It's funny how snippets of wisdom end up in comic strips. In my case, here's a strip about Parental Expectations and how parents tend to treat children who fail them. I'm sure a lot of us have encountered this kind of treatment before.
Sometimes, it's good to have a laugh at the tough things in life. :p
Monday, June 27, 2005
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Historic Tale Construction Kit...
Hast thou ever had the stirrings of the bard in thine bossom? Hast thou ever felt that thine imaginations doth put ancient legends to shayme?
Hereth is thine opportunity!
Simply clicke upon yonder Linke, and marvel at thine genius!
Onward!
Hereth is thine opportunity!
Simply clicke upon yonder Linke, and marvel at thine genius!
Onward!
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
[Weekly Challenge] Purple
Peter was dead way before his time. Thankfully, nobody had gone and told him about it. He was six at the time, a rather impressionable child with trusting blue eyes and dreams of making it big in the world someday, like a fireman. There was no tragic accident that led to his demise, just a child in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Lightning strikes were not very common ways to die, but any person ever caught outdoors in a thunderstorm has experienced the creeping fear of it. Peter was no exception. It was a particularly vicious storm, and little Peter was running as fast as his short little legs could take him, headed for the only place he could think of that was safe... home.
His hair was wet and his clothes were wet. He wiped the hair away from his eyes as he ran, his breathing ragged and his side hurting. It was then that he felt odd, like little spiders crawling over his body. That rather disconcerting feeling ended rather quickly though. The CRACK! of lighting breaking the bones of his body, hurling him a good fifteen or so meters away with the smell of burning flesh had a way of getting rid of it.
It was a week later when his parents decided that their child wasn't coming back, having spent the entire week out in a beachside vacation, carefuly making sure that there was a weeks worth of milk and cereal by the table. And so they decided to make a new baby. New babies were fun to make anyway.
Little peter was dead for a week. It was the smell that woke him up, no longer the strangely delicious pork chop like smell after the lightning hit, but rather the stinky smell of his pet mouse, when it decided to go to sleep for a long, long time.
Peter figured that going to sleep for a long, long time was rather un-fun. So he stood up. It felt strange to be all soft, and crispy on one part of his back, but it was okay.
----
Peter was now officially 30, his corpse-like body had matured into a rather handsome zombie, and his near religious applications of formaldehyde solutions helped keep him from falling apart. He was a smart lad, learning that one could earn money from doing work that nobody liked. He never needed to eat anymore, nor did he need to sleep, or even go potty.
Imagine if you will, the world's perfect worker! Peter was like that, an endless fountain of productivity. His work ethic was fantastic, and his ability to maintain output levels 24/7 drove him higher and higher to the company ladder, until he became... a partner.
Being a partner was interesting, Peter concluded, one had things that people called benefits. He had life insurance, which he really didn't need, discounts at restaurants, which he never really dined in, and "special" considerations in little strip clubs which never really quite interested him... due to a certain lack of bodily functions. As such, Peter became rather bored.
It was times like these that Peter spoke to himself.
"Well, that's it." he said, as he sat down on his big swivel chair, "I've managed to reach high above the others in the corporate ladder. I've managed to somehow keep on living when by all means I should be dead." his eyes narrowed. "I have nothing to exist for."
He sat there, brooding, no breath to breakt he silence, as his eyes roamed falling on a newspaper. NEW CANDIDATES FOR PRESIDENCY COMING OUT OF THE WOODWORK, it blared.
Something stirred within the deep recesses of Peter's mind.
"That's it!" he stood holding a finger up in the air in a cliched pose of sudden genius, "I'll become president!"
"This is exactly what this country needs!" he paced back and forth, musing, "A president who will WORK for the country, a leader who has no mundane needs. I will not sleep, nor eat, nor waste my money on booze, fatty foods and movie star whores!" he grinned a dead man's grin.
And in the coming months, the country was taken by storm! Little Peter, the dead boy who worked his way up to the top of the corporate world, was running for president!
And yet, all was not well. Peter's ratings sank, nobody knew how to identify with a dead man.
"What I need is something... anything..." he pondered, his deceased fingers clicking on his mouse, "I need a symbol... something that they will instantly remind them of me."
It was then that he stumbled upon the colors of politcs. From firey reds of hard work and idealism, to the yellows of unity and peace, to the blues of freedom... but nothing struck his fancy.
"These are not the colors for me." Peter said, looking over the colors in his mind. Black for protest and White for mourning... "I need a new color, one that the world remembers but has never used..."
Purple. The color of emperors and mourning priests. It was perfect. Peter had his name changed immediately, and campaign materials flowed from the printing presses in the color he had chosen...
"I am Purple!" he yelled into the mike, to the cheers of thousands upon thousands of fans, "I am a dead man, yes, but a dead man who will make your lives better! I died, but do not let the stop you from living a second, better life! I need no sleep! I need no food! I need no sex! Let me bury your fears! Vote me! Vote me!"
His campaign worked, Purple, had won the hearts and the minds of the common man, his administration was demanding, but fair. He could not be bribed, he had no vices, he did not sleep. He was, by all means, the perfect president.
But it was not to be. Purple sat atop a float in a parade, purple streamers flapping in the breeze. The economy was in an upswing, and people were happy. The sun shone brightly down on the leader of the country, his pale face in a dead man's grin even as he waved to his constituents.
----
"And that is how this came to be," Purple said, looking down at the child beside him, "How we became the only country to be successfully ruled by a zombie president."
The boy watched him in reverence in awe. This was Purple, the grand Last President, looking a tad more mummified than the pictures, but still there, talking to him.
"And this was five thousand years ago?" the boy said, adjusting his hoverchair.
Purple nodded, even as he leaned back in his preservation chamber, "And it all seemed like it just happened yesterday."
---
Madness borne out of desperation lead me to writing this story. Yes it is strange, and yes I'm aware that its probably a far cry in terms of quality compared to the prior stories I've written. I'm trying to shake of the fact that my imagination falls to bits whenever I write under pressure... well, I hope this makes sense to those who read it.
Lightning strikes were not very common ways to die, but any person ever caught outdoors in a thunderstorm has experienced the creeping fear of it. Peter was no exception. It was a particularly vicious storm, and little Peter was running as fast as his short little legs could take him, headed for the only place he could think of that was safe... home.
His hair was wet and his clothes were wet. He wiped the hair away from his eyes as he ran, his breathing ragged and his side hurting. It was then that he felt odd, like little spiders crawling over his body. That rather disconcerting feeling ended rather quickly though. The CRACK! of lighting breaking the bones of his body, hurling him a good fifteen or so meters away with the smell of burning flesh had a way of getting rid of it.
It was a week later when his parents decided that their child wasn't coming back, having spent the entire week out in a beachside vacation, carefuly making sure that there was a weeks worth of milk and cereal by the table. And so they decided to make a new baby. New babies were fun to make anyway.
Little peter was dead for a week. It was the smell that woke him up, no longer the strangely delicious pork chop like smell after the lightning hit, but rather the stinky smell of his pet mouse, when it decided to go to sleep for a long, long time.
Peter figured that going to sleep for a long, long time was rather un-fun. So he stood up. It felt strange to be all soft, and crispy on one part of his back, but it was okay.
----
Peter was now officially 30, his corpse-like body had matured into a rather handsome zombie, and his near religious applications of formaldehyde solutions helped keep him from falling apart. He was a smart lad, learning that one could earn money from doing work that nobody liked. He never needed to eat anymore, nor did he need to sleep, or even go potty.
Imagine if you will, the world's perfect worker! Peter was like that, an endless fountain of productivity. His work ethic was fantastic, and his ability to maintain output levels 24/7 drove him higher and higher to the company ladder, until he became... a partner.
Being a partner was interesting, Peter concluded, one had things that people called benefits. He had life insurance, which he really didn't need, discounts at restaurants, which he never really dined in, and "special" considerations in little strip clubs which never really quite interested him... due to a certain lack of bodily functions. As such, Peter became rather bored.
It was times like these that Peter spoke to himself.
"Well, that's it." he said, as he sat down on his big swivel chair, "I've managed to reach high above the others in the corporate ladder. I've managed to somehow keep on living when by all means I should be dead." his eyes narrowed. "I have nothing to exist for."
He sat there, brooding, no breath to breakt he silence, as his eyes roamed falling on a newspaper. NEW CANDIDATES FOR PRESIDENCY COMING OUT OF THE WOODWORK, it blared.
Something stirred within the deep recesses of Peter's mind.
"That's it!" he stood holding a finger up in the air in a cliched pose of sudden genius, "I'll become president!"
"This is exactly what this country needs!" he paced back and forth, musing, "A president who will WORK for the country, a leader who has no mundane needs. I will not sleep, nor eat, nor waste my money on booze, fatty foods and movie star whores!" he grinned a dead man's grin.
And in the coming months, the country was taken by storm! Little Peter, the dead boy who worked his way up to the top of the corporate world, was running for president!
And yet, all was not well. Peter's ratings sank, nobody knew how to identify with a dead man.
"What I need is something... anything..." he pondered, his deceased fingers clicking on his mouse, "I need a symbol... something that they will instantly remind them of me."
It was then that he stumbled upon the colors of politcs. From firey reds of hard work and idealism, to the yellows of unity and peace, to the blues of freedom... but nothing struck his fancy.
"These are not the colors for me." Peter said, looking over the colors in his mind. Black for protest and White for mourning... "I need a new color, one that the world remembers but has never used..."
Purple. The color of emperors and mourning priests. It was perfect. Peter had his name changed immediately, and campaign materials flowed from the printing presses in the color he had chosen...
"I am Purple!" he yelled into the mike, to the cheers of thousands upon thousands of fans, "I am a dead man, yes, but a dead man who will make your lives better! I died, but do not let the stop you from living a second, better life! I need no sleep! I need no food! I need no sex! Let me bury your fears! Vote me! Vote me!"
His campaign worked, Purple, had won the hearts and the minds of the common man, his administration was demanding, but fair. He could not be bribed, he had no vices, he did not sleep. He was, by all means, the perfect president.
But it was not to be. Purple sat atop a float in a parade, purple streamers flapping in the breeze. The economy was in an upswing, and people were happy. The sun shone brightly down on the leader of the country, his pale face in a dead man's grin even as he waved to his constituents.
----
"And that is how this came to be," Purple said, looking down at the child beside him, "How we became the only country to be successfully ruled by a zombie president."
The boy watched him in reverence in awe. This was Purple, the grand Last President, looking a tad more mummified than the pictures, but still there, talking to him.
"And this was five thousand years ago?" the boy said, adjusting his hoverchair.
Purple nodded, even as he leaned back in his preservation chamber, "And it all seemed like it just happened yesterday."
---
Madness borne out of desperation lead me to writing this story. Yes it is strange, and yes I'm aware that its probably a far cry in terms of quality compared to the prior stories I've written. I'm trying to shake of the fact that my imagination falls to bits whenever I write under pressure... well, I hope this makes sense to those who read it.
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
[Fiction] Lonely Morning Haze part 3
"Mark?"
"Hmm...?" Mark looked up from his Principles of Financial Management book, "What is it Anna?" They sat on the bench, whittling away some time before class, a wrinkly, brown paper bag of donut holes in between them.
Anna looked at him with narrowed eyes behind her glasses, "Do you think I'm fat?"
"Huh?" What the hell!?
"Am... I... Fat?" Anna spaced out the words, as if to try and help him understand.
"Uh..." how the hell do I get into these situations? Mark looked down at his book, "Why do you ask?"
"Are you avoiding my question?"
"No..." Mark said, rather defensively, "You're not fat."
"You don't mean it." She accused, pouting. "You're just saying that to make me feel better! Look!" She stood then, squeezing her belly, "Fat! Jiggle-jiggle!" she tried to make her rather non-existent belly fat jiggle.
Mark let out a long sigh. It's going to be one of those days. He closed the book. "Look, Anna, you are not fat! You look great! Besides, that's not fat you're jiggling, that's intestine! Keep that up and you'll suffer indigestion."
"I don't believe you." She remained resolute as she sat down, "You're just saying that to have this discussion over and done with."
"Hey! Don't put thoughts in my head!" Mark replied, "Listen to yourself! 'Am I fat?' is a loaded question! It's the relationship equivalent of holding a gun to my head and asking me to pull the trigger or you will!"
Anna raised an eyebrow, "What are you talking about?"
"Simple." Mark said, putting the book away into his backpack, "Think about it... you ask me if you're fat, right?"
"Okay..."
"Now I've got three possible answers. Yes, no or a cop out."
"And is this a cop out?" Anna gave a feral smile.
"No!" Mark waved her off, "Let me finish... so you've got those three choices, right?"
"Mm-hmm..."
"If I say 'yes', then you'd be depressed and you'd get angry at me. Not that I'm saying that you're fat or anything, mind you. Anyway, if I say 'no' you'd accuse me of lying, the same way that you're doing now."
Anna shrugged, "Well, how can I be sure that you're saying I'm not fat just to make me feel better?"
Mark smiled, "Now there's the rub, see? You have to trust me, like friends do." Aha! Appeal to her sense of friendship and trust! It's your only chance!
Anna thought about that, "But what if you are lying? And that you're using this argument as a clever ruse to throw me off?" She pushed up her glasses.
"Well, there's no guarantee that I'm not doing that." Mark smiled. "Like I said, it's all a matter of trust."
"Mark?"
"Yeah?" he smiled smugly.
"I hate it when you do that."
"Hmm...?" Mark looked up from his Principles of Financial Management book, "What is it Anna?" They sat on the bench, whittling away some time before class, a wrinkly, brown paper bag of donut holes in between them.
Anna looked at him with narrowed eyes behind her glasses, "Do you think I'm fat?"
"Huh?" What the hell!?
"Am... I... Fat?" Anna spaced out the words, as if to try and help him understand.
"Uh..." how the hell do I get into these situations? Mark looked down at his book, "Why do you ask?"
"Are you avoiding my question?"
"No..." Mark said, rather defensively, "You're not fat."
"You don't mean it." She accused, pouting. "You're just saying that to make me feel better! Look!" She stood then, squeezing her belly, "Fat! Jiggle-jiggle!" she tried to make her rather non-existent belly fat jiggle.
Mark let out a long sigh. It's going to be one of those days. He closed the book. "Look, Anna, you are not fat! You look great! Besides, that's not fat you're jiggling, that's intestine! Keep that up and you'll suffer indigestion."
"I don't believe you." She remained resolute as she sat down, "You're just saying that to have this discussion over and done with."
"Hey! Don't put thoughts in my head!" Mark replied, "Listen to yourself! 'Am I fat?' is a loaded question! It's the relationship equivalent of holding a gun to my head and asking me to pull the trigger or you will!"
Anna raised an eyebrow, "What are you talking about?"
"Simple." Mark said, putting the book away into his backpack, "Think about it... you ask me if you're fat, right?"
"Okay..."
"Now I've got three possible answers. Yes, no or a cop out."
"And is this a cop out?" Anna gave a feral smile.
"No!" Mark waved her off, "Let me finish... so you've got those three choices, right?"
"Mm-hmm..."
"If I say 'yes', then you'd be depressed and you'd get angry at me. Not that I'm saying that you're fat or anything, mind you. Anyway, if I say 'no' you'd accuse me of lying, the same way that you're doing now."
Anna shrugged, "Well, how can I be sure that you're saying I'm not fat just to make me feel better?"
Mark smiled, "Now there's the rub, see? You have to trust me, like friends do." Aha! Appeal to her sense of friendship and trust! It's your only chance!
Anna thought about that, "But what if you are lying? And that you're using this argument as a clever ruse to throw me off?" She pushed up her glasses.
"Well, there's no guarantee that I'm not doing that." Mark smiled. "Like I said, it's all a matter of trust."
"Mark?"
"Yeah?" he smiled smugly.
"I hate it when you do that."
Monday, June 20, 2005
Pointyman2000 is an Uncultured Brute
Yes, I have finally come out to admit it. Despite the fact that I enjoy roleplaying games, music, anime, talking about random philosophy and writing stories, I have one weakness.
I am unable to process anything that is related to "Art". Perhaps it's due to my inherent dependence on Left-Brained thinking, or the fact that I lived a childhood deprived of basic things like learning how to swim, or learning how to ride a bike.
Anyway, This is what comes to mind when I watch plays. I stand there, trying to comprehend it, always teetering on the brink of enlightenment... and then it ends. The crowd approves with the play, thundering applause and bobbing heads while I wonder, "What am I missing?"
I am unable to process anything that is related to "Art". Perhaps it's due to my inherent dependence on Left-Brained thinking, or the fact that I lived a childhood deprived of basic things like learning how to swim, or learning how to ride a bike.
Anyway, This is what comes to mind when I watch plays. I stand there, trying to comprehend it, always teetering on the brink of enlightenment... and then it ends. The crowd approves with the play, thundering applause and bobbing heads while I wonder, "What am I missing?"
Thursday, June 16, 2005
[short fiction] Lonely Morning Haze pt. 2
"You're gay, aren't you?"
Mark choked on his soda, quickly grabbing a wad of table napkins as he coughed, the pain of carbonated liquids assaulting his nasal passages. "What the hell are you talking about?" he rasped, wiping his nose and mouth.
"Dude, you've got to be." Mark's tormentor, Sean, insisted, "There you were, a hot chick in need of some lovin' and all you did was crack a stupid joke to cheer her up? If it were me, man, I'd be all over her, showing her what real men are like."
Mark glared at his classmate. "She wasn't interested in sex. She was depressed."
"Depressed my ass, she was probably horny," Sean smiled, "Then again, that might not have been your thing." he winked.
Mark fought back the urge to punch the bastard. "Look, Sean, I don't know where the hell you draw your conclusions but stop it."
Sean sneered, "Stop it." he mocked, "Dude, you sound like a wimp. You wanna prove that you're not gay? Then shag her. She's ripe for the picking, Mark. She's young, impressionable, depressed and most likely a virgin."
"I don't need to prove anything." Mark's tone was dead serious. No wonder men keep getting a bad rap for being insensitive. This guy's a prick!
"Yes, you do." Sean said smugly, "Or are you admitting that you're a fag?"
Mark emptied his soda in one swig and crushed the can in his hand as he stood up. "Look, Sean." his voice barely containing his anger, "I don't know about you, but all your talk just makes me think that you're trying to cover up for your own fears." Just walk away, Mark... he forced himself to turn around and leave, There's no point in getting into a fight
Sean watched as Mark stood and left, his laughter taking on a nervous tone at Mark's words. "What? What the hell are you talking about?" he called out as Mark walked away, "Hey!"
Another student in an adjoining table put down the book he was reading. He turned to Sean then with a deadpan face, "Dude, that guy was saying you were gay."
----
It was dark already, and Mark found himself on the park bench again with nothing to keep him company save for the lamp post that illuminated the bench with a circle of light.
"Asshole." he swore, "What the hell was that about? What a prick."
"Who's a prick?" a familiar voice called out from the path.
Mark looked up, "Anna," he relaxed then, "Nah, nobody important."
Anna sat beside him then. "Keeping secrets now?" she smiled, pushing up her glasses, "That's not very like you."
Mark sighed as he looked at her. "It's not important." he said, "I almost got into a fight earlier today."
"A fight?" she raised her eyebrow, "Over what?"
oh crap. "Nothing important," Mark assured her, "really!" he forced himself to smile.
"You're a terrible liar, Mark."
Mark gave her a sheepish look.
"Come on, 'fess up." Anna said, "I promise I won't laugh!"
Mark sighed, "Okay, fine... this'll be a little awkward, okay?"
Anna nodded, "Do you have a Non-Discolsure Agreement I have to sign?"
Mark gave her a withering glare.
"We're friends, Mark. Trust me on this."
Mark nodded, "I was having lunch when Sean, and I... uh, I told him about what happened between you and Kerwin."
Anna nodded, "I can't believe you actually went and told other people about that, but I'll reserve your eventual punishment for another time." she grinned, "Continue..."
Mark raised an eyebrow at that statement, "Okay... so anyway, I told him about it, then he goes off on how I must be gay or something."
Anna laughed, "How did he ever come up with that conclusion?"
"Because I didn't... uh, take advantage of the situation."
Anna's laughing stopped, "Excuse me?"
"Sean was insisting I was gay because I didn't take you home and well... have sex with you." Mark said, "Look, it was a bad idea to tell you, he's a chauvanist pig and an insult to my gender."
"I'll kill him!" Anna fumed, "What an insensitive prick! Tell me you kicked his ass, Mark. Because if you didn't I sure as hell will!"
Not again. Mark sighed, "Look, it's fine. I walked away from the whole thing. He's being an ass, and that's below me." he said, stifling a chuckle as he saw Anna's reaction, her brow furrowed, and her lips forming a rather cute pout.
"So that's it? You let him get away with it?" Anna asked, "You've been reading into too much of that buddhism stuff, Mark. Not even Ghandi would stand for that kind of insult!"
Mark laughed at that last line, "Look, Anna. I know that my sexual orientationis still aligned with my physiology." he grinned, "And as for Sean, he's probably projecting his insecurities or something."
"Since when did you shift courses to Psychology?" Anna asked, skeptical.
"I read a lot." Mark replied. "There's nothing to be gained from that argument. I'm more than a little miffed about what he said, but I consider myself the winner." he smiled, "There's more to dignity than name calling and social pressure."
"Wow... That's awful mature of you."
"It is?"
"Yeah." Anna smiled, "It makes sense, in a good way." she checked her watch, "Well, I'd better get going. It's late, and I've got a test to study for tomorrow." she stood.
"Hey..." Mark stood up as well, "Let me walk you there, at least. I don't feel comfortable having you walking home alone at this hour."
"This isn't a ploy to get into my panties is it?"
"Anna!"
"I'm kidding! I'm kidding!"
----
Obligatory note: Just in case there are those who are affected negatively by the story. The Author does not intent to offend any party with this work, and hopes that this will be taken from an objective point of view.
Mark choked on his soda, quickly grabbing a wad of table napkins as he coughed, the pain of carbonated liquids assaulting his nasal passages. "What the hell are you talking about?" he rasped, wiping his nose and mouth.
"Dude, you've got to be." Mark's tormentor, Sean, insisted, "There you were, a hot chick in need of some lovin' and all you did was crack a stupid joke to cheer her up? If it were me, man, I'd be all over her, showing her what real men are like."
Mark glared at his classmate. "She wasn't interested in sex. She was depressed."
"Depressed my ass, she was probably horny," Sean smiled, "Then again, that might not have been your thing." he winked.
Mark fought back the urge to punch the bastard. "Look, Sean, I don't know where the hell you draw your conclusions but stop it."
Sean sneered, "Stop it." he mocked, "Dude, you sound like a wimp. You wanna prove that you're not gay? Then shag her. She's ripe for the picking, Mark. She's young, impressionable, depressed and most likely a virgin."
"I don't need to prove anything." Mark's tone was dead serious. No wonder men keep getting a bad rap for being insensitive. This guy's a prick!
"Yes, you do." Sean said smugly, "Or are you admitting that you're a fag?"
Mark emptied his soda in one swig and crushed the can in his hand as he stood up. "Look, Sean." his voice barely containing his anger, "I don't know about you, but all your talk just makes me think that you're trying to cover up for your own fears." Just walk away, Mark... he forced himself to turn around and leave, There's no point in getting into a fight
Sean watched as Mark stood and left, his laughter taking on a nervous tone at Mark's words. "What? What the hell are you talking about?" he called out as Mark walked away, "Hey!"
Another student in an adjoining table put down the book he was reading. He turned to Sean then with a deadpan face, "Dude, that guy was saying you were gay."
----
It was dark already, and Mark found himself on the park bench again with nothing to keep him company save for the lamp post that illuminated the bench with a circle of light.
"Asshole." he swore, "What the hell was that about? What a prick."
"Who's a prick?" a familiar voice called out from the path.
Mark looked up, "Anna," he relaxed then, "Nah, nobody important."
Anna sat beside him then. "Keeping secrets now?" she smiled, pushing up her glasses, "That's not very like you."
Mark sighed as he looked at her. "It's not important." he said, "I almost got into a fight earlier today."
"A fight?" she raised her eyebrow, "Over what?"
oh crap. "Nothing important," Mark assured her, "really!" he forced himself to smile.
"You're a terrible liar, Mark."
Mark gave her a sheepish look.
"Come on, 'fess up." Anna said, "I promise I won't laugh!"
Mark sighed, "Okay, fine... this'll be a little awkward, okay?"
Anna nodded, "Do you have a Non-Discolsure Agreement I have to sign?"
Mark gave her a withering glare.
"We're friends, Mark. Trust me on this."
Mark nodded, "I was having lunch when Sean, and I... uh, I told him about what happened between you and Kerwin."
Anna nodded, "I can't believe you actually went and told other people about that, but I'll reserve your eventual punishment for another time." she grinned, "Continue..."
Mark raised an eyebrow at that statement, "Okay... so anyway, I told him about it, then he goes off on how I must be gay or something."
Anna laughed, "How did he ever come up with that conclusion?"
"Because I didn't... uh, take advantage of the situation."
Anna's laughing stopped, "Excuse me?"
"Sean was insisting I was gay because I didn't take you home and well... have sex with you." Mark said, "Look, it was a bad idea to tell you, he's a chauvanist pig and an insult to my gender."
"I'll kill him!" Anna fumed, "What an insensitive prick! Tell me you kicked his ass, Mark. Because if you didn't I sure as hell will!"
Not again. Mark sighed, "Look, it's fine. I walked away from the whole thing. He's being an ass, and that's below me." he said, stifling a chuckle as he saw Anna's reaction, her brow furrowed, and her lips forming a rather cute pout.
"So that's it? You let him get away with it?" Anna asked, "You've been reading into too much of that buddhism stuff, Mark. Not even Ghandi would stand for that kind of insult!"
Mark laughed at that last line, "Look, Anna. I know that my sexual orientationis still aligned with my physiology." he grinned, "And as for Sean, he's probably projecting his insecurities or something."
"Since when did you shift courses to Psychology?" Anna asked, skeptical.
"I read a lot." Mark replied. "There's nothing to be gained from that argument. I'm more than a little miffed about what he said, but I consider myself the winner." he smiled, "There's more to dignity than name calling and social pressure."
"Wow... That's awful mature of you."
"It is?"
"Yeah." Anna smiled, "It makes sense, in a good way." she checked her watch, "Well, I'd better get going. It's late, and I've got a test to study for tomorrow." she stood.
"Hey..." Mark stood up as well, "Let me walk you there, at least. I don't feel comfortable having you walking home alone at this hour."
"This isn't a ploy to get into my panties is it?"
"Anna!"
"I'm kidding! I'm kidding!"
----
Obligatory note: Just in case there are those who are affected negatively by the story. The Author does not intent to offend any party with this work, and hopes that this will be taken from an objective point of view.
Fiction Press
Hey guys!
Just sorta stumbled on to my old Fiction Press Account, so I figured I might as well populate the site with my stories. It's not much right now, but at least I've got a place to archive my written work.
Why don't you guys drop by and open an account there too? I know Kate and Alex would have more than a few short stories that they could grace the ignorant masses with.
For the curious, I've got a link to my Fictionpress Profile here!
Do drop by and give it a whirl!
Just sorta stumbled on to my old Fiction Press Account, so I figured I might as well populate the site with my stories. It's not much right now, but at least I've got a place to archive my written work.
Why don't you guys drop by and open an account there too? I know Kate and Alex would have more than a few short stories that they could grace the ignorant masses with.
For the curious, I've got a link to my Fictionpress Profile here!
Do drop by and give it a whirl!
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