Part 2; WAR IS HELL
By Bill | April 17, 2009
NO!
Davey Crestington lept up of off his knee’s and reached for his knive. It was one of those knifes where it has a part that cover’s youre fingers in a fist. And that part? Had sharp spike’s allover it. He sprung into the frey and started hacking with it!
HACK HACK went he’s knife against the German Soldiers heads’!
This one time his knived fist socked right into the jaw of a German and he punched out threw the top of its’ head!
Soon Davey Crestingtons’ fists and face were covered in blood. His army suit, once so freshly clean and crisply polished, now was so stained with the reddish blood of his foes that you would have thought he’s was a member of the Russian’s Army. But no! It was Davey Crestington, member of the U.S.A.!
He kept hacking and stabbing throught the waves of German Briggadeer Genrals until finally he came to the end of World War 1: Germany! Only here at the border of this mystical foriegn land did Davey pause to wipe the thickish blood from off his face: it was Up Too Him now. He went back across the border into the country next to Germany and picked up a bunch of the machine guns that the German’s troops that he killed had dropped. Like 10 guns.
He strapped the guns to him and stuck some of the other gun’s in his Back Pack and then like the G.I.Joe toy Rock and Roll he picked up two of the biggest machine guns and held them up angrily in front of him as though to shoot!. He faced Germany again and, with bullets’ strapped all accross him, he gnarled his teeth and grumbled out aloud; this time “There is no escape”!
He trundled out unto the thick mud of Germany; the streets were paved with it. Not a ghost sound was heard thoughtout the township, and he stalked the streets mercilessly looking for the allusive Revenge. Finally he saw it: the German Nazi Leaders Castle!!!!!!!
He furloughed his eyebrows in a strict anger: Now They Would Pay…
TO BE CONTINUED??????
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The Horrors off War
By Bill | February 2, 2009
Seargant First Class Davey Crestington huddeled in the damp, dank trench. The wind shivered threw his bones like a grandmother’s whisper. He klutzed his rifle to his body like a valuable stick, because thats what it was; the Only stick that could save his life.
He checked the ammyunission compartment on the rifle: Two Bullets Left. He checked the bay o’net. Dull, but sharpened to a glinting pointe. He checked his helmet: scufft and filthy but still as hard as a buffalo’s butt. It had written on it: “EAT IT” which made him smile: he cast his mind back, back to befoar the war: back to when his girl Sally and he (him) used to listen to their favirote Micheal Jacksun songs on the radio in their cool car.
But that was Before. This was Now. The “Big One” . World War One. He straightened his bowtie. He sharpuned his nerves. “ALL RIGHT MEN!!” hollered his captun, Loutennunt Stan. “This is the BIG ONE!!” “I know you have your family waiting at home, so let’s win it for Them!”
The genral’s orders went threw him like white on rice; Davey knew that these German Nazis had to be stopped regardless of the outcome: it was Now or Never.
The Loutenit opened the doors to the Trench: They were thrown Wide. He grizzled his face and champed on his cigar: his favorite: a Stogey. “Hear we go, boys!” he exclaimed like a huge newspaper head line.
Davey gripped his Rifle: he didn’t feel fear. He steeled himself and grumbled his teeth: “Working on our Night Moves.” he joked to his fat friend. It was night in the Trench.
Davey ran out of the Trench into the bleek German landscape: tumbleweeds and dessert, as far as the eye could sea. “So this is hell” he reflected, not stopping at all as he swang his gun from side to side, knocking in the heads of Germane’s soldiers.
SMASH: the but of his rifle smashed into a Nazi face: he needed to save bullets.
BLOOSH: his baye au nette sliced threw a Germans mouth like some butter. “Want some rolls with that butter” he smirked: now was not the time for jokes!
WHAP suddenly! He felt an icy dagger stab into his ribs like when you run to fast. He looked down and to what should his wandering eyes appear but a German holding a knife, his smile sickly smileling. The knife was in him.
Davey span around and stuck his rifle in the dude’s face. “I know you hafft onvly two bullvets” said the German guy in a Hogan’s Heros voice, only this time it was no laffing manner.
Davey screamed and thought of Sally. He pulled his Trigger. The German guy’s head exploded in a rain of color like a Skittles commershul, “TASTE THE RAIN BOW” Davey wept bitterly.
He screamed again and grittered his teeth. His fat freidn’s face exploded next to him. ONE BULLET LEFT
He put his hand to his ribs and pulled away Blood. He dropped to his knee’s and exclaimed a laud to the sky that no man can now: “The horrors off war!!!!” Was this the end of Davey the Soldier?
TO BE CONTINUED
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Some witch’s hour.
By Daniel | January 31, 2009
The Muscle The Bone The Heart
The seen was set and the seen was thus: ice sculpturs in the shapes of well-bread K9s, lady’s with dimon earings, shandlears like Antartic glacers hanged in the air like Conan-hairs. Pure Hichcockian. Old men dressed in the nines bandied about there conversations of golf swinging, annie-lock breaks, and small sanwitches with they’re crusts cut off and throne to the garbage like so many young starlett’s hearts of yesteryore. Where they digniterys? Criminal lawyers? Or wear they mearly wolfs whereing a pure-coated sheeps’ cloths? Shape-dressed men, all in a row. Tom Cruisian.
The double-breast’d doors opened and in-stepped a man above all othre men. Laqured shoes of the finest Italian leathers? Check. A toothpick hanged nonshlantly from too chapstuck lips? Check. A snotwrag folded like orgami and placed in a chest pocket. Check? This man was a capitol M kindof a man. A Mman. His hairs were perfectly queefed; gelled up into a rapturous U-shape much like the arms of a football umpire indicating a touchdown. The femails all stood on the hairs on the backs of there necks stood in nervus attention. He was chisled like aformentioned ice sculpturs but he hath noth a skeleten of the coldst ice; no, his bones were rapped in the most strongest of all the basic metalic elements found of this God-Green earth: Admantum. You herd it right, folk. Admantum bones.
He was a killing mashine with cough-links. A true enegma. Red-roafer, red-roafer, we send Wolferine over.
—
He hubbubed amongst the mosh posh of uppities like a cobrasnake crawling thru a earthwarms’ whole in the Earth. He was collecing evidense. Licking his proverbial thum and seeng whenst the wind blow. He saddled up to the bar and dialoged with the bartend. “Give me something frothy and sprite-like.” The barhand took his order and questened how he wished for its mixing. Wolferine lowered his Ray-Bands aviation sunglass’ and intoned, “Shaken, not turd.”
He snifed at the airs. Something was afoul at this; some witch’s hour. Villins were amongst them. Wolferine smiled a smirk of endemnity and reglassed himself. Let the good times role.
—
Goldjaw was his name and pane was his gaim. Wolferine had done his homewark and new how to get into Goldjaws’ secrait lare of solace. In the librery there where books of all kinds; first-addition Hemways, Mad Magazenes, leatherbound fishing manuels. To axxess the lare you move a bookshelve and voolah you are secreted into the lions den. The walls, all aglo in victims’ teeth; shimmer shimmering like brass booties of babys passed. Wolferine had scene some things in his dase, but never a site of such magatude. The mind realed.
Goldjaw steped into his oboed and asked alowed, “Whom’s their? Could it be the Big Bad Wolv come to huffpuff and blow my housing down?” Wolferine stood up strait as bow and arrows and Snicked out his claws. “Mine what big claws you have.”
“The better to kill you with, you crazybutt.” And with that he lept into the air like a sideburned torpete-o and scizzor-clawed thru the jaws of Goldjaw. Goldjaw was shocked and odd. His jaws slid to the carpets and sparkled in the glint of the lite.
Wolferine put his Nike loafers on the blooded throte of Goldenjaw. “All that shivers may be gold but your dead.” Goldjaw was dead.
Topics: By: Daniel, Wolferine | 3 Comments »