Versatile Blogger Award: Feast Your Eyes Bitches

I've been nominated for this!  So exciting....

That’s right, I won it.

Versatile blogger award?? What’s that, you ask?

Oh. Ha. A ha, ha…ha. you don’t even know what it is.

Well let me fill you in on a few little details:

The versatile blogger award doesn’t just go to anybody. There is a lengthy process involved, and the qualifications needed just to be nominated are enough to make your head spin. Let me give you a little perspective by telling you what I went through to win this award. I warn you – the daily grind to keep this blog so fresh and clean might come as a shock to you.

– I wake up every day no later than 4:30 a.m.

– I look at my alarm clock and wait until I fall back asleep.

– I wake up again at 9:30 a.m., when my alarm bell rings. I press the snooze button.

– I wake up at 11:23ish and pop out of bed, do three or less pushups, then blast my walk-out song as I make my way to breakfast. (a walk-out song is the rap song that plays for professional baseball players when they approach the plate to hit.)

– As “Ice Ice Baby” blares through my studio apartment, I punch the air with a series of aggressive jabs, secretly hoping I’m beating the shit out of the ghost who can’t be touched but can still feel pain. You might think that’s stupid, but when a ghost haunts your place, you can either stand up for yourself or just pretend he’s not there. I’m not a ghost pussy, I’ll stop fighting when he stops stealing my socks.

– I sit down and pour myself a bowl of cereal. It comes in this enormous cardboard box filled with dozens of bowls of cereal. I have to shake it really carefully, because a lot of the time more than one bowl will pop out, and even when I do only get one, the cereal always spills everywhere.

– I grab the milk from the fridge, then cautiously pour it all over my kitchen table, over the pieces of cereal. I then lick up the cereal as fast as I can, or else my Reeses Pieces are going to waterfall over the edge and wind up on the floor. And I hate eating food off the floor. It’s a lot harder and you can’t even sit down.

– I get on my computer and post a blog entry.

That’s EVERYDAY folks! Except for the weekend when I need time to recover, obviously. But next time you think about spending one full year of your life training for the versatile blogger award, I want you to ask yourself: Am I really willing to wake up at 4:30 am, just to post a blog entry? Because if you’re not, I just don’t think you’re gonna cut it in the free-online-blog-one-vote-wins-it-copy-and-paste-your-own-trophy award category.

Thanks again for nominating me, Aunt Joanna!! :)))) Check out her blog, she’s an amazing writer and an even greater story teller come thanksgiving.

Anyway, this is the gift that keeps on giving. Because now I get to write 7 interesting things about myself, and then I’m supposed to nominate 15 other bloggers 5 other bloggers for this award. Here’s 7 things you didn’t know about me:

1. I’m exceptionally boring.

2. I like turtles.

3. English is my first language.

4. That’s all I got.

5. I like Emenim? Specially the song “When the music stops.” That song is bad-ass.

6. A New Kingdom, the book I wrote, has just been nominated for a Hugo Award in the science fiction category.

7. Number 6 was a lie.

And now, to nominate 5 exceptionally versatile bloggers:

1. His actual name is writeswithtools. That’s how confident his parents were that he’d be a literary genius, which he is. His blog features post-after-post of useful storytelling information. In fact, merely browsing through his blog for a few minutes will help you improve your own writing dramatically, and at the very least open your eyes to the techniques and devices all great story-tellers use.

2. Linda G. Hill. She is so versatile, she actual maintains two blogs – one where she writes about life stuff, the other where she writes fiction.

3. Amy Barlow. Aka sharp little pencil. She has been my friend since the beginning of my wordpress (good old mcwatty9 days), taught me that it’s “all right” and never “alright”, and is a genuinely smart and funny person. She writes a lot of poetry and is never afraid to speak her mind. I like that about her.

4. Mike Steeden. He rhymes about drunk tom-foolery with pure elegance. I want to get drunk with this man. I think there’s a lot I could learn from him… But more importantly, I think he’d be fun as fuck to go out with.

5. Misha Burnett. He’s a really good writer and has incredible insight into whatever topics he chooses to discuss. This is someone who puts a lot of thought into what he writes, which probably explains why his novel, “Catskinners Book,” is beginning to sell like hotcakes.

Ok, that’s it. Congratulations to my versatile blogger nominees, now you get to nominate 15 other bloggers and write 7 interesting things about yourselves!

– Thomas M. Watt

Author of “A New Kingdom”

Marketing Time

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Morning fans and somewhat interested persons. Today marks the first day in which I begin to take marketing my books seriously. I’m jumping into the pool, or maybe the sea, with a headfirst dive and no snorkel to help me. Literally, I have no idea what I’m doing.

I’ve done some research on other successful indie authors, and learned that the most effective way to sell your books is to acquire customers who want to buy them. So, how do I get people to want to buy my tales of fiction that offer no value to their lives but actually subtract from the amount of money in their pockets?

That’s a great question. Right now, I think getting people to like me might be the best strategy. And maybe finding people who are interested in the same topics I cover in my books – meaning aliens, spirituality, chicks, fighting, mysterious figures, mysterious pasts, an inability to communicate, and (sigh) love.

Those seem like pretty interesting topics, right?

I’m going to set up a twitter account soon. Haven’t decided whether it would be more beneficial to constantly write about the books I am promoting or just tweet random day-to-day musings. Maybe if I’m funny and don’t offend people too deeply they will want to see what goes on in this deranged mind of mine. Anyway, off to the waters!

Epic Night Out: Part 2

Click here for Part 1

geek night

Matt stood with one fist tightly clenched. He’d approached an attractive blonde girl and had begun hitting on her just as her date, who was built like a giant, showed up. While the giant in the leather jacket was waiting to fight to his right, to Matt’s left there was a group of guys pointing and laughing at him. No doubt that group had added some spice to the bar nuts as a prank – Matt’s mouth was now burning so intensely after eating them, he could hardly manage to get words out of his mouth.

Worst of all, Keith – Matt’s even-keeled, comfort-craving friend – was nowhere to be seen. He’d made Matt promise him they’d only have one drink then be out of there.

“What’s the deal?” said the giant. “You hittin’ on my chick?”

Matt looked at the blonde girl as she happily chewed her gum and twirled a lock of hair.

Before he could respond, a few dozen peanuts smacked against his back. The group behind him laughed harder than before.

“You’re,” began Matt. He was trying to insult the giant, but the burning sensation in his throat was killing him. “You’re a-” Matt stopped short again – his strained voice was coming through high-pitched – he felt like a talking mouse.

“I’m a?” said the giant. “I’m a what?”

“You’re,” cough, “a,” cough,”hussey.”

That wasn’t what Matt was trying to say.

“A hussey?” said the giant, followed by a hearty laugh. “That so?”

The giant nodded his head as he took off his jacket, one sleeve at a time. He handed it to the blonde girl.

Another spray of peanuts hit Matt on the back. He turned around to catch the group laughing at him some more. The bottle of hot sauce sat on the table in the middle of them. Matt then turned to the bar – still no sign of Kieth.

Where the fuck did Keith go?

Matt reluctantly turned to face the giant again. He clenched his own fists. As the giant loaded up and Matt braced himself for the brutal ass-kicking he was about to be on the receiving end of, something amazing happened – a beer bottle came flying through the air and shattered against the giant’s head, knocking him out cold and sending him timbering to the ground.

“Whoa,” said Matt. He looked up slowly to find Kieth, standing by the doorway.

“I said one beer! Let’s go!”

Keith bolted out the doorway. Matt turned around to the group that had been laughing at him. They were now stunned and speechless, staring in unison at the giant on the ground. Matt checked on the bottle of fire-strength hot sauce again – it was still in the middle of their table, and the group was completely distracted.

Matt took two quick steps, grabbed the bottle, then squeezed it and sprayed the red stuff into their faces. They screamed and covered themselves. Matt turned around and sprinted toward the doorway.

“Get him!”

Matt noticed the leather jacket in the blonde girl’s lap. He stopped, grabbed it, then went for the doorway again. Before he crossed outside, he turned around, and returned for the blonde.

“Hey,” she said.

Matt grabbed the blonde girl by the hand, then took her with him as he ran for it. He could hear the chairs and tables flipping from the group chasing after him.

To be continued…

Thomas M. Watt

A Case of the Dirty Dick

red beard

“Stand the fuck up. Time to settle this like men.”

Alex curled up on the couch and sat up, clutching his stomach. He rubbed his weary eyes and lifted the blanket – there was a condom on his limp dick, and it looked dirty.

“I said get up!”

Alex took his first glance at the imposing figure staring down at him – he was shirtless with brutal tattoos, burly, and had that thick, curly red beard only farm boys could grow. A cute dog lie on the ground at his feet, whimpering like a dying pet.

“Huh? Who are you?” said Alex.

“Who am I? Cut the shit. Don’t act like you forgot what you did last night.”

Alex set his hands on his knees, stared at the ground, then burped. In truth, he had absolutely no idea what he did last night to set “farm-boy John” off. He gulped back some throw up, then turned to look up at the big man again.

“Listen dude, I have no idea what-”

BAM. Before he could get another word out, farm-boy John cold-cocked him. The massive fist sent Alex off the couch to a colliding crash through the coffee table. Alex spit a piece of tooth out, then groaned as he stared at the broken wood he now lay on top of. What the fuck did I do?

“Get up!” Farm-boy John lunged to kick Alex in the gut, but Alex rolled away before the toe of his boot could connect. Alex picked up a table leg then shot to his feet, then wobbled briefly before finding his balance.

“Look dude, sorry about your girl. But I swear she must’ve come to me.”

“Girl?” Farm-boy John crossed his arms and started to laugh. “You that dumb to think this has got to do with a girl?”

Alex took another good look at farm-boy John – pasty-white skin, red curly beard, tobacco shreds in his teeth, red curly beard, dirty, calloused hands, red curly beard.

“No, obviously not… I’m sorry for whatever I said to you last night.” “Said to me?! You didn’t say shit to me! This is our first time talking face-to-face you dumb shit!”

“What the fuck did I do then?” said Alex.

“Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“I don’t.”

“Maybe this will help you ‘member.”

Farm-boy John picked up a tall lamp, then began swinging it wildly at Alex. Alex dodged and weaved as he backpedaled. He bumped into the couch, the kitchen table, then some pots and pans. His back was against the wall as the metal clanged on the kitchen floor, and he finally realized what he’d done.

“Wait!” said Alex. Farm-boy John stopped swinging the lamp

. “I remember now,” said Alex, staring down at one of the pots that was filled with a red paste. “I dyed your beard red.”

Farm-boy John spat on the floor. “‘Bout time you remembered.” Alex let out a sigh of relief. “Aw, man! I was worried I did something you were gonna kill me over.” Farm-boy John chuckled for a moment, then in a flash turned deadly serious. “You didn’t die my beard red you dumb fuck. And what you did is the reason I’m gonna kill you.” Alex looked around and gulped. “What… what did I do?” “You see this house?” Alex looked around. “Yeah?” “Recognize it?” “No?” said Alex. “That’s cause you broke in, drank my booze, puked on my floor, then had sex with my bitch.” Farm-boy John broke off the base of the lamp, then aimed the sharp pointed end at Alex’s gut. Alex gulped. “I thought you said no girls were involved?” “You had sex with my dog you sick-fuck.” Farm-boy John thrust forward, again and again, until soon Alex’s stomach was entirely empty.

* * *

Ok I’m not proud of that one, but let’s point out some of the reasons this kept you reading.

1. Starts with and revolves around a question – What did Alex do that made this big stranger want to kill him? The question begins right there with the first line from farm-boy John – “Get up, time to settle this like men.” – Those are fighting words ladies and gentlemen, and when a fight is about to break out we all look over and wonder the exact same thing – what happened?

2. Rising tension – It starts with words, then a punch to the face, then a swinging lamp. In other words, Alex finds himself in more dire trouble as the story progresses. If it were written so that Farm-boy John began the scene holding a loaded gun, then set it back in its holster, tension would be decreasing, which is always a no-no for drama.

3. False ending – I’m new to this, but it’s an area of craft I need to get better at. You know them as twists – you expect one thing to happen, then another thing does. Alex having dyed Farm-boy John’s beard red makes logical sense, because a lot of attention is drawn to that nasty thing throughout the story. It would have been a suitable ending, but never settle for suitable – aim for surprise and gratification.

4. Sorry dog lovers and respectable human beings.

As always, thanks for reading!

– Thomas M. Watt

A Conversation between Thomas M. Watt and a character from his book

Adam from, “Way of the World.”

Thomas and Adam were both sitting on the curb together. Thomas was wearing his shoulder sling, while Adam was sipping scotch from his flask, dressed in his usual eccentric attire.

“Rah, why are we here, Thomas?” said Adam.

Thomas shrugged. “I don’t know. Just wanted to talk, I guess.”

“Talk? You want to talk let’s do it at a barroom.”

“We’re here, so just deal with it.”

“Sure.” Adam scoffed. “Deal with it. He shook his head. “What a terrible phrase. Well, let’s have at it then. What have you brought me here for?”

“I wanted to talk about your plot. I wanted to see how you felt about it.”

“About what, exactly?” said Adam.

“You know, the love curse. The prophesy on the train. The fact that if you fall in love it puts your entire company at risk.”

“You know that company hardly matters to me. And I don’t care about love, either. Despite what you might think,” Said Adam, scratching his long white chin.

Thomas laughed and adjusted his sling. “What about those quiet moments when you seem ashamed of yourself?”

“What! C’mon! Everybody has those moments! It’s called having fun. Thomas, listen, I honestly don’t care about my plot, whatsoever. I just need you to do one thing for me.”

“What?”

“Allow me to fuck Evelynn.”

“What! I can’t do that!” said Thomas.

“Why not?” said Adam.

“Because that’s what’s driving your whole story now! It’ll kill the suspense!”

“Oh, forget suspense! Here, I’ve got an idea.” Adam stretched his tall lanky legs straight out in front of him, then rested his white-gloved hands in his lap.

“What?” said Thomas.

“How about this – If I don’t have sex with Evelynn at least twenty times in your novel, the Kingsley Products goes out of business.”

Thomas laughed. “I’m sorry, I can’t see that appealing much to readers over the age of thirteen.”

Adam stood up, then brushed some dirt off of his white buckskin shoes. “Rah.” He stood up straight. “Well what’s with you, anyhow?”

“Me?”

“Yeah, how are you? What exactly happened today?”

“With what?” said Thomas.

“Oh, c’mon, you know what! You had a captivating story going for a few days, then you published the finale this morning, and… well… let’s just say it wasn’t good.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“In fact, I’d say it was shit.”

“Yeah. I know,” repeated Thomas.

Adam laughed. He picked up a small black pebble then tossed it into the street. “Why did you publish it?”

Thomas shook his head. “I don’t know. I had forty-five minutes to write it, and by the time the first draft was finished, I had to get out the door. I guess I just pressed publish without a second thought.”

“It was a mistake.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. Nine views and three likes. I’m hoping they just didn’t wanna press the button.”

“No,” said Adam. “They read it and decided it was shit.”

Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, or that.”

“Billy the butler? That was almost offensive. You’re not a very good writer, you know.”

“I created you.”

“Yeah, that’s why I said it. You don’t bring a character out of his normal setting to have a conversation with him. And about his own plot, for rah-sakes!”

Thomas stood up. “Well shit, I’ve been struggling all day with this thing. I even wrote a poem about it.”

“Yeah, and the poem sucked.”

“You’re kind of a dick, you know.”

“And you’re kind of a bad writer.”

“Whatever dude. I’m leaving.”

“Hey dude!” Adam called out, as Thomas started away.

“What?!”

“Write me more sex scenes! Get me some new flousies or something!”

“It’s spelled floozies.”

“Shut-it, you’re the writer. It was you who decided to be different and spell it your way.” Adam adjusted his black felt topper and failed to hide his smirk.

“What?” said Thomas.

“I’m just embarrassed to have been created by you, is all.”

Thomas opened to speak, before biting down hard on his bottom lip and walking away.

– Billy the Butler

A Handshake Precedes an Indecent Request – Part 3 – GRAND FINALE!

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Mr. Huerto grabbed Marie by the arm just before she reached the front door. “You’re going nowhere!”

“Let me go!”

“No!” He screamed. “Not until you explain yourself. Did you marry me for my money, expecting to take it and marry Joe after he returned from prison?”

She squirmed. “Joe, help me!”

Joe shook his head. “Tell the man, Marie.”

Marie shrugged her arm free. “Fine.” She let out a breath. “Yeah, maybe I did. Maybe I thought it would be the ultimate surprise for Joe when he got out. I loved him!”

“Loved?” said Joe.

She looked at Mr. Huerto, and rubbed his shoulder. “But something happened! I actually fell in love with you along the way! I don’t just want your money, I want you!”

“What about me?” Said Joe.

“Well… I still care about you! But things change! You’ve been gone for so long, Joe! What did you expect? How could you not think things would change?”

Joe grew teary eyed. “That whole time in prison, I served that sentence for you… for us!”

“Well what about me!” Cried Mr. Huerto. “I’m the true victim in all this! To think I’ve been duped, like some kind of idiot!”

“You weren’t duped!” Said Marie. “I love you! You’re my husband!”

“I”m a mockery! Our marriage is a complete sham!”

“No! It only started out that way!” Said Marie.

The door swung open, and Billy the butler rocketed in. “Good heavens!” He said, in a gasp. “What’s going on here? Who are you?” He said to Joe.

“That’s Joe,” said Mr. Huerto. “Fresh from prison.”

Billy the butler gasped again, and ran straight to Mr. Huerto. He hugged both arms around his neck. “Intruder! Don’t touch my man!”

Marie and Joe both gasped.

“Your man?” said Joe.

Mr. Huerto dropped his gaze and scratched the back of his head. He spoke solemnly. “Yes, I’m afraid it’s true.”

“What?” Said Marie, with a sniff.

“Me and Billy the butler.” He hardly managed to look back to her. “We’re in love.”

Marie slapped Billy the butler in the chest, and then he slapped her back. They both engaged in fit of wrist flickings, until Joe held Marie back.

“So our marraige IS a sham!” Cried Marie.

“Yes, but darling!” Said Mr. Huerto. “This can all be fixed!”

“How?” She said. “How can all this be fixed?”

Mr. Huerto shrugged. “Well… we can just stay married, and Joe can live here. Come night time, I’ll sleep with Billy the butler, and you can sleep with Joe.”

Everyone else shrugged as well.

An hour later, they sat before the television set, watching a feel-good movie by the fireplace. Mr. Huerto kissed Billy the butler on the cheek, and Joe kissed Marie on the lips.

“One big happy family,” said Mr. Huerto.

“I guess so,” said Joe, before winking to Marie. “We’re gonna go grab some more popcorn from the kitchen. We’ll be quick.”

As Joe and Marie walked hand and hand to the other room, Billy the butler turned and called out to them over shoulder.

“So will we!”

Everyone laughed extra laughingly.

THE END

– Thomas M. Watt

And the Liebster Award Goes to…

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1.) Where do good ideas come from?

2.) Five minutes with any celebrity – who would it be and what would you say?

3.) Who is your favorite writer, and why?

4.) What is more important for authors today – being an artist or having networking skills?

6.) Would you rather have great sex or an avid readership?

7.) You are walking down the street and see the most awful sight you could ever imagine. What is it?

8.) The life of a writer – Blessed or burdened?

9.) SpongeBob SquarePants or television news?

10.) Tell us about your most current book or WIP –

  • Give me the title and a quick pitch.
  • Why are you in love with this idea?
  • What am I going to get out of this, as a reader?

And the award for this years, 2013 Liebster goes to…

1.) Misha Burnett – Exceptionally smart and a true recluse. Wrote, “Catskinner’s Book,” a science fiction/urban fantasy novel.

2.) Adrienne Morris from Middlemay Farm – Gifted writer and nostalgia fanatic. Winner of the Editors’ Choice award for, “The House on Tenafly Road.”

3.) Kevin Brown – Writes with directness and purpose to each and every word. Published close to 200 articles for Examiner.

4.) Christine Keleny –  Writer, reader, author, and publisher. She’s most famous for writing the entire Rose trilogy, and runs CK Books. Her blog is a must-follow for any aspiring author.

5.) Ayse Juaneda – Her paintings are legendary. Genius. Beautiful. Best artist in the world? I think so.

Congratulations to all you award winners! Answer my questions and nominate the bloggers who you think are deserving. Fill out your own list of questions, then spread the Liebster love by announcing your own winners.

McWatty9 Wins Liebster Blog Award

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That’s right folks, I won an award. In case you didn’t know, Liebster is a word some humans use somewhere. I am grateful to be nominated by miss Alex, you can visit her blog here –http://thebewildered20somethingwriter.wordpress.com

In receiving this nomination, I must nominate several other bloggers and throw my own questions at them. I will post that later. But for now, I am on the spot, answering Alex’s questions. Big breath. Here we go –

What inspired you to start writing/blogging?

  • Well let me start out by saying I’m extremely nervous right now and can’t quite think clearly. I feel so on the spot and I know I’m making a fool of myself but the thoughts are coming fast and the hands keep typing them. Ok. Blogging? Well I wrote a book but I didn’t know any other humans so I felt a blog would be a good place to meet them. Along with humans, I am told fellow writers come here, too. Do you think I’m going to sound stupid when this gets posted?

If you could shrink any animal–real or mythical–so that it was pocket sized, what animal would you shrink and keep as a pet?

  • Well first off, Alex, thanks for easing the tension. Not. But in answering your question, following that comma back there is the rest of this sentence. I would shrink a… I would… Shrink… dog?

Name three guilty pleasure books and/or movies that you’re sorry you’re not sorry you like (say that three times fast).

  • So sorry not sor- wait. So sorry you’re not sorry I’m not – wait… shoot… Okay, so sorry I’m not your sorry I mean you’re… DAMN! Ok. Three guilty pleasure movies I’ve seen? Hmm…. I love Macgruber. I think it is the funniest movie I have ever seen and nobody else even likes it. Saw Jack Reacher the other day after hearing everybody whine about Tom Cruise being in it. Sorry, but that movie was awesome. Went out and bought one of the books in the series. Lee Child’s the man, by the way. Go check him out! Third? Hmm. Third. I really like… I… like… Umm… The Notebook. Why? Because when you’re asked by a girl if you have a guilty pleasure and you don’t say The Notebook you are an idiot.

If you could change your name to anything, what would you change it to?

  • Anything but Aaron, because Aaron is a girls name.

What inspires you creatively, i.e., what gets your creative juices pumping again when you’re in a bit of a slump?

  • I bash my fist into my head as hard as I can. It’s like magic.

If you knew you only had one hour before the zombie apocalypse, what would you do?

  • Cover my face with dirt then start walking with my arms straight out as I mumble, “Need… to eat… brains.”

Name the weirdest/funniest/coolest/most memorable/etc. dream you’ve had.

  • Oh, c’mon! Obviously a sex dream. Should I go into detail?

What advice would you give your six-year-old self?

  • You might as well give up. It’s never gonna happen.

What are the five things that make you the happiest?

  • I like toitles.

Star Wars or Star Trek?

  • Star Wars VS. Star Trek, when they finally sack up and make it happen.

Well, that’s it folks. I would bow right now, but I’m not going to. Why? Well I don’t know why, I thought all the questions were done with.

Thanks again Alex, hope after reading this you’re not ashamed you picked me. For the rest of you, watch out, I’m going to be posting my own nominations and questions later today.

– Thomas M. Watt

A seventy-eight year old man bringing a knife to fight a forty-two year old

“I think you’re crazy,” Elenore said. “To bring a knife with you! Are you mad?”

Semore glared back at her. “I’m not paying him another dollar. That man is a menace and he needs to be taught a lesson.”

His wife, Elenore, rubbed the wrinkles into her forehead. “Dear-dear-dear. A seventy-eight year old man bringing a knife to fight a forty-two year old. Whatever happened to golf?”

“I hate golf,” said Semore.

Elenore scoffed.

The longly-wed couple returned to the coffee shop.

“Hey,” said Semore. “I paid for that coffee. I remember.”

The employee shook his head. “No sir, you didn’t. And I’m pretty sure your memory is not the best source. Give me a dollar, and I’ll give you your drink.”

“NO!” said Semore, slamming his fist down into the counter. Everyone around noticed the knife and gasped. “Give me my coffee! I paid for it.”

The employee laughed. “Wow. This is really something, you brought a knife.”

“Damn right I brought a knife, and it’ll be your neck that gets it!”

“Alright, I’ve had it.” He picked up the phone.

“What are you doing?” said Elenore.

“I’m calling the police.”

“Call ’em!” said Semore. “Then pass the phone over to me, so they can arrest you!”

Elenore slapped her husband’s wrist. “Dear! You can’t go to prison! What will you do?”

“I can handle myself dear. I’m going nowhere until he gets me that coffee!”

“Hello, police?” said the employee. “Yeah I got some guy in here creating a disturbance.”

“Semore! Stop this madness!”

Gripping the handle of his blade, Semore flared out his nostrils, then cocked his fist back and threw a punch. He hit the employee square in the nose.

“Dammit! I’m bleeding you idiot!”

“Serves you right!” said Semore.

“Send an officer, he just punched me!”

Finally, a teenager waiting in line with a skateboard slammed a dollar bill down on the counter. “There you go, old man. Quit grumbling.”

Semore and the employee both met eyes until Semore ripped a recently brewed cup-of-something and started away. “There, we’re even.”

“No we’re not!”

Once outside, Semore and Elenore bumped into a hasty officer.

“There a mugging going on in there?”

“Yeah,” said Semore. “Some young punk threatened violence with his skateboard.”

“I’ll get right on it, have a nice day.” The officer tipped his cap and disappeared into the coffee shop.

Elenore took Semore’s arm and smiled.

“What?” said Semore.

“I love you,” she said.

Semore sipped his drink. “Taste like shit.” He tossed the cup to the curb and it spilled into the gutter.

“Semore!”

He smiled and kissed her cheek. “Love you too dear.”

THE END

– Thomas M. Watt

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles!

The crack in the cracked glass vial in the alleyway was seeping out a strange green ooze. There was nothing natural about it.

Hamato Yoshi slid his finger along the vial and sniffed it. “Hmm.”

“Whachu got there?” Said Shredder.

“I don’t know.” Hamato shrugged. “It’s like slime.”

“I hate turtles and ninjas,” said Shredder. “And my karate master Oroku Saki wants to kill you, by the way.”

“Good to know,” responded Hamato.

The two continued on together, whistling as they walked. As they did, Tom noticed his hand began to pulsate, rhythmically at first, before soon his hand was swelling up to the size of a pillow.

“Whoa,” said Shredder, “Cowabunga dude, your hand is getting gi-normous!”

Hamato was not sharing in Shredder’s enthusiasm. “This isn’t funny, Shredder. What the heck is-” Before he could even finish what he was saying, his forearm enlarged, followed shortly afterward by a rapid growth in the rest of his body.

Moments later, Himato was literally a walking giant.

“Man!” Yelled Shredder. “I hate the artists of the renaissance, maybe that’s why my name is shredder, so I can ruin masterful paintings. Do you think?”

Hamato Yoshi set his hands on his hips and bellowed out a laughter of hilarity. “You know what I’m going to do, shredder?”

“What?” replied Shredder.

Hamato Yoshi, pinched a cheese grader between his thumb and forefinger. He slammed it into Shredder’s face, and it stuck for good. Hamato laughed all the louder. “I’m going to train my rat splinter on how to do karate, and then I’m gonna feed him that green shit, and then he’s gonna train a bunch of turtles, and then they’re all going to kick your ass. HAHAHA!”

Shredder shook his head and cried. “I’m going to remember this for the rest of my life and I’ll do whatever it takes to disrupt those turtles in their mission to do good.”

“Well they’re going to be teenagers, also.”

“So?”

“So suck-it, shredder.”

THE END!

– Thomas M. Watt