fish eye view

I stood there in a flourescent-lit fish tank with his arm firmly grasped in mine and asked him what he wanted out of life.

"Let go."

His face was as impassive as the arctic glaciers I see in magazines and books and dreams. I couldn't tell whether he would flip out and scamper out of the room or just stand there and smirk and say nothing.

"What are you going to do?"

"Let go."

I could tell I wasn't getting anywhere. Like a kitten who wants nothing more than milk and warmth. So I let it go.

The others came and went. It seemed like hours or days or weeks or months and all I could do was trap myself in the moment and force myself into believing that the moment was all I had.

In reality, it was. I lived for those moments. But everyone else came and went.

I realized my serious questions were getting me nowhere. I begged to be asked such serious questions but got a shrug, a smirk, got shunned.

A million smiling faces asking me, "Why can't you just relax?"

"You take things too seriously."

I smiled and swam away, but in the end I really was just a tadpole wanting to swim with the big frogs.

But I was stuck in the tedious habit of laying more and more tadpole eggs. I couldn't stop. It was what biology and economics and society mandated. I was not meant for greater things. The pond was just too big.

My short life span would be spent before I had even the inkling that I'd grow my frog legs and jump up, jump away from the bottom of the lonely, murky pond.

I would just live out my days laying my eggs and swimming with the young, being on the bottom, dreaming about the top.

And in my dreams I could see them laughing. Always a big grin full of rotten yellow teeth, teeth who've seen and tasted more than mine had dreamed. And they chomped down and laughed hysterically and made me salivate and sharpened and evolved and lived and laughed and I just stayed there, stuck in the bottom of the pool, knowing my skeleton would disenegrate and integrate itself into the ecosystem and feed millions more like me.

And I couldn't find comfort in the fact that so many lives were spent this way. I couldn't find comfort in such great numbers.

Skydrop Gunshot 3

Quit your yappering, I've been busy.

Cameras fix in on a small squirellish female figure with long unkept brown hair scribbling madly in a notebook. I recognize the irony of this scribbled observation. She looks up momentarily, showing wide, blue eyes behind a screen of glass for just a second, before a tint of red appears on her countenance and she returns vigerously to her paper.
Bailiff - Ms. Jones, you really must be ready for this by now.
There is an air of confusion that hovers over most of the audience, with only the occasional knowing smile on a few stray reporters here and there. I recognize the name finally when he says it again.
Bailiff - Rapweather Jones here has earned herself enough fame and fortune to retire herself and anyone she might have ever cared about quite comfortably. Yet, here she is, a shining avatar of journalistic devotion.
This explaination seems to confuse the audience even further.
Bailiff - What? Does anyone even read anymore? Rapweather Jones is the now-legendary reporter who first brought this story to light! While I'm sure you lazy sogs got the word through 'late breaking exclusives' on top name network channels, those high brow, ivy league anchormen were all plagurizing one woman. A woman who went out to asmall, once nameless town to investigate a minor distirbance. The story at hand was that a young boy had been horsing around with a handgun he had found or stolen, accidently loaded it, and shot himself in the foot. It was to be an amusing piece with a hint of a message to parents about keeping an eye on their kids, and so on. But when the child would not stop telling everyone a fantastic story about how the gun had fallen from the sky itself, Ms. Jones knew she had something monumental on here hands.
The audiences oohes a mighty 'Ooooooh...' and slowly breaks into a polite and embarassed appluase. Rapweather, for her part, sinks into her lap to show her appreciation.
Bailiff - Finally, standing regally above us in his skybox, our illustrious leader, President Durhil Faust, who has taken the time out of his consuming and difficult job to visit our modest trial as the symbol of this great nation's absolute justice.
The irony of Bailiff's statement is that no serving president could ever hope to be re-elected if he missed a skydrop trial, and the only one that ever did was immediately and unanimously impeached anyways. The irony of this irony is that since his inauguration 3 years ago, Durhil Faust has outlawed both elections and impeachments.
This reporter has seen countless pictures and videos of Durhil Faust in his line of work, but sitting in my advantagious position barely 20 yards away from him, I am struck with a power of his presence I have never felt before. At 6 foot 8, he is a broad shouldered, monster of man. He sweeps over the audience slowly with his dark eyes, and I can see a chill move around us as if cast by his gorgon powers (editor's note: President Faust may or may not have said gorgon powers.) After taking us all in, his eyes shine a little, and smiles as he casually pulls a old-fashioned 6 shooter revolver out of his military jacket. The same single, stifled gasp can be heard faintly echoing several dozen times. Even Bailiff is visably shaken at this point. Durhil Faust dangles the gun from an extended finger for a second, then lets it drop to the floor. When it hits, he roars with enourmous laughter and spreads his branch like arms out, as if inviting us all to do the same. Some do, some don't, some get up to use the bathrooms.
Bailiff - F-Fantasic! Truly a man of such impossible talents is blessed to also weild such a...stunning sense of humor as well. Bravo, sir!
Bailiff - Then, without further ados, allow me to introduce the man who bears the honor of bringing down the hammer of the law on Mr. Gallent this evening. His honor, please rise for Judge Justice!

Fannonfiction

Brilliant. I need to see an example now though.

EDIT: Im announcing the first annual Fanfiction write-off. Each contestant will submit a fanfiction by 4/30. Winner to be decided by general argeement. Good luck.

Vinny Mac's Five Steps to Writing a Successful Fan Fic

Step One: Pick a popular franchise.
Something that will grab the populous into reading. It doesn't matter if there are ten or ten thousand stories written on the subject, people never get tired of popular franchises. For example, Final Fantasy. More specificily, Seven.

Step Two: Pick the most popular character in the franchise.
This is a double shot. Not only is it a popular franchise, but by picking the most popular character, you'll even be grabbing the attention of those who aren't die-hard fans. In this example, Cloud.

Step Three: Teleportation.
In some point, usually the end, the main character should be teleported into the real World. Generally outside and arcade, or a place with access to an arcade. See next step.

Step Four: DDR.
Yes, Dance Dance Revolution. This is a must folks. I can't tell you how many fan fics I've read that had no dance off. No matter how good a story it is up to this point, this is an automatic DQ. The main character is challenged by, or challenges, the author. Always have the author win, since you wrote it you can be as egotistical as you want. People understand this. Also have some cheesy line the character said in the franchise at one point.

Step Five: Sex.
More importantly, gay sex. Even if you yourself are female (unless the main character is female), this is the part where you unravel that you are really male. The main character is fine with this, (S)he actually prefers homosexual encounters, but was always afraid to tell their friends. Be specific about details people. Use different terms for the human reproductive organs constantly, we may forget what's going on and need constant reminders. Remember this rhyme: Under four, add one more. Having five, you will strive.

So remember, no matter how popular something is, or how many fictions already exist, there is still much more room for yours. But only if it involves teleportation to a DDR arcade with gay sex right afterwards. Be sure to praise to me when you start making the big bucks with this guide. Go ahead and tell your friends. I'm always here to help.

okay. i'm fucking weird. i don't know where this came from.

"I'd like to buy my freedom!" a woman shouted from the back of the room.

"With what?" The scientist approached her with a stun gun, increduously, eyes slanted.

"My..umm...blood!"

"Oh? And what's your blood type?" The scientist was skeptical. The screams of the gaunt, terrified people grew louder as they were being corralled into a holding cell by the armed guards. "Speak quickly," he ordered.

"I'm a universal donor--type O positive," she said firmly, pressing her quivering lips together tightly.

"We'll see about that," he buzzed in a monotone from the speaker on his plastic bubble helmet. He quickly removed a syringe and a small plastic vial from his suit pocket, approached her steadily, like a mechanical, ant-like god.

Her knees wobbled but she kept her feet planted firmly on the floor; swollen, red eyes looking straight ahead from a shaky yet expressionless face.

She didn't wince when the needle pierced the vein in her left arm. When he had his sample, he grabbed her by the arm with his metal pincers and pulled her quickly toward another room. At this point she lost her resolve. "Oww, that hurts, asshole!" He said nothing and shut the door of the one-way mirrored room.

He came back into the room thirty minutes later with three other scientists. They all removed their bubble helmets and marched towards her. Shocked, she rose from where she had been sitting on the floor with an expectant and desperate look on her bloated face.

"Mam, your blood is made of earl grey tea and honey."

"What?"

"Do you realize what this means?" the man addressed the other scientists while looking at her.

"Yes," one of them said, "Yes, I think I do."

"Amazing," another muttered while shaking his head slowly.

"What the fuck are you talking about, mister? I mean---"

Before she could say another word, they had her surrounded with syringes in their determined hands, knees bent as if for a rugby match. They began to dig into her flesh. Her arms, legs, stomach, neck, every vein they could find. She smacked at them and screamed. A million bee stings, all at once, and she didn't understand why.

"Heeyyy! What are you doing to me?!! Get off me!!"

They grunted and worked, filling several pitchers with her rare blood.

"Mmmmmm," they all mumbled the entire time, licking their lips. They didn't talk to eachother, just went steadily on drawing her blood. She screamed and cried and kicked. "Stabilize the subject!" one man shouted. They tied her to an exam table.

An hour later, she was dead, to the relief of the scientists, whose eardrums couldn't tolerate any more of the blood-curdling screams.

The first scientist picked up a vial of the beautiful burgundy liquid and held it up to the sky. He looked at his partners and smiled.

"Cheers."

Trailer for Cop Show Guy vs. Vinny Mac

This is my roughly thrown together draft for the trailer for my movie. As of right now, probably nothing in this will make it to the actual movie, so enjoy it now.

[blank screen with text and voice over]
In a World that needed heroes...

[blank screen with voice overs from reporters]
Reporter 1: ...Crime is up five hundred percent...
Reporter 2: ...Rioting has occurred all over the World...

[blank screen with text and voice over]
One would be chosen by chance...

[changes to a police station, with the chief yelling at someone]
Chief: "Listen, that bad guy keeps getting away. You have one last chance to catch him, or you're off the force!"
Cop Sow Guy: "Yes sir, I understand."
[Cop Show Guy is shown sitting down, sullen]

[blank screen with text and voice over]
The other, chosen by destiny...

[changes to Cop Show Guy and Vinny Mac driving in a car]
Vinny Mac: "He's my evil twin brother, every generation has two opposites that do battle for the World."

[blank screen with text and voice over]
Together they would meet, to protect what matters most.

[changes to a warehouse with three people in a triangle]
Cop Show Guy: "Hey, don't do anything stupid."
Vinny Mac: "Just put the Yoo-Hoo cases down, and no one gets hurt."
Bad Guy: "But, I'm just doing this for my girlfriend. She said she was thirsty, and told me to grab some."

[blank screen with text and voice over]
From the creator who brought you Cop Show

[changes to the Cop Cam chasing Bad Guy]
Cop Show Guy: "Get against the tree! Get against the tree...Now!"
Bad Guy: "Not while cars are coming, not while cars are coming."

[blank screen with text and voice over]
And the creator who brought you The Chronicles of Vinny Mac

[changes to an elaborate office]
Ginny Mac: "This makes what, the third time now?"
Vinny Mac: "Yeah, and it'll be your last."

[blank screen with text and voice over]
Comes one of the greatest team ups ever in cinema.
[fade]
Cop Show Guy [slight echo]
versus [slight echo]
Vinny Mac [slight echo]

[blank screen, only a voice over]
Rated R
Summer 2XXX

Ryan is a Fat Baby Head Faced Man

Sorry for the lack of updates. Im going to a fun-ral Wednesday to Thursday, and promise that I will be working on Skydrop pretty much nonstop, unless mom asks me to drive.

PEACE OUT