Discord Celebrates First Accurate GOP Prediction of 21st Century

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A Shameless Plug or Jack Primus faces the Eternal Aftermath, and with the help of Skinjumpers, fights Dalsala Den

Collapsing Shack Arizona: This week, in a hope to increase book sales, I have taken it upon myself to interview America’s newest hero as he takes on his most difficult challenge yet.

When I caught up to him, Jack Primus put down his brain splattered sledge hammer just long enough to say, “I hope you’re all getting a kick out of this. I have to face the villains from not just my world, but three others as well; just to help Michael D. Griffiths make some books sales. It might sound good for the author, but being forced to fight cyberpunk undead Xemmoni that come from an evil filled planet of high magic really sucks when you are on this side of the pages.”

Jack With an Axe

When I pointed out that selling more copies might mean he would get to be in more books, Jack said, “Hell, I’m already in a few books, loads of artwork, and a weekly blog, but what good does it do me? Oooo I get to get beat up more often.”

When the swarms of zombies that surrounded him grew closer, he thrust an axe into my hands and said, “I’m not even from a world of zombies. I hate zombies, they remind me of my first girlfriend. But now I’m stuck fighting them just to help promote my author’s Zombie Apocalypse series, Eternal Aftermath. Does he care that I’m not even in that series…? No!”

Zombie March

After we cut down enough zombies to give ourselves some breathing room for a moment, I asked him about the allies that he fought side by side with. “These Skinjumpers are the only silver lining to this whole mess, but these high tech cloned heroes brought their own cyber powered villains with them. Do you know how much it blows hitting some guy with a sledge hammer who you think is just a normal dude, but then find out he’s made of solid metal. My fingers are still numb from the last impact. And if you’ve never been hit by a laser, let me tell you something, IT REALLY SUCKS! I almost rather be bit by a zombie. Yeah, if it wasn’t for that whole plague thing. By the way, looks like you were bit. Sorry fella, but I guess I’ll be your last interview.”

I was starting to fell a little light headed, but managed to spit out a question about Dalsala Den. “Yeah, that high level magic using a-hole is the worst of the lot. I thought I had things bad on my world. Shit, I’d rather fight Vile Darken than that guy. I had a group of cops here helping me, but he turned half on them into solid ice and the other half became… crawdads. He says he wants to take over this planet. Well line up scum bag. I wish there was some way I could just let them fight against each other… and… kill… themselves… off. Hey, let’s light that trash on fire and use the smokescreen to go grab ourselves a few ales.”

Even though I was starting to bleed from my eye sockets, I agreed as long as the first round and the cheese steaks were on him.

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Discord Sued for Wrecking Another Meme

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Search Truth Quest

What happens when you allow The Daily Discord crew to try to solve the mysteries of the Universe?

This might not be pretty…

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EP 5: The Daily Discord's "Lowell Observatory Incident"

This Spring a group of Adventurers risked their lives at the Lowell Observatory here is what

they discovered…

Lowell Observatory

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Daily Discord News 2

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The Haunted Weatherford in Flagstaff Arizona

What happens when you take a group of chaos driven wild individuals and give them permission to explore you 140 year old hotel for Ghosts? Well just click below to find out… if you dare!!!

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Williams Ghost Invesitgation Video

Hello Brave souls.

Here is our 4th Daily Discord Ghost Investigation Video!

Williams Arizona was known as the Gateway to the Grand Canon, but it may now be know for being the gatewate to Terror or maybe just goofiness, you decide.

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SJ and the SHovel Part IV

MDG  

Oh Man

What a rough night. It is hard to sleep with a solid fin of hair jutting out from the top of your head. Then…I’m not sure if was CW’s cat or what, but we were woken up early by the sounds of Jack cursing. As soon as I crawled out of the tent, some kind of crazy brown desert mutt was in my face. When I kicked it, it exploded into a shower of dust. That was weird. Jack was going to town with some ball and chain weapon. Who knows how many he dusted.

 

Later he got into my face talking about some guy Wivalynn and how his creatures would get stronger as he drew closer and we had to keep moving. SJ is frantic. She knows this guy is after her shovel, but she calls him Willaim Lynn. It is all very confusing.

So now we are getting ready to hike out into the sun. My Little Wax Head Boy mohawk keeps dripped wax over my face and I have to hold Crystalwizard’s cat half the time and Dahtoe won’t stop trying to peck at it and then the cat freaks out and I get an armful of claws.
Another thing I’m getting sick of is all of these kangaroo rat sandwiches. We may have to stop somewhere for supplies soon, but I think I might have lost my wallet in a canyon somewhere and besides how can we go shopping with a dozen rattlesnakes, a manic seagull, a neurotic cat, and a Humming Shovel. Oh it is doing Sunshine Of Your Love again.
Hmm Hmmm Hmmm Hmmm
Hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm hmm

SJ  

WHY have we stopped??? We should be still on the move. Shovel thinks so. The Cat is more than happy to keep going, with Dahtoe using his tail as target practice. Jack understands – I can tell by the way he grunts. So why are we parked here? Because of Mike. Who says he can’t go any further. Reckons that with his hair all waxed up, he needs his rest. If William catches up with us – Mike will be getting a lot more rest than he bargained for…

And he’s welcome to the tent. I’m moving into Jack’s shelter. I don’t care that it’s all bare rock and half-cured leather. At least if William comes for Shovel and me, Jack is capable of fighting him off.
Whereas Mike is just up for feeding me more of those pink pills and flipping into full sooth-mode. You know the kinda thing, ‘Don’t you worry your little old head, SJ. William Lynn is only a figment of your imagination. There’s no way that Shovel can sense evil…’
And this is the man whose been singing songs with Shovel for the past 2 days! Mr Consistency he ain’t.
I think we’re approaching the edge of the desert. There’s a loom of light on the horizon that might be civilization. I hope. Trouble is, I can’t tell exactly how much further we have to go before we get there. But I reckon we have to keep on going through the night. So does Shovel. I’m wondering if I bang Mike on the head with Shovel, we can knock him cold and carry him… Or maybe Jack could lash up some sort of travois with a couple of buffalo skeletons and rattleskins. If we harnessed The Cat, he could – at last – make himself useful by helping to haul Mike along if we put Dahtoe in a cage just behind him.

Um. That won’t work. Well – it might. But there’s no way anyone is going to manage to put that crazy seagull in a cage…
The rest of the plan might be OK, though. I’ll run it by Jack. We CANNOT afford to stop for the night. Shovel is positive that William is too close. And if he gets hold of Shovel – well, that’s unthinkable. It mustn’t happen. That’s all.

MDG 

Whatta

SJ is trying to make me come off sounding all lazy. I’m the one carrying the backpack full of water and rats, while all she carries is The Shovel. Now she is sleeping next to Jack ‘for warmth.’ Man that guy gets all the chicks. It must be the sideburns.
We have a new problem. Well, we have a lot of problems, but I won’t go there. SJ saw the lights, while we walked all dang night. No its not Vegas. It was theflippin Hoover Dam. At least I know I’m still on earth. I was beginning to wonder.

So now the issue is what to do. I might be able to get the cat and Dathoe over, even with my foot high melting mohawk, but I’m not sure about the snakes and The Shovel.
Jack says we should not risk a crossing here because Wivalynn, or William Lynn or whatever is name is, might have men staked out here. I was so delirious that I agreed to follow Jack, as he took us south into a maze of some of the roughest canyons I have ever seen.
Crystalwizard’s cat digs her claws into my back, as I follow Jack through the jagged cliffs. The whole time Dahtoe is is mocking us from above as he coasts on the winds.
Wivalynn must have summoned another pack of mutes for I can hear them following us. Jack wants to cross the raging colorado. I’m not sure how we are going to do that, but it doesn’t matter now because we are still a dozen mountains away from it.
We could really use a break. If anyone out there can help us-without invloving the authorities- please do.
At least Jack’s snakes hunted down and killed a deer. Still, I’m not sure how save it is to eat this venom filled meat.
Oh shot, it sounds like the pack is getting closer. I have to go!

SJ   

I want to place it on record – I am NOT having an affair with Jack. However, whatever transpires between a man and my tool is entirely their own business…

Meantime, we are now across the Colorado. We are all still alive if a little soggy – which is more than can be said for that bunch of bozos that tried to ambush us on the other side of the river. Jack is certainly a POWERFUL guy when he goes into berserker mode – even the seagull knew to back off. And so – I am glad to say – is Shovel… They certainly have a lot in common. Mind you, the snakes also accounted for one or three of William’s thugs.
And the deer that Mike was fussing about? Jack skinned it and made a coracle with it and the travois we used to drag Mike along till he came around. Shovel suggested that hitting Mike over the head might kill him – and he got upset in case he lost his hum-buddy… So I dosed him with those pills he keeps shovelling down my throat. I’m now seriously concerned about my longtime health – Mike was out cold for 6 hours. He can’t even remember that we put him on the travois. It took him another 2 hours before he recalled his own name…
No wonder I’ve been getting memory blanks…
Oh – and CW, I’m sorry. The Cat didn’t like the idea of getting in the coracle. In all the fighting and confusion, he ran off. We’re hoping that we catch him again. Dahtoe is looking for him as we speak. We’ll let you know as soon as we find him. Sorry…

MDG:

Oh my head.

Well I’m glad The Shovel still likes me. But boy did SJ get mad about that comment I maderegarding her and Jack. Ouch my head. I’m glad The Shovel held back his mojo, or I might not be writing this.
I think we are hopelessly lost now, since during the crossing my maps washed away and with me being unconsious they no longer had my excellent navigational skills.
And we lost the cat. Crystalwizard is going to kill me. The only thing I live for is my slush reading for Abandoned Towers and now I see it all slipping away, unless I can find that cat. Dahtoe had better find it or I am doomed. At least I am still soggy and hard to light.
Also Scott I’m getting more worried about Little Wax Head Boy. A lot of him might have washed away when we crossed the Colorado. Yep the mohawk is still there, but he is not talking anymore.

 

Jack is all beat up and things are getting lonely and tense here after the attack. There are only the four of us now and a few snakes. Jack has gone off to collect more. I try to talk to SJ, but she is jealious about the growing relationship The Shovel and I are developing and she doesn’t want to let me near.

Once it started to grow dark I saw the signs of city lights, but they were to the south and I know Vegas should be to the west. I hope Jack makes it back soon. Shoot right nowI would settle for Dahtoe. I think the shadows are moving unnaturally. So we are either about to be attacked, my head wound is making me see things, or those meds have not left my system yet.
Does any out there live near Vegas or Kingman? I could use a sandwich.

To be continued…. 

You can find out more about Jack Primus here!

Heavy Boots of Lead

Authors Note: The following story takes place between The Chronicles of Jack Primus book I and book II. Jack is still living in Boston, spending most of his time studying the ways of the Stalwart with the ‘Man in Brown,’ Phillip Brownhurst.

Even though almost three months had passed since Jack moved into the storage room in the back of Phillip Brownhurst’s tavern, it was still hard for him to get used to having a bar be his home. Phillip had his own place not too far away and although the Dionysus follower spent much of his time with Jack, on most mornings Primus found himself wandering through the chairs and tables alone.

He bellied up to the bar and focused on downing a half-dozen cold chicken wings and getting some caffeine into his system. He had just opened his second can of soda when he heard a cry coming from the alley behind the bar.

 

Slowing only long enough to grab a baseball bat, he was half way into the alley when he remembered that perhaps he should have called Phillip first. Too late now, he thought as his boots took him into the early morning mists.

Gray still owned the morning and made him wonder if the Glooms could somehow be involved with whatever occurred behind the tavern. Phillip had warned him that Stalwarts often see Xemmoni everywhere when there was plenty of mundane evil to go around without any help from supernatural masters.

 

The strange thing was he couldn’t see anything. Then he looked down and spotted small circles of darkness on the cracked pavement. It didn’t take him long to recognize it as blood. It looked like a trail, but did it head left or right. He might only have seconds…

He enacted his Detect Darken spell. His Ki sent it moving through the clinging mists. He wouldn’t help him detect a decent person or maybe even an evil uncorrupted man, but if a Xemmoni was involved it would alert him at once.

At first he thought that he had stumbled into a more normal conflict, but then his spell reached something moving to his right. Like a thorn on malign energy, a sick purple aura stabbed through his awareness. Violet, the color of decaying flesh, disturbed and distorted the very reality it passed through.

“A Hyades,” he whispered. “The silent stalkers.”

Whatever it was, it appeared big and powerful. Crap, Jack thought. Maybe I should have called Phillip first or grabbed a better weapon. But then the scream sounded again, maybe a hundred feet away and certainly female. Screw that, he chided himself. I never had help before and I’ve been through worse with less.

A second later he was running west. A second after that a strange banging could be heard echoing through the lonely alley.

Whatever chased the woman was between Jack and the screams. Something tall, wide, and loud loomed up out of the fog. Jack slowed his sprint. The figure had to be almost seven feet tall, but even from the distance, it looked odd. Everything about it seemed square. Like a child had created a giant out of building blocks. Legs and chest were rectangle in shape as was its head.

 

As Jack drew closer, he saw the cause. Whatever this thing might be, it appeared to have made a suit of armor for itself. But this was nothing like medieval armor that matched a person’s form. This armor appeared bulky, like some guy used a blow torch in his basement and welded thick sheet of metal into squares, which covered most of his frame.

Just past the Xemmoni, Jack could make out a woman dragging herself along the pavement. One of her legs appeared useless and she released a third scream as the steel giant moved in for the kill.

“Hey, Tin Woodsman,” Jack called out. “Care to see what it’s like taking on someone who isn’t helpless or are you too chickenshit for that? Maybe you should just stay at home and pull the wings off of flies you poor man’s Iron…”

 

But Jack’s bravado faded with his voice as the thing turned toward him. Glowing violet eyes cut through the fog and for a moment, Jack wondered if maybe the creature could be a machine of some kind, but then the booming metal feet started to come toward him. The armor squeaked and rattled, but looked thick and sturdy. Along each of the Xemmoni’s steel legs, as well as its forearms, large knives nearly the size of machetes appeared to be built into the armor itself. The space on its left arm was empty for a two foot, back hued blade already rested in its right hand.

Jack didn’t wait to be attacked. He yelled for the woman to flee and then went in low and tried to smash the mountain of metal on the knee. He might as well swung at a lamppost. His fingers throbbed from the impact, but it didn’t slow the man down for a second. It swung its blade in a wide arc and Jack was just able to move back in time to keep from sprouting a second mouth.

Jack swung again, but the Xemmoni just held up its armored left arm. And there was another bone rattling blow to his hands. This time, with surprising speed, he hacked down at Jack. The Stalwart cried out when the blade cut him from his right collar bone to the bottom of his ribcage. If he had been a couple of inches closer his bowls would have spilled over the pavement.

As it was, Jack almost lost his footing as he back pedaled away from the Hyades and healed himself. The wound was bad and he felt a sliver of fear when he realized he’d already burned through half his KI.

But the creature proved relentless and rushed at him swinging again. This time Jack blocked it with his bat, but at the price of losing a foot off the tip of his weapon. He lunched what was left at the Xemmoni’s face. It hit the stark helmet there, but the unexpected blow caused the man of metal to take a step back. During this pause, Jack rushed away. But he remained weaponless and hadn’t even hurt the thing yet.

Sirens cut through the cold morning air. The Xemmoni stared at Jack. Their eyes met and Jack felt his blood run cold against his spine. Yet, instead of attacking him, the killer drew an object off its back. It proved to be a crowbar and with no great hurry it moved to the nearest manhole, pulled the top off, and then climbed in. The top was replaced and Jack was alone in the alley.

Alone in the alley… with cops coming. Some luck remained with him for he was still only a few hundred feet shy of the tavern and he was just able to make it through the back door when three squad cars tore into the alley.

“Son of a bitch,” he panted. “Phillip isn’t going to believe this one.”

To be continued next Monday

Find out how Jack’s Adventures Started Here!

SJ and the Shovel Part II

SJ and The Shovel… continued through some Chaos, Comedy, and a little Magick. I might had fixed a few typos, but back then I had no idea anything abut SJ and actually thought sh was a man. Scott Sandridge joined in with little Wax Head Boy, who is jst strange. So here is part II and I hope you enjoy.

MDG

Um, would Shovel like to play with Little Wax Boy Head. I think still have him around here somewhere from my days I spent waxing Target’s floors. He doesn’t talk as much as he used to….

Shhhhh SJ listen to me. I think some of these people are trying to get your shovel. We need to get out of here while we can. Before they catch on.

Meet me at midnight at the El Rancho Hotel in Gallup NM and bring the shovel.

SS

But Little Wax Boy Head wants to talk to Shovel weely weely badly…..

SJ

I’m sorry but the shovel will not be making any public appearences or doing any interviews until SJ signs this contract I have written up for him.

SS

Well, frakity-frak-frak-frakity. 

MDG

Okay

Little Wax Boy Head…hmmmm. We might have a few bodyguard positions opening up. We are expecting a lot of press when the shovel goes public. What does Little Wax Boy Head have it terms of a resume?
 

SS

Erm…he’s made of hardened wax, can be thrown, and whines a lot?

MDG

Ok sounds perfect

As long as I get the okay from the Shovel your in. LWBH will be in charge of crowd control and keeping the press at bay.

Does he need a cooler full of ice or anything? When we start to tour America we might be traveling through some hot regions. I would not want him to melt all over the new Italian shoes that I will soon be buying.

SS

 Yaaayyyy!

SJ

 

Help! Me and Shovel have been kidnapped! Not sure exactly where we are… Some scuzzy motel in the middle of a very dusty nowhere – does that help???

And that Mike guy is five shots of vodka short of a cocktail, for sure… Keeps patting me on the shoulder and asking ‘How we are today, SJ’ in that pseudo-saccharine voice of his that’s fooling NO ONE. Not even Little Wax Boy Head. While trying to push pills down my throat by putting them in my horse-burgers (it’s gotta be horse – no cow could ever taste that bad…).

And I now know why Scotty’s panting to get rid of Little Wax Boy Head. He never lets up! Goes on and on… Whining about all the floors he’s had to clean and how it’s time for the workers of the world to unite. And Mike has hired him as a bodyguard – well that’s a joke! In the temperatures we’re sweating under out here, he spends most of his time melting in a bucket. He’d make Mike’s mad Aunty Maud look hard… She’s the one that s’posed to be running this place. Meaning she mostly spends her time counting flies on the fly-paper and sweeping the piles of sand from one corner of the room to the other, while muttering under her breath. And making those horse-burgers.
Well, Shovel’s cogitating right now. Still pondering the mysteries of the Universe. But he’s also getting really ticked off with all of this stuff. And they’d better watch out. Cos if Mike and that Little Whining Boy Head go on causing all this grief – SHOVEL’S GOING TO MAKE THEM VERRRRY SORRY!!!

And me? I don’t want to be a bad person. I don’t want Shovel to do something he’ll regret. We just joined this forum for a better life – and NOW look what’s happened! So… if you happen to be passing through the tackiest, most rundown motel on the planet – look out for me and Shovel. He’s the shiny, intelligent one. I’m the aging blonde in wax-spattered jeans (LWBH doesn’t believe in personal space when he’s grizzling about how unfair the world is).

Help!

 

MDG

LOL

Please pardon my friend, we are all fine out here. She has just been under a lot of stress while we work on our press package.

No one needs to worry about us SJ is just a little confused and this is very new to him. I think he is getting nervous about his soon to be obtained fame. I know the shovel is.

But let me clear up a few things. First off they are Mutton burgers from the Navajo Nation not horse burgers, those would cost way too much. I agree that hiring Little Wax Boy Head might have been a bad idea, but sometimes it is good to give shovel someone to talk to.

Even stranger, an odd sea gull has shown up in the middle of the desert. Ever time I get near he is always walking away, walking away. The Shovel says its name is Dahtoe, but I’m not sure how he knows that. I just wonder who it is working for. Does it have a spy cam?

I try to check, but it is always walking away, walking away and I can never catch it.
So to reiterate:

1. We are fine.
2. Don’t send help.
3. Let us know if you find out who owns a lost seagull.
4. Oh yes and if you do drop by bring lots of ice. I’m not sure how much longer LWBH is going to make it out here.

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Eternal Aftermath

BY

Michael D. Griffiths

It is five years deep into the Zombie Apocalypse when Devon and his allies attempt to free themselves from the oppressive military base that has housed them since the plague began. Their group is betrayed and General Sulter uses Devon to set an example for others. Once Devon is stripped of his weapons, socks, and shoes, he is dumped into the middle of zombie filled Tucson and things get worse from there.

 It is five years deep into the Zombie Apocalypse when Devon attempts to free himself from the oppressive military base that has housed him. He is betrayed &Devon is stripped of his weapons, socks, and shoes, he is dumped into the middle of zombie filled Tucson and things get worse from there. 

 

Enter the Eternal Aftermath and join Devon as he moves from just trying to stay alive to daring to hope that he can somehow free Tucson and rebuild civilization, one survivor at a time.

See the new Video featuring the author below!

Check out what happens when Zombie Author Michael D. Griffiths Enters the Eternal Aftermath right now!

Breaking their way in

Eternal Aftermath II, No Haven

More than five years has passed since humanity fell and then stood back up cold, dead, and hungry. Devon has survived through the Zombie Apocalypse long enough to gather stalwart allies, but will his struggling group of refugees be enough to fight off the only things more dangerous than the stumbling hordes of undead—the mad man that seek to rule over the scraps of the old world.

Devon is different, instead of looking back, he seeks to move forward. Build a utopia that was never before possible. He has claimed the Sonoran Desert for his group. Yet, with multiple armies organizing against him and swarms of zombies covering the lands, will he even be able to keep the people he has gathered alive?

Check out the more intense Zombie series of the decade and enter

The Eternal Aftermath

Mar Imprisoned

Two Guns, No Clue

Two Guns, No Clue

Here is a fun short Video that my friends and I  made last weekend

Here is the video

Enjoy

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Winslow Removes the Discord ‘Casting Couch’ from Zano’s Office

Collapsing Shack, AZ—After losing dozens of potentially talented reporters and multiple lawsuits, the Daily Discord’s CEO finally moved the official Discord ‘Casting Couch’ from Mick Zano’s office. “This latest list of atrocities and abuses marked the last straw,” said CEO Pierce Winslow. “And this time I mean it!”

As a result, threats, blubbering, and attempted bribery were heard echoing up and down the halls of Discord Central today.

“What can you expect?” said Winslow. “Do you see a lot of women working here? Guess why that is? Yep, it’s because either Mick Zano or the Ghetto Shaman scares them off. That and the fact we have no toilets in the rest room. And don’t even get me started on what they make the interns do. At this point, the only college that still sends us any is that damn Hogbein Institute and Multiplex. And the last one I got from there thought the World Wide Web was something from the Lord of the Rings.”

In his defense, Zano brought up the fact Cokie McGrath still worked for the Discord, “so we can’t be all bad.”

Winslow then pointed out the fact McGrath has filed no less than seven restraining orders against Zano and is even beginning to doubt whether or not he can truly “make her a star.”

The Daily Discord

When Zano was given a chance for a rebuttal, he had this to say. “This is completely unfair. Four of those restraining orders are completely unjustified.” And somewhere in the background someone did that badha bah, drum thing.

“Winslow could have at least waited until the Swedish exchange student bikini team had finished their tour,” added the Shaman.

Winslow countered by saying, “and I’m taking away that damn Badha bah drummer too!”

I caught up to local horror writer Michael D. Griffiths, who tends to lurk around the office looking for free pastries, and asked him if he knew of any inappropriate behavior going on within the halls of the Discord.

“Umm, as long as begging, screaming, panting, grunting, bribing, pleading, demanding, hanging up porn calendars, third party harassment, quid pro quo, inappropriate emails, asking to wife swap, hanging up flyers for office orgies, giving crude gifts, pinching, hugging, froughting, naughty pantomiming, knee licking, trying to get other employee to give out their daughter’s cell numbers, and hiring topless dancers for lunch breaks are okay, then I think these guys are pretty well behaved,” said Griffiths.

Mr. Griffiths later admitted, however, the Ghetto Shaman’s list would be “considerably longer.”

So as you can see, even with the loss of the infamous Casting Couch not much will probably change around Discord Central. When we asked Winslow where it would go, he said he was considering giving the couch to the Crank. “That guy needs something to cheer him up.”

Now you have to excuse me, the Crank is researching which bar has the best PBR pour in Mesa and the new interns from the institute are due to arrive any minute. Can you open a locked door with a church key? I mean they must call them keys for some reason.

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Labor & Industry, CPS Descend on Wonka Factory

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Putin: “I’m Only Gay With the Clergy”

Putin: “I’m Only Gay With the Clergy”

Deluise: “Sure, and I’ma da Pope.”

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

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.

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ATVs: A-hole Trashy Victimizers and Why I Hate Them By Alex Bone

Collapsing Shack, AZ—Over the past decade the use of ATVs has become more popular than ever, surpassing even the killing of harmless animals, the shooting of illegal immigrants, or other culturally important redneck pastimes (CIRP).   The following observation on those who choose to drive an ATV is sadly accurate.  The names have been changed to protect…I really didn’t get their names.  Too much gurgling from all the blood in their throats.

Now people don’t even need four wheel drive vehicles to get deep into the wilderness. Many families can just drive their RV to the edge of the woods, set up camp, and—as soon as they finish the last video from the Jeff Foxworthy mythos—head as far as the dirt roads will allow. I decided for this post to set out to discover the ins-and-outs of forest etiquette, particularly in regards to the owners of these fearsome machines known as ATVs.  ATV owners are the BMW drivers of the badlands. Speaking of which, if they ever do make a BMW-ATV, wow….

 

Now I know why I am one of Northern Arizona’s premiere horror writers.  I just scared the shit out of myself.

I have studied the ATVsters behaviors and their ethics for some time—from a distance, of course, as not to contaminate the study.   So the following is just a short list of things that occurred while dealing with these jack wads. I’ve had the owners of ATVs:

1. Drive over my possessions as they race through my campsite (I will miss you Sony Walkman).
2. Park behind my artist wife in the middle of composing a painting (wow, that’s a beautiful use of water color, honey, but…uh, is that the back end of a Yamaha Raptor?)
3. Try to move our camp tables in order to drive a few more feet past our canvas paradise.
4. Lash small children to their front bumpers and drive through patches of jumping cholla (I’m actually OK with this one, but, wouldn’t you know it, that’s the only one that isn’t true!)

 

Some ATV owners have even tried to get me to buy George W’s new book. I hope I dug those graves deep enough. Since ATVs are from Hell, my new goal is to ensure that every time I’m around one they already feel like they are there. I don’t want them to die and have the whole eternal-damnation thing be a shock to their system.  So now, each time one shows up anywhere near me, I rush forward to them, get into their face, and yell RAAAH, RAAAH, RAHHH at an ear-tearing volume.

 

Do they think I’m crazy? If they can hear me over the roar of their engines… my guess would be, yes. Still, my goal is a noble one, to try to annoy them at least a fraction of how much they have annoyed me over the years. Is this good journalism? Is this sane? Well, of course not, but keep in mind, this is The Daily Discord.

The important thing is they begin to think twice…oh wait, that might be too hard for ATV owners. How about think…at all, before they rush into some stranger’s camp. So ATVers beware, there are worse things in the back woods than broken RV heaters, burnt microwave dinners, and skipping DVDs. Sometimes your little roar buckets might not be enough to get you back to your mobile homes, because barb wire has a whole lot of uses, heh, heh, heh—especially when it’s placed between trees about neck high. Did I just say that aloud?  Mr. Winslow is saying, no, I typed it out loud.  Oh, aren’t we supposed to tone down the rhetoric?  Well, next time, for now I have some traps to set for some boobs.  The last bastards we took out only had some Miller Lite and some Jeff Foxworthy tapes.

 

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Motherroad Brewers attacked by Chaos

One day in early February in the year 2013, the minions of Chaos known as a The Daily Discord stormed the Motherroad Brewery in Flagstaff Arizona.

See photos

But this was no ordinary day, for the brews of the mighty Deschutes of Bend had traveled across the winter wastes to team up and brew a ale worthy of the Flagstaff/Oregon wormhole.

You will learn so much more here. Not just about the brewers, but perhaps something about the nature of reality itself or at least how to survive the apocalypse and still have a cold one.

Check out Bacchanalian explosion Below!!

 

 

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So Dionysus, a Viking, and a girl with Goggle eyes walk into a bar.

I'm giving this a big shout out. What happens when Dionysus, a Viking, and a girl with Goggle eyes walk into a bar. 

 

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