I've been anointed Arlong Park's sainted chief scribe. I can't check, but I trust you are properly groveling.
It's funny, I think I made a thread here way back for one of my OP fics and I got a pretty sour review (though not undeservedly). And now I'm back with aspirations of bona fide publication.
I'll split this by works wrought!!
Fanfiction can be found http://www.fanfiction.net/u/687923/Gliblord, mostly (I actually got my start on Mugglenet when I was like 16, punching up random Harry Potter crack). It's fairly amusing how I wrote a lot of sincere Bleach fics, and then they got more and more sardonic lol. I suppose I should probably resume Just Add Tournament Arc one of these days.
My humor writing is mostly on my Webook account (site seems to be down, but my username there is also Gliblord; thankfully a bunch of it is on my Livejournal http://gliblord.livejournal.com/tag/humor). I was pretty active in my freshman year of college, back when I was under the delusions that I was big into politics thanks to the Daily Show. I think at some point I bullshitted that I went canvassing for Obama and saw some hick in Pennsylvania beat his kid in the open with a belt, as part of some argument I can't remember. Not a proud moment, but otherwise I think I put out pretty good stuff. At some point in the future I wanna try my hand at Cracked articles. And of course, you can check out my Bleach rants at The Applied Logic ([http://theappliedlogic.blogspot.com/search/label/Attack from Behind](http://theappliedlogic.blogspot.com/search/label/Attack from Behind)).
My current primary endeavor is my podcast, Meat Mutant (see sig for link). It's atheist/humor (atheism/rationalism is kind of my thing). It's not hard to find motivation when you've got a lovely cohost you can't allow yourself to let down.
Re literary aspirations, I have the mock Revelation children's book I'm banging out right now, as explained in the Monthly Competition thread. I also have two other idea I want to see through, one is a novella featuring tons of obscure words selected from the site Luciferous Logolepsy (http://www.kokogiak.com/logolepsy/). A sample:
(It's an early draft form because Webook is down)
! > There once was a fellow, a dunce who was mellow; too mellow, forsooth, to foment his fields fertile. He was a poor sort of fellow, clad in sad sullen yellows and cheap mottled sabots with soles that flared fitfully unfit for farming in his feet. He also proved poor in a panoptically personal sense, for the fellow was scarcely less mean than the fallow fields he so fruitlessly harrowed, and by "mean" one means he was sordid, abject, ignoble, dull, stingy, and a host of other such affable aspects. But have faith, dear reader, for all that would change by conclusion's end.
Alas, it passed that our fellow rose up off his ass to hit up the brass for fields less fallow to plow. The road toward Parliament was a perilous place which reeked of ruin and tears; 'twas a road he'd not braved in two bloody years. Strewn alongsides the winding way's twists were dozens and dozens of dead derelicts whose hunger had hobbled them. Their faces flashed before the fellow as he passed, some faintly familiar, others farcically foreign, all as though fatiferous funests framed so fulsomely by frustraneous finality, faded, flayed and forgotten, lay festering unto futile fecundity. More, their hollow eyes haunted his every step, and the fellow felt like he was being dragged to earth under the weight of their scrutiny.It was enough to unmask even a mightier man's madness! Would the fellow's fate be a facsimile of their multifarious fatalities? he wondered fretfully. There wasn't time to dwell on it, for this hell, our fellow figured, was less a hell in which to dwell than the hell that awaited him home. Who would such friendless solitude bear, after all, without the propinquity of the unpaid pabulum apportioned the public perforce by the pithiatisms prescribed by politicians past this cadaverous copse's caliginous contours? Granted, the–what was the word--Pecksniffian paltripolitans served a cruel school of gruel, but one after which he knew he could drool if given the tools to take it. If it could sate his sibilant stomach, which would strum now and again on his intestines like death would life's chime, he could stalk the sifting sables of night and day and scale all the summits this side of the sun to stake it. The grumbling in his gut was as grim a memorial as any gravestone.
Unfortunately, today it was he who was prey. A fell lady archer, hidden above the high branches, leaned her slender body against the trunk to train her arrow on this poor fallacious fellow, who traipsed so like a trundletail… nay, like a turkey! she tittered. So handy a kill was this callow cad, she connived, that she could afford some fun and not miss her morning meal. Breakfast was good, but if she broke him too fast it would make this meacock more… monotonous meat.
"Nice to meet you," she said. She kicked off the canopy before he could react and landed lightly on all fours before him, amber eyes burning like a Manx cat minx's. She grinned mawkishly, a sanguine set of killer crimson canines, and she reared a ravissant roar.
"I'm... I'm..."
"What you are," she simpered, "is a peanut."
She was gorgeous.
"I... I! A peanut? Preposterous!"
"Yes," she agreed, "you are a preposterous little peanut. Only a peanut, after all, could be so stupid as to stroll through my sylvan sanctuary and surrender the sense to run away screaming."
The fellow spied her spidery finger. No ring.
"Lady, you don't know the half of it."
"Oh?" clucked the archer, as she started to circle him with feline grace, gory fangs at the ready. "And why do you assert something silly like that?"
"Because you and I will be married tomorrow."
"Hah! Your intellect must be slipping. You are trembling with fear."
"So why haven't you plucked your precious bowstring yet?"
"Because I enjoy the smell of peanuts!" When she cackled, her ribs rattled with deadly mirth.
"Liar," accused he boldly. "You're too lonely to kill me. I am trembling with love."
"Let's put that theory to the test," she said, tossing her quiver at his feet. "Inside are three arrows. One... is poisoned."
"Choose which one you'll shoot me with?"
The woman started at the man's dire demeanor. Did nothing scare him?
"I choose... that arrow." He swiped this off the ground, licked its tip and handed it to her. Her feral eyes intensified.
"...Haha!" she rattled once more. "It's the envenomed head!"
"I don't think so. See, if you'd really wanted to eat me, you wouldn't have poisoned me first."
"I never said…" she happily hissed, "that it was the sort of venom that kills."
He froze. "Paralyzing potion!"
"Straight from the adder's fang." She drew a dagger from her belt and struck her tree with such friction that it was hewn in two, sparking a ring of fire around them.
It was all our fellow could do to sweat; his limbs lay limp and his thoughts were overcome by a bludgeoning megrim. Soon even the salacious strength of the towering ring leaked to embers as his sight was shrouded in encroaching dark. Was this the...?
As luck would have it, it was not.
"Oh Peanut," buzzed the noise. "Come to?"
The peanut mumbled. Scratching and scraping sounds had wrenched him awake. His bloated mind felt obtuse and his body felt hot and horizontal.
"You are blindfolded."
Pah. Tell him something he didn't know.
"You are being roasted on an open skewer."
That qualified. "Mmmmrgh! Rrrrmrrrgh. Rgh. MMMMMR!"
"You are gagged."
He would have cursed. He knew getting off his ass had been a crass lapse of proper assessmentl! And for what? Food? Never trust a man shepherded by his stomach to know what's what!
"Normally, Peanut, I'd like you raw and meaty, but today I thought I'd sample a rather zestier recipe. It's called peanut soup."
Inficete, ingravescent images of being imbrued in boiling goulash infested his mind. He'd always hated stew.
"RMMRM! MRMRMFRDDA! MRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!"
"Quite. Now hush up and be a good little peanut…" She ran tree-stained steel across his chin and shoved an apple in his teeth, mouthing maternally: burn alive for me!
It was times like these that our mean, sordid, abject, ignoble, dull and stingy son of a bitch had to think quickly. Always trust a man with a fire flickering under his bellybutton briefly to begin business! He had several items to work with:
- Blindfold... check.
- Gag... check.
- Crazy cannibal lady of his dreams... sharpening her riteknife, by what he could he hear.
- Paralyzing potion, coursing tiresomely through his veins.
- Skewer he was tied to.
- His own bravery and cunni... wait...
Aha! He had it. The lunatic hadn't bothered to tie him up, so ladylike was she. Peter relished a small smirk. All he had to do was sit out the paralysis and then he could
a) roll off the skewer, b) impale her with the skewer, c) throw her into the fire, d) make off scot free, e) get more land, f) live happily ever after, the end.
Hmm. No, that didn't fit the bill at all. Perhaps he should
a) roll off the skewer, b) tie her to the skewer, c) impress her by stamping out the fire, d) lug her skewer to city hall for a spectacular ceremony, e) get more land, f) live happily ever after
or maybe
a) somersault off the skewer to impress her, b) hew another tree in two with the skewer, c) spin the hewn halves of the tree so as to squelch the fire with centrifugal wind, d) carry her in his arms to a city parade in celebration of their glorious union, e) get laid, f) live happily.
For now, he would stick with the second scenario, and mix and match criteria later on."Enjoying the euphoria of the fumes already?" wafted her heavenly voice. "I'm not sure I want such dopey dross to die directly in durance. Much too merciful. Let's lengthen the game."
She emptied a potent pouch of powder up into his nostrils. Somehow, the initial shock that he couldn't see the powder frightened him more than the realization that she just stuffed a foreign agent into his system. "The more drenched with dolor you develop, the more deliciously it will be when I digest you," she stabbed him in the left eye.
He remembered his childhood. He remembered his parents, the mopes, whose perpetual pith and dogged demeanor veiled shattered husks of selves. Murky shards of pupil-ink burrowed back into blots of the bygone, which his muted brain interpreted instinctively. He raked the land and raked and raked and rakishly raked to greet the cairn till he was raking at his soul, pleading for release, the sick sun laughing at him behind its cloak of clouds. Most momentous was his resurgence, as if, long-repressed, he had dispelled the psychic sigil that had pinioned him. It was Uncle Teacher.
"S-sir…" his cortex stirred.
The other end echoed: Are you faring well, nephew?
"No, Teach, I'm sorry!"
Well, then. You know what follows, don't you?
"No, I mean yes, I mean no, Teach, don't do it!"
You did this to yourself.
"I didn't mean to!
I told you to manage the fields' upkeep after my brother and your mother died.
"No, uncle! Not that!"
The more readily you accept this, the less it will jar your… delicate sensibilities. Launching discipline technique #22!
"No… not discipline technique # 22!"
3… 2... 1... KARATE CHOP!
Teacher grappled his arm and threw him hard onto the tarmac of consciousness. His remaining eye, enlightened, reeled open like an aperture into competence–Sometimes it helped to have an eccentric uncle to punch one around. Whatever the fellow did, he now understood that he had to remain cheerful throughout. Teacher had also nulled the poison's pull on his neurons. Now for action!
Jeez, that early draft was from 2007. I really need to get my shit together lol.
The second idea is a series of novels with a very shounen adventure world atmosphere; the setting would be contemporary Earth that's suddenly smushed together with two or three alternate Earths, and the protag would be a crazy Joseph Joestar-style female grifter type who's been fused with a leaf insect. I'll expand later, when I actually finally settle down to the exciting project of building a world.