But I didn’t feel good, I didn’t feel good about any of this. On the bright side, my good work had earned me a promotion and I was now granted, on base travel privileges. Basically that meant that I could wander down to the elf headquarters watering hole. It was a dingy little place called the Twirly Squirley. After report,
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“Well recruit,” Ned said. “It means there is no such thing as Christmas miracles.” It bothered me, what he said but I couldn’t tell you why. I didnt really even know what Christmas was beyond an excuse to ransom children for good behavior with the promise of presents. The way he said it, the way he laughed at it… something
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“I…” the toy said. “am Optimus Prime!” The look on his face was unfiltered, righteous indignation. His passion was so sincere that I wasn’t entirely convinced that I wasn’t the villain. As much as I wanted to discuss this with him however, he had a vice grip on my airway which limited my communication skills to a muted gurgling. I
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“Failure to comply,” Ned said. “Means that I will self destruct and explode in your head.” What I wanted to do was to scream and to run away from this madness as fast as my feet could carry me. What I actually did was to just sit there with a stupid expression on my face, wholly unqualified to respond. “Recruit?”
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“Hello, new recruits.” He said. “Welcome to Shelf School.” I stood there with the others; hundreds of them who all looked exactly like me and I wondered, “Why the hell don’t these guys look more confused?” Everyone was standing crisply to attention, well everyone but me… “My name is Thaddeus McGladeus.” The elf in black said, his voice booming over
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There is power in a name; a magic as old as the first stories of men, where tales of heroic deeds were weaved around the dancing embers of a campfire beneath the stars. All stories are made of magic and what is a name afterall but a very old story. My name is Maximillion Voncheerypants and this is my story.
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Yesterday, when my wife picked up our middle son from school, she got “the look” from his teacher. You know “the look.” It’s a bandaid of a smile which does little to hide the emotional battle wounds that the person charged with the care of your little darling has been forced to endure. It’s comfortable like tight, wet denim and
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