were alarmed by their presence. The result was nobody except Jake escaped from the bunnies. Just barely that is – he was bleeding all over his uniform and missing a left arm when he stumbled into our camp. He was able to tell us the location of the cave and other important strategic details before collapsing into unconsciousness due to blood loss. He died moments later. Jake McLeod, just 17 years old and still a virgin. Sad

I held him in my arms when he drew his final breath, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something peculiar hiding behind lumps of rubble and dirt several yards away. I only managed to catch a glimpse of it before it noticed me and scampered itself out of sight. The thing was small and had long ears. A rabbit. Darn it, the little bastard must have followed the smell of Jake’s bleeding all the way to our camp.

The cremation ceremony was held tonight, each one of us swearing in our hearts that we would not let his death be in vein. Throughout the night, me and several of my lieutenants went over the battle plans on how to strike the Queen’s cavern. By the time we were all finished, the time was 0145, and I almost didn’t update this journal due to exhaustion.

I’ve posted extra guards around the perimeter of the camp, suspecting that the bunnies would attack the camp after their little bunny spy trailed Jake and managed to discover our camp earlier. The thought of a malignant army of bunnies swamping our camp in the middle of the night made me feel like sleeping with one eye open and a gun under my pillow, but no matter. Tomorrow, I’m going to kill so many of those freaking rabbits that hell will smell like road kill by the time I’m done.

(Journal extension, logged at 0346 hours)

At the time of this writing, we already succeeded in defending the camp against an invasion by the bunny horde, although with heavy loses to camp equipment, several regretful casualties and a dozen others suffering from minor to serious injuries. It turned out that my hunch was right – that bunny I saw earlier today had informed its ilk of our location and launched an offensive towards our camp at night when most of our forces are asleep and non-alert. In the end, the whole camp is torn apart, with rabbit carcasses everywhere. Below is a list of the brave soldiers who lost their lives during the attack:

John ‘Cheese Man’ Farlane
Bertha ‘Black Biatch’ Simmons
Jay ‘Crazy Legs’ O’Hare
Ricardo ‘Lowtax’ Kyakina
Stephen ‘MC Hawkins’ Hawking
Kelsy ‘Oooga Booga’ Grahambell

Those names were procured from the dog tags that we found on the horribly mutilated, half-eaten bodies of the dead soldiers. About 3 or 4 more personnel are still unaccounted for, but I’m willing to make a pretty safe bet that if they are out there somewhere right now, they’re probably far from being alive.

I thought I should just stay awake all the way to next morning, but then good senses came to me and decided to go back to sleep to prepare myself for tomorrow’s mission. After we’ve done the cleanup of the ravaged camp, I posted several more of the surviving troops to guard the camp through the rest of the night, updated this journal and went back to sleep. Again.

* * * * *

Date: Monday, 20th August, 2275
Personnel: Gabriel Angelus, Brother-Captain of the 101st Blood Raven marine squad
Subject: True fear

This might be my final log in this journal. I’m not sure why I’ve decided to stop, but after reading what I am about to write, perhaps you might understand.

It was an hour past afternoon, 1300 hours, when we silently made it to the edge of Perimeter 32-B, the site where Jake told us about the cave housing the Queen. Me and four of my most elite men sneaked to a spot on top of a high cliff overlooking the cave and took out my binoculars. There it was, the terrible cave where the Queen gives birth to approximately 300 baby rabbits a minute. Several groups of bunnies seemed to pace about the area surrounding the cave entrance, probably guarding the cave from intruders, especially the human ones. It was a rabbit fortress.

I zoomed my binoculars closer to the cave entrance and saw two Bugs Bunnies standing on guard. We call those things ‘Bugs Bunnies’ because, unlike the other rabbits, this particular breed are about as big and tall as a human, much like the famous Warner Bros. cartoon character Bugs Bunny. And like the cartoon character, they have very tough hides and extremely resilient bodies to the extent that they would probably survive from having an anvil dropped onto their heads. They represent the bunnies' milestone in warrior breed perfection.

I put away the binoculars and signaled to Larry ‘Blaskowicz’ McPherson, our demolitions specialist, to ‘smoke the hole’. It was a code word for launching a nuke bomb with the shoulder-mounted Redeemer AR-90k type heavy warhead launcher and detonating it from the inside of the cave, killing everything in it, including the Queen. Larry took about a minute to ready his aim with the Redeemer launcher, trying to target-locking the mouth of the cave on the LCD display panel on the launcher. As soon as the panel bleeped for a target-lock, Larry pulled the trigger and sent a nuke bomb propelled right out of the weapon and flying right into the cave, passing the two Bugs Bunnies who were shocked after having a missile of unknown origin zipped right pass them. The smart path-finding system guided the nuke bomb through miles and miles of the labyrinthine maze inside the cave and straight into the heart of the earth where the Queen was most probably residing.

Larry dropped the Redeemer launcher aside and pulled out a remote detonator, waiting for a bleeping sound signaling that the nuke bomb has found the target.

The detonator bleeped. Larry said a few prayers and pulled the trigger button.

Boom.

The earth shook with seismic force as the nuke bomb exploded. The mouth of the cave seemed to roar violently, and then a tremendously powerful burst of nuclear energy rushed out of the mouth of the cave, sending the two shocked Bugs Bunnies flying high and the rest of the patrolling rabbits around the area in bewilderment. I pulled out a flare gun and shot it into the crimson evening sky, the signal for the assault team to come out from hiding in the hills and move in and kill all the surviving rabbits. Within minutes, the sound of plasma rifles and the smell of burnt rabbit meat filled the air.

The mission was a success.

After the main confrontation, we gathered all the rabbit carcasses into a pile and burned them. About 1915 hours, we set off into Perimeter 56-H to make camp there. There are still many Queens out there – the one we’ve just slain was just one among thousands that are infesting our world. This fight of ours won’t end for a very long time. There might not even be an end to it that is in our favor, the only end being that all of us humans are driven into extinction.

As I said, this will be my final post in this journal of mine. Why?

Before we left the scene, we made our way above the hills overlooking the blasted land surrounding a huge smoking crater which used to be the cave of the Queen. It is at this moment when I saw, far in the horizon, a thin white line stretching along the horizon as far as 10 miles, the line getting thicker by the moment. And it was moving. I took out my binoculars.

They were bunnies - an ineffable number of them, marching this way to answer the distress call of their now-dead queen. My god, there were so many of them, probably millions or even billions, that from afar they looked like a giant white blanket. The earth must be crying out at their damnable weight.

I used to think I knew what fear was. After seeing their infinite ranks of rabbits, it is now that I really know true fear. When my men saw the bunnies marching, I could tell from the look on their faces that they had already lost hope.

When you're a soldier fighting a losing battle, hope is the most important thing you must hold on to. Hope for peace, well being, prosperity, anything. No amount of plasma rifles and power armor is enough to substitute the psychological power of hope. When a you lose hope, you lose yourself.

And then the rabbits will take this chance to devour you alive.

As I write this very post, tear drops wet the pages of my journal after realizing that our situation is hopeless. Humanity is hopeless. With each rabbit we kill, another 1000 will replace it, and for every man we lose, another 10 000 of them will be given birth. The army of the dark is upon us and it has no end. With such great numbers, there is no hope to defeat them, and it is only a matter of time before every single human being is wiped out from the face of this earth.

We are doomed.

THE END

My Frustrating Sex Life Part 2: Origins

2006-11-05T02:08:00.000-08:00

(NOTE: THIS IS THE SECOND PART OF THE ORIGINAL STORY WHICH CAN BE FOUND HERE. ALSO, BOTH THIS AND THE ORIGINAL ONE IS RATED PG FOR EXTREME LEVELS OF SEXUAL CONTENT AND SHOULD NOT BE READ BY SMALL CHILDREN AND RETARDS. HAPPY READING)

Darkness. That was the first thing I saw when I regained consciousness, my body lying sideways. A throbbing pain enveloped the back of my head, and it was when I tried to stretch myself when I realized that I was trapped within a very tight place. The loud, whirring sound of an engine filled my ears as I struggled to set myself free from this black prison, both of my fists pounding on the steel hull above me. My skin felt the rough texture of a rug beneath me, and it was at this moment when I realized that I was completely naked. Naked in the dark.

I was in the trunk of Jeslina Hashim’s car.

Sweaty drops of panic began to fill my forehead and the back of my neck, my mind racing for a way to escape. I rocked all over the place, my body jerking to a stop as she hit the brakes and rocking again when she stepped on the gas. I stopped pounding my way out when I noticed the searing pain of torn skin on my red knuckles. I felt around me, hoping that she might have left something hard and penetrating such as a hammer or a wrench or a tire iron, common tools people usually leave inside their cars, but to no avail.

This was it. It was the end.

“There’s no use struggling you know,” said a voice, faint and muffled beyond the layers of chassis and steel. “You’re just making it harder for the both of us.”

“Jeslina,” I cried out. “Jeslina Hashim, that’s you right? Look, I know that I’m impossibly irresistible to women and all but this is going way too fa-“

She ran onto a pothole, sending my head bouncing off the hull of the trunk.

“Sorry, didn’t see the pothole,” she said in half regret. “You have nothing to worry, my sweet little precious. Me and the girls won’t do anything permanently harmful to you. At least not until tonight by the way.”

Girls? More people were going to rape me? Darn it, I had to get out of this place fast. I should note that due to my extremely high level of attraction, orgies can sometimes be hazardous to me, life threatening even at times. Imagine, all those girls, tons and tons of feminine flesh, all heaped onto me, crushing the life out of my feeble 6-packs and square pecks. For me, orgies need to be conducted within a controlled environment and be kept under watch, with armed bodyguards at the ready to hold away the excess women clawing for a taste of me. There’s no telling what Jeslina and her Amazonian consorts would do to me – they could tear the skin off my bones in a frenzy of oestrogen rage and drown me in a pool of vaginal discharge fluid, and that wouldn’t even be the worst case scenario.

Then it came to me. A memory. Master Long Wang. Tibet. And then the flashbacks began.

*****

1995. Yes, it was only about ten years ago. I was in a small province standing in the beautiful courtyard of the famed Hon Maru dojo, and there I was, staring far off towards the beautiful snow-capped mountains of Tibet. The wind chilled there at the top, blowing away snowflakes into my face as I waited for Master Long Wang. Not far down the hill where I stood was the training ground where ranks of adept youngblood, most of them in their teens, trained and shouted their qi in unison with balls of steel hanging down from their crotches. The steel balls were supposed to make their penises longer and more calloused, readying them for the trials and tribulations ahead in becoming expert practitioners of Dong-Kwan-Do, the ancient and sacred art of genital self defense, and I was about to learn a new technique from Master Long Wang that day.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” said Master Long Wang, surprising me with a tap to the shoulder from the back. Didn’t even notice him sneaking up on me, and there he was, grinning an old man’s grin while stroking his long silky beard repeatedly.

“Well, yes master. Those boys are truly beautiful, and they will grow up to be beautiful men and do beautiful things to other beautiful boys,” I awkwardly agreed, trying to appreciate Master Long Wang’s frank perspective towards homo-pedophilia.

“I meant the snow-capped mountains, Rashid. The mountains.”

“Owh yeah, the mountains. Forgive my misunderstanding master,” I hastily replied as I bowed my head in shame.

Master Long Wang rolled his eyes. “No matter. Come, today I shall teach you a new technique.”

He lead me to the back of the dojo, where there was a square steel plate about as wide as a 17’ plasma TV. Two poles nailed onto two of the plate’s edges held the plate vertically like a signboard. Master Long Wang took off his rob, exposing his 12-inches of ‘martial meat’ and positioned his naked body so that his crotch was facing right in front of the steel plate.

“Watch, and learn,” Master Long Wang said before taking a few deep breaths, preparing his body for the incredible feat he was about to execute. Suddenly, he let out a loud qi, and instantly his penis erected up with such speed and velocity that it cut through the steel plate like a hot knife through butter. He dislodged his penis away from the steel plate, which was almost sliced in half, and wore back his robe.

“That was incredible!” I exclaimed, awed at his skillful prowess.

“It is called The One-Inch Penetration technique,” he replied, again while gently stroking his long white beard. “In order to execute it, you must control your blood flow so that seventy percent of the blood in your body surges into your penis, thus the rapid erection.”

We bowed to each other and decided to call it a day. The next several days were spent with me practicing ‘The One-Inch Penetration’ with a new metal plate. However, no matter how hard I tried, I could never pierce through the steel plate, and my penis only grew more swollen and bruised in each passing day. It was only in the 5th day when Master Long Wang descended from his meditation in the dojo and went to my side to give me words of guidance.

“I should note that this technique was invented not by a man,” he said, his hands combing through the silky hair of his beard. “Instead, it was discovered and perfected by a woman. A transvestite woman.”

He then went on telling the history of Les Bo Ho, the said tranny. During late 18th century China, there were many cases of brutal assaults toward trannies by men who condemn hermaphroditism. In order to fend herself on the streets, Les Bo Ho invented the One-Inch Penetration to take down any man who comes up to her in close frontal proximity.

“But master, I’m neither a tranny nor a hermaphrodite. Would it be easier and much more convenient if I just use my masculine strength to deliver a hard, honest-to-god punch in the face against my assailant instead?”

“You’re not?” replied the puzzled Master Long Wang. “All this time I thought you were a – nah, never mind. Maybe, in time, you’ll be in a life-and-death situation where you’ll need to use the technique.”

“And what sort of situation would that be, master?”

“I don’t know. Maybe someday you’ll be kidnapped by a sex-crazed woman and stowed inside the trunk of her car where the force of your limbs is restricted by the tight space and you’ll need to rely on the power of your erection to slice your way out of the trunk.”

We stood silent for what seemed like the longest moment two persons have ever stood silent next to each other.

“Yeah,” I said, breaking the silence. “It’s possible something like that might happen.”

“Yep, sure does,” he replied.

Again, we stood silent.

“Oooooookaaaaay,” said Master Long Wang with a long breath. “I guess I’ll be leaving you to your training. But before I leave, take care to remember - the secret of executing the One-Inch Penetration is-

*****

‘-to think of the sexiest person alive, freeze that image in your mind and focus all of your qi into it to boost the flow of blood towards the penile organ, thus the rapid erection.’

Master Long Wang, 1st Shihan of Dong-Kwan-Do

Those words came to memory as my mind slipped off from days past and back to the tight trunk I was trapped in during the present. Jeslina popped one inside the CD player in her car and, although faint, I recognized the song from the techno-funk beat and a few high pitched lyrics that I could hear clear enough.

‘Dirty babe,
You see these shackles,
Baby I'm your slave,
I'll let you whip me if I misbehave,
It's just that no one makes me feel this way.’

‘Oh my god,’ I thought to myself. ‘She listens to Justin Timberlake. Justin freaking Timberlake. Clearly she is a crazed, sexually repressed woman in need of extreme psychiatric help, probably in some psycho asylum in a remote island somewhere devoid of any man. Oh my god I need to get out of here, and fast!’

Quickly I positioned my self so that my crotch pointed upwards toward the metal hull of the trunk. Remembering the words of Master Wang, I tried to think of the sexiest person I could think of. There were many – Angelina Jolie, Liz Hurley, a girl I had a crush for and slept with when I was 6 years old, her sister, Eva Longoria, my ex-wife, my second ex-wife, etc. – but out of all that, I chose-

Sharifah Amani

I imagined her on a beach wearing nothing but a blue bikini, slyly biting her index finger in a teasing pose. Within an instant, my ‘long dong’ – being soft and flaccid before this – shot up with great velocity, but only enough to make a small dent on the hull of the trunk.

“You’re still trying to escape, Rashid?” said Jeslina in a sinister manner after hearing the loud thump. “Stop struggling, dear. Resistance is futile.”

Great, now she’s on to me. I needed to think of someone else who is more beautiful and sexy than Sharifah Amani, and that’s a real tough one. I brainstormed, thought of this and thought of that, until my mind came to-

Maya Karin

In my mind, she was doing a photo shoot, posing bare naked with only white sheets to cover her naughty parts. In a split second, my ‘meat stick’ went up faster than my last attempt, so fast in fact that it broke the sound barrier. However, even that wasn’t enough to break through the hull, only enough to produce a huge amount of dent big enough for Jeslina to notice – to her horror - from a glance at her rear-view mirror.

“What the – you couldn’t possibly be that strong!” she exclaimed. “Whatever the hell it is you’re doing in there, you should stop doing it Rashid. It’s too late for you to escape. Too late for you to even do anything at all but sit still and quiet like a good little slave boy.”

Darn it, the hull was pretty hard. My ‘bearded staff’ was already aching from the last two attempts, and it seemed impossible for me to think of anyone that could top Maya Karin in the sexy scale. I had only one last shot of this – my ‘lumberjack’ was already swollen from extensive bruising, and any more attempts would result in it being permanently maimed. I have to think of a really, really good one this time. Some one who is so sexy, so sexually irresistible, that even the planets jump out of orbit out of her powerful force of attraction.

When I couldn’t think of anybody at all, I delved in deeper into my subconscious, digging in for lost lustful thoughts that were forgotten long ago. When even that failed, I dug deeper and deeper into the deepest and darkest of trenches within my soul, and then a name came to me. A name that I had thought I would never be able to be attracted to, but I did anyway in more ways than one. A name that descended upon me like cherubs from heaven. A name that would later save my life.

Anuar Zain.

Instantly my mind was brought to a cozy place. A hotel suite. There was Anuar Zain, lying and posing there on the bed with black leather pants and his white silk shirt unbuttoned, exposing his sexy pecks and abs. His smooth, silky hair fell and sway as the wind blew by from the open balcony, the manly frame of his face exuding extreme amounts of sexy. In perhaps the fastest duration of time ever perceived by man, my ‘north pole’ went up so fast that-

*****

I rubbed the tar off my knees and elbows as I recovered from the daring stunt, the smell of night air in the lonely corners near Petaling Street seeping into my nose. I looked yonder down the street and saw two tail lights of a car heading away from me, and above it was a trunk with an enormously huge hole blown through it. Jeslina’s car. The car I had been trapped in. The car was about a mile away when it braked to a stop, probably realizing that I had escaped by busting my way out of the trunk with the sheer power of my erection and jumped out into the cold wet asphalt of the street. She got out.

“RAAAAAASHIIIIIIIIIID!” she shouted, stomping her heel with a fury hell doeth not hath.

Didn’t waste any second longer. I disappeared from sight, running away and hiding myself among the shadows of alleyways between the 1980 shop house architecture. I was still butt naked, but still I ran away like Jeslina was the only women that I should fear and worry about. Half a mile later, she was no longer in sight. Another half a mile later, I could no longer hear her screams and threats of bodily harm. Another half a mile later, she was history.

I stopped, gasping for breath. I was still naked; no clothes, no wallet, no cellphone, nothing. I even lost track of where I was, nor do I even know what time it was besides the general assumption that it was late at night. There was a sign above a shop house across the street that said ‘Hassan’s Boutiques’. I broke into the shop house through a neglected window and treated myself to some Pierre Cardins, ignoring the alarm bell ringing like mad. I didn’t care, because I knew well enough that cops don’t come to this parts often if not ever.

After that, I walked down a walkway towards nowhere, thinking of a way to get back home with my current money-less situation. I came across a cute girl, probably on her way home after closing shop. I said hello and asked her if she had any spare change so that I can make a phone call. She took one good look at my face and gave RM50 and offered me a hand job free of charge.

Darn it. Curse my sexually attractive nature.

I politely said that I wasn’t interested in any sex, but still she persisted. I had to intercept her hands from groping my crotch before snatching the RM50 bill away from her and running away into the darkness. Again.

I took a taxi and got down at Puduraya. I had an urgent need to call somebody, so I whisked through the crowd of bus travelers, late-night hawkers and pick-pockets and went straight for the pay phone. I picked up the receiver, reached down my pocket for coin change from the taxi ride, inserted two 50 cents, dialed a number and took a few deep breaths to brace myself before talking to the person on the other end of the line.

“Lin, we need to talk.”

TO BE CONTINUED...

REVIEW: Snakes on a Plane

2006-09-18T04:18:00.000-07:00

I remember back when I was about 7, and my mother and I went to the local cinema to see a movie in the weekend. I was too young back then, too illiterate to read English and too naïve to give anymore care about films than any normal child should, so I didn’t quite remember the title of the film. That feeling of apathy changed however after I watched it, and it was the most fantastic experience I had back then. The acting, the screenplay, everything about the film struck my little infantile mind like pitchforks jamming into my brain, telling me to wake up and realize the wonderful and magical world of cinema. Unfortunately, and perhaps sadly, I never knew what that film was. I tried checking video stores everywhere and described the film as I experienced it to the clerks, but none of them knew what I was talking about. To this day that film still remained in my memory as the greatest masterpiece of a film I’ve ever seen in my entire life.

And that brings us to my review of Snakes on a Plane.

It was a cold Friday night, and I sat in the middle row with my usual combo of large popcorn and Pepsi. While the big screen was blaring cinema ads, my mind was brainstorming on what sort of steaming pile of feces Hollywood has squeezed out of its wretched anus for film buffs like me to suffer. However, when the opening credits started to roll, I found out to my utmost regret that I had made a gross misjudgment.

What was presented on the big screen was a masterpiece unlike anything I’ve ever seen before, unprecedented even when compared to the likes of Schindler’s List or Citizen Kane. All the elements of the film seemed to blend in seamlessly with each other and everything else. I was only 10 minutes into the opening scene and already the film struck me straight at the heart, grabbed the very core of my soul and pulled me away from my world with its masterful cinematography, brilliant screenplay and unrivalled acting.

I don’t want to spoil anything, but since the film is majestically good, here is a short summary about the whole plot. The film is about snakes. On a plane. The simplicity and non-sequitor nature boggles my mind to this end, as if the seemingly simple titular plot has a much deeper meaning than what can be expressed by simple words about serpents and avionics. No, my dear readers – Snakes on a Plane is more than just a film about snakes or planes or snakes in planes for that matter.

I also noticed that the film has countless threads of deep symbolic meanings, most of them allusions to issues regarding the very nature of humanity and the mind-numbing complexity of the human psyche. There was a scene where the ‘snakes’ (representing the slithering fall of communism during the post-Soviet era, referencing on how the Russian people learned how to ‘shed their skin’) came out of the ‘cargo bay’ (an allegory to free commerce brought upon by the influencing force of western Capitalism) and ‘rampaged’ (representing the rampaging riots caused by the oppressed and subjugated people suffering in various third world countries such as Uganda and Bosnia due to corrupt leadership and unethical administration practices) through the ‘aisle’ (the ever advancing aisle of modern technology and infrastructure) in the ‘passenger cabin’ (a reference to the ever-increasing risk of flying as an aftermath of the terror attacks in 9/11). It’s amazing how David R. Ellis, the gifted director of this majesty of a movie, crammed up as much meaningful content in a 5-minute scene, and that’s still not counting the emotional parts yet.

If there ever was an autobiography written about the life of Samuel L Jackson, then it will require three 500-page volumes alone to cover every single detail on his role as Agent Flynn, the protagonist and central object to everything that made Snakes on a Plane a modern masterpiece that would have been created by Leonardo Da Vinci if he had lived until today. Mr. Jackson is certainly a masterful thespian, a guru in his own trade – his character portrayed layers upon layers of emotion, and if one were to look into his dark, pearly eyes during the scene in which he was beating off the snakes from his body (of course, a symbol of the Protestant Revolution of 16th century Europe ‘beating off’ the old Roman-Catholic practices), one could almost feel the gut-wrenching spectrum of emotions such as anguish, fear and helplessness in the face of a venomous enemy (an homage to the ‘venomous’ effect of nuclear arms development by the Iranian administration). Truly Mr. Jackson will be hailed as one of the best actors of all time, if not THE best. So great was his performance that I predict him to be a deserving winner of the 2006 Oscar Awards for Best Actor, and Menacing Cobra #3 a nominee for Best Supporting Actress.

After the film was over, when the end credits began to role…I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move. I was bewildered, as if the world I once knew ended at that very moment. Even after my girlfriend Sarah Tan urged me to get up and walk out, I still couldn’t budge. The movie made me ponder about a lot of things – things that I’ve always accepted to be true and took for granted, things that meant a lot to me yet felt so meaningless. I thought about the nature of existence, about fate, and the presence of a benign God. Too many thoughts raced in my mind that salty tears of incomprehension started to form in my blank, clueless eyes and roll down my cheeks. It was only when Sarah Tan promised me a blowjob once we get home that I finally had the will to get up from my warm seat and venture out once again into this cold, cruel world we call life. Please note that I left not because of the promise of sexual gratification, but rather out of the ultimate realization that oral sex is the critical key to world peace. Politicians and leaders the world over can learn a lot from watching Snakes on a Plane.

I feel that no film buff will ever be able to put into words the sheer brilliance of Snakes on a Plane, nor will they ever be another movie that would transcend it in our lifetime. I certainly recommend this to everyone from all walks of life - men and women, young and old, the born and the yet to be – not just for a mere two hours worth of entertainment, no, but also for the huge amount of gain in personal enlightenment and self-discovery. I may never know the title of that film I watched when I was 7, but thank god, at least now I know the title of another film that is forever etched into my mind whenever I think of the best film that ever existed, and that title is called Snakes on a Plane.

P.S: The movie is 18PL: Rated for extreme scenes involving religion, sex, violence, or a combination of the three.

My Frustrating Sex Life

2006-09-01T00:39:00.000-07:00

I woke up naked on one side of the king-sized bed, my eyes hurting from the glaring morning sunlight shining between the window blinds. I could feel my muscles aching as I turned my head next to me. She was already awake, her face in an expression of deep satisfaction and fulfillness.

“That was the most wonderful sex ever!” she exclaimed. ‘I mean, I’ve slept with a whole lot of men who are good in bed but you…you’re…the most incredible thing that has ever happened in my sex life!”

“Thank you for the compliment, Dayang Nurfaizah,” I replied nonchalantly as I got off the bed. I reached for the towel next to me and headed towards the bathroom, my crotch still aching from the ten orgasms I gave her last night. “Anyway, where’s Erra Fazira? She left her matching bra and panties on the sink.”

“Owh, her. She left early, some half an hour before you woke up. She said those undergarments are to thank you for what you did for her last night. It was so amazing that it made her forget about her ex Yusry entirely.“

“Good for her then.” I took Erra’s bra and panties and stuffed it inside a drawer along with the rest of the collection of undergarments and lingerie numerous celebrity women have left me.

“So, it’s RM6000 from each of us right?” she asked while pulling out two fat envelopes from her purse.

“Yup, same as last time,” I replied. “Just put them on my desk.”

I was in the shower when I heard her saying goodbye from outside the bathroom, followed by the clicking sound of a closing door. A few minutes later I was done, and I was still in a wet towel when I started picking up the used XXXL-sized condoms littering the pink-carpeted floor from last nights action. ‘Only six pieces,’ I thought to myself as I picked up the last of the condoms. Great, I’ve managed to save three pieces this time. Apparently condom manufacturers don’t mass-produce XXXL-sized condoms so I had to order custom-made ones that cost an expensive RM100 per box, thus the need to conserve as many of the rubbers as I can. I was about to throw the used condoms into a bin when I heard a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” I hailed, dropping the pieces of rubber into the bin and fixing the white towel around my waist.

“It’s Amber. Can I come in?”

“Sure. It’s not locked.”

Amber Chia has been my secretary for a year now. I’m not really sure how it turned out that way. The day I first met her, she walked straight into my office and begged me if she could assist me in my ‘work’ in any way. She said that she saw a naked picture of me on the Internet and instantly decided to quit her prospering job as a model and work for me instead. I wasn’t really looking forward to hiring a secretary, plus I didn’t have enough income to spare for her salary back then, but she agreed that she’ll cause me no trouble and that sleeping with her on Tuesdays was payment enough. Besides I’m too lazy to keep track on all the schedules that I have with the 100+ celebrity clients that I serve within a usual week.

The door creaked open and Amber Chia entered the room, her body fully naked. The ceiling fan in the reception hall where she does her clerical work was broken ever since she worked here, so at most times the hall gets too hot for her and that she has to strip all her clothes off to keep cool. Personally I think she secretly broke the fan herself as an excuse to walk around the place naked.

“Good morning, Rashid,” she said with a sly smile, a hungry look in her eyes as she stared at my crotch.

“Yeah, good morning to you too,” I replied. “So what’s my schedule later tonight?”

“ Owh,” she said, snapping from the trance of crotch-staring. “At 7.00 pm Juliana Banos will be coming for her usual ‘fix’, at 9.00 pm you’ll be doing a threesome with Elly Mazlein and Liza Hanim, and at 12.30 pm you’ll have-“

“-wait, let me guess,” I interrupted. “Ning Baizura right?”

“Yup,” Amber Chia nodded. “And she’s going to get this one free of charge thanks to your ‘Ten Orgasms or the Next One is Free’ policy.

“Darn it!” I cursed. “Do you know how long it takes for that woman to cum? Let me tell you; when she told the media about her fantasy of an orgy with four men, that was a gross understatement.”

“Boo-hoo you,” Amber Chia sneered. “Anyway, tomorrow’s Tuesday. Here’s the key to my luxurious pent-house.”

“Yeah, yeah. How can I forget.”

She shot one last lustful look at me before she closed the door on her way out. It took me a while to get over it and continued to the laptop on my desk to check my e-mail:

--------------------------------------------------

To: mylife4nerzhul@yahoo.com
From: aznil_AF@orgyclub.org
Subject: Not enough men

Hey there pal. Anyway plans on my next orgy sex fest are going great except that apparently too many gorgeous babes have signed in for the orgy (about 100 of them) and we only have about 20 guys. Can you drop by some time during the orgy? Yeah I know I’ve asked too many favors from you in the past, but if there is one guy who can satisfy 30 girls within an hour, then you’re the man. Don’t forget to give me a call kay? TTFN.

To: mylife4nerzhul@yahoo.com
From: datuk_kay@gmail.com
Subject: Thanks you so much

Dude, just wanted to say lots of thanks for being my wingman. I would have never tackled CT on my own. Your tips and hints on how to win her heart worked like a charm! Anyway we’re getting married at KLCC very soon so I just wanna check with you for the last time to see if it’s fine with you since she is, you know, your ex-girlfriend. I hope you'll give us your blessings.

To: mylife4nerzhul@yahoo.com
From: unknown
Subject: I am so attracted to you

Rashid, when I saw a full frontal nude photo of you on the web for the first time, I felt something deep inside myself had awoken. You see, before this I used to be straight, but after looking at your gorgeous pic I knew from then on that the love of a woman no longer satisfies my sexual urges. Suddenly I was overwhelmed by this sensual feeling, the feeling of lust, the need to have you in my passionate embrace. The feeling was so strong that I instantly broke up with my girl fiancée. Look, I know that you’re not into homosexuality and all that, but hey, there comes a point in life when every guy gets curious about it, right? So anytime you feel like experimenting feel free to contact my people. Maybe we can set a date together and see how it’ll go from there.

Yours sincerely,
Mawi

--------------------------------------------------

Those are only three among dozens of similar e-mails I get everyday. I felt too tired and hungry to reply to any one of them, so I closed my e-mail browser, got up and dressed, and grabbed the keys to my Porsche before walking out of my office for some chow.

On my way through the reception hall, I heard a moaning sound. It was Amber Chia, completely naked, her long smooth legs resting on her reception desk, her back leaning on a spring chair, the look of lustful pleasure on her face as her hands played vigorously with her sex. It was then when I realized that she had a picture of me naked set as her desktop wallpaper, and that she was masturbating to it. I shook my head, said ‘Hi’ and presumed across the hall to the front door. She didn’t even notice me, obviously drowned by the orgasmic pleasure of jacking off to my pic.

The morning shine beat down on my brows as I looked around for my Porsche at the parking lot. I needed to move fast; it’s dangerous for me to just stand idle on the street. A lot of times hordes of naked girls would come out of nowhere and swarm me. Once I was just standing alone next to a traffic light waiting to cross the street when suddenly hundreds of nude women crawled out of the cracks on the ground and manhole covers and overwhelmed me by throwing their sweaty and naked selves at me, tugging and pulling at my helpless body with animalistic ferocity. It was like frigggin’ Aliens.

I spotted my Porsche, parked at the far edge of the parking lot. I kept myself low as I made a dash for the car, my eyes cautiously scouting for any sign of naked girls. Several strides later, I was already inside my Porsche, thankful that no hordes showed up, although it felt strange since they would usually ambush me at times like this. I jammed the keys into the ignition and-

“Ummmphhh!” It was the muffled sound of my scream as a mysterious stranger jumped out of the back seat and gagged me from behind with a wet cloth, possibly soaked with chloroform. I struggled frantically, flailing my arms to my back trying to hit the hijacker, but she was too strong, almost man-like. I caught a shadowy glimpse of her face in the rear view mirror, a pair of eyes that seemed so familiar. All my effort was in vein however, for moments later I succumbed to the chloroform, my vision slowly faded to darkness as I passed out.

“Hahaha!” cried out Jeslina Hashim in a sexually-crazed manner as she dragged my unconscious body out of the Porsche and into the trunk of her own car parked nearby. “You are mine now Rashid, my own personal man-slave…FOREVER!”

THE END

Tales of the Forest Friends --> Part 1

2006-08-08T18:17:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, deep in the enchanted forests of Forestland, Sang Beruang was lying next to a log, wasted after a long night of booze. Suddenly out of the corner of a bush came out Sang Kancil, hopping and prancing ecstatically here and there with joyful abandon.

“Hey there, Beruang!” yelled Sang Kancil as he passed by. “Oh, look at you, you look so down and pale. Maybe you should stop your drinking habit and come join me in hopping around. That way you’ll be all happy and full of life, just like me!”

“Geez Kancil, you’re right!” exclaimed Sang Beruang, snapping out of his wasted condition. Maybe I should stop my drinking habit and join you!”

The now sober and full-spirited Sang Beruang joined Sang Kancil as they hopped together happily in the forest. They soon came upon Sang Musang, who was cowering inside a hole, shivering because of his drug addiction.

“Good day there, Musang!” yelled Sang Kancil as he, along with Sang Beruang, passed by. “Oh my goodness, just look at you, all shriveled up and shaky! Maybe you should stop doping on drugs and join me in hopping around. That way you’ll be all happy and full of life, just like me!”

“My god, you’re right Kancil!” exclaimed Sang Musang, coming out of the hole and ceasing to shiver. “Maybe I should stop my drug addiction and join you guys!”

The now clean and full spirited Sang Musang joined Sang Kancil and Sang Beruang as they hopped together happily in the forest. They soon came upon Sang Harimau, who was sitting under a tree puffing a bong.

“Hello there, Harimau!” yelled Sang Kancil as he, along with Sang Beruang and Sang Musang passed by. “Good lord, look at you, your face so lifeless and unhapp-“

Before Sang Kancil could finish his sentence, Sang Harimau roared with anger. “Leave me the fuck alone, you stupid fucktard!” roared Sang Harimau as he threw a large rock at Sang Kancil’s head. Sang Kancil yelped in pain as he ran away, disappearing into the depths of the brush and canopies of the forest.

Sang Beruang and Sang Musang were bewildered, at the same time disappointed at Sang Harimau’s negative attitude. “Why did you treat Kancil like that, Harimau?” growled Sang Beruang. “All he wanted was to make us all happy!”

“Yeah, Harimau,” added Sang Musang. “Kancil was just trying to help us overcoming our habits. Why did you have to act like an asshole?”

“Humph,” grunted Sang Harimau as he continued to smoke his bong. “Whenever that bastard Kancil gets high on weed, he’ll always hop around the forest telling people to join him.”

* * * * *

It was a lively and sunny day in Forestland whenThe King of Forestland, Sang Singa, held a mass meeting with all the animals in the forest to discuss about a certain issue. The crowd was packed, from small creatures like birds and woodland creatures to huge beasts such as bears and crocodiles.

“Greetings, my animal friends and loyal subjects,” Sang Singa spoke to his audience as he stood on the podium-shaped rock. “Today we have a matter of great urgency to discuss.”

The ranks of animals in front of him murmured amongst themselves as Sang Singa cleared his throat. “For the last week, I’ve had talks with Gajah, our Minister of Energy and Animal Resources, and we’ve decided that, due to the fresh water crisis, we will have to increase the price of fresh water up to 6.5 Acorns per litre.”

After the announcement, loud gasps reverberated throughout the crowd, followed by unanimous boos and yells. Soon the crowd erupted into a state of anger and dissatisfaction, with insults to Sang Singa being heard from the far rear ranks.

“Now now, I know that this doesn’t bode well with all of you,” said Sang Singa, trying to calm the crowd. “But the short supply of fresh water still remains a problem, and we all must do our part by adjusting our lifestyle to accommodate the new circumstances. For example, whenever you want to pee, you should find a split coconut shell and pee in it. That way you can drink it up the next time you feel thirsty, thus conserving fresh water for me to wash my furry ass after I take a crap.”

By now, all the animals were in rage. The monkeys were howling like mad while the elephants stomped the ground, their trunks thundering derogatory remarks at Sang Singa.

“As King of Forestland, I too have to make sacrifices,” continued Sang Singa. “For example, I was planning to turn Forestland’s one and only waterfall into my own personal fun lagoon, but since we’re having a fresh water crisis, I’ve opted for the estuary instead. As you can see even I have to struggle during this difficult tim-“

Before Sang Singa could finish his sentence, a coconut, thown by an enraged monkey, flew right towrads Sang Singa’s head, knocking him unconscious. By this time, all the animals were roaring and growling as they thrashed the whole place in a fit of angry protest. Two baboon bodyguards dragged Sang Singa out of the fray while the badger riot squad rushed in with their sticks to suppress the growing riot.

And so all the animals of Forestland lived happily ever after.

THE END

The Da Vy Jones Code

2006-08-01T01:00:00.000-07:00

Will Turner scratched his head in confusion, a part of his mind straining to comprehend what Jack Sparrow had just said. Both of them stood on the Black Pearl, the chilling wind of the night piercing into the skin of the busy crew on board the pirate ship.

“I did it, Mr. Turner,’ the enigmatic captain Jack Sparrow said waving a rolled parchment in one hand and a bottle of rum in another. “I’ve finally broken the code!”

“Jack,” Will retorted, his eyes staring hard into Jack’s, trying not to be distracted by his odd posture and movement resembling a drunken trapeze monkey. “It’s just a piece of aged cloth with an image of a key stained onto one side.”

“Aye, of course it does seem to look that way,” replied Jack as they both walked along the port side baluster discussing about the mysterious parchment. “But to a keen pirate’s eye, this here that I hold in my hands reveals the truth, Jack. The single, most absolute truth.”

Jack lifted the bottle of rum he was holding on his hand and took a sip. He then put aside the rum to unroll the aged parchment, the bottle placed on the baluster.

“Look here, Mr. Turner,” said Jack Sparrow. “As you know, this image is clearly the image of a key.”

“Um, yes,” Will Turner replied, the look of confusion forming on his face. “I guess that seems…so.”

“What wasn’t apparent to you, Mr. Turner, is this key right here has a symbolic meaning to it. You see, I’m not only Captain Jack Sparrow, world renowned pirate of the seven seas and captain of the Black Pearl. I’m also Dr. Jack Sparrow, renowned cryptologist with a Ph. D in Pirate Symbolisms.

Will Turner could feel something throbbing in his forehead, the mental pain that a person would usually feel if he or she had just heard a really stupid claim made by somebody who is batshit insane. In this case, a really drunk pirate.

“Ugh, Jack, I think you’ve just had about enough of rum for one day.” Will Turner said as he reached for the bottle on the baluster.

“No, don’t touch the rum!” Jack Sparrow was quick to reply, his hands quicker in intercepting Will Turner’s hands. However his careless haste caused him to accidentally knock the rum bottle off the baluster and into the Caribbean sea bellow. The bottle floated idly for a while before a large enough wave swept it up against the port side hull, smashing the bottle into pieces.

“Argggghh,” Jack Sparrow cursed, at the same time trying to sound like a real pirate. “Rum isn’t easy to come by these days, and our stocks are low. I just hope there’s a Seven Eleven once we’ve reached Singaporean shores. Also I don’t actually know what a Seven Eleven is. I just felt like saying it as if the word makes much sense to me just now.”

Jack Sparrow’s face suddenly lit up, as if he had just remembered something. He then continued to reach down into his underpants and pulled out another bottle of rum from his crotch. Will Turner was as much awed as he was disgusted at his friend’s disturbing obsession for rum, at the same time wondering what sort of vile taste that would come out of a rum that was crotch-brewed for at least an hour.

“You’re sick as shit, Jack. You know that right?” Will Turner saw Jack Sparrow taking a gulp from the bottle, and instantly he felt something coming up his throat and felt like puking off the baluster into the sea. He restrained himself from doing so.

“Now, back to the symbolic parchment.” Jack Sparrow said as he wiped the rum off his mouth with his sleeve. “Now Mr. Turner, let me ask you a question. What does an image of a key on an aged piece of cloth symbolizes?”

“I have no idea, Jack. I have no idea what the fuck it symbolizes. I don’t even know what in bloody hell the word ‘fuck’ means. I just felt like saying it, as if it’s the most natural thing to come out of my mouth in my fucked-up state of mind.”

“Of course you don’t know, because you’re not a Ph. D certified cryptologist like me. But I can say this, Mr. Turner, that the key here which lies in my hands is the key which opens what all pirates treasure most. Care to take a guess at what that is, Mr. Turner?”

Will Turner scratched his head for a while, thinking up possible and logical answers for Jack Sparrow’s probably pointless and inane question. “A treasure chest, I guess, or maybe even loot?”

“Nooooooooooooo!” Jack Sparrow shouted into Will Turner’s ear. “The one thing, Mr. Turner, THE very absolute one thing that ALL pirates treasure the most is…”

Jack Sparrow paused to give dramatic effect.

“…pussy, Mr. Turner, and this key is to open the chastity belt worn by of a hot, voluptuous and very repressed virgin lady somewhere.”

That pain in his forehead again. Will Turner could feel the veins in his temple bulging at the sheer intensity of stupid he had just heard. “That is…it’s…wow…Jack, I never knew you’re so fucked up. And again, I still don’t know what ‘fucked’ is.

“But that’s not all, Mr. Turner,” Jack continued on his explanation. “You see that this key has twin shafts, and the word ‘key’ has the initial ‘k’. So this means this key leads to the glorious pussy of a lady whose name bears the initials ‘KK'.

"What in the bloody hel are you talking abou-"

"And since there's a small hole on the helm of the key, this combined with the twin shafts would mean that this lady likes to have it in the ass and in the pussy at the same time."

Will Turner was now convinced that his friend was insane. “And who might this girl be, Jack? Your mom?”

“No, my dear sarcastic Mr. Turner. Not at all. The only lady name that I can come up with that has the initials of KK is…’

Jack paused again. The moment was the climax, the suspense building up from the point they found the parchment to this moment of undeniable truth. The crew on the birds nest drummed on the wood to make the stage effect of a drum roll towards a climaxing event.

“…Kiera Knightly. Mr. Turner, this key belongs to the chastity belt worn by Kiera Knightly, the bisexual lady!”

Both of them stood silent at Jack Sparrow’s revelation, one of them couldn’t comprehend what he had just said while the other couldn’t believe how insanely stupid his friend was.

“Well then,” Jack Sparrow said, snapping out of the silence. “Now that we know which pussy this key belongs to, we should start looking for her then!”

Will Turner didn’t answer. He knew that whatever answer he would give will just add into Jack Sparrow’s pool of dumb thoughts.

“Ahoi, mateys!” Jack Sparrow shouted toward his crew on deck. “We shall have ourselves some pussy!” The whole crew shouted cheerfully.

“Now, let us set sail towards Americaland,” jack Sparrow continued. “I heard that’s where all the best pussies come from. Pussies and threesomes here I come!”

“Fuck you, Jack” Will Turner uttered. “And for some reason, saying that felt so much satisfying.”

THE END.

Exclusive: Bill Gates on Xbox 360

2006-07-22T06:37:00.000-07:00

Most of you readers probably know that Xbox360, the highly-anticipated successor to the Xbox developed by Microsoft, has already been released for retail a few weeks ago in the United States while the rest of the world will have to wait for the coming December or early in 2006. The gaming rig, armed with advanced processing power, cutting-edge Radeon graphics, sleek new design and a spanking list of 20 new titles for the launch, will face fierce competition when Sony and Nintendo, two of the biggest names in console development, releases their next-generation console systems, the Playstation 3 and the Nintendo Revolution respectively, with both of them scheduled for release in mid 2006.

As a veteran and hard core gamer, I feel that a momentous occasion such as the release of Xbox360 serves as a footnote in gaming history, as Microsoft’s C.E.O and Chairman Bill Gates is poised to turn the Xbox line of consoles into a household name while trying to dethrone the all powerful Sony Corp and, at the same time, chisel away the old school Nintendo Ltd out of the competition. As an accomplished journalist, I, Raysheadth Roseland, took some pains to conduct an interview with none other than the multi-billionaire Bill Gates himself to discuss the future and opportunity for the Xbox360.

ME: Thank you, Mr. Gates, for taking some time out of your busy schedule to sit with us for this interview.

BILL GATES: We’re chatting on MSN Messenger, Mr. Roseland.

ME: I know that. I just like to imagine myself being in the host of a popular talk show, sitting on a nice comfy sofa on a stage set with a live audience cheering in front of me, so please bear with me. Oh, and by the way, please don’t call me by my last name; I’d rather you call me Mr. Raysheadth instead.

BILL GATES: Oooohkay…

ME: I’m glad that you understand, Mr. Gates. Please, by all means, have a sip of Mochachinno on the table next to you.

BILL GATES: …

ME: …

BILL GATES: …

ME: Ehem, so Mr. Gates…if there is only one question in the world that I could ask of you, then it would either be if there is any way I can be as filthy rich as you are or whether or not the Windows OS was coded by Satan. But since such unprofessional questions would be extremely offensive to you, I’m left with this query: What are your thoughts on the recently-released Xbox360? Any expectations?

BILL GATES: Well, I can’t tell you my secret to become a multi-zillionaire like I am, and I can’t reveal to you the details and intricacies behind the development of WindowsXP, although your accusation of it being programmed by Satan was surprisingly close. But I can tell you this, Mr. Raysheadth – Xbox360 is the future, and you should have no doubt about it. We’ve worked so hard to push the boundaries of console technology with the Xbox360. In fact, we’ve even gone so far as to chain the ankles of our Research & Development team, lock them inside the computer lab, and forced them to work their asses off 24-7 under extreme scrutiny, and if any one of the members has the gall to doze off or day dream, then a huge man wearing a LOTR Balrog suit will suddenly appear in front of the poor fool and, with his fiery whip, mercilessly lashes his back like the pitiful slave that he is.

ME: Interesting. I guess morale-boosting techniques in the corporate world have changed a lot these days. Please, do elaborate more on what you meant by the Xbox360 being the future of console gaming. What sort of opportunity and promise does the console hold that would change the console gaming market which, for the last two decades, have been in the tight grip of several Japanese-based electronic companies such as Sony, Nintendo and the now defunct Sega?

BILL GATES: Well, Mr. Raysheadth, to tell you the truth, when I first hatched an idea about an all-American gaming console, I never knew that the system would go so far as to rival the PS or even the Gamecube. But thanks to the Halo series, we’ve finally built a foothold for our expansion into the gaming market, and we’re expanding our frontlines with Xbox360. As we speak, my PR team is working hard with my lawyers to find a lopehole in the judicial system which somehow states that it is illegal for a a family in a household to own any other console besides the Xbox360, and that each person who is 18 or above is required by law to buy at least one copy of any of the Halo titles.

ME: Quite an interesting perspective you have there. No doubt that Halo was one of the important titles that had catapulted the original Xbox among the ranks of the big players and made Xbox into a household name. But with Halo 3 still in development and won’t turn gold until mid next year, what kind of strategy do you have in mind to rope in the millions of gamers who had bought the first Xbox just so that they could play Halo and it’s sequel Halo 2, which are by far the only two games worth playing among the sea of pathetic and underachieving crap titles such as Oddworld and Dead or Alive?

BILL GATES: Good question there, Mr. Raysheadth. You probably remembered how we’ve demonstrated the advanced technological capabilities of the Xbox360 in several pass press releases. What we didn’t show you in the demos was the fact that each Xbox360 machine has a built-in chip that locks into the brainwave pattern of any Xbox360 user, making anyone who so much as even touches the D-pad ends up being instantly hooked to the machine…for life, or at least until Xbox3 comes up.

ME: Er…a sound marketing plan. But, Mr. Gates…aren’t you worried that mind-influencing devices such as the afore-mentioned mind-locking chip would lead to outrage among several public entities including concerned parents, human-rights groups, international governments, and several terrorists organizations? As human beings with a sense of free will, you have to agree that most of us are a little bit unnerved about your idea of a chip that is basically digital marijuana on steroids.

BILL GATES: I sense your worries there, Mr. Raysheadth. Besides, I didn’t become the richest multi-kajillionaire on the planet by ignoring my customers, slave or otherwise. Here at Microsoft, we understand our customers more than they understand themselves, so we know exactly what’s good for them and what’s not. And what’s good for them is that they stay glued to the Xbox360 for the rest of their meaningless lives, only leaving the house just to buy the latest copy of Halo, continuing to feed my wealth into such an ineffable amount that I would be able to buy myself entire countries with a write of a check.

ME: Well, I should say that such a bold move requires extensive planning, not to mention a huge drain on your resources. It is a long shot, and if I am not mistaken, you are beginning to sound like a madman who is hell-bent on taking over the world. Would acts such as forcing people to play the Xbox360 beyond their will and ‘buying entire countries with a write of a check’ constitute to you bringing about a new world order under your supreme leadership?

BILL GATES: Precisely, my good man. I can see it, Mr. Raysheadth, I can see with clarity my future as Imperator Bill Gates, Lord of the Microsoft Empire, Sovereign of Humanity. We’ve already begun a project under the co-operation of several underground pharmaceutical organizations to develop a new type of synthetic humans. These humans will be able to accurately resemble anyone, right down to their DNA sub-structure, and we will send them to infiltrate into the highest ranks of government bodies and organizations by kidnapping real world leaders and replacing them with our puppet synths. As of now, we are nearly done with a prototype synth that resembles George W. Bush, and should be ready to ‘replace’ the President around mid 2006.

ME: Around mid 2006? As I recalled, that is the period of time which you will release the widely-anticipated Halo 3 for the Xbox360. Such an event would surely pull a lot of public attention, thus making the transition between the President and your ‘synth’ that much easier. Mr. Gates, I must say that I admire your brilliance. Since this meeting, I think I’ve begun to have a newfound respect for your wise decision-making and ruthlessness in striving for your goal, both being important characteristics for a cold-blooded despot.

BILL GATES: I’m glad you understood, Mr. Raysheadth., because you might as well kneel before me and kiss my foot as a sign of respect to your future dictator, for I am the future of humanity, and I shall hold a tight grip on the leash of mankind, and that grip will be cold and inhumane. As for those who would have the mettle to oppose my future new world order, we’ve begun an R&D project to create the most efficient and lethal cyborg warrior, codenamed Sentinel, with it’s AI code based on our latest Windows technology. Once the project is finished, we will mass-produce the Sentinels and send them to silence the rebellion. And when I mean silence, I mean that the streets will run red with the blood of the rebels, man woman and child, while their dead carcasses will be sent to bio-processing plants so that they can be processed to fuel the might of my machine-like empire. So says Imperator Bill Gates, Lord of the Microsoft Empire, Sovereign of Humanity.

ME: You shouldn’t count your eggs before they hatch, Mr. Gates. Despite your well-thought-out plans of world domination, there will always be that one person who you’ll forget to count upon, the heroic underdog who will throw a wrench into the cogs of your tyrannical rule. He will be nothing but a simple man; trapped in the wrong place at the wrong time, unsure of his fate, yet eventually he will realize his true destiny and stand stoically against all odds, battling his way through your relentless minions. In the end, he will rise up before you and, in the last climactic battle between the forces of good and evil, finally dethrone you of your unjust ways, thus starting a new golden age of freedom and enlightenment the likes of which has never happened before in the annals of humanity.

BILL GATES: We shall see about that, Mr. Raysheadth.

ME: Indeed, we shall, Mr. Gates.

BILL GATES: …

ME: …

BILL GATES: …

ME: Ehem … well that’s about it for this session. Again, many thanks to you, Mr. Gates for being here in this insightful interview regarding the future of Xbox360.

BILL GATES: You’re certainly welcome, Mr. Raysheadth. And…err, you still realize that this interview was purely conducted through MSN Messenger, right?

ME: Yeah, I know. What can I say … I love Larry King.

Harry Potter and The Day Dumbledore Died on Page 437

2006-07-22T05:50:00.000-07:00

Ron Weasley took out a long and huge contraption, which seemed to be made out of several long cylindrical barrels with muzzles at one end, all strapped together by a belt. As soon as Ron initiated the trigger mechanism, the barrels started rotating rapidly, like a cog, and suddenly thunderous booms were heard as flares shot out from the muzzles of the barrels. Within seconds, the majestic unicorn that stood at the end of the field, peacefully munching on the grass, was instantly turned into a bloody carcass of a horse, with numerous gaping holes oozing out blood and various internal organs littered the already blood-smeared earth underneath the unicorn’s now lifeless body.

“Hah, I bet a hundred galleons that you can’t top that one Harry!” shouted Ron with arrogance, so confident that he will win the contest this time and sweep away the coveted prize of Skoozelbum whores.

Harry didn’t even flinch after witnessing such a spectacular performance from Ron’s monstrous machine. Ignoring Ron’s verbal abuse, Harry slowly kneeled down to unzip his huge duffel bag lying next to his feet. He then took out a contraption that seemed like a single long cylindrical barrel, much like Ron’s, except that it was of much superior size, with one end shaped like a metallic elongated mushroom. Harry firmly placed the contraption on his right shoulder, the mushroom end pointing forward, and carefully aimed the the thing towards the second unicorn. With a pull from a trigger, a huge mushroom-shaped head suddenly shot out from the end of cylinder. Its flaming back leaves a smoking trail as it approached in rapid speed towards the hapless pony. Once the object and pony reached contact, all the spectators closed their eyes and ears as a much thunderous sound was made accompanied by a large fiery explosion that blew up the unicorn into small flaming bits. Once the spectating crowds ceased to cover their ears and slowly opened their eyes, they were horrified to find themselves covered with bloody strips of burning flesh and smeared blood. One of the judges threw up after the charred remains of the intestinal part of the horse landed directly on the judges’ table.

“I guess you owe me 100 galleons Ron,” said Harry with a smirk on his face. ”Maybe better luck on next year’s Annual Hogwarts Unicorn Slaughtering Competition!”

* * * * *

After a long night of passionate love-making, Harry lighted a cigarette while Hermione was lying beside him in bed. Harry noticed an unpleasant look on her face, at the same time wondering what he had done wrong this time.

“Hermione,” Harry spoke, “I promise that Ron will not find out about this. Ron and I have been the best of friends, and as far as he knows, my frequent visits to your place are explainable with the excuse of studying Magic Calculus together. I assure you he won’t suspect a thing.”

That look still remained on her face as she turned away from Harry, lying on her side.

“Oh, Harry, it’s not about that,” she said in a slow voice, as if concealing a secret of some sort.

“Then what is the problem then, sugarplums? What, is it the sex? Was I too rough on you? You don’t like me smoking like this? For Pete’s sake, it’s hard for me to figure you out unless you tell me,” Harry replied in a sterner voice.

Hermione turned back facing Harry. Tears ran down from her supple cheeks to her firm, well rounded breasts.

“Harry,” Hermione spoke sheepishly, “this morning at the dorm I took a few pregnancy tests. And the…they…all of the tests…turned out to be...to be…you know…”

“What Hermione, turned out to be what?” Harry asked sternly while staring deeply into her blue eyes, as if he already knew the answer to that question.

“They all tested positive Harry…” replied Hermione. “I’m pregnant. I’m pregnant with your child.”

Upon hearing this, Harry instantly got up from bed and started to walk back and forth in the room in an agitated way, his unfinished cigarette still held in hand as a moment of silence engulfed the room. The look of confusion and contempt on his face gave Hermione the feeling that this news won’t bode well with him.

“Hermione, dear,” Harry broke the silence. “You can’t have the baby. You have to go to the doctor first thing in the morning and get rid of it. I don’t need…”

Before Harry could finish his sentence, his left cheek was met with the flat surface of Hermione’s right hand as she angrily slapped his face.

“You heartless bastard,” Hermione cursed, her faced filled with scorn. “You slept in my bed every night Harry, EVERY NIGHT!! And now you think you can just walk away with this? Curse you Harry! Curse the very day you were born!”

Harry’s face turned red. Not because of the slap, but red with anger. In an instant, Harry raised his palm and struck down Hermione, who was already crying her eyes out for Harry’s irresponsibility. Hermione fell down to the corner of the room, the pain on her bruising left cheek surpassed only by the pain in her broken heart.

“Bitch,” Harry scorned. “I don’t need to deal with this shit right now. You had better get rid of the baby by tomorrow or else I’ll kill you, you understand that you worthless whore? I’LL FREAKIN’ KILL YOU!!”

“You won’t get away with this,” Hermione screamed at Harry. “I swear to Christ you won’t get away with this!!”

Harry then hastily puts on his clothes. He grabbed his Nimbus3000 broomstick, and with a wave from his magic wand, flew out of the window into the darkness of the night, leaving Hermione to deal with the conflict on her own…

* * * * *

The air in the room felt heavy. A glass of water stood untouched on the square table in the middle of the small room, with Miss McGonagall sitting on a chair at one side. Next to the glass was a file brought in by two interrogators. Both of them were in the room with her, one pacing back and forth in front of McGonagall as if to psyche her while the other stood with his back laid against the wall with crossed arms.

“Tell me Ms McGonagall,” the pacing interrogator started to talk. “Where were you during the night of 28th?”

“I was at my office doing overtime,” McGonagall replied. ”The stack of my students’ test papers was piling up high and I need to mark them before class session the next day.”

“Really?” said the interrogator with a smirk on his face. “So you’re saying that you have absolutely nothing to do with the murder of Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore?

“My goodness, no” McGonagall replied defensively. “I’ve known the man ever since my first days of teaching in Hogwarts, and I have enormous respect for the old man for being the headmaster and at the same time as an old friend who has been there for me to help me out in troubled times. How dare you think of me as such!”

The atmosphere started to heat up. McGonagall turned to look at the wall-sized one sided mirror, knowing full well that the events taking place in the room was being observed by a number of investigators on the other side. The other interrogator in the room with his back against the wall was still playing it quiet.

“So you were never in any way envied Prof. Dumbledore’s position as headmaster of Hogwarts?” the interrogator asked. “Are you saying that you never held any contempt by the fact that you are unable to take over as Headmistress of Hogwarts until he steps down or passes away? You know what we call that sort of thing around here Miss McGonagall? We call that a motive.”

The interrogator then gave McGonagall a cold stare, trying to break her down. McGonagall felt the stare, and soon nervousness struck her and instantly she felt the need to reach for the glass of water. The gulping sounds were audible as she gulps down the entire glass, trying to calm down the rushing blood in her body.

As soon as McGonagall put down the glass, the interrogator slammed down the file in front of her and flipped it open, page by page, to show her photographs from the crime scene. Most of them show Prof. Dumbledore’s lifeless body sprawled on the floor in his home at his living quarters in Hogwarts. A close up photo of his face clearly showed his gaping mouth and wide opened eyes, as if frozen at the last horrible moment of living. There was no blood. No bruises. No signs of struggling. Whoever did this must have done it using magical means.

“You think we muggles don’t know about the magicks of your kind,” the interrogator spoke. ”But I can assure you we know just about everything there is to know about wizardry and witchcraft. You see that guy standing at the corner there?” He points his index finger towards the other interrogator who has been quiet all that time.

“What, you don’t recognize him, Miss McGonagall?” the interrogator added. “He’s an ex-student of Hogwarts, and he’s currently working in the Homicide branch of Hogs Meade Police Department. Whenever we get strange cases where people drop dead for absolutely no fucking reason, we usually call him to sort things out. And right now he’s here to make sure that you won’t use your dark trade to harm me!”

The interrogator motioned his head towards his partner. “Sam, show her the evidence.”
The other interrogator, who sat still during all that time, uncrossed his arms and reached into his coat to pull out an air-tight plastic bag containing the evidence. He then reached out and passed the bag to his partner. He then went back to his original position.

“Look at this Miss McGonagall,” said the investigator sternly, “look at this very carefully. We found this when we raided your office in Hogwarts shortly after we acquired the proper search warrant. This is your magic wand, am I right?”

“Yes, indeed this is my magic wand,” McGonagall replied questionably.

“Well when my friend Sam here went to check the crime scene, he found fresh traces of ectoplasmic activity that is unique only to your wand,” the interrogator explained. “You can bullshit us all you want lady, but here only the evidence counts!”

“Do you know what the penalty for homicide is Miss McGonagall?” the interrogator continued. “It’s either a life sentence with zero hope for probation or the lethal injection. Now, which one you are going to get depends on how much you are going to cooperate with us on this matter, Miss McGonagall.”

McGonagall sat still. Aware that the two now have enough proof to lock her up, she collected her thoughts and assessed the situation.

“I want to talk to my lawyer.”

* * * * *

Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley met together n Starbucks. They were sitting around a table, talking about the old times; how much they’ve changed after Hogwarts, their lives, their thoughts for the future and as such. However, their conversation almost ended abruptly after one of them happened to mention the death of their beloved Prof. Dumbledore.

“Ah, good ol’ Dumbledore,” lamented Malfoy. “Such a sad thing that such a respectable man had to pass away so soon. I still remember the times when the silly man used to locked himself up alone in his room to polish his aging wand.”

“Yes, good ol’ Dumbledore,” said Hermione. “He didn’t just polish his wand all the time, you know. He would polish the other teachers’ wands for a few magic rocks.”

“Hah, right you are about that,” said Ron. “I think he’d probably polished every wand from here to Hogwarts!”

All three nodded aye as they took a sip from their caffeinated beverages.

“Let us all sing an ode to the old man….”

His mouth flowed withthe milk of kindness;
His lips gave joy,
his tongue flapped as if by wind,
for every man and boy;
His beard ran sticky with the…

THE END

Trix is for Kids

2006-07-22T05:34:00.000-07:00

It was quiet. The cell was maddeningly silent; the kind of silence that can shatter one’s eardrums and drive a man to the brink of insanity.

Rabbit sat at the corner of the white room, the numerous red veins visible in his rapidly-blinking, wide-opened eyes as they scoured every inch of his 8x8 padded cell he was locked up in, like something was there to be seen. The straight jacket strapped onto his body limited his movement, but that didn’t stop him from continually bashing his body against the reinforced cell door a few hours back.

Rabbit couldn’t take this much more. He was on the edge.

The quiet solitary atmosphere was broken however, when the sound of a rattling key chain was heard from the outside, followed by the sound of a single key being thrust and turned inside a lock. The reinforced door swung open, and a bespectacled man wearing a white coat walked into the cell, a briefcase in hand. Two asylum workers were standing by the door outside, along with the screams and wailings of the other mentally-ill patients of the asylum. When the bespectacled man closed the door behind him, all the screams and wailings stopped, everything returned to silence once again.

“So how are you doing today, Mr. Rabbit?” the man greeted. Rabbit’s eyes now turned towards the man, staring cold into his eyes as if begging for mercy.

“I can’t take this no more, Doc. I just…I just can’t…” Rabbit begged with desperation in his voice. “Please, let me out of here Doc..I didn’t do nothin’ to deserve this!”

“You now I can’t do that, Mr. Rabbit” the doctor replied, trying to calm Rabbit down. “If you want to get out of this as soon as possible Mr. Rabbit, then I suggest that you get with the program. Now, are you ready to begin today’s session?”

Rabbit slowly moved a little away from the corner and towards the doctor, the poor soul’s face filled with despair. Rabbit wouldn’t dare to act violent this time, for he knew that such misdemeanor would be punished with a syringe full of valium from the good doctor, along with the rough hands of the two workers outside the door that would rush in and subdue him with the most unforgiving force, just in case the whole ordeal gets a little too nasty. The doctor opened his leather briefcase and took out a notebook along with a stylish pen which he uses to jot down important notes during sessions with his patients

“All I wanted was…the cereals…those damn cereals,” Rabbit said in a shaky voice. “That’s all I ever wanted, Doc…I saw the cereals in my dreams…every time I close my eyes I saw them…I keep hearing their voices in my head…always calling to me…”

“I thought we’ve been through this before, Mr. Rabbit. We discussed about the obsession you have with the Trix breakfast cereals and how this obsession has driven you insane. Did you remember the last session we had, Mr. Rabbit?”

“Insane? No…I’m not insane…not insane at all…but you wanna know what’s insane, Doc? I’ll tell you what’s insane…those little brats who deny me the cereals…they’re the ones who are insane!”

“Is that so, Mr. Rabbit?” replied the doctor, his voice growing sterner. “Does that justify the heinous crime that you’ve brought upon those poor innocent children? Do you think they deserved to be brutally murdered just because of your mad obsession towards a breakfast cereal? You were lucky the court accepted your insanity plea, otherwise you’d be in prison serving a life sentence by now.”

“It ain’t my fault, Doc…it ain’t my damn fault!” Rabbit shouted before he suddenly jumped up and began to move erratically back and forth in front of the doctor. “Those kids…those damn kids…they kept holding me back from the very thing I desired most…’Silly Rabbit’ they say…’Trix are for kids’ they say…well they ain’t saying anythin’ now since I’ve killed every last one of those little bastards. Hah!”

Despite Rabbit’s insane ranting and his growing erratic behavior, the doctor remained calm and continued to jot down notes based on what he saw in Rabbit’s attitude. He knew that poor Rabbit has a long way to go before he can get out of this asylum as a free individual.
“I see,” the doctor replied calmly, Rabbit still walking back and forth. “Now Mr. Rabbit, can you give me the earliest account regarding this obsession of yours? I once asked this question in one of our past sessions, but you seemed hesitant to answer me. Are you ready to tell me now, Mr. Rabbit?”

Rabbit suddenly stopped and collapsed to the floor and crawled back to the corner of the room, his body turtled against a wall. His eyes turned away from the doctor and started to stare on an empty space on one of the padded walls in the cell, as if looking back to his sweetest memories…or the worst.

“It was the year of 1960…” Rabbit said as his mind took a walk down memory lane. “I was just an average wood critter…I used to have friends…I used to have a life…often I would go snatch a few carrots from a nearby farm…but soon it all changed…everything changed…yes it did…”

“Exactly what happened, Mr. Rabbit?” the doctor questioned curiously.

“During early spring, a man came to me…he claimed he was a representative from General Mills. I didn’t know what General Mills was back then…but he asked me whether or not I would like to be one of their breakfast cereal’s mascot…oh yes, the breakfast cereal…”

“What happened then?” asked the doctor as he continually wrote down notes.

“At first I didn’t want to have anything to do with them…but then the man gave me a sample box of Trix cereals…as soon as my tongue touched those precious drops of heaven, I knew that Trix was all that I’ll ever need in my life…I wanted more of it…more…
“So you agreed to be the Trix mascot?”

“Yes, I did…but I did it for the cereals… those crunchy, mouth watering cereals…but they lied, Doc…those sons of bitches lied…they never gave me any more cereals…as soon as they’ve finished filming the commercials, I was thrown out of the building…those heartless bastards…”

“You have to admit, Mr. Rabbit, that you have no one to blame about that except for yourself. It was nobody’s fault that you didn’t read the contract papers carefully before you so hastily signed it.”

“Dognamit Doc, I’m just a freakin rabbit for cripe’s sake! I don’t even know how to read…I didn’t know there was a clause in there that stated that I can’t have anymore of their products…but I signed anyway…just to have another box of those precious…ahhh, my precious…”

“Still, all that does not justify your obsession towards the Trix cereals. I’ve studied the ingredients on the side of the cereal box and I found no traces of any addictive substances added to the mix, so I suspect that your addiction is in fact psychological. Have you any repressed memories that could possibly be connected to this obsession? Do you have any maternal issues? Tell me about your mother.”

“What do you mean repressed memories? I knew that that Trix was the best thing that happened in my life…and I wasn’t about to let it go so I…”

Rabbit paused for a moment; his eyes suddenly opened wide, his mouth gaped as if he just realized something.

“Wait…if you’ve studied the ingredients of the box, then…then…you must have one of the Trix boxes with you right now! Or at least you’ve put it somewhere near around here!” Rabbit shouted with ferocious anxiety.

“No, Mr. Rabbit. Neither did I bring a box of Trix along with me nor did I keep it somewhere near here. Now, if you want to be cured of this mental illness of yours you must understand that…”

“Liar!!!” Rabbit shouted angrily before the doctor could finish his sentence. “All you psychologist are the same…you’re all liars! I want the Trix boxes… I want them here and I want them now!!!”

Before the doctor could speak another word, the rabbit suddenly leapt towards the doctor, who was taken by surprise by Rabbit’s sudden manic behavior. The doctor caught a glimpse of the psychotic look in Rabbit’s eyes as he fell back to the floor on his side, the padded surface of the cell cushioning the fall. Although Rabbit was in a straight-jacket, he knew in his now uncontrollably insane mind that, as a rodent, his teeth was his most powerful weapon. Thus, before the doctor knew it, he felt an agonizing pain on the side of his head, as if something had bitten off his ear, which was exactly what happened as Rabbit hopped on top of the doctor and gnawed the doctor’s left ear off his earlobe.

As soon as the doctor cried out in pain, the door burst open with the two asylum workers outside rushing in to help the poor doctor. They were talking about last night’s football results when they heard sounds of struggling and screaming from inside the cell, and when they got in they were horrified to find the doctor sprawled on the floor with blood gushing out profusely from where his left ear was supposed to be. Rabbit crouched next to the doctor, his eyes blood red as he hissed at the two asylum workers with much scorn, as if preparing for another violent attack. The two workers quickly jumped on him, one of them trying to pin Rabbit down while the other one brought out a syringe from his pocket to sedate the mad rodent. The sedative wasn’t enough though; Rabbit still hissed and struggled violently even after receiving two shots of valium. In order to get the injured doctor out of there to safety, one of them had to drag the motionless doctor out of the cell while the other one tried to hold down Rabbit as long as he could. When the doctor was safely laid down outside the cell, the worker who was pinning the rabbit then gave a knuckle sandwich right between Rabbit’s eyes, knocking him off for a while, before letting him go to race out side the cell and closing the reinforced cell door behind him as fast as he could.

In mere moments after the door was locked and shut, loud banging sounds were heard from the inside the cell as Rabbit kept banging his straight-jacketed body into the door, his mind drained of what little sanity he had left. “Trix…Trix…I want the damn Trix!” Rabbit cried, but to no avail. Then, as the sedatives in his blood started to sink in, he stopped banging on the door and gradually slipped down against the door and into the onto the floor, his eyes slowly closing as his lips murmured something incomprehensible. A few seconds later, Rabbit fell asleep, his insane mind finally laid to rest.

And everything went quiet again.

THE END

Leaked Script From The Latest Harry Potter Movie

2006-07-22T05:01:00.000-07:00

(Set in the Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry, inside the Magical Library. It was after midnight. Harry Potter is sitting next to a table in the dark corner of the library, alone polishing his magic wand. Suddenly Hermione Granger walks into the room and was surprised to find Harry. A conversation starts)

Hermione: Harry, what in Norbert's name are you doing here late in this ungodly hour?

Harry: Owh, just polishing my wand here. Nothing much.

Hermione: But why are you sitting here alone? Aren't you afraid that Lord Voldermont would strike at you from the darkness and impale you from behind with his long, dark flaming rod of evil?

Harry: Well, I'd rather polish my wand alone, when nobody is watching.

Hermione: But why?

Harry: Just take a look at my wand, Hermione. It's short and small, like a baby muggle's wand. I'm ashamed of showing my wand to others, especially to the girls. I'll be a laughing stock of the entire Hogwarts if anyone finds out about my small wand.

(Hermione stares at Harry's wand for a brief moment)

Hermione: Well Harry, I don't think that's a small wand you're holding there in your hands. I've seen a lot of wands ever since I set foot on Hogwarts, and I've touched most of them. And I have to say that your's is just...perfect.

Harry: You mean you don't think it's funny that my wand is only 8 inches long, black and has a blunt white tip?

Hermione: Hey, I've seen dozens of boys with much shorter wands, even as short as 2 inches. Heck, if I'm not mistaken, I've probably seen a few boys from across the dorm who doesn't seem to have wands at all.

Harry: Sigh. All this polishing sure is tiresome. I usually polish my wand using my right hand, and when my right hand gets tired, I'll let my right hand rest and continue with my left hand. Sometimes I use vaseline all over my wand so I won't damage it from excessive polishing.

Hermione: Interesting...hey Harry, you must be feeling really tired right now with all that polishing. Why don't you give those manly hands of yours a rest and let me polish your long, hard, thick wand for you? It’s been a while since the last time I polished a boy’s magic wand, and I kinda miss the musky, sensual smell of a wand and the sweet, salty elbow grease that comes spurting out after a hard work of wand polishing.

Harry: You really don't mind?

Hermione: Of course I don't mind. I've polished other guys' wands before, including Ron Weasley's. And boy, he really sure appreciated it. I've done a few jobs for Hagrid's staff, but that's just because he's too old and fat to polish his own soft, rusty excuse for a rod. For 20 galleons, I'd be more than happy to polish any staff, wand, scepter or magic stick. But since you're my best friend, I'll polish your wand for free!

Harry: Whoaa...what can I say...thanks Hermione. I'd never thought that a slutty, sexy girl like you would have the heart to polish my wand.

Hermione: Hey, what are friends for? Besides, maybe your wand will magically grow bigger and thicker after I'm done polishing it.

Harry: Naaah. It'll just shrink back to it's original size. There was this one time when I polished my wand and it magically grew 14 inches, my biggest record so far, but shrunk back after I accidentally saw a potrait of Ms. McGonagal down the hallway. But now after hearing you said you're going to polish it with your soft, sensual hands, I'm feeling that it's beginning to grow a little already!

(Hermione bends down on her knees in front of Harry and starts to polish Harry's magic wand. Hermione uses her left hand to grab hold of the base of the wand and, with her right hand, gently strokes the whole wand in a slow up and down motion, licking the shaft once in a while for some lubricant. Conversation continues…)

Hermione: So, Harry, are you coming to the Hogwarts Senior Prom Night this coming month? I heard a lot of people are coming. Adam and Michelle are coming, Sarah and Josh are coming, and I think Jesica’s going to come, although I don’t know with whom she’s going to come with. So are you going to come or not?

Harry: Well, maybe I’ll come. Will you come with me? Coz I’m feeling like coming, since everybody else seems to be coming, and if I have to come, then I’d rather come with you.

Hermione: Oh, of course I’ll come with you Harry. I could never come without you coming with me. Although I have some doubts about coming, I would feel more secure coming there if you would come with me.

Harry: Are you sure you don’t want to come with Ron? You know, since he has a crush on you and would like to come to the prom with you, maybe you should come with him? Although I really love to come with you, I hate to come between you and Ron.

Hermione: Come to think of it, you’re right. Maybe I should come with Ron. But I’ll have to ask him first whether he’s coming or not. The prom night would become a nightmare if he decides not to come at the last minute. But Harry, if I’m coming with Ron, then who’d you be coming with?

Harry: Owh come on, don’t worry about me. I’ll find somebody else to come with. You said Jesica doesn’t have anybody to come with her right? Well maybe I’ll come with her. And if I can’t find anybody to come with, then I’ll just stay in the hostel and not come to the prom.

Hermione: Owh Harry, I really hope it doesn't come to that. Tell you what, If Ron decides not to come, then I'll definitely come with you. If Ron decides to come and you can't find someone to come with, then I'll find someone for you to come with. I just can't bear coming to the prom without you.

Harry: Okay, okay. I promise I'll come no matter what? Happy now?

Hermione: That's more like it!

(15 minutes after Hermione starts polishing Harry's wand, suddenly the wand starts to grow long and swollen and suddenly burst with sticky, white magic that blew up in front of Hermione's face. Conversation continues...)

Harry: Owh, Hermione, that was the most sensually spectacular magic that ever came spurting out of my swollen, erect wand! Look, your face is covered with white, creamy, sticky magic aura, slowly trickling down from your forehead to your pink, succulent lips...Are you alright, Hermione?

Hermione: Yeah I'm fine. I'm just amazed and puzzled by the insanely huge amount of manly firepower that blew out from the blunt end of your wand's shaft. In fact, I'm having a hard time swallowing the whole logic of it.

Harry: Sorry, my wand tends to blow up creamy white magic when I haven't polished it for a very long time. I think Professor Dumbledore once told us about this phenomena before in Chemistry class. He said that when the milky, sticky life giving aura spends too much time inside the two great balls of arcane majick, the pent up lust erotically builds up and the only way to to restore balance to the majick planes is to purge all the sensual auras in a form of spewing the aura of love in a huge magical climax.

Hermione: Owh, now I understand. I'm glad that all those sticky, salty love auras ended up blowing all over my face. Uhhmm...I can feel the warmth of the magick on my cheeks and the milky essence of the auras flowing inside my mouth to the back of my throat. I am so overwhelmed by the love auras!

(Both of them stood there in momentary silence, basking in the glory of the powerful auras that blew out of the wand. Then the conversation continues...)

Harry: Whoaaa...anyway thanks Hermione for polishing my wand...that was the best wand polishing I've ever had!

Hermione: You're welcome.

End.

This is a Notice for the Mosquito that Flew Around in My Apartment.

2006-07-22T03:52:00.000-07:00

Dear Mosquito,

The first time that I ever meet you was when you flew inside my apartment from the balcony around a week ago. I thought that you wouldn't be much of a fuss since you're just a small winged insect which doesn't require much room space. I even thought that we could be great roomies and that you could share stories about how life as a mosquito was really like and I could tell you how interesting my life was as a pathertic nerd loser. Being a mosquito sure is interesting wasn't it? Each day I saw you flying happily around my apartment, sometimes landing on my cupboard and sometimes on the kitchen table. I even cringed when I saw you were hit by the ceiling fan, but since you have little body mass, the impact doesn't hurt you very much. Your very presence gave my life much meaning. Sometimes you made me wish that I was a mosquito like you.

That first day was the most beautiful day of my life. That's because at that very day, I knew I already found my one true companion. The partner that will stay with me through my hardships and my sorrow, and stand by me in my days of glory. The partner that will be my most trusted assistant and at the same time, my greatest mentor. I thought things are starting to work out in my long boring life. Or so I thought.

It was on the third day when all of this conflict began to happen. It was morning when I woke up from bed, and as I was making my way to the kitchen, there you were, sucking the blood out of my cat, Mr. McFluffy Boots. Now, there are many rules of friendship that I allow leniency, and I know that sometimes being a mosquito is very frustrating for you, but sucking the blood out of my cat is something I simply cannot tolerate. How would you feel if I go and suck your cat's blood? (if you have a cat). Besides, don't you know that sucking blood is very much similar to practices of today's satanic cults? Even though it was too much for me, but as a your bestest best friend I must forgive and forget. I let you go by at that time. I thought things are turning out for the better at this point. I was wrong.

On the night of the fifth day, I was having trouble sleeping in my room because my whole body felt irritatingly itchy. I thought I've contracted some kind of skin disease from that mamak stall in Cyberia that I went to eat earlier that day, but I was wrong. It was much worse. It was YOU, you lousy bloodsucking bastard! You have been biting me and sucking my blood the whole night and left my blood-drained body to die in an unholy wave of itchiness. I've given you accommodation and my friendship, and this is what you give me in return??!! It's one thing to bite and suck the blood of Mr. McFluffy Boots, but biting and sucking MY blood is way over the top. That's something I can never forgive, not even in a kabajillion shmajillion years. That night you have crossed the thin red line, my friend. I don't care whether you're a mosquito or Batman, but this kind of thing doesn't go off unpunished.

At that very moment, I quickly got off my bed and reached for my kitchen cabinet and took out a can of Shieldtox. From what I've heard from the ads, mosquitoes like you hate the smell that comes out spraying from inside the can, like it's kryptonite or something. But as soon as I got my hands on the spray can, you quickly darted out and flew away outside the apartment through the front door. Coward! How dare you run away from your opponent when he seeks an honorable duel with you??!! Didn't your parents taught you anything about shame??!! Not only have you bitten and sucked the blood out of me and my cat, but in the end you just flew far away from here, unpunished!! Why, mosquito, why??!! What have I done in my 19 years of mortality that made me deserve this fate?? Answer me, dognamit!!

And now, here I am writing this letter about you. After I finish this letter, I will post it outside of my front door and balcony as a warning to you and your bloodsucking kind, just in case that you have the audacity to come back and beg for my forgiveness. Go away mosquito and never come back!! If I ever see you again in my apartment, I swear I'll make sure to finish the job and spray a can of Shieldtox all over your six-legged bloodsucking ass!! I have a new friend now mosquito, and his name his Bob. Bob is a moth and he will never ever suck anyone's blood, especially mine. He is more a friend to me than you ever will be, mosquito!!

So long mosquito, and wherever you might be, I hope that one day...just one fucking day, somebody else is going to suck YOUR blood. I don't know of any creature capable of sucking blood out of a mosquito though, but trust me, you'll come by them sooner or later. Then you will know how much suffering you have given to your once good friend!

End.

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