Monday, December 24, 2012


Happy Holidays, everybody!

That's right, I said "Happy Holidays;" you know why? Because I'm all about being politically correct! it rolls off the tongue nicer. I mean, I'm all for Happy Hanukkah or Merry Christmas, but if you ever get the misfortune of hearing me talk, I don't have the most fluid linguistics in the country the world the universe. Basically, I try to talk so fast that words collide into one another as they leave my mouth, creating a aesthetically displeasing combination such as "Merrchrimmas" or "Happyonikuh." Also, I'm drunk pretty much all the time which doesn't help. So, don't get offended if I say "Happy Holidays."

Chiz, why write it out, tough? There's no way your speech impediment can influence your writing in such a way.
Uh... I don't know. I just needed something stupid to write about on this post aside from that it's unlikely that there'll be any more posts this week due to Christmas and New Year's.
Okay, fair enough.

But, yeah, in case you didn't get the message from that awkward exchange I attempted to portray, it's unlikely that I'll be posting for the rest of the week. Though, I may have a post about some silly post about a silly New Year's resolution that I'll try to make funny and most likely fail. But, then again, that probably won't happen either.

H'anyway, I hope y'all have a Happy Holiday, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, or Happy Whatever-else-won't-get-people-offended!

I accidentally posted this picture twice, but I'm going to leave it because pugs are so silly. Look at his face; it's so silly! Imagine if it had a red nose like Rudolph? I'd probably die if it did! T'ohoho, so silly.

Friday, December 21, 2012

Choose Your Own Apocalypse Blogfest - My Account

Today, I am participating in Choose Your Own Apocalypse Blogfest brought to you by Chuck over at Apocalypse Now and Shannon at The Warrior Muse. Head on over to get a better read of the rules (Although, they're simple enough).

Below is a (rushed) account of how I believe the apocalypse will pan out. I didn't really plan this out ahead of time. Actually, I just finished this at work because I actually thought the world would end today (Ow, my head). So, read this with an open mind and a closed mouth.. or something. Enjoy!

The alarm went off at precisely 12:00 am, but it was no matter. I had been up and about all night, unable to get an ounce of shuteye. I looked at my calender; December 21st wasn't hard to miss, what with all the red arrows and frantic circles surrounding it.

I took a baseball bat to the alarm clock. I no longer had a need for it; besides, I'd always wanted to do that. It was awesome; all that I'd imagined it to be.

I reached under my bed and grabbed hold of the duffel bag of supplies I so strategically arranged. I unzipped it and gave it a once-through. Bottled water. Check. Day-vision goggles. Check. Fleshlight erm... Flashlight. Check. Axe body spray. Chh, hell yeah. Check, alright *self fist bump*!

Everything was in order. I was more than prepared for the imminent zombie apocalypse. I seized my duffel bag by the shoulder strap and moved toward the living room. I fell backward into the chair and stared blankly at the television. The remote rested upon the arm of the alcohol soaked recliner. My hand shakily moves toward it, but I eventually hit an invisible wall. My hand had frozen in place. It seemed that fear had taken hold of me. I was too frightened to bear witness to the horrors that are likely being covered by news reports. I'd be better off facing the terror with a tame mind. I'll have to use my brain well if I want to keep it.

I decided it's be best to wait out the worst of it. Luckily, my suburban neighborhood seemed someone calm for the time being.

5 hours passed by as I cherished my last moments at home by watching porn, perusing the internet, and watching porn... oh, and beer. Tons of beer... Maybe a little too much beer *hic*. But, the time had come where I'd have to face the grotesque faces of the walking dead.

With my duffel bag slung over my shoulder, I grabbed my kitana fashioned after the one from Ninja Destroyer; it's pretty much the most badass sword ever to hit the Silver Dragon over at the Emerald Square Mall. If I'm going to slay the already dead in style, this is definitely the sword of choice.

After much hesitation due to lulling myself into what was probably a false sense of security, I finally placed the sole of my steel-toed boots upon the soft, green grass dirt patch out front. The neighborhood was quiet. Not having experienced a zombie apocalypse before, I was unsure whether this was a good sign.

I cautiously approached the end of my driveway to better surveil the block. The area seemed to be void of zombies. I began walking down the road. Where I was going? I did not know.

That's when I witnessed the first encounter. Mrs. Green... They'd gotten Mrs. Green! I watched from afar as her limp body trudged the length of her driveway in a brown stained bathrobe and fuzzy puke-pink slippers. What do I do, I thought. Should I end her misery? Should I turn a cheek, and head for WalMart to stack up on Cheetos? I decided it was best to sneak away and leave her empty, shell-of-a-body be. But, before I could make my escape, I tripped over a blade of grass and collapsed. It was a think blade of grass. Maybe about a quarter of an inch think! That's some pretty fat grass... Anyway, that's about the time the hideous beast caught me in her glare.

"Meuughaaah," a strange sound forced its way from my mouth.

"Chiz?" the former Mrs. Green strangely spoke out. "What are you doing?" I was surprised at the zombie's ability to comprehend common linguistics and articulation.

"Get away from me!" I yelled, wielding my katana before me. The rising sun reflected off the blade and momentarily blinded me. I stumbled back a step. "Away with thee!"

"Wh--What is that? Are you okay?" The zombie said.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Green!" I raised the sword above my head and began to charge the monster.

"Sorry? Wh--Wait! I'm just getting the paper!" The zombie tried to reason with me, but I knew what had to be done.

I was within feet of the walker and began to bring down the blade upon her head, but before the blade reached her, a meteor struck the Earth, killing everyone in its wake. THE END.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Can't Hide from The Law

Hello, everybody! The following is my submission for  DudeWrite's Flash Fiction: December Round. I'm sure you're all well aware of the procedure by now, so I'll save you the details. For this month's challenge, we have a picture prompt.

Word count: 447

“Jimmy! Tuck that bandana up! Can’t you hear the train coming?”

“Cool it! Chrissie, it hasn’t even broken the horizon, yet!”

“You don’t think I can see that? We only got one shot at this. I don’t want to screw it up.”

Mike interjected, “Both of you, calm down! Jimmy, pull that bandana up and make sure that rifle’s right and ready. Chrissie, make sure all your pistols are loaded. This train is carrying the most precious cargo this side of the Mississippi, so you can be damned if you don’t think it’ll be heavily guarded.”

Chrissie let out a sigh and ran his fingers across the brim of his hat. Jimmy fidgeted with the cuffs of his trench coat. A brisk wind drowned the tension in the air.

 “Now then,” Mike gathered himself, “let’s review the plan. Jimmy, what’s your job?”

“Well, as soon as the train hits this here blockade,” Jimmy nudged his boot against the boulders stacked upon the tracks, “I’m to hang back there by them trees to pick off any armed guards that escape the cars while you and Chrissie enter and locate the safe.”

Mike gave a quick nod. “Alright, easy enough. Chrissie, while we’re inside, I’ll keep an eye on your twelve. I’ll keep the pursuers at bay and hopefully buy you the time to crack that safe.”

“Yes, the Perotti Diamond is right about ours, boys. When the train hits that blockade, the guards will be so dazed they won’t be able to tell what’s what.” Chrissie licked his chapped lips in anticipation for the approaching heist.

“You guys see it!” Jimmy shouted. “There’s the train a-comin’.”

Mike didn’t hesitate. “Alright, everyone to your positions. Stick to the plan. Let’s hammer these fools!”

Jimmy raised his rifle, “Hell ye—”

Bzzz… bzzz… bzzz.

“What the heck was that?” said Chrissie.

Mike froze in place. “I don’t kno—”

Bzzz… bzzz… bzzz.

“There it is again!”

Jimmy let out an exasperated sigh. “Oh, nooo!” Jimmy whined.

Bzzz... bzzz... bzzz.

"Jimmy wh—what are you doing?! Can't you see the train's coming?"

Jimmy dropped the act, "Sorry guys, I have to take this."

"Jimmy, the train!" Chrissie yelled, pointing down the tracks.

Jimmy clenched his fist and rolled his eyes. "Yeah?... Right now?... Bu—... But, I... Okaaaay. Fine!"

"What's going on?" shouted Mike.

"It's my mom. She wants me home for supper."
"What about the heist, Jimmy?" cried Chrissie.

"I have to go. Sorry, guys." With that, Jimmy shot his fellow bandits an apologetic look, mounted his hobby horse, and galloped off into the sunset.


Okay, now for a bit of promotion. Of course it's for Sinquiry! What'd you expect? Anyway, for all of you who haven't ventured on over to Sinquiry to check out Addman's Greed post, here's the link. 

Now for the important part: We are in dire need for questions for next weeks post. I know Sloth will be less than pleased to answer your questions, but he signed the contract, therefore he is required to abide by the terms. You can ask us questions using the button on the right side of the Sinquiry page, by contacting us via our twitter account, @Sinquiry7, or by contacting us via our Facebook Page. OR, if you're in a rush, ask me a question right here in the comments section below. I'll make sure the questions get to him.

Wednesday, December 12, 2012

The Man in the Red Jacket

I was sitting aboard the Red Line on my way to Celtics game. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary as far as I could tell. There was the obligatory loud phone conversation between some bee and her boo. The homeless man was picking at the abnormal growth on his neck. And I'm trying to look like a hardened mobster from Southie so people will leave me alone by adding a bit of a lean to my step and a glint of carelessness in my eye like I got nuttin' to worry 'bout (I believe the kids are calling is "swagger" nowadays).

H'anyway, some MBTA patrol members enter the subway car and station themselves at the doors. Whilst twiddling my thumbs like a silly billy, I overhear a peculiar message coming from one of the patrolman's radios. The message was, verbatim, "There is literally a man in a red jacket punching a woman at Kendall."

Not only was the message itself perplexing enough, but the fact that the patrolman was not in the least bit fazed by the transmission. His facial expression didn't even vary in the least bit. It was like he'd just been told the sky was blue. I immediately thought, is it really that regular an occurrence for a man in a red jacket to be "literally" punching a woman in the subway?

I finally reached the bar where I was to meet my friends, and I told them of the event. After short deliberation, we came to the realization that I may have been jumping to conclusions. Maybe this is a regular occurrence 

Perhaps this man was actually a crimson-cloaked vigilante. It would explain why the patrol officer was unfazed by the transmission over the radio. It could very well have been The Crimson Commando making his nightly rounds, keeping the peace and remaining a step ahead of the law.

The woman--or as I was led to believe, "the victim"--referred to over the transmission could have been the arch-villain, Mistress May Hemm. She may have been in the process of strangling an old man just for the change in his pocket. In this case, thank God The Crimson Commando was on his nightly rounds and was able to beat Mistress May Hemm into submission before any more harm could befall the brittle old man.

It was the beating the woman deserves, but not the one she needs right now.

Or, another possible scenario is that the crimson-clad man could've been a time traveler. Perhaps he journeyed back in time to save this woman, the love of his life, from jumping in front of a train and committing suicide. Maybe the only way he could stop her was to knock her out.

I don't know what movie this is from... so, I can't make a funny reference.

Or maaaaybe Big Red could just have been trying to kill a deadly, venomous spider that he spotted on the woman's face.

I colored the coat red with my amazing photoshop skills.

Or he could have been punching her because he was actually attempting to cause her harm.

Either way, the moral of this post is to never judge a character by the words of another. It's not fair to the man in red to be portrayed as a villain when he very well may be the hero of the story.

And, now to recognize another award. I present to you, and you guessed it:
A Blog Award! Yay me!
I wonder what the symbols actually signify.

Presented to me by 
the talented and ridiculously hilarious blogger

And here are his questions that I couldn't pass up:

What is the answer to life, the universe, and everything?
I can't explain it in words, but abuse several drugs and enough alcohol and you just might find out.

Boobs. What's not to love?
The size of the areola... ah, who am I kidding. 

If you had a time machine, and you could have dinner with anybody in history, would you wake me up last Tuesday so I won't be late anymore?
Not with that attitude I won't.

If you live in a glass house, would you take up curling?
Just as long as I have some real pros handling the curling brooms.

Who is your favorite Vlad?
Vlad the Mad, Plaid-Clad Barber over on 4th next to the shit and across the street from that other thing.

Juggling cats: Healthy animal bonding or animal cruelty? 
Look up cat yodeling, and you won't ever turn back to cat juggling again.

Does this look infected to you?
According to the leaking pus and foul odor, I think it's just a mosquito bite.

Is it OK for a man to cry? What if he just lost a limb? But then what if he just never shut-up about it? OK, OK, we know you lost a limb. Get over it, that was like 90 minutes ago. Fricking baby. Don't you hate that?
It's only a flesh wound.

What color banana hammock do you prefer? Corral, watermelon or a peachish pink?
Corral with watermelon stripes and peachish pink polka-dots.

The Utah Jazz?
Philadelphia Soul?

Shouldn't Olivia Newton John just officially change her name to Olivia Neutron Bomb?
Olivia Newtron Bomb is activated by John Travoltron. I don't know. I tried.

Also, quick announcement GluttonDan (formally known aas WorkingDan) has submitted a new post over at sinquiry, so I suggest you all go check it out!

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

Acknowledging an Award by Shay

Hey everyone,

I haven't done one of these in a while, and frankly, I find them quite fun. So, without further adieu, I break my silence and present to you the Liebster Award:

presented to me by none other than the very talented author and blogger,

Chances are, you're all following her blog, but in the off chance you aren't, I urge you to visit Seriously-WTH? and brace for the laughter and that is to follow.


1) If education and salary wasn't an issue and you could have any job in the world, what job would you choose?

I'd choose to be the Illuminati's bookkeeper or secretary. Something that would put me in the know but not necessarily involved in the decision making process. I'd want all of the knowledge but none of the blame.

2) If you had the ability to know what other people really thought about you would you want to?

Yeah, I'd gladly accept that power. It's not that I worry about what people think of me, it's just that this ability would give me a huge leg up in pretty much any profession. "No, Billy, I'm not giving you a promotion because you think I'm a fat dick!"

3)If you could be any other person besides yourself (and don't give me the crap about "I'm happy being me" play the game!!!) who would you be?

Call me crazy, but I'd most like to be President Abraham Lincoln. I know he got assassinated, but he's the greatest president, in my opinion.  He did the best with a horrible situation and, though it cost bloodshed, he managed to unite the nation. He is one of the only Presidents that I firmly believe had the peoples' best interests in mind. Plus, he slayed, like, hundreds of vampires.

4) What is the one gift you hope you are going to get for Christmas?

Not to sound like a complete douche, but I want nothing for Christmas. I hate what it has become. It's too commercialized. I'd be happier if it was treated simply as a Thanksgiving Part II--the family getting together to share a meal and engage in conversation. Now it's all about putting ourselves in debt because we'd be considered stingy if we spent anywhere within a reasonable amount of our price range. But, I suppose I wouldn't mind getting some obscure instrument that no one plays so I can pretend to be good at it.

5) What was your biggest "blond" moment?

I've been having a lot of these lately. The most recent was during charades when I got Woodrow Wilson and Winston Churchill mixed up. I kept yelling Woodrow Wilson when my partner was clearly acting out Winston Churchill because I am, in fact, blond.

6) If you could be invisible and be in a room to overhear a conversation (past or present) what would the conversation be (Old love? Watergate? Kennedy Assassination? Snooping on kids?)

I can't exactly single out a conversation. I suppose I like to be a fly on the wall during any of the following: Adolf and Eva suicide, the Trial of Socrates, Truman's decision to drop the bomb, or the pitch and reaction of Hollywood execs to create Teen Wolf Too. 

7) Who is your favorite comedian/ humor writer?

My favorite stand-up comedian is Bill Burr, but Louie CK, Brian Reagan, TJ Miller, Aziz Ansari, and Donald Glover are close seconds. I saw Bill Burr live and his ability to make a twenty minute off-topic rant hilarious is pretty incredible. Plus he has an hour podcast up on his website every Monday which I listen to.

8) If you could be a member of the opposite sex for 24 hours what would you do?

Besides the unmentionables, I would totally beat the crap out of some random snooty bitch. If I was a woman, it would be socially acceptable at that point, right? By no means am I'm a woman beater, but that's not to say there are a few out there that I wouldn't mind giving a light slap on the face. Wow, that sounds incredibly hateful, but I'm not going to delete the answer because it's the truth.

9)What is your favorite Christmas movie?

Christmas Vacation by far. I mean, I love A Christmas Story, but Christmas Vacation never fails to deliver laughs.

10) I'm stealing this question because I liked it - Why do you blog?

Actually, a post I recently read on Mark's blog got me thinking about this question a lot. I figured the question would be easy enough to answer, but I suppose it is more complicated than it sounds. I'm a bit self-conscious about my writing (even though I'm contradicting my #2 answer) so I initially used my blog to gauge people's reactions. Now I continue it because I like the community. As much as I'd benefit from taking time away from my blog (i.e. get work done on my WIP), I simply can't bring myself to do it. Plus, I try keeping a personal journal, but it doesn't have the same feel as a blog.

11) What is the one thing that you wish more people knew about you? (Maybe a misconception you wish you could set straight, a talent you have, or something else.)

I used to be a rapper named Marky Mark. Nah, I actually thought about this question for 40 minutes and couldn't come up with anything. Ugh, I guess I'm decent at playing the drums. I can play the crap out of a recorder. I sing ridiculously loud when I'm in my car. I have all 50 state quarters. I love urban exploration. I'm a firm believer in conspiracy theories. I fold my toilet paper, not bunch it up. And, my favorite Disney movie is Mulan... Did I do that right?


Now for some self-promotion!

I know you're probably all sick to death of hearing about Sinquiry, but just hear me out for a second. I'm not asking that you to follow the blog. I can understand if it's not your type of humor, but if you could please take a second or two ask us a question using the tab on the right side of the blog that would be more than appreciated. ANY question will suffice. You can indicate that you want to remain anonymous if you so choose.

The tab looks like so:
This link should work, as well.

Pride had his turn this week (I heard he was super hilarious and everyone loved him... I hope). Up next week is Gluttony who is portrayed by none other than the wickedly hilarious Workingdan!

Monday, November 26, 2012

New Blog: Sinquiry Launch!

So, I'm sure a great deal of you have heard my plans on starting another blog. Well, that day has finally arrived!! It is with great pleasure that I introduce to you, Sinquiry.


Sinquiry is your first destination for answers to your life's inquiries. Tune in to the blog every week to see a scheduled Sin answer your questions (7 per week based on preference).

You can submit questions using the button on the right side of the page. It looks like this:

The writers participating in this experimental blog are as follows:

Envy is represented by Elton over at Elton Says Things
Gluttony is represented by Workingdan over at Shameful Promotions
Greed is represented by Addman over at Muppets for Justice
Lust is represented by Jewels over at According to Jewels
Sloth is represented by Flip over at HILL BLOCKS VIEW
Wrath is represented by Bryan over at A Beer for the Shower
... and Pride is represented by none other than yours truly.

I urge you to give the blog a shot as we've got quite the assortment of talented writers.

Visit Sinquiry in order to get a more in-depth description of what the blog's all about. I promise you will not be disappointed.  

Thursday, November 22, 2012

Feathered Matter, Inc.


Subject: ESCAPE: Subject 324 (URGENT)
Date: 11.21.2023 [Nov. 21]

Dear colleagues,

I regret to inform you that, due to my unforgivable actions, the turkey cloning lab has suffered a breach.

I'm writing this message from the confines of my office. I've engaged the security traps in the lab and activated the pressurized gates to ensure the infestation does not escape the premises. You must obey my orders: leave the lab security settings engaged. Disregard the horrifying sounds that may eminate from the lab; it's better to imagine than to witness the horror that I have mistakenly created. I must remain here to accept the consequences of my sins but not before you hear me out.

I had the best intentions in mind. The turkey cloning line was progressing wonderfully. We had nearly perfected the science of producing an unlimited supply of turkeys at such a low cost that it would drastically reduce the price of turkeys in stores. But why stop there? I worked tirelessly to come up with a formula to produce much larger turkeys using the same amount of matter. All that was required was the addition of a single, dead, human skin cell. A genetically enhanced turkey derived from such an abundant material would abolish world hunger. But I wasn't prepared for what was to follow.

I thought I had perfected the formula, but when I started the automated production line, the creatures that emerged from the assembly were the offspring of some abomination sent from the depths of hell itself.

Their heads were mutated into thick stumps. Their legs were bony and lacking any sign of muscle yet showed no strain in supporting the girth of this enormous beast. But worst of all were the enlongated and horrifically defined vertebrae that protruded from the creature's spine. It didn't take long to recognize that these deformed monsters posed a threat.

I don't have much time as the beasts have nearly broken down the barred door to my office.

But please forgive my actions, I was only trying to help.

And tell my family I said... Happy Thanksgiving.

FILE: I've attached a screenshot of the security feed for those without a weak stomach. You can see why I can't leave the lab alive.

Tuesday, November 13, 2012

Chiz's Christmas Emporium: 2013 Sales Event

Two months until Christmas?!

That's right, folks. I'm sure many of you are donning adult diapers in order to alleviate the discomfort of soiling your pants due to overwhelming and physically debilitating stress. There's 2 months left and you haven't done any of your Christmas shopping? Talk about procrastination!

Well, since you've already failed to prepare for this year's Christmas, leaving your children a blubbering mess come Christmas morning, why not gear up for Christmas 2013?!

That's right! Come on over to Chiz's Christmas Emporium to discover incredible deals on decorations, electronics, and fruit cakes dated for next year's Christmas!

Why wait until 2 to 3 months before Christmas to get your shopping done, you procrastibators? Where you've failed your family and friends this holiday season, you can just as easily make up for them this time next year.

The doorbuster sales events start as early as tomorrow!

We take pride in beating out our competitors with sales events starting much earlier than such department stores are Target, Sears, and even WalMart! But, you have to act fast or else Christmas 2013 will fly by before you know it!

Hurry up! You don't have much time!

Monday, November 5, 2012

The Sixth Sense (An Urban Exploration Story)


My blog idea has become difficult to manage having so many writers involved; therefore, it has come time to reevaluate my game plan. What I have decided as the most feasible idea is to basically go with Option 1 (explained in the previous post) and use the blog as Carl's journal. However, in order to get people involved, people can submit themselves interacting with the Sins as a guest post. I've noticed that most blogs have "avatars;" therefore, it seems they could submit to me their post and I can organize it into the proper format and use their avatar as the conversationalist on the blog. Bah, I'll probably revise this tomorrow because I'm writing with one eye open.

Anyway, I know y'all are sick of this other blog talk, so here is a normal post. 

P.S. I've decided to keep Chiz Chat around for a while.

In the spirit of Halloween the frightful days leading up to Thanksgiving, I shall relay to you an experience from my past that is so eye-twitchingly horrifying, that you won't even realize how scared you are... Damn, if I hadn't missed Halloween, I could have made this story scary somehow... Ah well, guess I'll just try to make it as entertaining as possible.

It was a cold winter's night hmm... a hot summer's night night time and it was really dark out because the sun went to visit China. I was accompanied by two of my friends as we went to peruse the local abandoned insane asylum for the umpteenth time because we're brave no... we're masculine we live in a suburban town full of grumpy, elderly folk and angry, soccer moms.

Here's a picture of the asylum (Missing several buildings)

We entered the all too familiar grounds and made our way to the courtyard. Our eyes were peeled for any signs of paranormal activity (Sponsored by Paranormal Activity 4. "When all other movies are sold out, look no further than PA4."). The asylum was closed down years ago for mistreatment of patients and multiple suicides, but we frequented the area enough to shake off the uneasy feelings. However, this time was different. This time it truly felt as if we were being watched. But like a group of retarded teenagers just about to get murdered in a horror film, we decided to explore the buildings anyway.

The buildings were relatively empty (except the theater which I may delve into another time). There were rusty cast iron doors with peep holes, bent wheelchairs, and gurneys with leather straps hanging from the sides, but nothing we weren't already used to seeing. yet, as we traverse the cement hallways, we still couldn't shake the feeling that we were being followed.

Finally, it was time to rap up our ghost hunt. We made our way back to the bottom floor of the building. I made a graceful leap over the 2x4 "blocking" the entrance, and by the cock of Zeus! there were two figures pressed up against the exterior wall! I managed to stop the flood of poo that nearly emptied into my undergarments before finally assessing the situation. The two figures turned out to be very human. One was wearing a camera around his neck while the other one... well, there wasn't anything particularly special about either of them so it doesn't matter. My friends were still in the building not moving a muscle. Therefore, I decided to commence one of the most awkward conversations of my life in order to discover the meaning behind this encounter:

Me: Oh, hey what's up? (A most reasonable initial inquiry when encountering fellow humans in an abandoned insane asylum)
Them: Nothing much, how 'bout you? (Already the conversation was as normal as it could be with two unfamiliar groups meeting in an insane asylum)
Me: Same, just exploring.
Them: Yeah, us too.
Me: Have you guys been following us?
Them: Yeah, we've been following you guys since you arrived.
Me: Oh, I thought someone was watching us.
Them: Yeah, it was us.
Me: Alright, well enjoy your exploring.
Them: You, too. Bye.
Me: See you later. (We in fact never saw them ever again)

And thus concludes the frightful events of whatever date that was! OooOOooOoo!

I've got a bunch of these stories so perhaps I'll post one whenever I'm running short of words.

Friday, November 2, 2012

Vote for the Blog Matter!

Chiz, we're really getting tired of these lame posts! Seriously, we're getting sick of your shit.
Yeah, well I'm getting shit of your sick! But I'm going to hold a legitimate vote this time with the remaining options that I have deemed plausible.

Option 1:

Use the blog as Carl’s personal journal where he muses about life and/or current events where the varying 7 deadly sins input their opinions. It’ll essentially be like a verbose comic strip without cool pictures.

-Easy to maintain and manage
-Endless supply of subject matter
-Only requires myself

-I'm lazy, so posting will be infrequent

Option 2:

Dan over at Shameful Promotions had the idea of having a different writer represent each of the Cardinal Sins. It could either be an advice column where anyone may ask a question and have it answered by each of the writers (maintaining their character in the process),  or each writer may tackle a designated issue for the week.
-Gets other writers involved
-The blog will be extremely active
-Requires a significant amount of faithful writers
-Blogs are typically dead on weekends
Option 3:

Rent out a domain and ditch the Carl idea, essentially making a universal blog. In other words, use each of the 7 Deadly Sins as links to sections of the catering to certain subjects.
For example,
Gluttony: Food/Dining
Lust: Fashion
Envy: Cool electronics/devices
Greed: Economics
Wrath: Sports
Pride: Self help
Sloth: Video games/Entertainment
-Your number 1 stop for anything and everything
-Get a wider variety of readers

-Requires absurd amount of writers
-Particularly difficult to manage
-I suck with html or whatever I'l be using

I'm still open to suggestions as well, but please cast your vote if you feel any of these ideas are particularly good. Also, if you are absolutely positive that you'd be able to assist with the blog, let me know. It still may be a singular blog, but if I have enough volunteers, we can make it a lot more interesting.

I suck at organizing things. The End.

Please leave your email if you are interested in participating in option 2.

Tuesday, October 30, 2012

Off-Season Fantasy Football! Oh, and some updates.

With the NFL season already halfway over, I'm becoming ever more wary of what I'll have left to look forward to post football. The universe-shattering hits, games that are determined by mere millimeters, the excitement of a fourth and 1, and above all else, fantasy football. That's why I've taken it upon myself to invent something football fans can look forward to during the off-season:

Off-Season Fantasy Football!

But Chiz, how is it suppose to work?
It's very simple. The draft is composed similar to a regular fantasy draft. You choose players that you believe have the most redeeming qualities. However, instead of tracking their stats in turns of yardage and TDs, you'll track how well your players perform in the real world. Here's a list of examples of how the scoring system will work:

-Player donates to charity (3pts.)
-Player endorces a worthy cause (2pts.)
-Player participates in any variation of Make-A-Wish (2pts.)
-Player appears in a commercial that is actually worth a chuckle (1pt.)
-Player makes a funny guest appearance on a television show (1pt.)

-Player makes an absolutely unlaughable commercial that's so unbearable that it contains the capacity to ruin your entire day (-1pt.)
-Player uses racist/homophobic slur (-1pt.)
-Player sleeps with a pornstar (-1pt.)
-Player goes bankrupt (-2pts.)
-Player appears on a reality television show (-2pts.)
-Player shoots someone in the leg (-3pts.)
-Player shoots himself in the leg (-4pts.)
-Player headbutts his wife (-5pts.)
-Player runs a dogfighting compound in their backyard (-7pts.)
-Player accused of raping someone in a bathroom stall (-20pts.)
-Player appears on Dancing With the Stars (Automatic Loss)

It's a work in progress, but I think with enough dedication, I can actually get this thing off the ground and gain a massive following. If you have any further ideas that may enhance this project, fire away!

In Other News

As most of you know, I’m thinking about starting up a new blog/website (read the last post if you're uninformed). I drew up a few characters for your viewing pleasure (Carl not included, though I have a draft of how he’ll look):

(See if you can match the character to the corresponding Sin)

I drew the characters on Paint.Net which I’m still not all that familiar with so excuse the bumpiness of the drawings. And before you ask, I don't know why they have button eyes.

Anyway, I’m still not exactly sure what it is I want to do. So I’m going to lay out a few option and you guys can vote on which sounds best/most feasible.

Option 1:

Use the blog as Carl’s personal journal where he muses about life and/or current event where the varying 7 deadly sins input their opinions. It’ll essentially be like a verbose comic strip without cool pictures.

Option 2:

Use the blog as Carl’s personal journal, except have only one of the 7 deadly sins features per post. For instance, if Carl is being passive about an aggravating situation, have Wrath evoke some sort of violent response out of him.

Option 3:

Rent out a domain and ditch the Carl idea, essentially making a universal blog. In other words, use each of the 7 deadly sins as links to sections of the catering to certain subjects.
For example,
Gluttony: Food/Dining
Lust: Fashion
Envy: Cool electronics/devices
Greed: Economics
Wrath: Sports
Pride: Self help
Sloth: Video games/Entertainment
(Will require additional writers)

Option 4:

Make it an advice blog where people submit questions and get advice according to the 7 deadly sins. (May require additional writers).

Those are just a few options, and I’m up to any suggestions you may have.

In other other news, somehow Sandy didn’t affect my town all that much. My girlfriend’s car was serial crushed by two trees, and I’m miraculously sitting here with everything still intact.

Also, my offer on a condo was approved today. Woo!

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Possibly a New Blog

Are y'all excited for another one of my unfunny posts?!

Anyway, I've been playing around with the idea of starting a new blog because--as much as I hate to admit it--Chiz Chat is getting a bit dull as I'm sure many of you would agree. But don't worry! This is just an idea. As many of you know, ideas have the potential to sprout legs and fly, but they can just as easily drift away like a fart in the wind. Chiz Chat could still be here for the long haul.

Cutting to the chase, I have a new idea for a blog. I was initially playing around with the idea of writing a telescript based on a character named Carl (short for Cardinal [It'll make sense in a moment]). Carl's special in the sense that he is a bit schizophrenic (can't spell schizo without chiz...AMIRITE!). Chiz, that has been done, like, more time than one. I know that, but here's the twist: The personas he encounters are based on the 7 Cardinal Sins (his name makes sense now!). Think of it as a little angel and demon on your shoulder, except there's seven demons all telling you to do bad shit (Chiz, you have such a way with words).

Anyway, I realized the probability of this telescript ever being picked up by anyone anywhere is slim to none; therefore, I decided I'd make a blog out of it. It'll be like Carl's journal where the 7 different characters would sometimes take over (I'm still wrestling with schizophrenia vs. multiple personality disorder).

So, since this is still just an idea, I thought I throw this question out there: Who's in? That's right! If you want to be included in this horrible idea, you have the chance. It'dbe wonderful.

I was thinking that the blog could have multiple categories ranging from Carl and his demons covering recent news, pop culture, opinions, advice columns, etc. I'm trying to be original here. If you're not interested in joining, that's completely fine. I'll just ban you from my blog and spread rumors that you are a dinosaur. Nah, but just throwing it out there for any of your who'd be interested and already don't have a million and one things on the table.

I know none of this makes sense, but I'll try to explain it more in-depth once/if I ever get the ball rolling.

Sorry for any errors, my work computer doesn't have spell czech.


Or... the demons could represent categories.
Gluttony = Recipes/Food
Pride = Politics
Lust = Fashion or porn or something

You get the picture.

Monday, October 15, 2012

In Case You Missed It

Addman over at Muppets for Justice has been gracious enough to include me in a brilliant collaborative post organized by none other than... well, Addman. Venture on over to view the commentary of Addman and yours truly as we rip on some of the finest, upstanding citizens of the world.

Synopsis: It's essentially Addman and I making fun of Embarrassing Nightclub Photos.

And in case you overlooked the previous:

And here's a third.

Friday, October 12, 2012

The Best Costume in the Whole World

The light fabric felt like a mesh of mushy babies between his chubby fingers. He was nearing the completion of what was to be his magnum opus.

Three years in a row he has lost his high school’s Halloween costume competition. Billy was convinced it was politics, but he was prepared to make a lasting impression, a display of radiance and originality that not even the popular student-judges could ignore.

2011 Halloween Costume Competition
(Billy wasn't in the photo album)

He used a stone to sharpen the scissors. Not even Death’s scythe had an edge so razor-sharp. He carefully approached the cloth with extreme precision. A bead of sweat funneled into his eye, but his concentration was as frozen as a mesh of frozen mushy babies. The blade so much as glanced the delicate fabric when— KNOCK! KNOCK! “Billy?! Are you okay?” his mother inquired in the voice of a thousand screeching harpies.

“I’m FINE!” His voice shook the foundation as a few lit candles spilled to the crusty carpet.

“You’ve been up here for 14 hours. How ‘bout you come down stairs. I’ve cooked up some Spaghetti-Ohs,” his mother relentlessly continued… forever.

Billy tried to restrain himself, but the words forced their way up like a fire from the belly of a dragon-bitch. “Go AWAY from this place, you wretched serpent-lady!”

Silence followed his rapturous outburst. He let out an exasperated sigh much like an equally exasperated dog who was also sighing. Billy resumed his work.

The scissors cut through the cloth as the freed threads fell to the floor like jellybeans. The measurements were exact and he gazed upon his work with implausible delight. He cut the same exact dimensions in his next incision.

Four more hours had past and he was finally complete. He shed a tear… and then another tear. This went on for another hour before he decided to don the impeccable attire. He slowly turned toward the mirror. He was forced to squint or otherwise be taken hold by the incredible vivacity of the costume. It was perfect. There was no doubt in Billy’s mind that he’d win this year’s Halloween costume competition.

Yes, I'm getting lazy with titles.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Clowning Around

I opened up my wallet only to mistakenly unleash the fiery wrath of Mothra. It was vengeance that the beast sought, and luckily for me, his rival resided on the other side of the Earth. So, off the gargantuan moth flew weaving a path of destruction toward Godzilla’s domain in Japan. Above all the chaos and devastation, this shocking event made me realize one very important thing: I needed another job.
 Not drawn to scale.
I scanned Monster and want-ads, Indeed and doo-dads, yet nothing catered to my limited skill set. It wasn’t until I perused the darkest corners of Craig’s List that I found a job even I was capable of doing (No, not “waterworks” or prostitution).  It was a listing by a local mother seeking a clown to perform at her son’s birthday party!

So, I shot her an email the next day to let her know I was interested:

Dear Margaret,

Knock, knock!
Who’s there?
Chiz who?
No, thanks. I have already have a chizzoo.
As you can tell, I’m already a pretty funny guy, but enough with the silly antics. I’m writing to you to inquire about your listing on Craig’s List. I’ve already done you the favor of finding out where you live to save you from telling me your address. I’ve been doing some research, as well. While you were out, I took the liberty of perusing your house to find out what things Billy finds most enjoyable. I see that he likes animals, matchbox cars, and IMing his best friend Alex.
If it’s all the same to you, I’ll show up to your home at precisely 1pm tomorrow. I’ll be the guy dressed as a clown (Teehee, but you already know that). See you then!

Chiz the Silly Clown

P.S. I really like the color of your bedroom walls.

Margaret never got back to me, so I figured she was fine with me performing at her son’s birthday.

That night, I went out to grab the essentials.

The first thing I picked up was this silly little squirt gun at the thrift store. Billy likes action movies, so he’d definitely go for a squirt gun of this caliber:

Next, I put together a costume that would have the kids clutching their bellies in laughter. As soon as I took one look in the mirror, I immediately started laughing my socks off. What do you guys think?
Silly, huh? 
I picked up a few more items before I knew I was ready for the big day.

That night, I barely got any sleep I was so excited. I hopped out of bed in the morning, and jetted off in my brown van with the tinted windows and rushed to Billy’s birthday party.

I arrived at their luxurious colonial home and knocked in a silly rhythm on the front door. Before Margaret answered, I thought it’d be funny to point the squirt gun at her face as she opened the door. So, I did precisely that.

It was apparent Margaret was quite surprised. As soon as she opened the door, she saw the squirt gun and immediately threw her hands up and bolted out the back. I assumed that she just didn’t want to get wet. With a simple shrug of my shoulders, I headed for the living room where the children were all at play.

“Hey, everybody!” I shouted in a silly voice as I waved the squirt gun in the air. However, their reaction was not one I would’ve guessed. The room erupted in chaos as the kids screamed and fluttered about. I assumed it was because I was a little late, but there was no need to throw a tantrum just because I was 4 minutes behind schedule. I decided to lighten the mood by running after the kids while cheerfully yelling, “I’m going to get you! Chiz is going to put a smile on that silly face of yours!”

Somehow my plan wasn’t working, so I quickly whipped out the balloons. “Who likes balloon animals?” I asked. No one answered; they just kept screaming and crying. So, I proceeded to make a balloon animal. Unfortunately, the only balloon animal I was capable of making was an exposed barnacle:
 Barnacles are truly fascinating creatures.
I’m assuming the children were looking for something more exotic like a giraffe or an alligator because the children were still not pleased.

At that point I was just so overwhelmed by the tough, uncontrollable audience that I decided that maybe being a clown did require some skills that I didn’t possess. It was then that I swallowed my pride and left the party. Perhaps there’s another job out there that’s suitable for me, but at least I know that being a clown is not one of them.

This is a submission to DudeWrite 18! Head on over to discover many more fantastically brilliant bloggers... Not to say that I'm a fantastic blogger or anything... Ah whatever, you know the drill.

Thursday, October 4, 2012

What if Children's Movies Had Different Directors?

Have you recently watched one of your favorite childhood movies and wondered how different the ending would have been if the script were handed over to another director? No? Well, perhaps I may be a little psychotic. Anyway, below are a few examples of how I believe particular children's movies would have ended if given to well-known, "revolutionary" directors.

The Lion King
directed by M. Night Shyamalan (pronounced 'sha-mla-na-lam-lim-lah-23-n')
After Simba prevails over his nefarious uncle, Scar, the plumes of smoke from the raging fire subside and provide a clear shot of the sky. The clouds once more make out the figure of his father, Mufasa, as he begins to speak these works, "Seembah, as you look upon the my face, know this: I am not your father but rather the last of a dying alien race. Open your eyes, Seembah, and see that the world is not as you would have it." At this point, Simba opens his eyes, and he's within an office building. He frantically surveys the area before stopping at an office window. The window does not reflect the image of a ferocious lion; rather, a businessman in a Armani  suit stares back. It is then that Simba realizes that lions had gone extinct decades before, and the world has succumb to the damaging effects of massive sun flares. His whole life was an alternate reality he conjured up to mask the death of his family.

FernGully: The Last Rainforest
by Christopher Nolan
Crysta and Zak Young confront Hexxus, the ancient spirit of destruction. After a short-live, yet epic, battle, heavy dialogue follows:
Hexxus: It's a funny thing, isn't it?
Zak: What's that?
Hexxus: Humans, they were given the world to thrive upon, yet they deem it disposible. Here, the rainforest still saves those who mean to destroy it.
Crysta: But, that's precisely what you intended to do.
Hexxus: Was that my true intent? Am I not just a replica of mankind. I seize the control of an unstoppable machine and weave a path of destruction where ever I so choose. Perhaps you should take a good long look at your friend there. Beyond appearance, is there anything that really sets us two apart?
Crysta focuses intently on Zak. She warily reachs for the nearest sharp object.
Crysta: He's right, y'know.
Zak: Listen, Crysta. He's deceiving you. She raises the sharp object over her head. Wh-What are you doing?
Suddenly, Batman swoops it and punches Crysta in the mouth and dropkicks Hexxus into oblivion.
Zak: There's the hero I was looking for.
The two of them then go out for tea and Fig Newtons.

directed by Michael Bay
As Aladdin, Genie, and the magic carpet battle against the limitless powers of Jafar. Aladdin all of a sudden grabs a bazooka and KAPURRRGH. Then, Genie launches a grenade and PWWWWAAAAWWW. After, the magic carpet reloads Aladdin's bazooka so he can shoot it at Jafar once more. Once it hits, it goes all KAPLOWIE. Then a separate EXPLOSION distracts the crew and Jasmine rides in on the back of Rajah with an AK-47 that's going all TSH, TSH, TSH all over Jafar. Then, Jafar trips a landmine and BOOOM! That's when Jafar has finally had enough and decides to implode rather than admit defeat. CRRABLAWWW! Just when the audience thinks everyone's dead. Aladdin, Genie, the magic carpet, Rajah, and Jasmine walk away from the raging fire and billowing smoke with ACDC blaring in the background.

I am incredibly childish.

This post is a submission to Dude Write 17. Head on over to check out an array of equally awesome blogs.

Monday, October 1, 2012

Chapter 1 of Untitled Novel

Hey, everyone. Today's post is a little special, as in you probably won't want to read it (being 2,158 words and all). Anyway, the following is the first chapter of the novel I've been working on. It's taken a while to find my voice, but I think I'm beginning to get the gist of it. I rewrote this numerous times (even so far as getting 15k words into the story before starting again). Now that I've got a firm grasp of the plot, I figured I'd share this confusing first chapter with you. If you'd be kind enough, tell me how you truly feel about it. Seriously, be as mean and hateful as you want. I take criticism quite well, and I don't hold grudges. It's probably going to be confusing to you, also. Did I already mention that?

Anyway, the real reason for this post is to let you guys know that I'm not being lazy; I'm being somewhat productive. Also, it's not a final product obviously, just something I decided to occupy a post with.

Funny post to come later this week.

Sand assaulted Micah Fort’s hive-appointed goggles. He stretched his makeshift mask fashioned from a torn t-shirt sleeve over his stubbled cheeks. As he rigidly ran his fingers through his hair, a flurry of sand caught wind and flew off.

“Watch it, Fort!” Corson cried, spitting out what sand had flooded his mouth.

“Maybe you should try standing up front,” Micah said. “Or better yet, make yourself one of these,” he continued, pointing to the crude mask covering his face.

The pickup truck took a violent nosedive sending the five crew members crashing against the cab.

“Alright back there?” Redlick let out a boisterous laugh and continued, “A crater from a mortar strike. That means we’re close!” Micah knew the stunt was on purpose. Redlick always found delight in rattling his crew.

Prinley bolted to the edge of the truck bed as his eyes began to well up. “You think he’d be used to it by now,” Corson grumbled as Prinley let loose a steady stream of vomit. Kora shouldered Corson as she approached Prinley. She used one hand to brush back his loose, blonde bangs and the other to grip the back of his waistband to ensure the next bump wouldn’t send him over the edge. “Best make sure your lover boy don’t end up road kill,” Corson continued.

Kora balled her hand into a fist, but before she could deliver a quick blow to Corson, the truck took a slight dip, forcing Kora to refocus her attention. Fortunately for her, Prinley was too preoccupied to mull over the remark. Kora had made it clear that she wanted to let him know herself, and Corson had come uncomfortably close to crossing that line. It was obvious to everyone but Prinley, the newbie, of Kora’s infatuation with vulnerable boys.

After realizing that Prinley had been reduced to dry heaving, Kora dragged his weakened body back over the rail and sat him down. “Kora,” shouted Bailey. She turned in time to catch the canteen he’d just tossed her way.

Kora looked at Bailey huddled in the corner of the truck bed, his dark skin glistening in the merciless sun. “Thanks. You sure you got enough?” she inquired as she unscrewed the cap.

Bailey grinned, reaching into his pocket to reveal the tip of a flask. “Oh, I think I’ll make it.”

Kora lifted the canteen to Prinley’s lips and gently poured. Though Prinley was only able to swallow the contents through intermittent sips, he eventually regained enough strength to regain his composure. “Thanks, guys,” he said glancing between Kora and Bailey.

Two towers of smoke appeared in the distance. Micah looked back at the crew. “You guys ready? I can see the aftermath up ahead.” His muffled inquiry was met with nothing more than slight nods and subdued shrugs. Not that Micah was expecting much. He nodded in confirmation as he turned forward.

“Pushed them farther back than expected,” said Bailey. “The first mortar strike was about half a mile back.”

“That or they were luring them into a trap. Either way, it’s obvious we lost this one,” added Corson.  

There was a brief silence before Redlick interjected. “Highway ahead!”

Micah readjusted his mask to no avail. Despite the numerous excursions to sites of previous days’ battles, he could not adjust to the thick, heavy stench of fermenting blood.

The crew peered over the truck cab in time to see a rusted green sign race by. Micah mouthed the text, I95. He had learned to read at an elementary level from his father before he died in the war. He had been twelve, nearly an adult, when his father returned home in a body bag. His mother died while giving birth to him, yet his father never showed any signs of contempt.

Without warning, the truck abruptly stopped as Redlick hollered, “Free rides over! Les’ move!” With that, the crew exited the rear of the truck and reported to the front. There were two destroyed recon tanks on either side of the road. Smoke billowed from between the shredded, smoldering metal. What was left of an overpass lay beyond the tanks.

Redlick limped before the line. He was put out of action from the army after a piece of shrapnel made its home in his leg, but he never lost his sergeant mentality. Having worked under him for nearly four years, Micah no longer felt intimidated by his downward glare. In fact, Micah was left wondering why he’d ever feared Redlick at all given his portly physique and scraggily, unkempt beard. His army beret bearing Delta’s sigil, a feathered dog, balanced awkwardly atop his bald, bulbous head. He cleared his throat and wiped the sweat from his brow, he removed a small, crumpled piece of paper from his breast pocket. He unraveled it and read aloud, “The charge was accompanied by twenty Delta members. As proclaimed by the Return Home Act, your Battle Aftermath Sanitation Crew is required to account for all members of your designated hive’s party. Any fallen soldier unaccounted for must be reported to the respected hive leader. Ya-da, ya-da, ya-da. You know the drill.” When Redlick was finished, he returned the wrinkly note to his pocket. “You hear that, BASC-holes? We’re lookin’ for twenty Delta soldiers. Bailey, you’re on bed duty. The rest oh ya’ will be working the field.”

Despite sifting through mangled and bloodied bodies, BASC had its benefits. Free room and board at the hive barracks and three square meals a day; it was an orphan’s only option beyond scavenging the Souk or tilling the fields.

Bailey raced to the truck, gathered an armful of open-ended sacks, and dropped them on the rusty, decaying hood. Somehow the truck had braved the elements and survived for as long as Micah had been part of BASC. Redlick liked to boast that the corroded metal helped with ventilation. It was better to keep a positive outlook as Delta hive was more concerned with funding the Coalition than providing a new meat wagon to a bunch of orphans and a delusional sergeant.

“Micah, you’re with Prinley, again. I figure you might as well fill his tiny head with whatever knowledge you got in that equally slender head of yours before you’re shipped the vanguard.” That word twisted Micah’s stomach into a knot. In a month, he would be sixteen. The army would come for him and relocate him north to the Coalition headquarters, the Churchyard as some would call it. He had no family to vouch for him and not a nickel to his name. There wasn’t anything to prevent the army from tossing him to the vanguard. Many wondered whether you went to the Churchyard to learn how to fight or learn how to die.

“Corson and Kora, you’re together. Play nice,” Redlick jested. Kora let out an exasperated sigh. Corson furrowed his brow, but quickly shot Kora a sly, sarcastic grin. It wasn’t clear to anyone where Corson inherited his cockiness. Presumably he learned it from his older brother who joined the army three years ago. The only time Micah remembered feeling sorry for Corson was roughly a year ago when he was informed of his brother’s death. Corson quickly extinguished that feeling when he swiftly recovered from his bout of depression, reverting back to his old, arrogant ways.

Micah spotted Prinley timidly approaching him with one of the open-ended sacks. “Thanks, Cronk,” said Micah. It was one of the less humiliating nicknames he could derive from Prinley Cronkly. “Alright, I’m assuming you’ve got the gist of things. So this should be a piece of cake.” Micah pointed to a wooden makeshift sign marked with a scribbled ‘Z’ off to the side of the road. “We must’ve just missed Zeta’s crew,” mumbled Micah. Micah enjoyed the company of other aftermath crews; it made the job a lot quicker when there were twice as many people searching for fallen soldiers. Though, it’s better to have arrived after at least one crew since it left that much less bodies to sift through. “Alright, let’s get going.”

Micah and Prinley began searching behind trees and other concealed areas. After locating two bodies from Gamma and one from Beta, they eventually encountered a soldier from Delta bend over a waist-high boulder. Riga mortis had long since set in. The soldier’s hands gripped tightly around barrel of his rifle. Micah glared down at the body. In a month, that’ll be me, he thought.

“You remember what to do, right?” Micah asked.

“Yeah,” responded Prinley. He reached for the gun’s safety. “I just have to…” Prinley’s voiced trailed off as he focused on the task at hand. Click. “There.”

“Good. Now you may remove the gun,” said Micah.

Prinley nodded and wriggled the rifle from the soldier’s taut grip and knelt down to place it in the dirt.

TCH! TCH! TCH! Gun fire resonated through the air as both Micah and Prinley dove behind the far side of the boulder.

TCH! TCH! TCH! The rifle echoed until it abruptly stopped. Micah opened his eyes and released his palms from his ringing ears. He glanced at Prinley who still had his hands pressed against the side of his head. Micah regained his footing and looked about.

As the ringing in his ear subsided, the laughter in the air became clearer. Micah turned toward the neighboring forest and saw Corson hunched over, clutching his midsection. A rifle lay beside him as a thin trailed of smoke left the barrel.

“I,” choked laughter interrupted his admission of guilt. “I’ve never witnessed anything so damn funny,” he managed to spit out before the laughter resumed.

Micah’s face ignited with rage as he rushed to confront Corson. His knuckles grew pale as he approached, but before he could reach him, a loud crack sounded as a bullet hit the dirt separating the two. Micah and Corson turned toward the road where Redlick held his drawn pistol. Redlick furiously stormed toward Corson, whose face had gone from fire red to a stark white.

Redlick stopped, leaving him no more than a foot from Corson. “You’re lucky that we’re short on volunteers,” Redlick’s voice trembled as he tried to suppress his overwhelming fury. “Otherwise I’d tie you to the bumper and drag you back to the hive.” With that, Redlick delivered a quick jab to Corson’s stomach. “Now get back to work, all of you!” he shouted before returning to the truck.

Corson glanced up at Micah, who had concealed most his anger, and managed an apologetic shrug. Though it wasn’t much, Micah learned that it was about all he was capable of. His repeated antics never truly caused any harm. Though, that’s not to say that they’d ever lose their desired effect.

Micah took a deep breath and returned to Prinley, who was still lying flat on his stomach. Micah reached down and helped him up with ease. “Sorry,” Micah said. “I should’ve warned you that Corson’d tried to pull something. Though, something of that caliber was a first for me as well.” Micah forced a laughed. Prinley still looked perturbed. “No matter. Let’s haul this body back.”

Micah opened one end of the sack as Prinley grab the soldier’s legs and dragged him through the other end. Once secure, the two tightened the rope on either side and heaved him off the ground.

Once they reached the bed of the truck, Bailer dragged the body over the tailgate and stacked him neatly beside the first body secured by Kora and Corson.

This continued for three more hours until nineteen of the twenty bodies were secured. The one missing body was presumed to have been one of the unidentifiable piles of gore caught by a launcher or mine or one of the charred bodies amidst the tanks’ remains.

After inventory, the crew piled in the bed of the truck amongst the stacked bodies and wedged themselves between any available crevasses.

The crack of the truck’s engine broke the silence, and the truck began the five hour trek back to the coastal hive, Delta.

“Does the Hive, the Crown Hive, ever come to collect their soldiers?” asked Prinley to no one in particular. “I mean, I saw a few at this aftermath and the one before, too.”

Bailey, who remained quiet up until this point, replied, “They can’t be bothered to show respect for those who’ve died for their cause. They’re fighting on multiple fronts and are unfortunately winning. What makes you think they’d be willing to make any changes in their game plan? Eta’s defeat is imminent, and pretty soon there’ll be only four remaining free-hives. No, why would they bother coming to collect their dead?”

Prinley could only mumble an incoherent response. Beyond Bailey’s habitual drinking, Micah understood his needless rant. Bailey would be joining the Coalition only a month after him. They’d both stand no chance against the well advanced and over equipped Crown Hive.