Hello.
As you all know, I retired from fic writing some time ago.
I've returned.
No I haven't. I was just kidding there. I'M STILL RETIRED. Tee hee hee.
But, I've been working on something that really kicks ass recently -- as I have winter break, I'll have a lot of time to work on it and possibly finish it in about 3 weeks. I call it "The Hoggit: A Drunken Tale". No, it has nothing to do with South Park; it's just a VERY strange parody of "The Hobbit". However, a couple of you said you wanted to see whatever I wrote.
Here's a sneak preview.
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"Whatever," said Bimbo. "And it's a very good morning to smoke a pipe, too. If you've got one, hand it over. I've got the whole day to smoke other peoples' pipes!" Then Bimbo blew an almost-solid smoke ring out which sailes into the air without breaking and hovered above the too. A bird flew into it and promptly died. "Very nice," said Grandoaf. "But I'm too busy to smoke crack this morning." "Who's smoking crack?" asked Bimbo, as he swiftly pocketed his jars of crack. "You are," replied Grandoaf, "Although I'll grant you, I've never seen blue crack before. But at any rate, I need a small hoggit which I can force to go on a dangerous adventure. Seen any?" "No." "Seen any?" Grandoaf asked again, fixing Bimbo with his myopic, cross-eyed gaze. "Go away. I've decided I don't like you," explained Bimbo. "Adventures are vile, nasty, filthy things that would put one off one's breakfast." "Rather like you?" asked Grandoaf. "Shut up," agreed Bimbo...
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Here's another sneak preview.
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..."Hello, my good fellows," Grandoaf said. "Now wouldn't you like dinner before the party? I hope there's still some food left -- Bimbo, be a good little puddle of scum and get it for us. I'd like some pickled cockatrice noses." "Those cost forty gold pieces each--" Bimbo was interrupted by Borin, who was a very important dwarf; you acn tell the importance of a dwarf by his ludicrous, gaudy crown, fake emerald-studded plastic jewelry, and the amount of crumpled-up newspaper stuffed into his pants. "I'll have a jar of those too," he said loudly and pompously. "And they had better be aged." "And chimera sandwiches on white bread with the crusts cut off," said Bill. "And basilisk kebabs," said Doin. "And roast cat," said Snori. "And braised elf ears," said Ben. "And those little weiners that come in a can," said Mitch. "And more beer," said all the dwarves in unison. They had obviously rehearsed that line. "Anything else?" asked Bimbo sarcastically. "Yes," said Grandoaf, "How about that really big ball of rubbish you keep under your fridge? We can feed it to that three-legged simpleton." He pointed to Mitch, who was drunkenly trying to befriend a rat. "That mooch seems to know more about my balls of rubbish than I do," muttered Bimbo as he searched his kitchen for cockatrice noses. Bimbo was feeling bewildered and discombobulated, and he was starting to have premonitions of danger. He wondered if an adventure could come about, and wished he had a cyanide suicide pill just in case...
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When I finish the rest, I'll post the whole story. (Probably about 20,000 to 25,000 words.)
If anyone cares about my special writing technique, it involves coffee. Espresso. Lots of coffee. Very very strong coffee. Instead of sugar, use some Irish Cream-flavored coffee mix. I would use vodka instead of water, but I have my doubts on whether that would work well.
Martin