Category: Guest Authors

Downtime by Munsi

Downtime
By Christopher Munroe

For the record: It’s not all club lyfe and binge-drinking, here on the party-bus.

Though there’s plenty of that.

We also, for example, have a biweekly Dungeons and Dragons campaign, for while we travel.

I play a chaotic-neutral half-orc ranger named Thog, Master of Contusions. He’s our party’s tracker/private security. Kind of a high-fantasy Pinkerton…

Jill, on the other hand, is our bard, a Zither player/epic poet. She’s very funny, though Alec, our paladin, finds her poetry borderline blasphemous.

It’s a fun way to spend time on the road.

And like I said, not EVERY party needs to be debauched…

Atomic Number 80 – Laieanna

Under the bright moonlight, Alan found Randy thrashing around in mucky
water that came up to his chest.

“Randy! What are you doing?”

Randy paused, pointed to the water, then violently banged his head
forward and back.

Alan sighed. “I said we were going to a mosh pit, not marsh. We’ve
been waiting for you.”

“Oh.” Randy put a wet hand to lips in thought.

“Concert’s over, man.”

“Oh,” Randy said again. He sank down until the water came to his
chin. “Guess, I’ll just mellow out here.”

Alan rolled his eyes. “You have got to lay off the hash.”

Correct by Munsi

The Proper Way to Party
By Christopher Munroe

There’s no one, “Correct” way to party, and anyone telling you otherwise is lying…

If your idea of a party includes the show, after-party, hotel lobby and, when ‘round about four you gotta clear the lobby, take it to your room, then by god do that.

Similarly, if you’re having a party, a party for two, then enjoy the intimacy of your very private party.

The party bus isn’t about judgment, it’s about parties, however you define them, and however you define yours there’s room for you here.

And perhaps that, more than anything, is what we need right now…

Flap by Munsi

Flap
By Christopher Munroe

Don’t you see?

The “Magic” feather wasn’t magic, you never needed it, the power was within you all along!

You could always fly, you just had to believe!

So believe! Close your eyes, believe in yourself, and flap!

Flap, flap your arms, flap as hard as you’re able and believe as hard as you can, leap from atop this party bus, and soar! Soar to the heavens, where you truly belong!

Fly!!!

Shit, you okay? Let me help you up.

Sorry, I didn’t think you’d fall for that. Obviously people can’t fly.

You gotta admit, though, that was pretty funny…

Bottle by Jeffrey

A Cup of Pretension
by Jeffrey Fischer

I’ve liked coffee ever since that fateful morning in graduate school when, bleary-eyed and heading for class, I poured a cup of Maxwell House from the department’s automatic drip machine. I’ve upgraded my taste in beans a little – Dunkin’ Donuts, regular and decaf mixed 50-50, is the Fischer house specialty – and bought a nicer drip maker, but it’s essentially the same stuff.

Out in the broader world, though, people have gone nuts. First there was Starbucks and its “baristas,” which allowed them to charge three bucks for over-roasted beans. Now there are ultra-pretentious places, such as Blue Bottle, that make a fetish out of pouring a simple cup of joe – and charge north of six bucks for the privilege.

As for me: I have a machine in my office.

Anger Management
by Jeffrey Fischer

Ten-year-old Timmy was told not to bottle up his emotions. “What does that mean?” he asked. “Well, if you feel angry or sad or happy, don’t keep it inside you; let other people know how you feel.” The next day, Timmy felt happy, so he smiled at everyone. His teachers thought he was creepy. The following day, Timmy felt sad, so he cried all day. His friends shunned him. That made Timmy angry, so the third day he took a glass Pepsi bottle and smashed it over Dave’s head. That made Timmy happy again, and he smiled his creepy smile even as the teachers pulled him away.

The Detectives by Munsi

The Detectives
By Christopher Munroe

We found him in his office, dead.

There were rope burns around his neck, and when we examined the body we counted fourteen stab wounds in various spots.

That’s not even going into bullet holes, eight total, the last basically obliterating the top part of his head, splattering blood and brain across the ceiling.

The room absolutely reeked of petrol, and a lighter was found near the gasoline-soaked body. One spark would have set the whole room ablaze…

Yes, we concluded, he had not died of natural causes.

His death had been violent, violent indeed…

But: Had it been accidental?

Camera by Danny

The Camera was pointed in my face, I froze. The bullshit out of my mouth failed to flow. The people looked at me like the freak that I am. All I can say is I tried, and I don’t think I’m a bad person for trying. I think I will be painted out to be a horrible person. Amazing the way people can construe words. People have to much power with words, not even knowing the meaning or the damage they can do with them. So I’ll try to smile as you flash that Camera of judgement in my face.

Pound for Pound by Tom

Gordy yousta pound the crap out of his little brother Martin. Deep into
high school Gordy had the weight advance over Martin. Two deployments to
Afghanistan tipped the balance in Martin’s favor. Not to be out done Gordy
got in touch with Berry Bond’s dealer and got seriously bulked on Anabolic
steroids. Martin enter a Tibetan monastery for a decade and exited a Tai
chi master. Gordy took up Transcendental Meditation. Martin became a Sufi
mystic. When perfect enlightenment was attained they vanished into the
east. Some say when you hear the rain pounding you can hear them laughing.

Against the Gathering Storm by Tom

Shoulder to shoulder they stood to hold the line. Mere children and
grandfathers, the last and least, to hold back the tide. They dropped
where they stood ever closing the ranks to hold the line. Pound as they
may the rage and thunder broke against that line. In the end the line held
strong, not one inch did they yield to the oppressors. And those that
stood and those who fell never were forgotten. We evoke their names and
call you now, to join in our glorious mission, protect this land, make a
stand, hold the line. Hold the line.

John Musico – An Ounce Of Prevention

John,
M.D. that is.
An ounce of prevention, a.k.a.
Beware, the south is different…

They smile politely as your disparate ways offend them. Complaining, without invitation, is impolite. Also, you should look the part: a physician looks, speaks, dresses, even smells like one. I show up from NY, in wrinkled scrubs, smelling like an ashtray, and swearing like a dockyard guy. That patient, a Baptist preacher; was shocked by me. Further, because I didn’t ask if there was something I didn’t cover; he didn’t say, then whined I didn’t even cover his concerns. He shook my hand, smiled pleasantly… then reported me”
I’m up on charges of “conduct unbecoming”- because of that asshole preacher.