Cowboys, Trucks, and Bad Luck (Part II)

Brown looked down at his dying friend. After letting his smoking pistol topple form his fumbling fingers, Glen ignored the hole in his cheek and focused on the violent bite that had been taken out of his neck. After a moment’s hesitation, Brown hurried to his friend’s aid.

But Glen pushed him away with a bloody left hand. “Forget about me.  Grab my pistol. Figure out what’s going on. I thought I heard more of those freaks.”
Brown noticed how his fingers trembled as he picked up the slick pistol. Seconds later, Nick and Trevor came running up to him.
“I heard a shot,” the old trucker yelled before the pair had even gotten within thirty feet of them. “Oh my God! What happened?” He eyed the pistol and then the dead man who lay between the cowboys and the gas pumps. “Trev, call 911,” he ordered.

The teen had his smart phone out and was already making the call. “It’s not working. It’s busy or something.”
“That’s impossible,” his uncle insisted.
“Never mind that,” Brown said quickly. “Something weird is going on. There’s no one in the gas station. Nick help Glen. Trevor keep trying.”
Nick leaned down over Glen. “Crap this is real bad. Brown, he has already lost consciousness.”
“Well then fucking help him!” Brown yelled. “Trevor you—Look out!”
The teen cried out as a figured appeared from behind the pumps and pulled his head back by his hair. His phone hit the ground and bounced twice. Trevor fought back as Brown moved to his aid.
Like with Glen, the thing moved in and tried to bite the young man. This stopped when Brown planted strong kick to the man’s midsection. The figure fell back, but Trevor cried out again when it took a fistful of his long hair with him.
Brown still had his pistol in his hand, but felt unsure about shooting a man. That was until he got a good look at the thing, for it appeared more thing than man. What once might have been a middle aged trucker, now only possessed half a face. The rest was a red ruin of tattered flesh and gleaning bone. Much of its left hand and arm had been stripped away leaving little more than a gory skeleton.

“Shot it,” Nick screamed. “Shoot the fucking thing!”
Brown took a deep breath and then brought up the gun. He steadied it. “Stop or I’ll…” but he never finished for the bloody trucker’s moan was unlike anything he had ever heard and without conscious thought, Brown fired a bullet into the center of the man’s chest.

It kept coming.
“Holy hell,” Trevor gasped.
But then Nick was screaming again, but this was a different kind.
Brown looked on, in utter horror, as his best friend jerked forward and took a bite out of Nick’s forearm.
Nick started to swear, but it didn’t last long for two more figures emerged from the darkness behind the trailer and grabbed the back of the trucker’s shirt. Before Brown could even shout a warning, they had already joined Glen in the gruesome feast.

Brown wanted to help, but the one that he had already shot lurched in and grabbed for his face. The cowboy ducked down, dodged away, and turned just in time to see Trevor snatch up his smart phone and then take off running.
“Trevor wait!” he shouted after him.
“Screw that, they’re both dead,” he yelled without slowing. “Must be a nuclear leak or something. We need to get out of here!”

Brown wanted to stay, but saw that another two bloody forms came at them from down the road to the north. Nick had already stopped moving and when the one he had shot came at him again, Brown took off running after the teen.

To be continued next Saturday!


You can find out more about Brown and the Eternal Aftermath here!

Thai Porn Restaurants Linked to Dolphin Exploitation by Alex Bone

Tucson, AZ—The shocking truth behind the link between dolphin abuse and Thai porn restaurants was recently discovered by Discord staff (quite by accident). I assure you we had no ideas those big black silhouettes of naked women had anything to do with porn. But with this story broke, the staff pledged not to rest until every porn establishment in the city was thoroughly investigated. It will mean long, late hours, with an increased expense budget, but that’s the dedication you’ve come to expect from this group.

We asked Mr. Winslow for enough extra funds to visit every restaurant in Tucson as well, but he didn’t buy the whole porn-restaurant connection. That’s where he was wrong...dead wrong.

Playing porn films in the background while engaged in fine dining is one thing, and usually quite lovely, but when dolphins get involved people have crossed a line that there’s no returning from, at least not without CPR.

I visited, Loo Hung Duk in the back room of his restaurant. While the moans of pleasure and bondage faded into the background, I was brought to the edge of the small dolphin pool he kept in his filming studio. He had this to say in his defense. "Everyone knows dolphins are wicked pissa smart. What, I grew up in Boston. Dolphins, humans, what’s the real difference? One lives in the ocean and has fins... oooooo, big deal. Besides, I think Dolphins are wicked hot."

Moving closer to the pool he said, "Listen to this. Fah, what do you love best?"

 

"Fah, love porn," the Dolphin said.

"That’s from that old George C. Scott movie!" I said.

"Yeah, what about it? I got the thing in a Hollywood auction in 1986. Say you’re a tall fellow and I think Fah likes you. When she balances a ball on her nose that’s a good sign."

"What happens if she doesn’t like you?" I asked.

"A flipper to the groin, but don’t worry it would have happened already."

When he told me how much he paid his ‘actors’ (free sesame chicken and all the beer I can drink in thirty minutes) how could I refuse? After all, I do work for the Discord.

 

So I lowered myself into the pool and Fah started to- (Edit)

After grabbing another beer, I went back into the pool and- (Edit)

Fah and I took the sesame chicken and rubbed it all over- (Edit)

A few minutes later- (Edit) and then we- (Edit) and I finished with a round of- (Edit). (Edit) and the sesame chicken was actually still pretty good. So if this report got to you gentle readers a little late, I apologize, because I’ve been hanging out with Fah a lot. I have never met anyone that could- (Edit) underwater. I might be in love.

 

All right, honestly she didn’t like me so I speak in a higher voice now, but I did get some free beer for my trouble. And my doctors are hopeful my testicles will descend again real soon.  But, meanwhile, look for our newest videos Better than Mermaids, Behind The Green Aquarium, Deep Gill, Debbie Does Dolphin, Blow Hole Party 4, and My Purple Porpoise, where ever fine videos are sold.

Check out this and more laughs on the Daily Discord, Baby

 

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Homelessness in Innsmouth on the Raise.

In recent weeks the citizens of Innsmouth have been reporting a growing amount of encounters with homeless individuals wondering the streets at night. The increasing number of the homeless in our city streets has been causing an alarming variety of issues and problems. These problems include: vandalism, theft, sound complaints, and even missing pets.

Last Tuesday Mrs. Howards of Dorchester Avenue reported hearing odd sounds outside of her back door around midnight.  “It was sort of a slushy swooshing noise, like a wet towel hitting a rock. It scared me and I was afraid to look until the next morning. When I did go outside, once the sun had come up, I found that my entire garden had been trampled. Even stranger, all the goldfish in my pond had been eaten. Now what sort of miscreant would do something like that?”

Innsmouth Free Press spoke with Officer Danford regarding this increasingly alarming subject. “It is true these incidents have been increasing lately.”

“Who is responsible?”

“That is the strange thing. We seem to be having a hard time catching them in the act, but then in the morning there is no sign of them either. Usually the homeless aren’t too hard to track down. They hide out in alleys and old abandoned buildings, but even when we search these areas we are finding nothing to indicate their presence.”

“What is the worst thing that has happened?”

“People have been the most disturbed by their missing pets. We have had several disappearances. The strangest part is that they are not showing up anywhere. They are just gone."

Officer Danford when on to urge the citizens of Innsmouth to remain in their homes with the doors locked, once it is dark, until the police can get this situation under control.

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LUCKY BASTARD by, S.G. Browne

Title: LUCKY BASTARD by, S.G. Browne
Publisher: Gallery Books
Pub Date: April 2012
Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
Reviewer: Joshua Palmatier




This book is slightly outside of my usual reading list, since it's more mainstream than sci-fi/fantasy. It certainly has an SF&F flavor to it, as you'll see, but it still wouldn't be considered urban fantasy (even though it's close). I mostly got this book because I was the moderator on a panel at the San Diego Comic Con, and S.G. Browne was one of the panelists. I was doing some research on the panelists and read the first part of this book (about 50 pages) to get an idea of what it was about. I set it aside shortly after that, but it kept calling to me, so I picked it up recently, started it over again, and finished it off. The fact that I returned to it when I have probably a couple of hundred other books in the SF&F genre on my shelves waiting to be read tells you something about the book.



The premise is that the main character, Nick Monday, who is a private investigator with the ability to steal people's luck. Luck is something we're born with, and some of us have more inherent luck than others. Nick steals it by simply touching you (shaking your hand, etc), distills it, and then sells it on the black market. But Nick is about to have an incredibly bad day, which starts with a visit from Tuesday Knight, who wants him to find out who sole her father, the mayor's, luck. From there, it only goes from bad to worse as he's visited by the local chinese mafia, who want him to poach luck exclusively for them, and the government, who want him to hit the mafia kingpin with a dose of bad luck. All Nick wants to do is survive, without getting his sister and her family involved in his own wrongdoing.

Obviously, I got into the book within the first 50 pages, since I returned to it after the fact. The character is engaging, even though he isn't exactly "good". You can probably guess that it's sort of like a noir detective novel. It's got that flavor, with all of the Sam Spade-ish names, the mafia, the multiple twisting and interweaving plot threads, and the whole guns, PI, and women themes. I really enjoyed the twisting plot and the eyerolling situations Nick got into during the course of the day (because the description above is only the tip of the iceberg regarding the plotlines). It had a nice humorous slant and the author certainly had fun playing with all of the puns dealing with luck out there. The writing was effortless to read and easy to follow.

There were a couple of minor annoyances. At a certain point, Nick's constant reference to bosoms got irritating, especially when in a few places that became his main motivating factor. I don't have a problem with this in general, but it was overused in the book. Also, there's a "framing" construction to the book (where it starts at the end of the day with a tense moment, then skips back to how the characters got there) and once we catch up to that frame . . . it wasn't as tense as the snippit at the beginning promised. To me. So the ending wasn't as fulfilling as I'd have liked. Good, but not great. Otherwise, this would have been 4 stars of out 5, instead of 3.

But still, the point of such a book isn't the ending, the point is the convoluted path that gets you there and the fun you have along the way as it twists and turns, and this book certainly delivers on that front. The idea behind the book--luck poaching--was a cool idea and I thought S.G. Browne carried it off well. Certainly a recommended read for those into noir detectives and some humorous play on the concept of luck.


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Climax of Jack Primus Versus the Temple of Pain

Alone, Jack ran at the Queen of the Temple of Pain and her surviving ally. Jack’s three remaining compatriots still screamed as their bodies writhed in agony on the floor behind him. Jack had knives and other weapons on him, but he let them rest in their sheaths. He hated the Templars with a burning passion and he wanted to finish this with his hammer.

The Templar Queen welded a curved scimitar, while man used some type of spiked war club that had evil, twisted hooks emerging in a myriad of angles. The Queen held back, more than happy to let her man meet the brunt of Jack’s assault.

Jack’s swung hammer was met by the bladed club and the Stalwart was distressed to see the head of his sledge go spinning away. Jack backpedalled away from the tall Templar as the Xemmoni swung his club in wide arcs. Jack attempted to use the remainder of his hammer to parry the blows. He blocked two swings, but the second cost him another foot of his hammer handle.  

The Templar continued to press the attack and Jack cried out when one of the weapon’s hooks tore a line pain down his left arm. Jack kept backpedaling until he hit a pool of blood, which caused him to slip. He lost balance and hit the floor hard.

With an insane grin, the Templar moved in to finish him. Jack had other plans. He actually rolled toward the Xemmoni and the spiked weapon splashed into the pool of blood behind him, missing Jack’s head by inches. As Jack rolled, he tore his war dagger from its sheath and sliced halfway through the man’s ankle. It was the villain’s turn to fall. He used the knife to block the Templar’s weapon as he got into position above the fallen man.

Then, like a vampire slayer, he drove the jagged point of the hammer handle into the fiend’s dark heart. The Templar coughed and struggled, but it proved to be the type of wound that even a Xemmoni couldn’t survive.

He was just attempting to get to his feet when another Bestow hit him. The Queen of the Temple laughed as pain ruled his body. This wasn’t an Agony Bestow. It was something else, something worse. Where the Agony Bestow just made you feel pain, this Bestow was tearing his body apart. Flesh split and blood poured from him. Burn marks appeared on his arms and hands. His back exploded in anguish as a hundred whip marks emerged from his swollen flesh. It felt like nails were being driven into his flesh from every angle. His body arched and he Screamed.

The Queen’s laughter could just be heard over his own cries. She moved in toward him in no huge hurry. “You played a good game Stalwart, but cost me quite a bit of time. You know how hard it is to find decent followers? Not everyone can feast on the art of torture and pain. In takes an advanced understanding to fully grasp our goals. But perhaps it is for the best, I had grown tired of most of them and maybe one of those you brought in with you can help me start to rebuild my ranks and give me a new thrill.”

“Go to Hell.”

“Oh, I visit there from time to time. A great place to conduct a little research. Perhaps I’ll show you some of the things I’ve learned there over the next few weeks. For your life force will feed my long and well, Stalwart. It is the least you can provide me after…”

She paused, startled. Then fell to her knees. Alex stood behind her and Jack was just able to see through the red haze of pain that the young teen had stabbed her in the back.

As he drew forth his sword, he said, “I guess you were to busy bragging to remember that your dead buddy had been that one that fired one of your damn spells at me. When Jack killed him, the spell was broken, dumb ass!”

She pointed a finger at Alex, but didn’t have time to finish off her Bestow before a swing of Alex’s sword took off her head.

The torture ceased, but the damage remained. Jack tried to get onto his hands and knees, but passed out instead.

To be continued next Monday…

Find out how Jack’s Adventures Started… Here!

Season f Rot, Book Review

 











Season Of Rot, by Eric S. Brown
Publisher: Permuted Press
Published: 2009
Stars: 4
Reviewed by, Michael D. Griffiths



This was the second of Mr. Brown’s books that I’ve had the pressure of reading. Eric Brown is quickly becoming known as the King of Zombies and now has a full 17 books published, which focus primarily on the subject of mankind’s doom being brought about by a zombie driven apocalypse.


Unlike many authors that attempt to give every story a heroic and happy ending, Eric has no such qualms. Personally, I think the man is secretly rooting for the undead most of the time. But let’s just say if it ever comes to me having to live through a zombie apocalypse, I sure hope Mr. Brown isn’t my God.

The book itself consists of five well thought out and very different novellas. The one thing they all do have in common is their genre breaking styles. Yep, sure they all have zombies, but none of these are your standard moaning zombie fair. Each story has a unique and original twist. In all cases Eric takes what is already a horrible situations for the survivors and makes it much much worse.

The novellas twists range from technological to supernatural, but always keep the reader guessing. Unlike many books out there, if you can figure out how the story is going to end or what is really happening, then you either have psychic abilities yourself, or you are Eric Brown. I would strongly recommend this book to all zombie lovers and any horror loving that would like to try this sub-genre.

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Cowboys, Trucks, and Bad Luck

As the last of the cattle headed up the loading ramp that lead to the back of a semi, Brown let out a contented sigh of relief. Their two weeks of hot work under the blaring New Mexico sun had paid off. Soon, if everything went well, they would be reaping the rewards of their hard labor, but the team still needed to get the fifty head of cattle to southern California first.

“Looks like a fine group of huffers you got here, Brown,” Nick said, as he wiped his dirty arm across his forehead. Having said his piece, the older man moved to the cab of his semi and started up the engine.
Brown’s partner Glen had finished loading their horses into the back of the trailer and with Nick’s nephew Trevor in tow, moved over to watch the last of the cattle enter the semi.
“Another job well done,” his buddy said, while brushing the dust off his jeans with his Stetson.

“You guys were up in the Gila a long time, huh,” Trevor said with a sloppy grin. “Any Broke-back Mountain action happen between you two?”
“The only broken back around here’s going to be yours, if you keep talking trash,” Glen said, before placing his hat back over his jet black mane of hair.
Brown laughed before saying, “Yeah, you better wise up youngster. Besides, who are you to talk, the closest you ever get to a pussy is when you pet your grandmother’s cat.”
With an angry glare, Trevor stormed off to join his uncle in the semi. After shutting and securing the back doors, the cowboys climbed into the pick-up, they used to haul the horse trailer, and headed off toward I-10.

*         *         *

Several hours later, the two vehicles were just reaching the outskirts of Tucson. The sun had set three hours earlier and the city glowed like a sea of fallen stars. Glen, who drove, looked over at him. “It looks like we’re running a little low on gas. I hate stopping in Phoenix. Let’s just fuel up here and we’ll probably be good for the whole way to Cali.”
“Fine by me. I could use a beer.”
“Oh, that’s real fair, you drink and I drive.”
“Sorry, bud, it’s in my contract.”
“We’ll see about that,” Glen answered with a smile. After contacting the semi, the trailer led the way into the Triple T Truckstop. The semi pulled past them heading to the special pumps reserved for the big rigs, while Glen glided them into the normal pumps that lined the parking lot in front of the store.

Brown hopped out of the pickup and said, “I’ll head in and grab us some supplies.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure. Ale for you and coffee for me, right.”
Brown called over his shoulder. “Come on. Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll grab you a sandwich.”
After two weeks in the hills, the idea of grabbing a few cold ones did appeal to him and Brown was debating whether he should grab some or wait until they got to California when he reached the front doors and found them locked.

He tried them again. “What the hell?” he said out loud. “They can’t be closed. It isn’t even ten o’clock.” He was about to bang on the doors when he saw something odd inside. To the right of the checkout stand, he could just make out a smear on the floor near one of the central isles. He tried to peer in. It was hard to tell, but it appeared to have a reddish hue.

Glen’s voice distracted him.
“Hey, buddy are you okay?”
At first Brown thought he was talking to him, but upon turning, he saw that a lone man limped across the parking lot toward the trailer.
Glen spoke again. “What’s going on—oh crap! Brown, get over here! This guy’s covered in blood. There must have been an accident on the highway.”
Brown hurried to help, but Glen reached the man first. “Alright buddy, I think you need to lie down. You’re probably in shock. I’ll call 911. Were there any other people in the accident? We’ll need to—ahhhhhhh. Oh damn. Ahhh. Brown help!”
But it was already too late.
Even from twenty feet away, Brown saw the blooding man strike forward with his head and latch his teeth onto the side of Glen’s neck. With a growl, the madman tore a chunk out of Glen’s jugular, which released a shower of blood. Glen stumbled back. He pressed his hand over his wound and looked like he could barely stay on his feet.
But the man went after him again. Glen cried out as they both toppled over. Inside of the trailer, the horses lost control and began to whinny and kick the doors.
Brown only stopped long enough to grab a window cleaning stick, which he smashed the attacker on the back of the head with. The man didn’t seem to care and Glen’s screams reached new heights as the fiend took a huge bite out of his cheek.
“Get off him, you freak!” Brown yelled, as he gripped the stick with two hands and used it to pull the man away by his neck. The figure turned on him with gnashing teeth and Brown was barely able to avoid receiving a bite.

He backed away as the blood dripping figure came at him again. It was lunging forward until its head exploded with a shower of blood that sprayed the front of Brown’s trench coat.
“Oh damn,” he whispered, but then heard loud moaning.
“Brown, hurry up. There are more of them,” Glen managed to gasp as a spiral of smoke emerged from his pistol.
“More of what? What the hell is going on?”
“How would I know? But help me. I think I’m dying…”

To be continued next Saturday!

You can find out more about Brown and the Eternal Aftermath here!

Discord Staff Pledge to Drink as Much as Possible this Saint Patrick’s Day

Collapsing Shack Arizona: In an unprecedented move, the entire staff of The Daily Discord has pledged to drink as much as possible this Saint Patrick’s Day. When asked to elaborate, Zano had this to say, “I know a lot of people drink quite a bit on Saint Paddy’s, but we are going to drink so much that normal people will seem like a bunch of nuns at an AA meeting.”

 

When asked what the purpose of all this drinking was, Griffiths had no problem explaining. “We all know that Saint Patrick was responsible for saving many aspects of Christian history and supposedly drove the snakes from Ireland. As a Pagan snake worshipper, all this just makes me sad, want to smash U2 albums, and kick a leprecon in the head. So that’s why I’m drinking and I’ll also be making a model of Saint Patrick out of living mice and duct tape and feeding it to my Reticulated Python.”

After searching the entire Discord Tower Complex, we caught up with Winslow in the dumpster, trying to find something to eat. “No no no… we aren’t doing this as a charity fundraiser, but that would have been a good idea, my ride does need a new set of tires. I consider this more of a silent protest against the capitalistic money grubbers that aren’t giving me my piece of the Sheppard’s Pie. How am I going to afford a second exotic petting zoo on the south lawn of my third estate with all these people refusing to share their wealth? Trickle down my ass.” When asked to elaborate more on his feeling regarding Reagonomics, he said, “No, I mean I think I felt something trickle down my ass.”

 

As I was leaving, the Getto Shaman ran into me with his car and from the looks of things, he had started his celebrating a little early. “The rest of these guys here are a bunch of panty waists and not fit to be shown a bottle of Vermouth at ten paces. Griffiths and Zano with their beers and Winslow with his Boonsfarm and abstince. I’ll be drinking like a real Irishman, not some micro-snob trustafarrin. Whiskey with a Whiskey chaser over here. I’m going to drink so much my puke will be 80 proof, which my dog for one will enjoy.”

When pressed for any real reason to be drinking so much none of them could give me the same answer twice. Although the fact it would be a Saturday seemed important to Cokie before she passed out. When it was pointed out that pledging to do something usually means an association to a good cause or at least a positive social outcome, Griffiths punched me in the face and then asked if I wanted to wrestle.

 

Later, after I put ice on my jaw and was trying to sneak out the side door, Zano attempted to sell me his rare beer coaster collection that was just a stack of used paper towels. Winslow asked me to buy him a case of aged Scotch, but only handed me a dollar. The Getto Shaman mumbled a thread of obscenities and demanded they all go for a drive. They yelled with unbridled glee and rushed into his Caddy. Unfortunately I was dragged along. I’m going to send this off before my laptop battery goes dead. If it gets posted, I guess that means that some of us made it back alive.

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Blood, Viscera, and Pain (Featuring Jack Primus)

As Jack, Alex, and John raced into the corrupted beauty salon, they heard more grinding and the building vibrated under their boots. This was followed by a loud bang as what had to be the tow truck Jerry drove smashed into the back of the strip mall a second time.

 

Jack was the first to enter the center of this makeshift Temple of Pain and his stomach churned at what he saw. Body parts were stacked in piles along the walls and hung from rusty hooks suspended from the ceiling. Viscera spread over the floor in stagnant pools and clogged foul drains. Victims in various states of dismemberment moaned on blood soaked tables. Most of them were unknown to Jack, but when he saw Eric’s mangled body, it was like a dagger through his guts.

 

Strangely, the one thing he didn’t see much of was an enemy. Maybe all of the pukes we’ve already taken out have actually made a difference. But I know their leader, that bitch of theirs, is still around here somewhere.

“Help me. Help me,” one of the men hanging vertically along the far wall called out. Only then, did Jack notice that another of Alex’s friends, Blake, hung there.

Beside him, John lost it and vomited across the already sick floor. “Alex, help him along. We need to be sure we stick close. The only thing we can count on is that this isn’t over yet.”

The trio started to move toward Blake, but Andre appeared out of the back of the building and got there first. “Don’t worry, Blake. I’ll get you down.” The young teen said.

 

“Andre, be careful,” Jack called out. “Hold up, we need to-”

But it was already too late. Blake hadn’t been chained at all. It was all a ruse and their former friend’s eyes glowed a dull red before he slipped a jagged dagger into Andre’s heart. Andre fell back with a scream—blood already seeping through his lips. A second later, he stumbled over a severed head and his body toppled into a pool of blood with a grotesque splash.

“Son of a…” Jack started as he ran over the slick floor. His other allies hurried to stay on his heels. Jerry was just entered through the same door that Andre had used when Jack’s hand axe went spiraling. The blade took Blake in the forehead and this proved enough to save Jerry from suffering Andre’s fate.

Jack knew that not much could be harder than taking out your own friend, so he saved the teens the trouble and put Blake out of his misery with the sledge.

Looking around for a moment, he found the place devoid of adversaries and only the slow dripping of blood and the weak moans of the Templar’s victims could be heard.

 

Jerry and the others reached him and Alex asked, “What now?”

“We have to clean this place out and then burn it to the ground. Nothing this horrible can be allowed to fester and regrow.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind.” The Templar Queen said, as she and what might have been her last surviving follower stepped into the horrid room. Red flashes erupted from the pair’s fingers and John and Jerry’s throats filled with screams before their bodies had even hit the floor.

Templar Queen

“The only thing you and yours will do is die at our leisure and be assured it will be a long dance of exquisite pain for all the damage you have done to my temple.”

Having said her piece, the Templar queen and her follower once again fired Agony Bestows at the remaining Stalwarts. Alex collapsing like the others, but Yig burned strong within Jack’s veins and, with a growl, he managed to burst past the spell this time and raced for the scarlet villains.

Templar

Alone he faced the evil pair. The lives of the remaining teens were in his hands and he didn’t intend to let them down.

To be continued next Monday…

Find out how Jack’s Adventures Started… Here!

Jack Primus Versus The Temple of Pain

Men Officially Concede Battle of the Sexes By Alex Bone

Washington, DC—The Senate outlined the unilateral concession of men today, which will allow women to proclaim victory in the Battle of the Sexes. The news came as quite a shock to those wealthy established Romney supporter-types, but the true effects of this legislative proclamation may have even deeper ramifications for men and their relative sperm counts.

"This has been the longest war," said Peter Whipped, the spokesman for the National Organization of Buddies (NOB). "That Hundred Year War shit is a skirmish compared to this bitch, which probably started when the first cave woman demanded to stop being dragged by the hair into the cave. It’s been all downhill ever since. Today, more women are finishing college than men and they’re getting better degrees. Yet men are still expected to do all the things our fathers and grandfathers did, plus half the housework and child care. My wife makes more money than me and has me washing her clothes while she and her friends sit around watching football and drinking beer. I fear burps and farts will start occurring within a year. Let’s face it, I’m screwed and you’re next! They’re here; they’re already the head of the household!"

Vice President of NOB, Dick Limper, said, "Women are just smarter than men and they actually care about shit. It sucks. They have been plotting and planning for centuries and I just want to eat chicken wings and catch up on Walking Dead episodes. We’re not thinkers and we’re not planners and now we wear aprons. One day I was watching the tube and my wife speeds off in her new Mercedes after telling me to watch the kids, cuz I’ll be back whenever I feel like it, bitch. Back in the day that used to be me! Well, if you substitute Pinto for Mercedes. Oh shit, I had better get back home or she’ll make me wear the French maid’s outfit again."

Not everyone is convinced that now is the time to concede. Political activist, Stiffy McTosterone, is forming the Lilly Better off Deadbetter Act in retaliation. Well, it’s not so much an act as a Meetup Group. Their official mission statement is a little demeaning and crude, not unlike The Daily Discord’s. You can see it on their website...(um, my wife only allows an hour of internet a day, so I’ll try to hyperlink to it tomorrow).

Professor Sterling Hogbein, of the Hogbein Institute and Barber Shop, said, "We should have seen this coming. All these eons of trying to keep women in their place through religious totalitarianism crumbled into ashes when Nietzsche killed God and then what was left of the Church started raping children. Without that societal control, the dam opened wide and men were no match for these multitasking maniacs. Soon we’ll be little more than second income earners. We will be reduced to sex objects, staying at home with the kids and cleaning the house while our women hang out with their friends, drinking tea, and discussing their emotions like they were important or something. I predict that within a generation all of our sperm counts will reach Congressional levels. Oh excuse me, that’s my wife on the phone. Oh, you need me to..." 

I stopped recording here when the professor began to weep. I can’t help but wonder how this decision will change our lives on a day-to-day basis. It remains to be seen, but I’ll let you know as soon as my wife gives me permission to tell you what she thinks I should say. Hey, it’s almost internet hour! Hooray! Oh shit, she’s blocking that site. My spousal control settings and filters are getting kind of strict. Remember porn? I don’t. 

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