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Monthly Archives: December 2009

Oh gosh, oh gee, it’s Moofster McGee (story #39)

Howdy howdy howdy.  Look at us, writing the story on time this week!  Sure it’s late on Monday, but it’s still Monday.  At least it is as we write this.  I have no idea what day it is as you read this.  Your life is your own, and we don’t want to pry.

So, this past week, we have been reading a lot of Dr. Seuss and have decided that, for the first time ever, we are going to write the story this week as a rhyming poem.  Get ready to witness history, folks.  Or an incredible flame-out.  We’re fond of walking that tightrope here at the club.

OH GOSH, OH GEE, IT’S MOOFSTER McGEE

Art by Holly Knevelbaard

Oh gosh, oh gee, it’s Moofster Mcgee!

And how do I know?  I’ll tell you, you see.

I’ve seen that raggedy coat before

I’ve seen that old hat and I’ll tell you what’s more

I’ve never seen someone so dreadfully dressed

I’ve never seen someone who, wearing their best,

Still looks like a vagabond, stinky and dumb

But still I am proud to call Moofster my chum!

He’s so very interesting, silly yet wise

Just look at the riddles that dance in his eyes

“Who are you really?” and “who do you love?”

And “what is the meaning of wearing a glove?”

I’ve told him and told him and told him again

“Oh, Moofster, dear Moofster, my name isn’t Ben.”

And Moofster, he smiles, and Moofster, he frowns

And when he goes swimming, old Moofster, he drowns

He’s never gone under a third time, of course,

Though he flails and he coughs and he neighs like a horse

But he won’t stop his breathing, the water won’t win

A lake or an ocean could never begin

To meddle with Moofster, to shake his pride down

So don’t get me wrong when I say that he’ll drown

Old Moofster, he’s never been one to die so

Old Moofster, he’ll go when he’s ready to go

And Moof will go smiling, shod just in his rags

He won’t take no suitcase, he won’t take no bags

He won’t take no body, he’ll leave that behind

And old Moofster’s body is all that we’ll find

And then on that day

We’ll all smile and say,

“oh, Moofster, dear Moofster,

please come back an play.”

And Moofster, he’ll smile

And come back for a while

To live in the hearts

And the dreams of a child

He’ll laugh like a snowman

And sail like a yeoman

And when he tries archery,

shoot like a bowman

And no one will dread

That he’s already dead

Because all of our hopes

Will be with him instead

Because Moofster, he’ll still have that coat and that hat

And everyone with him will smile at that

And when he is ready, he’ll call me aside

And he’ll say to me, “Ben, I’ve got nothing to hide.”

And I’ll ask him, “but, Moofster, oh what have we learned?”

And he’ll answer me, “Ben, you will get what you’ve earned.”

And I’ll smile and I’ll cry and I’ll hug him and then

I’ll remind him one last time my name isn’t Ben

And when he is finished, and Moofster moves on

The world be silent, cuz Moofster is gone

But we’ll all have the memory of one special day

When old silly Moofster came back just to play

So, though he’s still with us and looks tired and worn

He’ll go away someday and, sure as you’re born,

All that he’ll leave us is riddles, you see,

Like “who in the world was old Moofster McGee?”

THE END

Okay, we have no idea what just happened there.  Feel free to read meaning into that at will.  Or dismiss it as drivel.  Whatever floats your boat.  We’re into boat-floating here at the club.  Maybe we’ll write a poem about it someday.

See you in seven,

the SotWC

 
2 Comments

Posted by on December 29, 2009 in Poetry

 

The Age of Pow Diddle (story #38)

Welcome back to the Story of the Week Club!  We’re a day late bringing you your story this week, and we would apologize profusely for it except that only one person seems to have noticed.  So, profuse apologies to Libby; everyone else gets nothing.

Our artist this week has requested that we do something involving “monsters or horsies.”  Therefore, in the spirit of trying new things and never doing what’s expected, you will find nary a horse or a monster in the following story.  Take that, Mr. Judd.

THE AGE OF POW DIDDLE

Art by Josh Judd

Once upon a time there was a hearty group of knights known as the Knights of Pow Diddle.  They would ride around the countryside having magnificent adventures on their valiant turtles.  Yes, these knights would ride giant box turtles hither and yon, adventuring the day away.  Most often, they would save fair maidens from the clutches of fiendish creatures who had abducted them.  Fair maidens were always getting abducted by cruel hearted creatures like fluffy bunnies or adorable kittens.  It was a tough life.

One day, as the KPD (as they were known by their more loyal fans, of which there were seven) rode swiftly (and by swiftly, I mean slowly but surely) through the town of Noodlepie, the youngest of them, Kleeg, noticed something strange.  “What, ho!” shouted Kleeg to his noble brethren, “ I have doth spotted something strange.”

They all stopped and looked at him.  “Well?” said the oldest, a mighty man named Plok, “wouldst thou care to explaineth what thou hast seen?  Or are we just gonna sit here like doofuses?”

Before Kleeg could respond, another knight, named Flurb, interrupted by saying, “pardon me, brother Plok, but would not the proper pluralization of doofus be doofi?”

“Don’t be silly,” said a fourth knight, whose noble name was Kleenexx, “that is an incorrect assumption shared by many, and may be acceptable to some people, but it is not the most popular plural form of doofus, and is certainly by no means correct grammar.”

“Don’t be hasty,” said a fifth knight, called Baguette Deluxe, “I am sure that I have heard many a learned man speak verily of doofi.  Why should our brother be called thusly into question?”

“In point of fact,” said Plok in an attempt to end the discussion, “neither of them in strictly correct.  Doofus is not a simple Latin word of the second declension, but a Latinized form of the Greek word doofopous, and its ‘correct’ plural would logically be dooftopodes.”

At this, all of the Knights of Pow Diddle nodded their heads and acknowledged that Plok was very wise.  As did all the townspeople who had turned out to watch them ride by on their noble box turtles.  With the problem resolved, Plok returned his gaze to Kleeg and said, “now, brother Kleeg, may we return to the matter of what thou hast seeneth?”

Kleeg looked a bit forlorn and, after some anxious silence, responded, “I’m afraid I have quite forgotten what it was I saw in all the confusion.  But I assure you it was neither a monster nor a horsy.”

“Well,” said Plok, “that’s a relief.”

THE END

Thanks for reading!  I don’t have time to write a clever closing because it’s very late and I have to work in the morning.  So, you’re stuck with this crappy closing and persistent lack of apology for the late story this week.  Aw, who am I kidding.  I probably wouldn’t write something very clever even if I took the time.  Which I kind of just did.  Man, I am confusing.

See you in seven,

the SotWC

 
6 Comments

Posted by on December 23, 2009 in Fantasy

 

The Story of Rex and Dippy (story #37)

Rex's Dream by Libby Barringer

Well, well, well!  Let’s all say a hearty “Welcome Back!” to the Story of the Week Club!  I know you’ve all been missing for the past, oh, 14 years or so.  And when I say “you all” I mean the 3 or 4 people who will remember that there even was a Story of the Week Club back in ’95.  Being from Virginia originally, when I say “you all” I also mean “y’all.”

So, here it is, our first new story for the club in 14 years.  Since Christmas is coming, I think I will eschew any thoughts of recapturing the former Christmas glory of “Benji’s Christmas Wish,” (later published in edited form in God and Country Graphics’ “A Christmas Treasury,” check it out, people!) and instead write a story about an octopus and his pet wallaby.  Sure, that’s what I’ll do.

THE STORY OF REX AND DIPPY

Once upon a time, there was a young octopus named Rex.  His parents had wished and prayed for a baby dinosaur while his mother, Redondo, was pregnant (his parents were just stupid little octopi, of course.  They didn’t realize that their baby would most likely be the same species as them.  You know, unless there was a recessive dinosaur gene in the lineage.  Which there wasn’t.), so when he was born a simple, stupid little octopus, his parents named him after their favorite dinosaur.  Their favorite dinosaur, of course, being Rex Manville, the famous stegosaurus.

A week before Rex’s 5th birthday (see how I chose to make it a birthday and not Christmas?  Man of my word, right here), his mother asked him, “what would you like for your birthday, simple stupid disappointing son of mine?”  Rex looked up at her with bright, shiny octopus eyes (they live underwater, you know, everything is bright and shiny down there) and said “pooty bi-thurbal.”  As I mentioned previously, Rex was stupid.  He really thought he was speaking words that made sense.

Frustrated as always, Redondo simply opened the JC Penny’s catalogue (she got on the mailing list after registering there for a her baby shower.  they have all the best dinosaur stuff at JC Penny’s.  Man, wasn’t she disappointed), and closed her eyes and just dropped a tentacle down on the first page she opened to.  Whatever she was pointing at, she would buy.  Well, turns out she was pointing to a picture of a wallaby on the “Tastes of Australia” page (where they have such fascinating recipes as “Shrimp, I mean duh” and “Paul Hogan’s Career on Fire”).  Not that they had a wallaby for sale or anything, it was just there for decoration, but it’s what she pointed to, so she decided to find one for Rex for his birthday.

She ordered one through a special mail order outlet (and, by that, I mean the Octopus Black Market, those things have no scruples) and it arrived just in time for Rex’s birthday party.  Which no one came to, not even his father, Krinkle (not “Kringle,” see, continuing the established “No Christmas in this story” motif).  Krinkle was down the way having a beer with the boys.  Octopi love beer, I’m just sure of it.  So the package arrived and Rex opened it and said, “what is it?” (sometimes he made sense, okay?) and his mother said, “it’s a wallaby, stupid.”  Rex looked at it a moment and said, “looks like a kangaroo.”  And Redondo said, “nope, a wallaby is not the same as a kangaroo, I looked it up on Wikipedia.”  To which Rex responded, “oh, isn’t it nice to able to look stuff up in the middle of making up a story thanks to the wonder of the internet and multiple tabs?”  To which Redondo replied, “I wouldn’t know, now stop giving away how we spend our time here at the club.”  To which Rex responded, “what club?”  And Redondo said, “shut up.”

So, anyway, Rex decided to name his new wallaby Dippy in hopes that his parents would pick on the wallaby instead of him.  It didn’t matter, though, because the wallaby had drowned to death long before it got it’s name.  I mean wallabies don’t live underwater.  I know.  I looked it up on Wikipedia.

THE END

Well, there you have it, the first Story of the Week in 14 years.  Wasn’t it worth waiting for?

Well, what do you know anyway?

see you in seven,

the SotWC

 
4 Comments

Posted by on December 14, 2009 in Uncategorized