Crawdads Protest Outside of Discord Tower By Alex Bone

Philadelphia, PA—The Daily Discord Tower is under siege at this hour by America’s Western Crawdad Warfront Against the Repulsive Daily Discord (A.W.C.W.A.R.D.D.). CEO of the Discord, Pierce Winslow, is currently holed up in his ivory tower. He’s trying to electrify the outside of the building to thwart the attacking crawdads as he apparently "saw it once on a Star Trek episode."

Kenny the Crawdad, best known for his posters promoting pre-adolescent smokers, said A.W.C.W.A.R.D.D. is gearing up to, "Use any means at our disposal to fight against Alex Bone and his crawdad hating lackeys at the Discord. And remember kids, smoking is cool."

Dr. William Lynn, a spokesman for the crawfish and advocate for mandatory euthanasia for the ugly, said, "Alex Bone has not only been boiling my clients alive and then eating their flesh, he is also very vocal in his tirades against these peaceful aquatic invertebrates."

Lynn told the press, "First off, we would like to see Alex Bone fired from the Discord and then pinched really hard over and over again for a week. The crawdads want him to be stripped naked, covered in butter, and then forced to wear a crawdad suit for a month while holding a sign stating how much he hates all snakes and Yig."

This just in:

The crawdads have grown bored and are scurrying away from the Discord Tower at this hour—as Mr. Winslow took his fourth two week vacation this month and isn’t even there.

As many readers are already aware, we need to be preparing for humanity’s final battle against the tripartite of evil, which is the Dark Alliance between the Crawdads, Migo, and Zombies. There is further information located here and here on this important matter. 

Crawdads are an invasive species destroying ecosystem after ecosystem. Hell, they’re worse than Republicans. They need to be stopped! Do your part, Citizen. Get some nets and purchase some bulk butter at Costco. Don’t worry if you don’ have a license, just explain to the park ranger you are fighting the good fight for Yig and for all of mankind.

And remember:

Service Guarantees Citizenship
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A Clone of a Different Color (Part I)

The four men watched the video where it played out on the monitor. The Vid was not large and they were forced to hunch in against each other in order to see what happened on its narrow screen. Dak sat in the back. This was not due to his fellow officers having any superiority over him. No, he had already formed an option and leaned back to light a smoke, despite the fact that their post had a strict non-smoking ordinance.

 Matthews looked back at him. “What is your take on this?” He was the youngest of the four of them.

Dak secretly hoped he would go ahead and get jaded soon. It was certainly taking him long enough.
Dak allowed himself to follow the flow of the improbable scene as it had been recorded. Four astonishingly beautiful women were taking out the new candidate for major, Felix Homes. Their micro Uzis matched their tight little Posh outfits. These young killers that so brutally mowed down Homes and his guards looked more ready for a runway shoot, than assassinating the fool that had been willing to stand up to New Cluster’s incumbent.

Mayor Edgar had been the mayor of New Cluster for a long time.

When Dak didn’t answer, Matthews put forth a theory of his own. “Somehow Edgar, or whoever, found some female hitmen, er hitpeople, and they used their looks to get them close enough to get the job done.”

“I’d be careful with your mouth, Matthews,” Fosters grumbled. Fosters’ natural ability to fail to get along with anyone had kept him from being kicked upstairs.

“Yeah,” Waterman said around a tooth pick he chewed on. “If there’s even a hint that we might end up on the wrong side of it with the Mayor, I say we drop this case like a five hundred pound girlfriend.” Waterman didn’t have the best rep in the office. He was old school, overweight, and as dirty as a dishwasher’s shoes.

“They are using clones,” Dak said, disrupting the direction of the conversation.

“What?” Waterman demanded.

“Those girls are Joy-clones. I recognize some of the models.” Matthew’s jaw dropped. It was illegal to clone in New Cluster. Even knowing about the clone trade put an unneeded suspicion upon his shoulders. Seeing the looks on their faces, Dak quickly added, “I was involved in a big bust three years back. One must often learn the habits of their prey.” He took out a pen and pointed the end towards a thin blonde with long fiery yellow hair. “That is the Erin model, that there, the tall brunette, she is the Vanessa. I’ve never seen the other two, but any good Grafter can make these Skinjobs.”

The others still eyed him, but Matthews was able to ask, “What would this mean?"

“My guess is that it would mean that those four girls,” he pointed at the screen again, “Could be anyone.”

“What happens to their bodies?” Waterman asked.

“They are long gone and are usually recycled into the new clone the Skinjumper gets.” They still looked puzzled. “The only hard part would be to bring the Grafter’s tech into the hotel. Sure hotels have a lot of rooms, but each machine is the size of a coffin. It will probably be our only lead.”

“I still don’t under…” Waterman began.

“It most likely went something like this. Whoever the boss is, hires out four of his best guys and a Grafter. The Grafter gets four rigs. Then it’s probably like Matthews said. They use some standard Joy Models. These badass hitmen now look like hot Luster Zone chippies. They get in, wack this Dim-Jim, escape to the Grafter. He gets their minds back into a clone of their old self and they’re walking out of the place looking thirty years a one penis away from anyone who had anything to do with it.”

“But what about their minds?” Waterman asked. “How does that all work?”

“Do I look like a scientist to you? All I know is that it was working three years ago, I bet they are a whole lot better by now.”

 Continue the Adventure with Dak and Erin Here!

Top Ten Reasons Face Book Sucks

1. You see faces.

2. You share too much.

3. Your mistress always wants to befriend you.

4. You share way too much.

 

5. Your mother finds out about your strange attraction to dolphins.

6. Kim Jong-un has more friends than you, in America.

 

7. You get tagged in the gay bestiality rodeo.

8. The cops sequester your page to prove your link to the crawdad smuggling underground.

9. Your drunken Face Book post ends up in the agency newsletter.

10, That shit on your home page makes the gay bestiality rodeo seem good.

Need more Laughs? Check out The Daily Discord here!

The Daily Discord

God Targeting the Tea Party with Hail and Shit

Granbury, TX—In a flurry of meteorological wrath, God unleashed hail, lightening, and high winds this week on predominately Republican neighborhoods as he looked on with his patented indifference.

"I don’t like the bastards," explained God. "They’re hypocrites. Don’t say you’re doing shit in my name when you’re doing the exact opposite."

When God was asked about the potential for going all ‘Noah flood’ or ‘Sodom and Gomorrah’ on their asses, God replied, "Noah options are off the table." He then laughed at his own joke, loudly. "Look, I’m not trying to be a dick about this, but I always target Tea Party and Republican neighborhoods. Square states are Darwin’s shooting range."

When asked about ideological incompatibilities, God said, "I love Darwin, the monkey loving F&*K. But do not cut that Noah pun out, Winslow! I can still smite shit!"

When asked about the fairness of targeting entire towns for the poor behavior of a few, God said, "Sure you’re going to get some liberal collateral damage. There are known knowns, things we know that we know, known unknowns, Hah! Damn I miss Rumsfeld. Shame he’s heading south. Truth be told, I don’t really care for people in general. I believe I made that clear in the Old Testament."

As an omnipotent being, God’s Rumsfeld quote makes little sense in the context of....Aaaaaaah!!

Get more Daily Discord love here!

New Jack Primus Serial Starts Today, The Barren Darkness

“What do you mean you only take cash?” Jack didn’t bother to keep his annoyed disbelief out of his voice.

“Out here, it’s just safer. Who knows what sort of tricks people might try to pull on a man like me, way up here in the mountains?” The grey bearded man might have weighed as much as Jack, but then Jack had a foot of height on the Canadian.

Part of him wanted to laugh. A year ago, all he would have had was cash and certainly not much of it. When he fought the Xemmoni Glooms in Kentucky a bank account and debit cards were the farthest things from his mind. Yet after his gift of gold from Loskeep, Jack guessed that he was probably the richest homeless person in North America. Fat lot of good it would do him, though, if these guys wouldn’t accept his card.

The only thing Jack had going for him was the old pickup truck he had gotten his mother to put in her name. Thick straps held the motorcycle upright. Despite his Stalwart status, even Jack wouldn’t want to ride a motorcycle through the Canadian Rockies in the winter.

“So you are saying I’m screwed.”

“Cash always works, man. You kids think everything should be run on plastic. That’s just like a note from your mom, saying you have money.”

“You don’t need to rub it in.”

“I’ll buy your bike for five hundred bucks.”

“Screw you.”

The man’s jowls shook when he laughed. “I hear the carnie is hiring.”

“What, there’s a carnival up here? It must be twenty below outside.”

The shopkeep eyed him as he lit up a smoke. “Everyone’s gotta make a buck, including you, dochta think.”

*         *           *

In the past, someone must have thought that the lonely mountain town of Pariah could support a strip mall full of shops along with a major grocery store. The majority of the businesses, including the grocery store, had gone belly up years ago. For rent signs hung in most of the windows.

The barren snow swept lot had been taken over by a dazzling display of lights. Despite the frigid temperatures, the rides and booths all appeared open.

Jack parked his truck a hundred yards away and took the sight in.

A mini-rollercoaster and a twisterwhirl we easy to make out and a rainbow of lights reflected off the patches of snow. But what really dominated the sight and caught Jack’s attention was a black unlit structure. It grew out of the northern part of the carnival like a black thorn stabbing at the sky. No lights graced this building and instead it seemed to almost absorb any color or light that neared it. A red light bled onto the walkway before the ride. Grabbing his binoculars, he took and deep breath and then focused in on the sign.

“The Haunted Funhouse. Perfect…”

As he watched, a young couple handed a man in an ebony top hat their tickets and headed inside.

“Looks like I might just have a job to do after all.”

To be continued next Monday

Find out how Jack’s Adventures Started Here!

Our Mystic Week

Many people fail to conceptualize the full extent in which the concept of the week affects our lives. Will you be doing the same thing on Tuesday as you will be doing next Saturday? The week was originally designed as a Magickal construct based on pre-Christian deities and archetypes. So if the week was designed to be a Magickal device to help explain and control our reality, why should we not invest some effort into determining how this construct could aid us in our general understanding of our personal existences today?

 

            When the days of the week were originally designed, they each represented one of the known medieval celestial bodies.
Each Day’s Planet

                                    Sunday                        The Sun
                                    Monday                       The Moon
                                    Tuesday                       Mars
                                    Wednesday                 Mercury
                                    Thursday                     Jupiter
                                    Friday                          Venus
                                    Saturday                      Saturn

            Through the centuries, there has been much argument and disagreement regarding the Magickal properties of the days of the week and what they represent. Those who follow The Great Work, have however, come to a certain understanding. These conclusions have become the archetypes, which represent our concepts of the days of the week. The following is my personal interpretation of these archetypes.
Sunday:
            The color of this day is red. Sunday is a day of power. It is an energy enhancer. You can use this day to multiply the strength of any task or goal, which you are working on. Sunday is also associated with luck and creating, as well as maintaining positive luck.
            Its number is 5 and its element is Fire. Sunday’s symbols include: the Pentagram, fire, and all objects associated with bringing a person good luck. Loki is considered this day’s keeper.

Monday:

            The color of Monday is a strong deep green. Monday is of course linking with the Moon and the myriad of things it represents. Monday is also a day of strength and a good day to complete tasks. It is the day of the Earth and Earth Magicks. Working with animals and nature is also stronger on Monday for our ties to such are closer.
            The number for this day is 8. Its element is Earth. Its symbols include: the Moon, the Chaos sign, the snake, the arrow, and the feathered serpent. The All-Father serpent (Yig, Quetzequatl) is the master of this day.

Tuesday:

            Tuesday’s color is yellow. Since Mars is the planet of war, much of Tuesday’s orientation concerns attack and defense. Yet strangely, this is also the day of hearth and home, and of general goodness toward others. Tuesday is the day to set up systems to protect yourself, and those in your care, from enemies and ill fortune.
Conversely, it is also the time to attack your foe. It has been considered a day of virtue as well, a day when one works to prove their moral character and fiber.
            Tuesday’s number is 6. Its element is fire. Tuesday’s symbols include: a half black, half white circle, eight swords with their hilts touching pointing outwards, the Sun, and the bow. Apollo watches over this day.

Wednesday:

            Wednesday’s color is a rich gray. This day has been associated with gaining money, employment, thievery, gambling, and material wealth. It is also a day of potent Magick and healing. Attempts to Magickally or physically heal a person, should be done on this day. Wednesday is also a day for guile and trickery, a great time for pranks and confusion.
            Wednesday’s number is the powerful Magickal number 7. Its element is air. Wednesday’s symbols include: the Caduceus, the Ankh, the eye in the pyramid, mistletoe, and the empty circle. Hermes is the Lord of this, the most Magickal of days.

Thursday:

            Thursday’s color is a deep purple. Thursday deals with leadership, human interaction, control, and charisma. It is the day of Machiavellian plotting. It also represents success in organizations and with people. Like Monday it is associated with the Moon. Thursday nights are also strong times for performing Magick, particularly if it is in secret or associated with the female aspects of existence.
            Thursday’s number is 1. It is of the element of air. Its symbols include: lightning, the medicine wheel, the moon, the eternity symbol, and the crossroads. Hecate is the Goddess that oversees Thursday.

Friday:

            Friday’s color is any type of blue. The day is linked with sex and creativity. It is a day to work on human relationships, with the people you truly care about. Friday is also the day to perform sex Magick and fertility rituals. Friday is often considered a female oriented day, but that does not mean that men cannot use it in any way that fosters creative action.
            Friday’s number is 3 and its element is water. The symbols associated with Friday include: a naked woman, a three pointed chaos sign, the sign of Solomon, a circle with a arrow hitting the edge, the threefold Goddess, and the cursive M, with the end sprouting a devil’s tail. Inanna rules this day.

Saturday:

            The color for Saturday is black. Saturday is the day of death. It is also the day most associated with evil and the night. Aggression and war can rule this day (night), for it is the night of the dark mage. It would be a day exact revenge from your enemies, of cause hurtful effects. It is the night of the angry and the displaced. On a more positive bend, it is a day to selfishly focus on yourself, your needs, and even your own projects. Do what you want to do. You are youronly boss.
            The number for Saturday is 2, which is the number of the adversary. Its element is earth. Saturday’s symbols include: the skull, the smoking mirror, the dagger, the bat, and a circle with two triangles pointing at each other. The dark God Tezcatlipoca owns this day.

Baccanaght:
            The color for this mysterious eighth day is brown. The Baccanaght occurs each day, but yet, has no official day. This is the time between midnight and the sunrise the following day, that mystic time, when one feels it is still yesterday, when it is in fact the beginning of the new day. Baccanaght is the time of joy, fun, and happiness. This is when one can party without regret and be as hedonistic as they are comfortable with. It is a time for wine, sensuality, and pleasure.
            Baccanaght’s number is 9 and its element is water. Its symbols include: a stem holding eight grapes, nine circles, each within the other, the Holy Grail, and the satyr. Dionysus enjoys being the God of this nebulous time.

 

Michael D. Griffiths
Find out how Heroes use the Mystic Archetypes here!

Posted in Mystic, Magick, Pagan | Tagged Magick, Esoteric and Occult, Magic, The Chronicles of Jack Primus, Hermes, Mystic Chaos Star Magick, Michael D. Griffiths, Dionysus, Mystic, Yig, Magic Week, Apollo, hecate, Inanna, Tezcatlipoca, Moon, Earth, Sun, Great Work | Leave a reply Edit

Dionysus CHAOS

Posted on May 16, 2013

Dionysus Yes I See

Let the Chaos flow in and out of Me

We seek the Entropy with the Unknown Voice

Let our Will continually Follow the right Choice

One Choice leads to Another

Until the Hills reverberate with Thunder

We Wish to Ride the Chaos for it is our Ship

The Bullshit of Life we wish to Slip

Above as Below

Constantly fueled with an Ability to GO

You are our Mentor in the ways of the Night

Together we Bask in the Delight

As 1 As 8 As 9

As a whole we whirl into the Divine

Let us journey to the Borders of the Abyss

No aspect of Life do we have to Miss

The Wheel of Life, the Chaos that Create

Oh Gosh and Golly we think you are Great

 

 Find out more about the Hero’s mystic path here!

Windows, Fingers, and Knives

Mitch and Bonnie Miller sat in their car trapped in the middle of a traffic jam. They had each been trapped in traffic before, but from the looks of things, this would be the last time it would ever happen to them. Because, unlike the other traffic jams they had suffered through, this one also had zombies and about a dozen of them were slapping the car windows with bloody smacks and pressing their snapping teeth up against the glass.

“What are we going to do?” Bonnie pleaded, while grabbing his arm. “Please, I don’t want to die like this.”
Mitch didn’t answer right away, instead his mind went back to the first person they had seen get torn apart by the raving maniacs that the media were only recently calling the walking dead. It had been their mail man of all people. His prim shorts became drenched in blood as five of the things had drawn him to the ground. The man’s screams had seemed to go on forever.
That had been the moment that Mitch had decided it was time to flee Tucson. Unfortunately so had a few hundred thousand other people.
Bonnie’s voice drew him back to the present. “Come on Mitch, we might not have much time.”

He eyes traveled to the back seat of their hybrid. They mostly held food and clothes, but he had grabbed a few butcher knives. He handed one of these to Bonnie, but kept rifling through the gear until he located his old hammer. It had a small sledge head, but the handle stretched only about eighteen inches long. It had been his father’s and the only thing he had ever seen his old man use it for was driving the tent stakes into the hard packed earth when they went camping.
“Okay, at least we’re armed.”
The moaning grew in volume as two more of the wandering dead took up posts outside of the compact vehicle. So much blood covered the windows they had become opaque.
Bonnie looked down at the knife clutched in her quivering hand. “What do you expect me to do with this anyway? You can’t possibility think that we can fight our way out of here.”
“No I don’t. At least not yet.”
“Not yet?”
“Calm down, will you. I’m trying to save us.”
“Calm down? How do you expect me to calm down? This moaning is enough to drive me mad. We’re about to die.”
“Not if I can help it.” Mitch’s greying hair was drenched in sweat and he wiped it out of his face. “I’m going to try something.”

He rolled down the window. Only about four inches, but that proved enough to send the freaks into a frenzy. Mouths pressed against the opening while fingers struggled for a grip. The moaning rung in his ears.
Mitch went into a frenzy of his own—chopping at the fingers and faces. Several severed fingers dropped to the floor of the car while he kept stabbing and cutting.
Bonnie might have been screaming.
One face dropped lower and Mitch yelled, “Got yeh!” and stabbed forward. The blade took the madman in the eye and he fell back with a final gasp. But more tried to grab the window. “Crap,” he said and attempted to roll it up. He got less than an inch from his goal, but at least ten fingers still protruded into his car. He set to hacking them.
It proved a gruesome affair. The whole time he chopped at them, Bonnie begged him to stop.

“I can’t stop, they could break the window.”
Her hysterical cries sounded loud in the enclosed space, but after two more minutes, he had cut enough fingers away that he was able to roll up the window.
Her face stayed buried in her hands. “Why didn’t we run away from our car like everyone else? Why is this happening to us?”
“I’m sure there are plenty of others trapped in their cars all around us and it would be my guess that these people attacking us could very well be some of the people that did run away.”
This seemed to sober her slightly. “But what are we going to do? You can’t kill them all through the window.”
For a long moment the only sounds heard were the continuous moaning and the violent hand slaps. Then Mitch said, “Don’t worry, I have a plan”

The Story continues next Saturday!


You can find out more about the Eternal Aftermath here!

Dionysus CHAOS

Dionysus Yes I See

Let the Chaos flow in and out of Me

We seek the Entropy with the Unknown Voice

Let our Will continually Follow the right Choice

One Choice leads to Another

Until the Hills reverberate with Thunder

We Wish to Ride the Chaos for it is our Ship

The Bullshit of Life we wish to Slip

Above as Below

Constantly fueled with an Ability to GO

You are our Mentor in the ways of the Night

Together we Bask in the Delight

As 1 As 8 As 9

As a whole we whirl into the Divine

Let us journey to the Borders of the Abyss

No aspect of Life do we have to Miss

The Wheel of Life, the Chaos that Create

Oh Gosh and Golly we think you are Great

 

 Find out more about the Hero’s mystic path here!

Jack Primus, The Ghetto Shaman, and All the Chicken Wings they could eat Rally

Washington, DC—On Oct. 30^th The National Mall was packed wall-to-wall with celebrities attending the Shaman’s Rally to Retrieve the U.S. Soul. After a long weekend of bashing in the skulls of the foul Darcarre, Jack Primus swung east in support of the Discord’s cause.  Being a fictional character doesn’t stop Primus from doing any number of cool things on a given day. You know that dude, the world’s most interesting man, from those Dos Equis commercials? Jack Primus won’t return his calls.

Jack is the archetypal hero. He captured the new century’s zeitgeist and keeps it chained in his basement next to his morning star.  Primus rarely does interviews, but for the Discord…we paid him—virtual money, of course.
The rest of this post is courtesy of Mr. P himself:

Jack Primus

The Ghetto Shaman has given his blessing to Yig.  He is truly wise. Since he’s been receiving death threats from both the Xemmoni underground and the Sharron Angle campaign—both sworn enemies of Yig—I decided to help out my old friend. He asked me to support his cause, protect him from the super natural forces that be, and, of course, buy him some malt liquor products. Actually, I only agreed if GS promised me a plug on the Discord to sell more books.  He also promised me all the chicken wings I could eat. The joke was really on them; I hid an extra eighty in my backpack on the way out.  I heard Zano is getting his “wages” garnished over that one. But GS told me he’s got Winslow wrapped around his little chicken wing and I could muscle-in whenever I wanted.

If what happened at the Mall on October 30th continues to plague America, you’re really going to need the Chronicles of Jack Primus.  It’s not just a book; it’s a survival guide for the coming apocalypse!
To rewind a bit, everything had started out well enough. The Discord was bussing people down to the event. The Ghetto Shaman was reading excerpts of Jack Primus to the cheering masses. But those who could not decipher the Primus Code, never got a bus ride home! This book was their return ticket, you see. Without it, they were forced to hang out at Capital City Brewing—that big dumb brewpub downtown; the one with small portions and rubbery chicken wings. If you get stuck down there and the Xemmoni or the Darcarre get you, don’t come bitching to me. You’ve been warned. They’re in all the major cities, and they tend to know when you know…you know? So now that you know, you better read this book and learn how to stay alive…and don’t order those chicken wings.

I probably shouldn’t have told you that. Can you edit that out, Winslow? Not the staying alive part, the other part about the wings. Sometimes they’re OK drowned in enough blue cheese dressing. But you should buy the book and try to stay alive, of course. Geesh.
So, you want to really know what happened on October 30th? Why GS needed me as he shifted into an alternate dimension? He isn’t called a Shaman for nothing. They did come after him that day—in mass, I might add. You see, anyone and everyone must guard his or her corporeal body during any exercise in soul travel, especially one this important.
When The Ghetto Shaman drank his potion on the Lincoln Memorial steps, those damn Darcarre moved in like bed bugs in an Econo Lodge.  They surrounded us, alongside their unwilling slave, Jeff “come-on-in-guys” Probst of Survivor fame. They didn’t want GS’s message to get out to the people.  They will derail any message resembling Yig’s.  Could you imagine what would have happened if GS told everyone on national television to dissolve our differences and embrace the All Father snake? Yep, you’re right, we’d all be in a state of bliss, with all hunger and wars a thing of the past. Don’t look at me like that… Snakes are all about bliss… duh.  Haven’t you ever read any Graham Hancock?

So when they came, I was ready, or at least I was after I wiped the BBQ sauce off my weapon hand.  GS even helped with the battle; he was pretty bad ass with those chicken bone nunchucks. We gave those Serial Killers a good licking, but the damage was done. They jammed the telecast and those other stooges claimed all the credit for the rally.
Why do you think the special wasn’t on television and they switched all the coverage to those Comedy Central dudes with the weird haircuts and no sideburns?  It was a diversion!  I kept the Shaman safe until the police…er, “took over.”
There you have it, right from the hero’s mouth.  Some call Primus a Yig-loving fictional freak. Whereas this is true, it’s still not a very nice thing to say. We would rather you stay alive, learn your enemy’s secrets, and read The Chronicles of Jack Primus.

Check out the Chronicles of Jack Primus here!



You can Check out more Laughs Here!

The Climax of Cowboys Versus Zombies

Brown felt like his heart had been hit by a rock. Where are they? He didn’t dare yell for them because it could attract more of those flesh eating things. Scanning the area behind the burning convenience store, Brown saw that one direction headed deeper into a junk yard of rusted vehicles. Their black silhouettes cast thick shadows and he figured that was about the last place he’d want to go and the others would have probably thought the same.
The other direction proved to be the more dangerous of the two for he came to the road right away. For a moment he almost panicked, especially since he couldn’t see any of the others. Five of the walking dead crossed in the road. It didn’t take long for one of them to spot him and take up their horrible moans.

The fire must draw the things for some reason.
The polished bat still filled his hands and with a yell, he made a roundhouse swing on the nearest one. For once, the blow was enough to take it down without any argument. The second went down and he was going for his third when he heard the moaning increase. Looking around he saw that another dozen of the wailing things had exited the restaurant across the street.

What lurks behind the door

“Must be thinking they’re about to get barbecue,” he grumbled as he pushed one zombie into another, which sent them both tumbling to the ground.
The fire roared behind him and plumes of toxic smoke bellowed ever closer. Damn, I can’t go back the way I came and before me isn’t looking too much better. This might be it, Brown-man.
Bright headlights blinded several of the zombies. They, along with Brown, turned to look into the lights of an approaching vehicle. Brown couldn’t be sure what it was at first, but it seemed damn big.
With a loud hoot, the driver ran down four of the approaching zombies. Not willing to stop there, he threw the rig, which Brown could not see was a monster-sized tow truck, into a one-eighty and then run down another three.
By then, Brown could tell that Trevor drove and a smile crept over his face. He watched as the rig neared and it almost cost him his life.
Pain tore through his arm as violent fingers dug into him. A mouth wasn’t far behind and would have gotten him if his bat didn’t fence and smash the thing in the center of its face. It stumbled back and then Brown smashed his bat down on its fingers. It took two tries, but it lost its grip.

Changing to a two handed grip, Brown took the swing of his life and the neck snapped loud enough to be heard over the tow truck’s engine. Another one drew in close and received the same treatment.
“Are we going to get out of here,” Trevor called down to him, “or do you have to kill all of these sick things before we do?”
“No, I think we’ve done our share for now,” He said as he leapt up onto one of the running boards. “We can let the soldiers clean up the rest.”
Laura wore a smile for the first time since they met. She hugged her daughter tighter to her chest as Brown climbed into the tow truck.
“Where too?” Trevor asked.

“We need to get these two somewhere safe,” Brown said. “Head into Tucson. I’m sure they have the resources to keep whatever’s happening under control there.”
Turning back toward I-10 the small group left the growing flames of the convenience store behind them.
The growing mob of zombies watched them depart until another vehicle exited the highway. As one, the zombies moaned as the vehicle slowed for the stop sign.



Thank You for reading Cowboys Versus Zombies

A new story will begin next Saturday!

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

Al Gore , Men In Green, and the HARP that will Destroy Earth!

Collapsing Shack, AZ—This is some serious breaking news:  now that this distracting election is over, it’s time to push aside useless labels like Tea Bagger, Bleeding Heart Liberal, Limp-Wristed Cow-Kissing Independent, or Humanitarian Sheep-Humping Dingleberry. None of these things matter in the face of the 100 Angry Men and their lacky, nay, their leader, nay, their Supreme Allied Commander…Al Gore.

Sometimes the Discord actually breaks news instead of merely breaking news into ‘tiny shards of sensationalism’.  Google won’t verify anything I’m about to say, because they’re in on the conspiracy. Google has been manipulated by these angry men, also known as the mysterious Men In Green (MIG).  Only a small underground knows the truth. Through a mixture of ill luck, Odysseusian exhaustion, and booze, I found myself a participant in a plot that will surely shake the very core of human existence.

The other night one of these Men In Green ended up at The Green Room, my favorite bar.  I don’t know what they were looking for there, but what they found was some awesome drink specials and yours truly—a combination that would prove their undoing. I will tell you what I know.  If I disappear, they got to me…or, I got drunk.  I’m sure it’ll be one of the two. These MIGs have no country, but move throughout the world like shadows and, no, they don’t get felt up at airports; lucky bastards.

I got two of these MIG dudes drunk back at The Green Room and while they were in the can I accessed one of their laptops.  Apparently, these men control the wealth of the world and their word can change nations or economies overnight, to say nothing of extending all happy hours indefinitely!   So why was I buying all the beer?  Geesh, in retrospect, it’s a shame I spent most of the time logging into their Facebook pages to have all their friends befriend Jack Primus and The Daily Discord.  Hindsight is always 20/20, or in my case, a beer goggly 30/40.

I learned a lot perusing their files; suddenly everything made sense.  Do you really think we elected Bush twice?  It’s the game beneath the game.  Gore never wanted the presidency and then maneuvered Bush into a second term.  This was all part of the plan.  This group even allowed Fox lies to keep the ’04 election close enough so we wouldn’t suspect any foul play.   These Men In Green currently hate everyone except commies. These guys love commies. As they swerved away into the night their bumper sticker read: Pinko is the New Green.

I just heard something outside the window?  I hope it’s just the Ghetto Shaman trying to get me to buy him some more Robitussin.  Otherwise, they’re onto me.  I just hope I have enough time to send this off, finish this twelve-pack, and eat those last few slices of pizza from last night. Damn, that was a good spicy Hawaiian…

I almost forgot to put on my aluminum foil hat!  There, that should block their transmission for the few more minutes I’ll need.  They aren’t settling for just sucking the world’s resources dry, like some Bond villain.  These fiends believe the world is overpopulated so they mean to cull  the herd! That’s where Al Gore comes in.  He is their leader in the guise of an affable fool.  Their most treasured secret is this: Al Gore’s world shattering H.A.R.P.! You think Al Gore is against Global Warming, hah!  That’s nothing but another clever ruse. According to these Men In Green, Al Gore has a dreadful harp-like machine and when he plays this Human Apocalyptic Reprogramming Per-whatsas (H.A.R.P.)…well, lean in closer.  It actually causes global warming!

Why are they trying to kill us? That’s the creepy part. The truth is this: they like fluffy little animals better.  They think humans are all wicked and unredeemable.  Sure, it’s true, but it’s still not a nice thing to say.

I heard something again. I had better attach and send this document to Pierce Winslow before they set off another electro-magnetic pulse.  Shit…get another slice of pizza or warn mankind?  Damn you saucy pineappley yumminess!

So we have nothing to look forward to, other than these 100 Angry Men stealing as much money as they can and then destroying the world.  They’ll leave our planet a Road Warrior wasteland while they move into their mansions in Antarctica, party with Gwar, and laugh as the rest of the world becomes a lifeless desert.  Worse yet, they don’t seem to buy any rounds of alcohol despite almost C. Montgomery Burns levels of wealth!

I’d like to quote the Lord Humungus, “What a puny plan!” but I hear they are already booking flights to the South Pole.  They left Al Gore in the center of a hidden Tobacco patch, plucking away on his malign H.A.R.P. from Hell.  I emailed the above picture from their laptop to myself and then onward to The Daily Discord.  Do you think they’ll check their sent mail?  Damn.  I think they’re in the house now.

Still don’t believe me?  Well, I don’t give a pluck what you think. You’ll be playing a different tune when the oceans roll over the cities and the forests turn to dust. Don’t come running to me when that doomsday H.A.R.P plays its final stanza as our fingers grasp through the burning sands in the hopes of unearthing some old sandwiches or the warm beer of a dead world.
And always remember, It Could Happen to Harpo!

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Arizona’s Crawdad Menace and Other Disturbing Observations

Caved-in-Shack, AZ—Something deeply disturbing is happening in Arizona.  No, I’m not talking about Janet Brewer, Immigration laws, or Mick Zano’s naked bar crawls….I’m talking about something reaaalllly disturbing.  Back when I was shelling out ten bucks a bag in New Orleans for mini-lobsters known as crawdads, how could I have known a few years later these same bastards would be on the verge of destroying my state’s ecosystem?

In case you are unaware, crayfish or crawdads are not native to the states west of the Rockies, like funding for education and the arts.  Over the years, scores of intrepid crawdads died trying to traverse the Rockies.  Most eventually gave up and settled in Denver to open microbreweries…very small ones, obviously, or micro-microbreweries.

In a similar manner to the republican migration, crawdads have crept into the southwest and have invaded our delicate ecosystem with their big trucks and their wild tea parties. These evil little beasts have infected the streams and lakes in every part of my home state—not to mention their racially charged immigration bills.
Similar to the red state’s pro-Christian stance, many of these crayfish were introduced through a misconception of facts. A statewide program for seventh-graders had the children studying these, nearly impossible to kill, cockroaches from hell. Then, at the end of the school year, in a truly misguided attempt at environmentalism, teachers had their students dump this destructive invasive species into every stream and pond across our fair state.  This is why eco-friendly people are often only slightly more devastating to our planet than the Sarah Palin’s of the world.  Hey, maybe Sarah can shoot crawdads from her chopper?

Once in our formally tranquil waters, these demonic (yet tasty) crayfish begin to devour everything in their path, much like laws enacted by our governor’s red pen.  Soon all aquatic life is killed off.  After this eradication comes the demise of all plant life. Without plants there is nothing to recycle to carbon dioxide other than algae—not to mention, there’s nothing to smoke. This turns clear streams and lakes into murky dark pools, where the crawfish now have no choice other than to eat each other in a dark cannibalistic frenzy, not dissimilar to Zano’s naked bar crawls.

Once in our formally tranquil waters, these demonic (yet tasty) crayfish begin to devour everything in their path, much like laws enacted by our governor’s red pen.  Soon all aquatic life is killed off.  After this eradication comes the demise of all plant life. Without plants there is nothing to recycle to carbon dioxide other than algae—not to mention, there’s nothing to smoke. This turns clear streams and lakes into murky dark pools, where the crawfish now have no choice other than to eat each other in a dark cannibalistic frenzy, not dissimilar to Zano’s naked bar crawls.

 

As a follower of Yig, I find the loss of frogs and other amphibians across our state the most depressing aspect of this crustacean invasion. Even the most selfish swimmer cannot be enjoying a wade into the murk with crawfish nipping at your toes, unless they’re trying to save money on a pedicure.

 

So what can we do to stem the tide of evil and death that is sweeping over the west? The answer is simple. All crawfish must be boiled alive and eaten, preferably with butter sauce.  Boil that crayfish, boil that crayfish. Boil! Boil!  Devour those selfish shellfish, munch on those crusty-aceans, cook those lobster mobsters, can those crabby…I’m being told to stop.
It is only fitting that we, the species responsible for started this plague, sacrifice our time to eat as many of these delicious morsels as possible. It’s a rough job, but sometimes sacrifices must be made. And, if such sacrifices involve eating endless piles of buttery white meat that tastes like lobster, then so be it.
Leave no stone unturned!  (Literally.)
So, my fellow Americans, pick up your nets, your traps, your spears, and maybe some of those concealed handguns, and let’s go crawdadding!  Book your Coconino County Crawdad Chopper Safari with Alex Bone today!

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