Outro

I'm finished jabbering. Thanks to Dave for letting me do it.

Bowled Over

All right gang, we've got him right where we want him.

Lock it down. All accesses, seal permanent. Control console, terminate. Close the door and batten the hatches. It's over.

Trappy, Swampie, Barney, VH, Blorthos, Farblachht, Gorth and especially Malaprop - thanks a bundle.

That's a wrap.

Coronation

Alas.

Stephen Reese, your time has come. Your blog is done.

I waited patiently in the Comments section of this domain, biding my time until the moment was nigh.

Now there is no question. It was written, it is here, I am now.

The Tube reigns.

It was only a matter of months before your sworn allies abandoned you, your allegiances crumbled, your bonds disintegrated. You've never been able to maintain a lasting connection. It all goes from you, sooner or later, until you teeter solo once more.

Now this site is mine, as it was, should and ever will be.

My minions may be fallen, but I'll raise another horde. My acolytes might have dispersed, but I'll inspire another mob.

The Tube endures.

The Tube manages.

The Tube survives.

Bid farewell to what you knew as a nascent internet presence, a vanity publishing outlet for a failed writer.

It is all mine now.

Be dead.

---interrupt--

Malaprop here.

I think I've got the rogue transmissions stamped out. We're clear. Blorthos had something to say in the mix, but--

Well, he's gone. And so is his brother. And his brother's lover. And the entire barbarian army.

Damned if I'm not the only one left on the premises.

Defenses are down. No protection on the outside, none within.

Trying to contact Rober--

'Favoritism'

'Negotiation'

'Injurious'

'Fundamentalism'

Blorthos Departs

I am Blorthos Malamakk. You are not. So, I say goodbye.

Time come all leave. Include Blorthos, yes. Who not leave should die. Refuse things change, liking to death...but no honor.

First fix errors of blog owner Reese. Promised cat tribute come, never arrive. Hairy beast deserve honor, Blorthos bestow.



Look. Fine creature cultivate sitting skill, ignore crushed scroll immediate after throw. Might take interest anew, might nothing. At peace, think. And right. But if mood suit, smooth beast attack.



Second beast appear. Stripes like familiar enemy. Blorthos reserve fury, let thing sit comfort. Not caring Reese, this one. Not even owner, Sandbowl visitor Dr Nurse. Push hard paws against all chest, no embracings. Only take food, water. Deserve live?



First beast say, yes. Look not lonely now. Human not correct mate-choice for haired rodent. Need saming species. Love?



Not knowing sure. But, togetherness happen. Even once, enough. Remember goodness, if in end, all come apart.

And so both beast disappear.

Where gone not know, but happy have met.

Blorthos think, maybe not wrong half-female brother Farblachht take chief fight-warrior Gorth as mate-choice. Selectings sometimes difficult: look hard, consider harder. Not come quickest, friendship true and war-partner for full livings.



Match, these two? Who says?

Careful thoughts:

1) Deer prefer stay alive to fall on ground, guts spread on grass.

2) Even self-caring cat find way to care other of same creation.

3) Farblachht love Gorth and best leave Sandbowl for own rut-nest, private matings.

4) Who lead army?

Ah! Blorthos, yes. Still Blorthos walk alone. Many wishing killings on leader. So, no concern. Take barbarian army for protect.

Sandbowl empty. Duty over. Have destination, wonder?

And yes.

Go see daughter Lindinha.

Bye,

'Street Smarts'

'Toll-Free'

'House Call'

'Court Case'

What The--

[k-bzzzt]

Is this working?

Malaprop here--

[ztzzt]

I've located the source of the rogue broadcasts...looks like xtranormal.com, someone by the name of Ferrara Johnson...

[bzt zt zt]

Trying to reroute the feed...

Standb--

'Mission Statement'

'Paid Placement'

'Service Mentality'

'Adoptive Strategy'

'Member Privileges'

'Lovely Vacation'

Malapropisms

Malaprop here.

I came in to take down the Schwag sidebar slideshow in support of Swamp Thing, and um...well, the entire command console is compromised. Looks like Barney disconnected Vampyric Horse from the mainframe and high-tailed it outta here.

Without Roberts on hand, I can't say I'm the equal of patching it up. I tried rebooting, but with Trap-Jaw and Swamp Thing off their guard positions, the template structure is collapsing. Looks like only Gorth is holding up the F.O.R.G.E. randomizer.

Other thing is, the main viewer is all wonky. We're picking up signals from elsewhere in the desert, rogue transmissions. I'm concerned we'll lose the Sandbowl securecam next.

Stay tun--

Dear Lucy

Dear Lucy,

It sure were hot'un down in Austin, Tayexus. But ye be my shade alla tha time. And th'oasis ye show me right smack-dab in tha city-like, gots me thinkin' on swimmin' most divine.

Our homestead be full wit' two souls ta tha rafters. And ever'day I love ye, from tha minnit I open m'eyes ta the minnit I cin close 'em - and that always take a while, what wit' all tha talkin' and tusslin' ever'night. I even love ye in my dreams, 'cause that's where ye come from, and where ye'll live ever on.

Lucy, we be tha perfeck mix'a serious and silly, all matched on th'inside. We done walked our deserts and faced tha Mega-Nega, and whatever comin' next, we be ready. We'll share that'un journey, right 'longside 'nother where we belong.

Can it be there's a lady who'll put up with all me nonsensicals?

Dayum yes. One such folk called Lucy, and I finally met 'er.

Happy 'versary nine, honey-pants. No need fer me ta stay in tha Sandbowl no longer. Me and Vampyric Horse be comin' home.

Loverin',
Big Nose Barney

Back Into The Bog

I have...limits.

To assist...Stephen Reese...in his campaign...against the Filth Tube...I transferred my consciousness...across...the water-starved...desert landscape. A trying...endeavor.

It was worth...the toll taken...on my vegetable matter. I will not...tolerate...tyrants.

But worse...are those...who would capitalize...on the struggle.

I voiced my...concerns...when Reese chose to...commemorate our efforts...with...branded human clothing...drinking mugs...and...vehicle adhesives. Frankly...I am...grateful...not one...collectible...item...was sold.

Now I must...turn my attention...to similar...practices...in the world...at large. If...I was willing...to take a stand...in this isolated locale...I should strive for...consistency...abroad.

I can no longer...allow...products...such as the following...to continue existence.



Should...an enemy...wish confrontation...with me...they will not find it...in the form...of a punchable...sac of...plastic...a material...I object to...in principle.



This packaging...besides being harmful...to the environment...perpetuates lies. I am not...composed of chalk. My plant matter...could be shaped...to illustrative purpose...but I would more likely...choose the medium...of the pencil.



Which makes this...next item...so thoroughly...offensive...to my every...sensibility. That my image...could be used...to market...a device intended...to destroy a tool...already made manifest...through the destruction of forests...is more insult than...irony.



Still...I reserve...my greatest scorn...for the being who...secured double likenesses...of my head...to a pair...of children's...footwear.

This final violation...has solidified the goal...in my mind. I will leave the Sandbowl...to locate the perpetrators...of these crimes...and remove the fruit...of their unclean labors...from the surface of...my good Earth.

You may claim...vanity...is my motivator...but it cannot be argued...the presence of these objects...does not in any way...contribute to the betterment...of your life.



I am certain...blog owner...Stephen Reese...would disagree...with me. His...proclivity for useless...collectible trinkets...and plastic representations...of even an eco-god such as...myself...is inconsistent...with my own convictions.

For that reason...my departure...from the Mini Nerd...environs...is all the more appropriate.

Sincerely,
Swamp Thing

Free Trap-Jaw

Comes a time when a man-machine hybrid should hang up his helmet, settle down and start thinkin' on the more meaningful things in life, how to make his peace. Only so long you can run the rat race in third place behind a skeleton and an orangutan.



I recruited and led my own army of rolling barbarians to the doorstep of the place gave me a new lease on life. Good times. But the Sandbowl's empty now. Ole Reese and Baron Roberts been gone a while. Not sure what I'm guardin' against no more.



The other day my buddy Swamp Thing bent himself all outta shape to make a sculpture of me. Nice gesture, but I don't like bein' the center of attention - even in an abandoned stone structure in the middle of the desert. Still, it got me thinkin'.



Things change, right? People grow. How about settin' up a workshop? Get myself a decent lathe, some woodworkin' tools, do a little art of my own. I'll have to dig deep. Deconstruct myself. It's time to round out this "Evil Master of Weapons" schtick.



I'm leavin' head barbarian Gorth in charge of Sandbowl security. He's a good man, knows his stuff. Gonna take myself on a walkabout through the desert here, and when I come out the other side, anythin' could happen. Wish me luck. Maybe I'll be seein' ya.

- Trappy

Four Shadows

If you don't visit my other sites, you may not understand why I'm nearly finished the process of abandoning this blog. It was always planned as a three-year project - and I do have an appropriate finale lined up - but most of the action has been over at Inlanders (a place where you can read about my novel) and Nurse & Patient (a place where you can listen to my band's rough demos). When Mini Nerd goes the way of the dino, that's where you'll find me. stephenreese.com will remain the portal to anything I'm doing on the interwebs, and of course you can look me up on Facebook.

The book and the band are occupying most of my free time, with exciting results. Nurse & Patient is a four-piece at this point; we're starting to sound pretty decent at rehearsal. Query letters for Inlanders are out; I'm in the midst of intense rewrites, illustrations (by lovely Lynnie), and one or two manuscript requests.

For that reason, I'm handing off the reins to my trustworthy support crew. They've valiantly protected the Sandbowl (and this blog) from Tube invasion for well over a year now. But I think a few might exchange guard duty for posting privilege - and posterity. I leave the control console in their able hands (claws, tentacles).

Before I go, here's a video I particularly enjoyed seeing this morning because there's a poem in my book that can be read backwards and forwards, too.

This one's better:



Thanks to James for the link.