Monday, November 28, 2011

May As Well Try to Stop a Storm...

Clouds gather on the horizon. Thunder, like deep, rolling laughter, rumbles forth. A storm is gathering. Watching the approach from a vast, flat plain, a lone figure stands, clad all in maille and wearing the livery of his liege lord, shouting defiance to the heavens while brandishing a long metal pole. Marcus had always envisioned himself a great warrior, yet his simpleness of mind was apparent as he stood on that plain, watching the storm draw nearer and nearer.

Behind him rose the small, yet ornately decorated manor house of his lord, Stanis, whose wealth was accumulated through false promises to those desperate enough to turn to him for succor. The manor was surrounded by open land sloping gently down to the building. Its moat was filled with the dreams and hopes of the sick who sought relief at its doors.

Lightning flashed, arcing through the air between cloud and servant, drawn to the idiotic pomp enshrouding Marcus. Bolt after bolt zigged and zagged to the metal man, and every one then being drawn to the manor house and the lord watching from its lone turret. The more Marcus shook his fist impotently at the sky, the more frequent and powerful grew the display of light. He would as soon try to silence a speaker of truth as stop the storm about to plunge him, and his Stanis, under a flood.
To put this all in context, check out the posts linked by Liz Ditz, Josephine Jones and Anarchic Teapot. For how the storm started, check out Rhys Morgan and Le Canard Noir. And if you like this little story or think that the tin man needs some more well-directed shocks, please consider sharing this on Twitter.


  1. I think our litigious friend is indeed discovering that taking on respected scientific bloggers is indeed akin to standing on a hill during a thunderstorm, while wearing copper armour and shouting "All gods are bastards!"
    *rubs hands*

  2. Incidentally, this is the coat of arms Stan B claims for himself
    and his genealogy (according to himself in a magazine interview) is hidden here
    Doesn't even know his own grandad's name.

  3. "And he looked up at the sky and smiled. 'Bring it,' he muttered under his breath. 'Bring it.' He was dead two seconds later.

    'Was it God?' she asked me.
    'Inasmuch as the idiot decided to grab onto the radio antenna in the middle of a thunderstorm,' I replied. 'In fact, God probably stood back and chuckled a bit at the stupidity of one of His creations.'
    'Sucks to be him,' she said.
    'Sucks to be him,' I followed. We then continued walking down the hallway toward the cafeteria. 'Did I ever tell you about Marc Stephens?' I asked.
    'No. Who is that?'
    'He's this crazy dude I met in school. He thought he was a lawyer...'"


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