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yamithediaperdork · 4 years

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The Hero’s new Armor (Legend of zelda)

Zelda smiled as she looked over her kingdom from her balcony, Hyrule was safe and recovering nicely in the wake of Gannon's defeat and everything was returning to normal. and she had her loving and wonderful husband to be to thank for that. however, even as she admired the beauty of the landscape, a yellow and putrid smelling tidal wave started to wash over the land, coming towards the castle and- Zelda sat up with a start, and then looked down at her bed, then over at her sleeping hero. who had wet the bed. again. "Link wake up! you're doing it again!" she growled, grabbing a pillow and hitting him on the head with it. Link, who had been snoring gently around his thumb (he was a total thumb sucker in his sleep, something that Zelda found to be ADORABLE!) he sat up now and glared, then looked down and groaned. "Zelda I'm-" "Save it." she growled. "I know, you're sorry. and you did everything you were suppose to, including not having anything to drink before bed and you don't know HOW this just keeps happening." she huffed. Zelda had tried, she really had, to be understanding the first dozen times this happened. But she was getting sick and tired of being pissed on every night. Link for his part looked like a scolded child, and had his head downcast, his thumb on the edge of his lip. "Oh for din's sake.. come on, we'll get the servants to clean this bed up and find somewhere else to sleep." she paused and sniffed the air. "After a bath." she added and held her nose. naturally it was Impa who answered their call first, and while she had the bedding taken care of she also lead them to a private bath area, having prepared two tubs of warm water. "...You were ready for this?" Link asked in a small voice as he took off his green night shirt. "Well when someone has wet the bed every single night for the past month, one tends to notice a pattern. the sheikah chuckled. "Oh." Link said and slipped into his tub, the warm water filling good and grabbing a knot of soap weed, he began to scrub himself. The princess just glared and huffed, willing herself to calm down, it wasn't really fair to be mad at Link for something he couldn't control but at the same time she was a princess, soon to be Queen and she was getting pissed on like a dirty green rupee whore! sliding her purple night grown off she slid into her tub (they had separate ones as sometimes the warm water made link relax a little TOO much..ugh) she let Impa clean her, relaxing herself as her faithful servant/bodyguard/best friend took care of her, and put her mind to work on the Link problem. She couldn't just dump him.. she loved the blond haired hero with all her heart even if he was annoying at times. They had already tried different potions and brews that were suppose to help, and at best they did nothing, at worse.. she wrinkled her nose recalling the night Link had messed the bed. as the royal consort Link was expected to sleep in her room, though she could always make a excuse for why he wasn't, heck, they had managed to cover up any rumors over the bed wetting so far so Zelda knew the castles servants were trustworthy. Still she'd miss falling asleep while snuggling with Link, with him nuzzling into her almost like a small child or a bab- Zelda opened her eyes and smiled, she knew what they had to do, and was shocked with herself she hadn't considered it sooner. "M'lady?" Impa asked politely. "Finish up here Impa, then you and I have much to plan." She said and smiled over at Link, who was just laying back in the tub, enjoying it and too zoned out to see the almost fiendish look upon his beloveds face. After their baths the couple had been found separated beds, which was disappointing for Link, he found listening to Zelda's breath and heart beat to be oddly comforting but he made due and managed to sink back into a slumber, once again one that was filled with flashes and images from his many battles that he had waged to save the kingdom. Thankfully when he awoke in the morning, the bed was dry. He would of hated to need anther bath and to of been responsible for two pissy beds. getting dressed he had breakfast with the princess, who as usual had calmed down and was kind with her words,then he went off to go and do the morning drill's the palace guards. As the royal consort he didn't NEED to do anything around the palace but Link had taken it upon himself to train the palace guards, so that the next wanna be Gannon would have a hard time of it. After lunch with the guards (Zelda had been busy, and as the princess of a recovering nation, Link understood this) Link went out on horseback with a patrol to sweep up any left over monsters created by Gannon's dark magic.after a scuffle with some Moblins who had been trying to bring back the king of evil with a poorly thought out plan (they had been plotting to steal Gannon's remains even though he wasn't dead so much as trapped) they rode back and washed up, with link dressing in a formal pair of white pants, and a dark blue dress shirt, and taking the time to comb his hair for supper with the court. (Truth be told, he hated this meal and would of rather faced anther 20 Moblins by himself, but it was the way things were done, so Link just put on his best fake smile, was careful to eat in a gentlemanly manner, and try not to embarrass Zelda.) Finally with the dinner over Zelda and Link retired to their bedchambers. the staff, well schooled by now in handling the soaked bedding and the like had gotten the room cleaned up and smelling better and the bed was perfectly dried (though no doubly stained under the satin sheets) "So link, We need to talk about the dodongo in the room." Zelda said, after they had changed to more comfortable clothes. "My..My bed wetting?" Link asked, looking at the floor, cheeks starting to turn red. "No, your habit of dancing in your sleep. of course your bed wetting." Zelda joked, thought chided herself for it. "look, The way I see it, we have one of two choices here. One, is that you and I sleep in separate beds so that when you wet yourself, at least I'm not getting a golden shower." "I..That makes sense, Though I'll miss falling asleep in your arms." Link said with a miserable tone to his voice and his face showed his dislike of that option as well. "what was the other choice?" "Well, The other choice lets us share a bed, though requires you to wear protection." She said, blushing a little herself now. Link blinked, and tilted his head. "I don't think the Zora or Goron tunic would help with this Zelda." he said, rubbing the back of his head. Zelda blinked, then facepalmed. 'how can he be so brilliant at solving puzzles and yet so DUMB?!' she thought. "Not..not quite what I was talking about." She said. As link went to open his mouth she cut him off, trying to save him from making a fool of himself. "I'm talking about diapers link." she said flatly. "...Diapers? as In.. the things babies wear?" Link asked, his face turning crimson now. "well not just babies, some older children wear them till they stop bed wetting and well.." Zelda trailed off. "Oh, so I'm not a baby..just a big child." Link huffed. "Well when you pout like that." Zelda said. "be reasonable Link, it's sleep in anther bedroom without me, and hope this problem clears up before our wedding.. or wear the diapers. would being diapered, just in front of myself, and maybe Impa be THAT much worse then being seen in your pissy clothes?" "well..I mean..I guess not.." Link mumbled. "Good. then strip and go lay on the bed while i go get Impa." "C-Can't we just keep t-this to ourselfs?" Link asked, his voice hitting a high note as he poked his fingers together. "I would if I could but er, I've never actually diapered someone before, while Impa used to change mine..soooo I kinda figure she'd be the perfect choice to show me the ropes you know?" Link gave a tiny nod and started to strip as Zelda went into the hallway, spotting Impa who was waiting nearby with a bag over one shoulder and nodded to her and gave her a thumbs up. Links blush had moved down his neck and to his shoulders as he laid back on the bed, his hands covering his manhood as he looked up at Impa who gave him a warm smile, then set the bag down on the bed. "I'm seen your privates before while attending to your baths. and you'll look funny if I diaper you with your hands down there." She said with a wink, making link blush more and move his hands. Truthfully he was fighting the urge to suck his thumb right now, but figured with what was about to happen it wouldn't look good. Impa was babbling away to Zelda about how to fold the diaper and link just shut his eyes and tried to block the whole thing out. to pretend he was somewhere else. with his eyes closed, he pictured a nice flat farmland and riding on epona and smiled, cooing gently. Zelda bite down on her touage to prevent herself from laughing as link went totally baby zone as Impa lifted up his legs and set the bulky cloth under the boys buns, then powdered him. raising a eye as link's hand moved for his mouth again Impa locked eyes with Zelda, then nodded at the bag as she finished getting Link coated and started to use the heavy set and durable pins to fasten the bulky diaper around the hips of the hero. Link's relaxing ride came to a sudden stop as suddenly his mouth was invaded by a large rubber nipple and link opened his eyes to see Zelda bending down, and smiling and giggling softly. instinctively Link sucked on whatever it was in his mouth, but a downward glance confirmed it, he was nursing on a pacifier! A muffled cry of protest went to come out and link moved to spit the pacifier out but zelda placed two fingers on the mouth guard and tsked softly. "Come now link, we both know you wanna suck your thumb, and this is just cleaner..and besides." She paused, but then grinned and bend down lower and kissed his forehead. "You look VERY adorable." Link suckled on the paci after that, red faced and squirming as he stepped into the tight rubbed pants impa held out for him, the faded purple clung to his hips and Link felt like a over sized big baby. "We'll have to look into getting some in other colors. I want my little prince to be a little rainbow butt." Zelda said, patting link's puffy behind. Link had been about to say something, but as Zelda patted his butt, he barely heard her talking about just how cute his butt was, and just ended up turning himself more into the pats, and getting on his knees and hands on the bed, wiggling his butt. Zelda had just been patting the butt and teasing Link a little to have fun, but when the padded hero of cuteness positioned himself to get more out of his butt pats she found herself grinning ear to ear. This, this had all sorts of potential and for the first time she was VERY glad that her hero, her baby husband to be, had started wetting the bed. The end

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carluzbroz-blog · 4 years

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mightyquillbooks-blog · 7 years

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SPOTLIGHT: Stuart Conover, author of "Fry Machete's Monsters, Munchies, and Mayhem"

Next up in our line up of author profiles from the Dead of Winter anthology is Stuart Conover. We first got to know Stuart when we posted our open submissions call to his list on Horror Tree. (If you don't already subscribe to his list, we recommend it!)

We were delighted that he submitted a story for our anthology. "Fry Machete's Monsters, Munchies, and Mayhem" is a really great spoof on Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives with a nice horror twist. It really rounded out the anthology with its blend of horror, a murder mystery, and a touch of humor.

So, read on to find out more about Stuart and what makes him tick as an author. Be sure to read the excerpt of his story too.

How did you get started with writing?

That's a tough one. I was probably writing Super Mario Brothers fan fiction in grade school. I really enjoyed writing in high school and was actively encouraged by all of my English teachers though kind of fell out of it. After college, I had a few part-time jobs writing content for various websites. That slowly got back into it and was heavily encouraged by my girlfriend at the time (now wife) to follow up on it if it was something that I enjoyed and was passionate about. I had my first short story published in 2011 and have slowly been raising that every year with 10 out in submission land at any given time and a multitude of shorts and novels at various points of being written.

Do you tend to write in just one genre or do you like to write across multiple genres?

While nearly everything I write falls under horror or at least using horror tropes, I really tend to write the gambit of genre fiction. Horror, science fiction, fantasy, etc. It's all fair game as I'm a huge nerd when it comes to these things and really like to go with whatever I'm geeking out about the most at any given time. The reason it all falls back into the horror genre though is that has always been my favorite to watch and tied with science fiction as my favorite to read. One of these days I also plan on getting a comic book together but that will probably be pretty far down the line.

What made you decide to write this story? Is there a particular backstory to it?

So, for 'Fry Machete’s Monsters, Munchies, and Mayhem' it was clearly a spoof of Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives on Food Network. My wife is in the restaurant business and has cooked since she was just a lil tot so is a total foodie. Thus, I have slowly evolved into a part-time foodie over the years. (When we met I was a shallow excuse of a man living off of take-out and instant noodles with being able to burn water my only notable kitchen accomplishment and can now actually make a few decent meals.) I've been thinking that many of the shows on the network would be great if set in a more horror themed genre so decided to take my stab at it. Why this one in particular? The network has ruined my love of the show by showing it for about 10 hours a night every night. I just had to run with it.

What do you like to do when you're not writing?

Well, when I'm not writing I have my wife who I mentioned above, two boys, a dog, and a full-time job in IT. If that wasn't enough to keep me busy I also run the author resource HorrorTree.com, write for ScienceFiction.com, and am the editor-in-chief of the JournalStone network of sites which includes: HellNotes.com, BuyZombie.com, HorrorReview.com, and HorrorWorld.org. I also still attempt to see some of my friends now and again and.. What's that thing where people close their eyes and shut down for a bit? That too... Somehow. Another coffee? Please?

Where is the best place for readers to find out more about your work?

I have a link to everything I've done under "My Work" on StuartConover.com or can also be followed on Twitter! Just please don't track me down and try to take any of my hairs or skin samples for cloning attempts. I've seriously had enough of that at this point!

Thanks, Stuart! And, now for an excerpt from "Fry Machete's Monsters, Munchies, and Mayhem".

Fry Machete’s Monsters, Munchies, and Mayhem

“So, when I’m in California, I like to take a load off and have a good time. If I’m at the beach, I want to get something quick and easy. What’s easier than a food truck when you’re just looking to kick back your feet and soak in the rays? Not much!

“If you’ve got a taste for something a little different than your standard dogs or may not be quite of the human persuasion . . . I want to introduce you to the ‘The Cryptoid Truck' which has been serving the hunger of all types all day and all night. It opened a couple years ago by two of the most unlikely of friends and they have cornered the market on this ghoulishly fun and original take on finger foods.

"With a mobile meat wagon and a tolerant attitude, they've been able to dominate the late night scene. At least for those brave enough among the living, dead, undead, dying, and even some merfolk to keep things fair across the board. You can find a little of everything here in this rolling sliver of SoCal and it's all coming up right now on "Monsters, Munchies, and Mayhem."

The camera cut and Fry Machete sighed as he leaned against his 1996 Lamborghini Diablo and lifted his sunglasses to rub his weary eyes. He might feasibly live forever at this rate but thirteen seasons of crossing the country showcasing food joints for the fiendish wore thin, even on him. One would have to make a deal with the devil to find this much success and keep ratings up after so many years. Or, if not the Devil, maybe a deal with the next best Evil God out there available on short notice.

Of course, any deal like that would come at a price as Fry knew all too well. He had a job to do, though, and not sucking up to the audience at the other end of the cameras. No. His real job involved slaying some of the monsters that lay in plain sight among the human populace and fed off them. The information came in packets he had mysteriously been receiving since he had started hosting the show. The ones that linked together murders which had been committed by the nightmares made real. The ones kept secret from the public and, per his latest batch of information, death was sticking to The Cryptoid like white on rice.

Get your copy of Dead of Winter to find out how the story ends.

Amazon | Apple iBooks | Barnes & Noble

#Dead of Winter Anthology #Horror

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middleearthtales · 7 years

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Adventures in Middle-earth

Part 1 of a series Word Count: 2,136

Contents Page

Scene setter

Synopsis: Being an extreme introvert and stumbling into Middle-earth and joining the company of Thorin Oakenshield

Enjoy!

GIFS USED ARE NOT MINE

There was something about the forest behind your back garden that had this weird vibe, you could never put your finger on it. You felt a strange tingle in your chest every time you'd go near there. Sometimes, on a starry night, you'd sit in your back yard and listen to the breeze rolling over the trees and relax, it was a nice feeling, not odd, painful or discomforting. It was delicate and pure. Something about how the moon shone through the leaves and left shadows on the floor near your feet made you feel like something magical was in that forest, probably your childish nature. You loved to make believe something interesting would happen to you and you'd be on an adventure, just like they do in the movies. It was kind of an ironic fantasy to have.

You had only lived at this new house for a little over 6 months, not long at all. You hadn't made any new friends and you hardly spoke to any of your old friends at home, you thought they would have at least had the decency to text you to see how moving in was, but no. You only really had one friend, and you didn't really talk to her that often, it was the kind of friendship where you knew you were best friends so you didn't need to talk every day. The best kind of friendship. You knew her since you were 4 years old and she was the only person to call you a week after you had moved in and ask how things were in the new home. Previously, you lived in the suburbs, you hated it. You were more of a nature-lover, you loved climbing trees, finding peace and harmony in your surroundings. The new home was nice, you had a bedroom with a view of the forest behind your garden, you loved to look into the horizon far past the forest and imagine that the trees didn't stop for hundreds of miles. You often found happiness in sitting at the very borders of the forest to your garden and drawing or reading a book. You weren't a lover for technology, although you owned a phone, you didn't use it much, you only really used it to take pictures or listen to music and even then your music taste wasn't very modern, most of the music on your phone were soundtracks from your favourite films or ambient soundtracks of birds singing and the wind whistling. One particular Friday evening, you found yourself completely drained from the college work you had been given, you were given a detention for daydreaming in class and you felt separated from everyone. You spent all of your months in your new town in solitude, but something kept drawing you to the borders of that forest at the foot of your back yard. Your parents always found you sat with your knees bent into your chest either reading a book or drawing away late into the night. But, this particular Friday evening, you had an urge, a desperation to go further into the forest. Sunset was probably an hour off and you thought to yourself, "I won't be late for dinner." You packed your favourite backpack with your drawing pad, pencils and other stationary, your phone, music player and camera just incase any of them died, your favourite woolly hoodie which had gotten you through most winters considering you hadn't changed much in size for a couple of years. You slipped on your trainers and headed out the back door, without saying a word to your parents, it was normal for you to go out and sit outside, they didn't expect anything unusual. So, off you went, into the forest you had been admiring for months from your bedroom window and from the borders of your garden. You felt excited, you had no idea of what you'd find in this forest, perhaps an abandonned house you could explore and take photos of, perhaps a lake with deer and ducks. You just kept walking through the heavily rooted forest with positivity in your step, for the first time since you had moved to this accursed town, you finally felt free. To some extent. You hadn't noticed the lace on your trainers beginning to loosen as you grabbed onto branches and climbed over bulging roots on the ground, you didn't even realise the thorns that were clinging onto your clothes were causing little ladders to form into your tights, you loved climbing through trees and what not so it didn't bother you when you looked down to find a hole in your tights, but what you still hadn't realised was the lace on your shoe slowly unravelling itself until it's fiendish plan to trip you up had taken place. As you climbed over one unnecessarily large root sticking out of the ground, you had accidentally stood on your lace with the opposite foot causing you to swing over the root and faceplant the floor with a painful thud causing a loud shout of pain to escape your mouth. "Damn laces!" you cursed as you fumbled hopelessly on the ground with your shoe in hopes to tie it up tightly, before your eyes were met with a pair of obnoxiously large boots peeking out of what seemed to be a tatty grey dress. Your eyes struggled upwards to find the owner of these feet, you were shocked to find an elderly man stood before you offering his hand, with a cheerful look on his face, "What a tumble!" he laughed as he pulled you to your feet, you looked at the old man in confusion, did he live out here? Where did he come from? You didn't see him a minute ago. The man brushed his fingers through his very very long grey beard as if he was thinking as he looked at the bump that was forming on your head, "quite a bruise you'll have there by nightfall, I should think." "Thank you for helping me up, sir." you politely replied as you gently ran your fingers over the forming bump, "Oh how lovely to be called a 'sir' by one of your kind." he smirked to himself as he gazed menacingly, "My kind?" you asked with confusion all over your face, "Yes.." He spoke eerily, the old man was beginning to frighten you, but somehow his blue eyes that searched yours seemed honest and pure and you had this strange feeling to trust the old man. "Forgive me, my dear. My name is Gandalf, if you will, I should like you to come and meet my friends, one of them is especially qualified in the field of medicine and I would like for him to see to the bump on your head." he was so well-spoken for a man in tatty robes, "Oh no, really it's fine. It's just a bump, it'll be gone in a few days, no problem, really." you sounded almost too enthusiastic to get back on your way before the sun set. But with the reassurance, the old man pulled a stick from behind him which was leaning on a tree, in one quick motion he whacked his staff-looking stick over your arm causing some blood to pour out, you yelped as you saw the blood, you frowned at Gandalf angrily.

"Oh! Goodness, my dear! I must apologise, now you must come, that needs tending to!" he was so eager for you to follow him, but was it wise to follow an old man in the forest? If you did, you had completely disobeyed your fathers every command for you to not follow or talk to strangers. But at the same time, you did want to know what the old man was going on about, the excitement won over your inner battles when you saw a group of small people peering over at you from a distance. You followed the old man through the trees and thorns whilst keeping your eyes on the small people. Well, they weren't particularly small, you were short and they sort of matched your height well but there were some of them that were really only the size of children but bared the appearance of fully grown men. Peculiar.

After the small-ish man with the trumpet hanging out of his ear wiped up the cut on your arm, you were surprised to see that there wasn't a huge gash as though it felt, but a tiny tiny cut, like a kitten scratch. It was all beginning to get a bit strange, these small men, this old man with his pointy hat and this very small man whom didn't wear any shoes. His feet were very hairy for a man of about 3 foot tall. In fact, all of these men had a substantial amount of hair on their face and on their heads this was strange for you as you were used to seeing men with little to no facial hair and well trimmed on top of their heads. "I don't want to be rude, but... Why are you all out here?" you asked with a tone of utter confusion clear in your voice, "Oh, my dear, forgive me I have not explained!" said the old wizard who you now knew as Gandalf. "You see, we aren't quite like your folk-" "-okay, that. What does that mean? My kind? My folk? What are you talking about?" "These are Dwarves and Mr. Bilbo here is a Hobbit of The Shire." You stared at the old man in utter disbelief, you snickered quietly until you caught the gaze of the dwarves who looked confused at you, "Okay... so what are you mister pointy hat? A wizard?" you laughed to yourself, "Indeed." the words seemed so sure and you didn't know what you were thinking, your thoughts trailed into a blur, "Wow, I must've hit my head hard." you muttered to yourself as your rubbed your eyes and kept looking at the company of dwarves and a hobbit and a wizard expecting them to disappear, but... they didn't. "Okay... well, it was lovely to meet you but I have to head home now, the sun's setting." you spoke cheerily, half expecting yourself to wake up from a dream any minute, again, wrong. "Where is your home?" one of the dwarves called, you didn't know his voice but his hair was dark and his beard thick, he had stern eyes and his voice was bassy and rumbled through your body, "Just West of here on the boarders of the forest, in a tow-" "There is nothing West of here, unless you mean to travel a hundred miles to Bree?" he replied, his voice still vibrating through your very being making you feel uneasy but it was also a pleasant feeling, "What? I only live about 15 minutes in this direction?!" You were totally baffled, "My dear, if I may," Gandalf called, you were beginning to grow tired of his ruse so you turned to look at him with a roll of your eyes, "You are no longer in your world, but in ours." your brow creased as you sighed and smiled at the old man who had clearly been smoking something, whatever he had, you'd really like some at this moment. You began to huff and walk off back in your direction of where you assumed your home would be, but then realised you had lost all sense of direction and to be perfectly honest, you were lost. "You'll find nothing in that direction.." the loud voice boomed over you, "I'm going the way I came." you spoke abruptly as you were beginning to grow tiresome of the 'dwarves' company but before you could carry on with your journey back home before sun set, which by the way was looking rather unlikely by now, the elderly man piped up, "He's right, my dear. You'll find yourself in nowhere but trouble if you proceed in that direction." his voice was sincere and you felt guilty for being rude to him, you turned to face him and your expression relaxed, "Then how can I find my way home?" you asked politely and quietly, "Perhaps you could join us on our quest until we can return you safely to your home, nobody would know you're missing!" An eager blonde dwarf spoke through his braided moustache which hung beside his lips with beads clasping onto them. You looked back towards you initial direction in which you thought your home was, still confused and debating whether you really had knocked yourself into a state of illusion from the fall earlier, but you agreed to follow the dwarves, the hobbit and the wizard, after all, you are one for an adventure.

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clubofinfo · 6 years

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Expert: Hey, ol’ pal. Yeah, it’s me. We’re alone here. Nobody reads anything here. Google and Facebook bury it so nobody sees it but unpersons like me and a couple paranoiac deviants like you. This is the next best thing to high-latency messaging over the invisible internet. Virtually tête-à-tête. You remember me. And as for you, oh, we remember you, all right. Not that you’re well known, but you’re best known for exulting over 9/11. The 3,000 deaths, the flailing victims falling for long seconds, the tens of thousands wasting, riddled with cancer, the torture, the crimes of aggression, put all that in a Big Bucket and you’re the Colonel Sanders of it, grinning on the label. We know what you meant: Oh boy, money for the beltway bandits, arms and legs and carte blanche for the spooks! You’re still teed up as the poster boy for ghoulish depravity, symbol of a criminal regime. A monster, hostis humani generis, headline perp of Nuremberg II. Who better than you to take over when the USA collapses? Now keep an open mind here. Did I ever shit you in those punchy late-night sessions of hurry-up-and-wait? Locked in those places, converted monasteries or robber-baron lairs or barrel vaults or founding-slaver homesteads, you say what you think, right? Let’s talk turkey now. Sure, your old bosses at NSA will suck this up into their server farms… and they will lose it. They’ll never find it till you’ve done your dirty work. Then it will be too late. Your bosses see you as a steady hand, the kind of slavering psycho who will stop at nothing, who’ll depopulate the world for attaboys or shits and grins. You’re just the kind of guy they trust. That’s important, because some of the things you will do will destroy all your past employers, including, but not limited to, the US government. Wouldn’t it be a hoot to get credit for that? It’s the ultimate stab in the back. One last career-crowning betrayal. Turn on a dime and ruin everything you did all your life, to universal acclaim. From Lavrenti Beria to Nelson Mandela in a month. I’m telling you this not because you are a great man, fit to take the reins of history at a crucial juncture. I am not even calling you a good or decent man. You’re a crazy beady-eyed prick. That’s the beauty part. You’ll do. After all, who knows better than us how to demolish a country? Knock it over, rip it apart, wreck its defense industrial base? Did we not pile on and help do it to the Soviet Union, the biggest country of them all? For us to do it to the rickety laughingstock USA is child’s play. Hell, even I could do it, and I’m rusty. It’ll be like old times. A tweak of the finger at just the right time, and rumble rumble crash, it’s gone. The NATO bloc is going the way of the Warsaw Pact, rotting from the outside in. Just as with the Warsaw Pact and COMECON, gormless coercion by the hegemon provokes increasing tension between hard-line and soft-line satellites. The UK has cut itself adrift from Europe and the runt of the P-5 litter will disappear further up the USA’s asshole. Germany’s voracious trade surplus immiserizes Southern Europe and revives Ostpolitik in pursuit of scarce productive investment. No one wants your useless weapons or your tank parades, except for a few of your bribed crooks in each satellite state. Your European satrapy is crazed with deepening cracks. It’s déjà vu all over again: Tsipras is NATO’s Dubchek. May is NATO’s Honecker, Corbin NATO’s Mielke. Orban is NATO’s Grósz. They’re pulling away and pulling apart, and the cracks will propagate across the Atlantic in a familiar process. The US lost its last friend long ago, and it’s eking out its dwindling influence with threats and bribes and blackmail. But there’s worse to come. You’ve lost your last enemy. China and Russia have brought the US government to heel with the only thing you beltway vermin understand: the threat of hypersonic nonballistic missiles jinking unstoppably at you from all directions. They can decapitate the US government, free its subject population. They know exactly where to poke to make your C3 systems fail. They won the war before it even started. The Russians call it coercion to peace. Peace is lethal to regimes like the US. We both know what triggered the implosion of the Soviet bloc: it lost its enemies. With the triumph of their nuclear disarmament pact, everyone was avid to get out and see the world. Their restlessness ended their patience with their parasitic states. Even in the hard-line satellite states, the police state collapsed under public loathing. East Germany’s Stasi had a meticulously-detailed Schild plan to intern thousands of dissidents, down to the gnat’s-ass detail of duplicate keys for home locks and access/egress routes for midnight home invasions. But the Stasi never got around to executing Schild. They were too busy shredding the records of their crimes. The government fell too fast for them. For all the jingling of keys in Wenceslaus Square, for all the public happiness overflowing Dresden and Leipzig and breaching the wall, it was insiders who euthanized their own regimes. Mielke put his own head in the oven, saying, “Ich liebe doch alle, alle Menschen” to riotous laughter. The Czechoslovak Politburo quit and the successor state dismembered itself without a peep. Ceausescu’s festive liquidation was a consummate inside job. Now it’s your turn. You’re going to pull the plug. Don’t be nervous; like I said, this pitch might as well be sitting in Aldritch Ames’ PIPE dead drop. Don’t give me this But-but-but-Why? You know why. There Is No Alternative. If you don’t do it, someone else will. Your rogue state is already caught; you’ll just stop resisting. Having ratified three of the core human rights instruments, US foreign affairs have turned into a treadmill of concerted world demands for more and more directed reforms. Compliance weakens your grip at home. Failure to comply erodes your soft power abroad, and your military power is increasingly useless, kept within strict bounds by Russia and China. As a commissar in a floundering successor state of the USA, the hated parasitic city-state of Washington, DC, you know your piece of the disintegrating regime will need recognition as a sovereign state. The alternative is gradual ruin in a failed pariah state, beggared by autarky, crippled by countermeasures to decades of breached obligations. Recognition requires three agreements: the UN Charter, the International Bill of Human Rights, and the Rome Statute. You remember, this is how it happens. In the pancaking rubble of the USSR, the Russians had no time to dick around with institutions. Forget old-time liberty bell constitutional-convention nonsense. COMECON technocrats grabbed in panic for the first support in reach. And what was that? The Helsinki Final Act. Like all its other regional and international counterparts, the Helsinki Final Act was designed with fiendish ingenuity like one of those sticky mouse traps – get a foot stuck, push off and get another foot stuck, get your face stuck, fall down, squirm around till you’re all wrapped up, there’s no way out. One commitment leads to another and another and another until your police state is trapped like a rat, never to escape. Just chuck it out and let it starve and dry-rot. That is what you will do too — step into the trap. Like any ordinary UN pissant, a sort of North Togo or New Nauru, any hope of influence or standing will depend on your country’s accession to the Rome Statute and the International Bill of Human Rights. The Rome Statute will cripple the criminal enterprise at the heart of the US regime, the CIA. The International Criminal Court itself is just another forum. The guts of the agreement is a binding commitment to extradite or prosecute your criminals. If you don’t hold up your end, any country can step in and round them up for you. No more springing Robert Lady out of jail when he kidnaps innocents for torture. No more giving torturer Gina Haspel the DCI’s get-out-of-jail-free-card, or putting judge robes on torturers to queer the law to save themselves. The Rome Statute dispels what remains of your kleptocracy, the criminals of CIA. But why would CIA give up their impunity and relinquish dictatorial control over this state? Because that’s their only hope of bygones being bygones. The Committee Against Torture has sicced the world on the CIA high command. The Human Rights Committee has initiated follow-on procedures for urgent issues arising from CIA crimes. UN special procedures and charter bodies have characterized CIA torture as serious, systematic and widespread, crossing the threshold for crimes against humanity and giving UN member nations erga omnes responsibility to stop and punish CIA’s grave crimes. The prosecutions will not stop with torture. CIA tortured to fabricate war propaganda in a common plan and conspiracy for war, Nuremberg Count 1, in pursuit of which CIA attacked civilian populations at home and abroad. The subsequent wars complete the inchoate crimes against peace. Aggression just became a crime under ICC jurisdiction but for this, the gravest of crimes, that doesn’t matter. The legal precedent sets out the rule: you should have known, this is Nuremberg Count 2. You can watch the pit stains spreading in the DDO’s shop. The squeeze on CIA is now a crisis: at the summit of July 2018, Russia publicly invoked a mutual legal assistance treaty1 to investigate US intelligence officials and their dotted-line reports in law enforcement. This is Russia, an independent great power, not some bought-and-paid-for US satellite. They have sources and methods of their own. The exceptionally competent Russian security services are not bound by the bureaucratic red tape that puts CIA crimes out of reach of any US court. Insider human rights defenders will have someone to turn to. Under treaty provisions including questioning, search, seizure, and transfer, Russia can dig up the fabricated secret evidence behind CIA war propaganda, the same war propaganda that CIA uses to attack the US president. Russia and the elected US head of state know CIA threatens them both. In the International Court of Justice Russia can demand reparation, restitution, compensation, or satisfaction for CIA’s internationally wrongful acts: war propaganda, for instance, in breach of ICCPR Article 20; or great-Power confrontation and human rights distortion breaching the peremptory norms of A/Res/36/103. Judicially-imposed satisfaction may end CIA impunity. Russia could designate individuals for prosecution. Russia could even insist on the command responsibility demanded by the Human Rights Committee, the Convention Against Torture, and other treaty bodies, charter bodies, and UN special procedures, and put Brennan, Clapper, Gates, and Haspel in the dock. You see the reaction now. We’ve never seen anything like this choreographed mass hysteria over routine diplomacy. CIA pulled out all the stops and Wisner’s mighty Wurlitzer is blaring treason and high crimes. CIA is demanding, and getting, public professions of abject faith in their honor and integrity. They put their politicians and party apparatchiks through loyalty tests, making them recite anti-Russian war propaganda as an unquestionable creed. And you know what’s behind it: Duly-constituted governments including our own are acting collectively to curb CIA’s transnational organized crime. We haven’t seen that since CIA shot Kennedy for trying it with Khrushchev. Back then CIA forced the Warren Commission to deny their blatant coup with the threat of nuclear war against Russia. We’re at that point again. They can’t stop at coup d’état. They have to risk a war to keep their crimes bottled up safe from international criminal law. That war will be CIA’s last war, because they will not win it. Look at Brennan. Think he’ll go down fighting? Think he’s going to shoot Kathy and eat a gun in his Hitler bunker? Of course not. He’s a pantywaist. He’ll go quietly. CIA’s ancien régime established 1949 has got to go. The International Bill of Human Rights will put your government under independent oversight. What your bribed and blackmailed Congressional asskissers cannot do, human rights review processes can. The Human Rights Committee has been raking the US over the coals ever since it joined. The US ran from ECOSOC, so they never had a chance to corrupt it. Your government quit the Human Rights Council in a huff because it was out of your control but now, with no share in its authority, you must still submit to Universal Periodic Review. Your citizens will go over the government’s heads to the world if you try to wriggle out of state commitments. All right, then. Ready to get it over with? Good. How do you take the leap? Like so. Remember how you force-fed Congress with the PATRIOT Act? Do it again, this time with something short and sweet. If any of your legislators drag their feet, call in some favors and break a little of that anthrax out of the vault. CIA has lots of new illegal germs these days. It probably won’t even come to that. Congress is gelded, you gelded them. The guys you worked with at NSA have the records of them taking bribes and orders from Israeli spies. Your old coworkers at CIA have videos of them raping trafficked children at Little Saint James or Musha Cay, or roughhousing on the Ohio State wrestling mat with youngsters, or whatnot – there’s always something, some sturdy ring in their nose, or they wouldn’t be in Congress. Drop this bill on their desks, or not, and sit them down to vote on it. They’ll know what to do. They remember what CIA did to Daschle and Leahy. § 1. The Sovereignty Act The purpose of this act is to meet state obligations and commitments requisite to the sovereignty of the United States of America or its successor states (the States). * This section executes the United Nations Charter without reservations and extends an open invitation to all thematic special procedures of the Human Rights Council to undertake country visits. As UN member nations the States will invoke the rights of Article 27(3) solely in voting on measures taken under UN Charter Chapter 7. * This section executes the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights (ICCPR) and withdraws all reservations, accepting the competence of the Committee under Article 41, and ratifies and executes the Optional Protocol ICCPR-OP1 of 16 December 1966 without reservations. * This section ratifies and executes the International Covenant of Economic, Social, and Cultural Rights without reservations, and ratifies and executes the Optional Protocol ICESCR-OP of 10 December 2008 without reservations. * This section executes the Convention Against Torture (CAT), withdrawing all reservations and recognizing the competence of the Committee Against Torture in accordance with CAT Articles 21 and 22, and ratifies and executes the optional protocol OP-CAT of 18 December 2002 without reservations. * This section executes the Convention to End Racial Discrimination (CERD), withdrawing all reservations, and recognizes the competence of the Committee in accordance with CERD Article 14. * This section ratifies and executes the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court. * This section directs courts at all levels to interpret or void existing public law and statutes to bring domestic law at all levels into conformity with the instruments referenced in sections 1 through 6 inclusive, and with the common-law rights of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and other universal human rights instruments. Courts shall interpret the referenced instruments in good faith in compliance with the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties, and with the general comments and conclusions and recommendations of cognizant treaty or charter bodies. In case of conflict or inconsistency between domestic law and the referenced instruments or other universal human rights instruments, universal human rights instruments shall govern without exception. * This section invokes US Constitution Article 5 to reconstruct institutions and powers at all levels of government with the sole purpose of respecting, protecting, and fulfilling the obligations and commitments undertaken in this statute in accordance with the Limburg Principles (UN doc. E/CN.4/1987/17, Annex) and the Paris Principles (A/RES/48/134). Congress will issue a proposal not later than 14 days after passage of this act. US state legislatures or conventions declining to ratify the Congressional proposal shall be released from obligations of the constitution as amended. End §.2 See? You forked the US Constitution. You’re leaving, with anyone who wants to tag along, and if Texas doesn’t like it, you’ve got the nukes (You’re going to give them up, of course, like your underdeveloped peers the Ukies and the Kazakhs did before you.) As for the new constitution, you’ll stuff that down Congress’ throat too, two weeks later. Don’t overthink it, it’s not that important. Maybe just copy the Russian constitution, it’s a big step up. Article 17 of the Russian Constitution says “in the Russian Federation rights and freedoms of person and citizen are recognized and guaranteed pursuant to the generally recognized principles and norms of international law and in accordance with this Constitution.” Article 18 states that rights and freedoms of the person and citizen are directly applicable. That prohibits the kind of bad-faith tricks the USA pulls, like declaring “non-self executing” treaties, or making legally void reservations, declarations, understandings, and provisos to screw you out of your rights. Article 46(3) guarantees citizens a constitutional right to appeal to inter-State bodies for the protection of human rights and freedoms if internal legal redress has been exhausted. Ratified international treaties supersede any domestic legislation stipulating otherwise. You’ll have to get used to having all your human rights, not just the niggardly hind-tit worthless US Bill of Rights. Whatever you do, you’re going to end up ratifying all the core human rights conventions. You could put them all into your Sovereignty Act, but why not keep it short and sweet? There’s enough treaty law in there now to get your new nation firmly on the hook. You’re going to pledge allegiance to all the peremptory norms, the non-intervention principle, friendly relations, pacta sunt servanda. Don’t whine about it, this is nothing. Look what hapless Eastern European pismires have to swallow to join the EU: the 170,000-page acquis communautaire. Get with a few short treaties and declarations, and you can join the civilized world. But then you’re just another UN member nation. The UN won’t be the passive presidential backdrop you’re used to. If they ever do let you onto the Security Council, no one’s going to give you a veto. The world has learned their lesson. No one from this land mass will ever get their hands on Article 27(3) again. You mention the veto in your Sovereignty Act only to make it clear you know the UN is there to stop wars, not start them. That’s the only way they’re going to let you in. With no US veto to stop them, the world will undertake a long-needed rewrite of the Charter to tighten it up and close all the crooked loopholes US delegates put in. Individual Americans can take part, but as independent international civil servants, not as government apparatchiks. The Supreme Court might not like it. If not, it’s like Cheney said to Leahy, Go fuck yourself. They’re the global laughingstock of apex courts. You string up nine crooked party hacks, Who cares? That’s lost in history’s white noise. The most destructive nation in history is submitting to the rule of law, effecting the world’s universal human right to peace. Russia fought a discreet civil war of a few thousand casualties to go straight, and no one blames them. You’re going to supplant that marble cesspool anyway with a National Human Rights Institution in accordance with the Paris Principles. The Human Rights Council will make you — Want a seat on the Council, on ECOSOC, on the bench of the World Court? You’ll do what it takes. You can put them out to pasture at Cibolo Creek Ranch alla Scalia. Next comes the transitional justice. You’ll like this part. Put on your Mister Rogers slippers and hang ‘em high. Everyone will understand. They know what you’re up against: a totalitarian state culture indoctrinated to exalt violence of every sort. Extirpating that is going to take more than peace and love and kumbaya. Just think of it as focusing mass loathing on the juiciest, most repugnant sacrificial victims to keep the kleptocrats and secret police cowed. Your culprits will be different: not traditional American blacks or addicts or lonely schizoids but bankers, killer cops, CIA torturers and spies, FBI secret police, war propagandists, government student-loan usurers, or industry moles abusing government powers. Pour encourager les autres you may want to hold off ratifying ICCPR-OP2. If there’s any grumbling from the old guard, the Siracusa Principles can wait. I know this is your favorite part but don’t overdo it. Remember, this is a transition. Hands off the touchy-feely parts like reconciliation. You know that sort of thing is not your strong suit. Die Abwicklung of the CIA police state will go out of your control, and that’s OK. The outside world takes over and opens up your closed society. People change their minds. You’re out of the woods, you can relax. You’ve averted CIA’s holocidal nuclear war. Go ahead and treat yourself with fireworks – take a stack of those nuclear bombs the Russians neutralized, and shoot them off in near-earth orbit. Blow up Mount Rushmore with one, the crowds will go wild. They’ll be storming CIA and NSA and the Hoover Building to look at their surveillance files, defiling flags, toppling or decorating statues; CONUS will be one big block party. And presiding over it, beaming benignantly with gentle saintly spreading forth of hands, is you. Ride it off into the sunset of elder-statesman glory. If you can keep a straight face it will be the best in-joke in history. * Signed at Moscow June 17, 1999. * Get cracking, here are the General Comments and The Limburg Principles explaining core universal human rights instruments. http://clubof.info/

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anygamesfree · 6 years

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Nostalgia For The Nintendo Hard Video Games 80s and mid 90s?

If you belong to the old generation who played amusements in the 80s or mid-90s, you’ll recall that they were hard: extremely damn hard. Why would they say they were so infuriatingly troublesome? The appropriate response displays an entrancing take a gander at the historical backdrop of computer games.

At the point when individuals discuss how hard old computer games were, they utilize the expression “Nintendo Hard.” Nintendo wasn’t the main organization making early computer game consoles (and unquestionably not the first in the market). In any case, the colossal prominence of the Nintendo Entertainment System and the close pervasiveness of it in the 1980s implied that about everybody had involvement with the NES and with the intrinsic trouble of early computer games.

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So what precisely are individuals discussing when they toss out the expression “Nintendo Hard?” What is it about early arcade recreations, early comfort amusements, and even early PC diversions that were so madly, seriously, and infuriatingly troublesome that kids and grown-up would wind up kicking arcade cupboards, tossing down controllers, and swearing off amusements in attacks of anger? We should investigate the great components of early computer games that plotted to influence the players to encounter so chafing.

What Made These Games So Hard?

There is a wide range of components that made these amusements troublesome, yet a couple of emerging. Here they are.

Awkward Controls

You know you coordinated that hop right and you realize that bat wasn’t generally in the path, however as indicated by the amusement you just pummeled into the bat and missed the edge you were going for. Of course, in excess of a couple of those missed bounces over the years were just terrible planning and coordination on part of the player, however early computer games experienced a lot the constraints of their equipment.

Early controller configuration was on the inconvenient side. Intensifying that were equipment restrictions and the hitbox framework in diversions. The hitbox is the zone that constitutes the body of a question or foe on the screen, and what you saw as the layout of the awful person didn’t generally work impeccably with the hitbox as comprehended by the diversion’s product. Thus, you could swear here and there that you really shot the person (or that he missed and didn’t contact you). The amusement would don’t think so.

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Single Hit Death

Talking about hitboxes, how about we do not overlook the distress of single hit passing. In early arcade diversions and reassure recreations alike, life meters were rare. One hit was regularly all it took to right away execute you and draw up the unmistakable “Diversion OVER” screen.

Indeed, even in diversions where you had simple wellbeing (maybe a pitiful three hearts), there was dependable the apparition of the one-hit-ponder awful person that would crush as long as you can remember meter to bits in the event that he identified you adjacent.

Up down left right left right B A

The main thing more regrettable than computer game demise is the agony of replaying everything once more. In early diversions with no spare advance, not a single checkpoints to be seen, and no real way to come back to the point of last play, the main arrangement was to either marathon your way through the whole amusement in one sitting or expectation in the event that you killed the TV that your folks or flatmates wouldn’t see the light of the Nintendo and (not really) attentively turn it off.

Life before diversion spares was a severe no man’s land of eye fatigue, sweat-soaked palms, and giving whole Saturdays to getting to the finish of an amusement.

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No Saved Gear

In amusements where you didn’t get sent the distance back to the title screen upon death, you were regularly punted back to the start of the level. An especially evil rendition of this instrument found in a few amusements would kick you back to the beginning of the level you passed on, yet without your apparatus.

To be honest, that is more regrettable than no spare advance, on the grounds that in any event in the event that you get sent the distance back to the start of the amusement you have an opportunity to gain catalysts and develop your character’s arms stockpile. Kicking the bucket on Dungeon Level 9000 and being reawakened with Level 1 adapt is simply coldblooded.

No Difficulty Settings

Numerous advanced computer games experience issues settings that let you tailor the gameplay to both your expertise level and tastes. You need it super crazy with foes that are three times harder than regular? Don’t worry about it, flip it to Hell Mode and impact away. You need it super chill so you can invest all the energy on the planet noticing the virtual Skyrim blooms you included with yet another beautiful designs mod? No issue there either set it to the most effortless level of trouble and spotlight on the stuff that truly matters—like hyper-practical butterflies.

Once upon a time, trouble settings were unbelievable. The amusement was the diversion (be it hard or simple) and that was that. Computer games filled in as a kind of geek perseverance test, and on the off chance that it was too hard, excessively baffling, or even out and out crazy, at that point you simply weren’t equipped to deal with the amusement and perhaps it was the ideal opportunity for you to rearrange over to the skeeball machine and leave the ruthlessness of the diversion to those that could deal with the manhandle the arcade cupboard relegated.

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Fiendish Architecture

Spikes, endless pits, swinging tomahawks, fire-spitting statues—name something that cuts, dices, or crushes and it has likely shown up in an early computer game. What early computer games needed in profound storylines and conspicuous illustrations, they positively compensated for in imaginative approaches to wreck your face.

Albeit detestable engineering remains a long-running figure of speech in computer game plan, even today, what made it especially devious in early computer games was the way it covered with past sections in this rundown like burdensome controls, one hit passings, and no spare focuses.

It’s sufficiently awful when the screen is stuffed with folks tossing tomahawks at you, bats swooping at your head, and snakes slithering down the dividers, yet toss in controls that aren’t exactly as responsive as they ought to be, an amusement motor that plays reckless with hitboxes, and a level that is swarming with pits, spikes, falling stones, and lights that shoot fire at you? It’s more than the persistence of even the most committed gamer can deal with here and there.

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For what reason Did They Make Games Like That?

For what reason would anybody outline an amusement along these lines? Is it safe to say that it was deliberately?

Not generally. Nobody embarks to outline a diversion with terrible controls, for instance. That occurred to some degree since controllers of the age weren’t awesome, yet for the most part, since planners had essentially no clue what they were doing. Diversion configuration was a spic and span make, all things considered, and little groups were accused of making recreations in generally brief times of times. Frequently this implied points of interest weren’t fixated on. Weapons discharged with a deferral, bounces were difficult to control, or characters fell through stages that appear as though they ought to be strong.

This is the most noticeably awful sort of Nintendo Hard: amusements that are troublesome as a result of terrible outline decisions. Be that as it may, the awful outline doesn’t clear away all of Nintendo hard: a lot of it truly was a consider plan decision.

Some portion of this was financial matters. Amusements were costly, and players expected to feel like they were getting their cash’s worth. In the event that players could beat an amusement in a solitary sitting, or even finished the course of multi-month, they would feel like they were being ripped off. Be that as it may, capacity limit of the period was to a great degree constrained, so originators couldn’t extend recess by including several levels. The arrangement: make the diversion super hard, utilizing strategies like single hit passing and wickedness engineering. This implied gamers expected to invest hours rehearsing a diversion before they could get to the last level, and still, after all that, they’d likely wind up biting the dust. It made beating the amusement uncommon and advocated paying such a great amount for the diversion and reassure.

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There’s another factor at work here, as well. Numerous diversion originators of the age took in their specialty creating arcade titles, and loads of recreations were straight-up ports from arcade titles.

Planning amusements for the arcade implies pondering one factor: financial matters. Arcade cupboards profit on a for every play premise, so the creators have a motivating force to murder you off rapidly and power you to spend another quarter. It’s just by playing the amusement many circumstances—and burning through several quarters—that you can get to the further levels. Recreations didn’t should be outlined along these lines for the Nintendo Entertainment System, yet configuration propensities hardcore. Propensities from building arcade amusements extended, essentially in light of the fact that that is the means by which individuals knew to fabricate recreations.

Include the majority of this up and you have a formula for tossing your controller at the machine all the time. Children nowadays have no clue.

Simple Nostalgia For The Past Or Desire Of Return of Nintendo Hard

While perusing this, you were likely flooded with recollections of the computer games of yesteryear that simply beat you down. Gracious we know the inclination, trust us. Composing this piece rustled up in excess of a couple of recollections of obscenities flung, diversions seethe quit, controllers tossed and reviles give occasion to feel qualms about the heads of obscure designers at inaccessible computer game studios.

On the off chance that you need to remember this, you’re wiped out. Truly: get your head analyzed. At that point check Steam or your comfort’s online store. The vast majority of the recreations that made you incensed are accessible for present-day stages. Trust us, Mega Man is similarly as disappointing as it ever might have been.

What’s more, some contemporary diversion producers are re-making that inclination, frequently with present day turns. Scoop Knight, 1001 Spikes, and Super Meat Boy are a couple of later-ish cases, and more recreations like them are appearing constantly. Discover something that makes you enraged to play and live it up.

The post Nostalgia For The Nintendo Hard Video Games 80s and mid 90s? appeared first on AnyGamesFree.

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jackblankhsh · 6 years

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WHY I QUIT: The Corn Maze part 1

“‘Oh my god, it’s eating my brain!’

“‘This is not the job that was advertised,’ I said.

“‘Help me!’ the professor cried.

“‘Okay, but...’

“‘Now!’

“‘Keep up that attitude you can save yourself.’

“The professor’s head exploded. His body fell. He looked like a kowtowing ragdoll. The remains of his head slumped to one side, a spectral serpent coiled inside the burst skull.

“One of the graduate students whispered, ‘What do we do?’

“The ghost snake hissed at me.

“I threw up my hands, ‘I’m out. I’m done. I quit.’

“As I walked out of the haunted mansion I could hear the students screaming. Glancing back I saw blood thump-splat across a window. A grad student jumped through the glass, but the ghost snake, now grown to anaconda proportions darted out, snagging her in midair, and pulled her back inside.

“Shaking my head I said, ‘Well, not everybody’s cut out for academia.’”

From the back of the crowd a teenager shouted, “Bullshit. This guy’s full of shit.”

I sighed. There’s one every evening. My glare parted the audience leaving me with a straight line of sight to the teen.

I said, “It’s good to be skeptical. How about you come see this picture then?”

I waved my phone at him. Smugly he approached where I sat. I patted the bale of hay as I scooted aside allowing room for the boy. He snatched the phone out of my hand.

“What am I looking at?”

“Can’t you tell?”

He frowned, “It looks like a blurry room like in a basement.”

“Look closer.” I licked my lips. He held the screen closer. When it got about an inch away I swiftly smacked the phone into his face.

Dropping the phone he jumped up shouting, “Ow! What the hell?”

The audience laughed. As the kid stormed off I saw his friends already swarming to mock him. Picking up my phone I noted the time.

“Hey everybody, the hayride starts up in a minute. So if you’re inclined I recommend heading that way.”

The crowd dispersed, some to the hayride, others to elsewhere. Those who went elsewhere soon found themselves getting scared by costumed haunters. Spook crew members leapt from behind piles of pumpkins, bales of hay, or from around buildings. Delighted shrieks of terror echoed all over the pumpkin patch, and on occasion those who fled from the hired ghouls found themselves chased for a bit.

A group of young kids ran screaming from a fiendish scarecrow, who angled away from them to trouble me for a cigarette.

Handing Jessica a smoke I said, “Almost quitting time.”

She sighed a cloud, “Not soon enough. How’s my makeup?”

“A little runny, but it’s creepier that way.”

She shrugged, “I guess.” The sound of the tractor starting caught her attention. Perking up she said, “Hayride. I gotta go.”

Tossing her cigarette away she bolted. I couldn't help smiling. Like many of the employees here, especially the couple of teenagers, she treated this job like the only time she got to openly be herself.

Jessica liked to lurk in the cornfield as the hayride passed by. She placed herself towards the end, an ear pricked to catch anyone complaining about being bored. Target acquired she leapt onto the side of the cart, letting loose a banshee wail. So far she got one kid to piss his pants, thereby earning management’s approval.

Watching her sprint away infected me with her enthusiasm. I decided to finish the night in the corn maze. Stomping out her cigarette – fire hazard – I headed to the entrance of Daphne’s Diabolic Corn Maze, part of Wilson’s Pandemonium Pumpkin Patch.

As usual I stumbled into the job unintentionally. Over drinks and darts a fellow informed me his aunt ran a spooky corn maze about an hour outside Chicago. Planning to pump in unsettling sounds, she needed help installing audio equipment. I possessed the skills she needed given my previous, albeit brief stint working the recording gear for a professor and his ghost hunting crew of misfit grad students. (Never mind that that gig ended badly because I didn’t fail to do my job. I recorded everything, right on down to the professor’s head exploding -- pop.)

But I took the job in the pumpkin patch because it sounded fun. Not many employment opportunities grant that perk. Plus, it seemed like a short gig. However, setting up the sound equipment led to me lending a hand building sets which turned into other offers.

By the time we opened for Halloween season I founded myself working the concessions stand, spooking folks in the corn maze, and by direct request of the pumpkin queen, Aunt Daphne Wilson, occasionally telling scary stories to small crowds. Not everyone gets to terrorize people without having to deal with real life consequences. Chase a couple kids down the street with a chainsaw; well, the police are liable to shoot such a person. But here in the Pandemonium Pumpkin Patch I could do just that, and get paid to do so. Sometimes folks even thanked me for terrifying them.

As such I occasionally thought, “This must be what it’s like to be a priest.”

Carried by a crisp cool breeze, the aroma of deep fried dough wafted through the air. Clusters of teenagers moped everywhere like globs of apathy. Young children giggled, picking out pumpkins with their parents. Machines out in the corn quietly, steadily fumed columns of faux fog that made the field seem to be on a smoldering hell-mouth. The fog rolled across the grounds, shrouding the floodlights in a cinematic manner. Nearing midnight, it felt like any horror could be possible.

A banshee wail cut through the quiet. Customers flinched. Employees all acquired knowing smirks: Jessica the scarecrow struck again.

Three fiendish haunters presided over the entrance to the maze. Glenn, a psycho hobo covered in smeared blood, Frank, a classic killer clown, and Allison, a teddy bear with a skinned face. Frank irregularly burst into hyena-like cachinnations, while Allison softly growled, holding up her face-skin with a cutesy, blood stained paw. They flanked customers, herding them into a loose line by the maze’s entrance.

Flashing a wide grin full of scummy teeth Glenn stood at the opening in the corn. In a gravelly voice he announced the rules, “Listen closely. None of our performers will touch you, so please return the favor – do not touch them. Stay on the path at all times. No running. No flashlights. No photography. No hope, all ye who enter here; you four come on now into the hell that awaits.”

And so another bunch entered the maze. The giggling pack of pre-teens could soon be heard shouting in happy horror.

Nearing Glenn I overheard him mutter, “Why’s that always get my dick hard?”

It’s a certain kind of person who goes in for hired spooking. The pay is not great. The hours often feel longer than they are. It requires enduring heaps of boredom and scorn. There’s always someone unimpressed enough to feel the need to tell a ghoul it isn’t frightening; and it takes fortitude not to turn the moment then and there into a real horror show. If I had a dollar for every smartass I didn’t stab – I may have choked a few while shouting, “It’s all make-believe,” but they got out alive. Like any kind of performance art it’s a job devoted to those brief shining moments when the screams are real, or a customer’s eyes are smiling.

Glenn, Allison, and Frank belonged to rare breed of performers. They toured the country in an RV, cruising from seasonal gig to seasonal gig. In the summer they did Renaissance Faires, haunted houses in the Fall, and Christmas towns in Winter. In-between they auditioned for any local plays, and even staged what they called “guerilla theatre” by simply tossing down a cap, and performing scenes for whatever coins came their way.

Allison told me three times, “We’re on the subway in New York, started doing Hamlet, and next thing I know – no joke – we’ve done the whole play. And what with it being just like the three of us, it got kind of schizo, but fucking fun.”

That last bit sums up the average hired haunter: kind of schizo, but fucking fun. After all, it’s madness to stand silently in the darkness, waiting patiently to step out of the shadows for all of a second hoping your audience will hurry from you screaming because in the end they aren’t meant to stand in silent appreciation of one’s portrayal of a zombie, slasher, swamp hag, ghost, demon, etc. The goal is to be an unwelcome presence safely encountered like the police.

Working here reminded me of the first time I went to a concert. I felt surrounded by like minded folks. For some belonging is a rare feeling, and in this place the scare-makers and horror hounds truly belonged. Back in the everyday ordinary world wearing corpse paint to a the grocery store gets odd looks, maybe even the manager asks a fellow to leave the store even though he's just buying the fixings for risotto -- I will get revenge on that store, mark my words -- but in the Pandemonium Pumpkin Patch the freaks rule.

I asked Glenn, “How’s the night?”

He shrugged, “We got a few left then we’re shutting down. You comin’ by later?”

Glenn and company stayed on the grounds, camping out of their RV. On occasion we stayed up for hours afterward swapping stories, passing a bottle around a campfire, and enjoying the rural silence.

“I might. I’m gonna duck in, cause a few scares.”

Frank said, “Try not to be a dick.”

“I’m only a dick to the dicks.”

Frank nodded, “Yeah, but when you dragged that guy into the middle of the cornfield...”

Cutting him off, “I got lost too.”

“Not the point,” Frank said.

I added, “He slapped a living doll. Those ladies aren’t older than fifteen.”

Glenn interjected, “You both got good points. I think where Frank is going, though, is ’s been a quiet evenin’. We wanna keep it that way.”

Sighing I conceded, “Fair enough.”

"Alright then." Glenn stepped aside, "In ya go."

So I went into the maze.

#writing #writer #weird #creepy #halloween #spooky #honestyisnotcontagious #whyiquit #cornmaze #comedy #funny #madeyewlook

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