Stupid Girl

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The sky turned black and roared.
“Everyone! Cellar!” shouted Henry to his wife and niece.
They ran to the storm shelter, but their niece was gone.
“Where is that stupid girl?” growled Henry.
Emily spotted her running in the yard. “She’s chasing that damned dog,” she said.
Henry yelled, but the winds drowned him out.
“I’m going back,” he said.
“No, you’re not!” yelled Emily, slamming the shelter door.
The winds roared louder, then a crash.
Finally, silence.
Henry slowly opened the door.
“See her?” asked Emily.
“Yup,” said Henry. “Tornado tossed her through a tree.”
“Stupid girl,” muttered Emily.

The Stripes Bar

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Sort of a diary entry in 100 words from Andrew Ian Dodge today…

It started out as a kind offer from a rock band friend of Growing Old Disgracefully. We were to have our official live debut playing a few tunes acoustically as “special guests”. It would be a great way to dip our musical toes in the live scene. The dipping seems to have become a plunge. The opening band has pulled out and we are now the openers. We will play as many as we can get rehearsed. I, for one, can’t wait to get out there; getting stage fright afterwards as I always do. So Stripes Bar here we come!

I’m hoping for bootleg recordings.

The Sea of Lost Children

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The Crown Prince put down his teacup.
“There is no abortion in the Kingdom,” he said.
He smiled. We smiled.
Ten hours later, the GPS unit told us to stop.
“Welcome to the Sea of Lost Children,” said our guide, pointing at the dunes.
We took turns digging.
Eventually, we found them.
“Suffocated in plastic,” said Bob. “Postnatal. No abortion.”
“Just plain murder,” I said. “How convenient.”
That’s when we heard choppers.
We tried to run, but soldiers surrounded us.
“Keep digging,” commanded an officer. “You sought them out, so join them now.”
Ever breathe plastic?
I don’t recommend it.

hero

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I never understood that superhero, the one who walked out of an atomic explosion and had flames on his head. Flamehead Guy or Atomic Firehead or something like that.
“Help, Atomic Flamehead Guy!” someone would shout. And he’d fly to rescue them.
Do you think he lit cigarettes with his head? Or made s’mores with it?
If I had a flaming head, I would.
I thought he was cool. I wanted to be him for Halloween, but my mother stopped me before I could light this Sterno can I glued to my head.
What? She’s gone?
Light me up, dude!

Your Glow

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I’m going to need to set up a category for Andrew, I think.
Here’s his latest, which is kind of a poem and a song, too…

That glow you have
Like from my nano
Lights up my days
Lettin’ me know, I ain’t alone
You’re there as a lead
Through my life’s toils
Standing me in good stead
Helping me through my many foils
Like the iPod’s many tunes
You are a soundtrack to my life
Guiding me through the dunes
Helping things through strife
You plugged into my heart
A line of power to my soul
Getting to me like a sharp dart
Music to my hurting ears
One that technology can’t provide
There to prevent all those tears
Letting me know where to hide

And if any of you out there have your own stories you’d like to start publishing here or elsewhere, let me know and I’ll be glad to pass the word along to the tiny sliver of the world that listens to my little feed.

Ulysses With A Sneer

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They left the gates open, and the guards all stayed home.
The mansion had never been a home. It always felt like a hideout, although the drugs sometimes made it feel like a slide under the world’s microscope.
Or a prison.
“Welcome home,” he muttered.
He’d been gone for almost 30 years, but his key still fit in the lock.
Maybe they switched the old lock back in the door, just for him.
He wandered around the mansion, which had become a sterile museum. Signs everywhere, saying what he’d done, where and when.
But never why.
He shrugged and left.

Home Sweet Hell

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“Welcome home, Sir,” said the demon on duty at the Gates of Hell.
“What’s with the damn line?” asked Satan. “It took me two weeks to get to this spot.”
“Someone moved our records to that stupid Windows Vista crap and-”
Satan raised his hand. “Say no more.” He laughed and walked up to the turnstile…
*THUNK*
Which didn’t budge.
“Stuck?” asked Satan.
“Um…” stammered the demon. “While you were gone, we had a teensy weensy revolution kind of thing.”
“Hitler?”
“Yasser.”
“Figures,” said Satan. He turned around.
“Leaving again, Sir?”
“Yeah,” said Satan.”Call if you need me.”
They didn’t.

Adolf Chavez

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It’s a hard-hitting rant in 100 words by Andrew Ian Dodge for your enlightenment and concern today…

In the country called Venezuela they have a leader who continues to echo one from the past.
This leader came from Austria and led a greater Germany; his evil is legendary. His politics were socialist in a nationalist way, and he believed Jews were the greatest enemy to all mankind.
Despite his crimes, there are leaders who ape his policies.
Mr Chavez is one such man. He likes to think he is the new Che; but in fact he is closer to the new Fuhrer.
First Venezuela, now Bolivia and where to next?
Oh never-mind nothing to worry about right?

Technically, he calls them the “Christ-killers” in his speech.
I didn’t realize the Romans controlled the world these days. Did you?
Anyway, now that Andrew’s going to be a regular feature here, I’ve added a section there on the right margin to list his many projects and sites. Just scroll down a bit past the wiggly Cthulhu icon thing.

Time To Change

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Do you believe in magic?
Well, I do. I believe in it with all my heart.
I’ve seen dragons flying through the clouds. They’re clever creatures, ducking behind the clouds when you get your camera out.
I’ve stopped trying to take their picture. I’d rather just enjoy their acrobatic wonder.
I’ve made friends with the Little People. I’ve also made friends with man-eating giants. But you rarely see both at the same party.
I think it has something to do with the caterers.
There’s more out there, but I can’t tell you right now.
Full moon’s out.
Time to change.

Shutdown

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Another fine tale from Andrew Ian Dodge, inspired by the shutdown of the London Transit System over New Year’s.

There was a group of men who thought they were clever; by shutting down the London Underground on New Years Eve. They ruined the night for many of their fellow Londoners; but probably expected sympathy. And annoyed a few more with their heartless smugness. In the coming year they will suffer much abuse and no doubt wonder why.
And those people who would normally be upset seeing an RMT member verbally abused will probably look away. There will no doubt even be some cheers.
The union member will probably not realise what they have wrought with their heartless holiday endeavor.