Monthly Archives: October 2012

Wendigging the Debate

One man dedicated to fabricating the truth from other fabricated truths: The Real American Hero

Presidential debate correspondent and aggressive pen-monkey, Chuck Wendig, infiltrated the town-hall-styled presidential debate Tuesday, October 16.  As he crouched beneath moderator Candy Crowley’s desk, fogging up his glasses with his own moist exhalations, he tweeted to the public the historical events as they transpired.  This is a complete transcript of Mr. Wendig’s coverage:

Glimpses of Obama pre-debate confirm aggressiveness. He is seen biting a rattlesnake in half and chugging its blood and venom.

Obama then yells: “Welcome to Barack-Town! Population: My Foot In Your Ass.”

Romney wins the coin toss, which means he gets first chance to fake wash a bunch of pots to show his fake support for the poor.

Romney: “I want you to get a job! But China ate them all.”

Romney: “I’m going to make sure you can get hired to make iPhones in a Shanghai sweatshop.”

Romney: “My plan to put people back to work is to undo the Republican dick-jam clogging up Congress’ pipes like an old tampon!”

Obama: “I got a five-point plan, too. Five fingers form a fist and punch Mittens in his crotch-wallet. BOOM.”

Man in audience asks: “Why are you a Muslim Kenyan Martian Socialist Gay Married Christmas-Hater?” Is unmasked as Donald Trump.

Romney just answers the next question by licking his fingers and smoothing his eyebrows, then chuckling.

Romney holds up a golf ball: “This is clean coal!” Then he sets it on fire and warms his hands by it.

Obama: “Truth is, Governor Romney is a lying-faced liar that lies, and his pants are on fire. And full of poop.”

Asked about renewable energy, Romney just squeezes his hair, drinks it, spits it into a Zippo flame and BOOSH.

Now they’re just hitting each other with their microphones. WHUMP BOONG FWUMP FFFMMM BUMP

Obama starts explaining economic theory. Romney makes fart noises and monkey sounds in the background.

(In a brief moment of seriousness, Chuck comments on Romney as being “a smug douchenozzle.”)

Question from audience: “Governor, how do you plan to pay for all your tax cuts?” Romney: “Chinamen. I mean, Keebler elves.”

Romney is now holding the moderator’s head in a toilet bowl he appears to have brought from home.

Romney: “I want to help those middle class families that earn more than a frabjillion dollars per year.”

Upon hearing his name, Bill Clinton rides in on a Kodiak bear wearing a gladiator costume. Bronzed and oiled.

Romney: “I am going to force the wealthy to pay more tax–HAHAHA heehee I can’t do it sorry! I josh! I josh!”

Obama: “Romney’s plan will cost us five trillion dollars.” Romney: “I make that much in a week!”

While Obama is speaking, Romney is wandering around the audience selling snake oil and bad mortgages.

The moderator just pulled out a Taser.

Outside the debate, Big Bird just doused himself in gas and set his golden feathers ablaze.

Romney: “I love affirmative action. That’s a Republican thing, right? It’s not? I hate affirmative action.”

Romney: “I love women. I smack their asses when they do a good job. I give them kisses & candies. They prefer that to raises.”

Romney: “I think abortions are delicious. Wait, what are we talking about?”

Romney: “I GET NEXT ANSWER WAIT SHUT UP ME NOW NEXT FIRST I SAY THINGS NOW STOMPY STOMPY BOO BOO.”

Romney: “I will trade our women to China and that will balance our budget.”

Obama: “I promise to hunt and kill Honey Boo Boo. And film it. Seal Team Six stands ready.”

The moderator is loading a handgun. For herself? Remains unclear.

Obama: “Here is Osama bin Laden’s head. Let us now play kickball with it and end this charade.”

Obama firmly strokes his turgid erection. Bill Clinton and he lock eyes, and share a wink.

Romney: “Obama only did 92% of the things he said he’d do. Zing! Gotcha, nerd! Go back to Kenya!”

Woman asks about immigration. Romney explains that they will serve in an annual “Hunger Games” event.

Romney: “Immigrants can bow out of the Hunger Games provided they agree to serve as building materials.”

Romney explains that his strategy is “to say whatever works to make you like me, When that fails, I will release angry bees.”

Romney: “I sucked four years ago. Hell, I was high on goofballs during the GOP primaries. You shouldn’t quote me.”

(Reflecting on the events with another rare moment of sincerity, Chuck had this to say: “I just want Obama to punch Romney in the ear, Fight Club-style.”)

Obama: “In my next four years I will enact legislation to punish those who interrupt during debates. Seal Team Six is ready.”

Romney just had a terrorist attack in his pants.

Obama gets mad, Shoots lasers out of his eyes. Buzzsaw blades from his mouth.

Obama: “I want to keep guns out of the hands of orangutans, clowns, postal workers, children, grandchildren, and Republicans.”

Romney: “I think children should be raised by guns. Straight guns, Not gay guns. Because, ew.”

Weird. Romney has a dead dog strapped to the top of his podium.

(Gripped by a fever of lucidity, Chuck tweeted: One of these guys is a President. The other is a CEO. Choose wisely.)

The moderator is unlocking a tiger cage.

They pan over the audience. Turns out, undecided voters are basically a pack of unwashed hobos. One guy is sniffing his hands.

Romney: “The key to getting tough on China is enacting legislation to make sure we get crispy, spicy General Tso’s chicken.”

Romney: “I plan on solving immigration by sending Obamacare to China and then shooting Libya with guns and tax cuts.”

The undecided voter audience is now eating one another. I suspect bath salts. Or some kind of Walking Dead voodoo.

Romney: “China hacked my BIOS and made me say all kinds of crazy things during the primaries.”

Last question of the night: “Do you like anal?” Where do they get these people?

Obama and audience member named Barry form a detective team, Barry and Barry. This fall, on ABC.

Real debate: these two dudes seriously do not like one another. I really thought they were gonna start kickboxing or some shit.

—–

As the president and former governor slowly drifted toward their respective females, and the audience cautiously swarmed the celebridential candidates, Chuck had this final observation to offer before strapping on a jet-pack and rocketing through the hall and out the window in the ladies room:

“Both candidates explode. Everyone dies.”

He offered a follow up when spotted later in a tree several blocks away: “The audience of that debate looked like shelves of mummies.”

—–

Chuck Wendig is the spectacularly talented author of MOCKINGBIRD, a screenwriter of indescribable greatness, and free-lance pen-monkey capable of flinging poo with deadly accuracy.  He keeps a regular blog you can (and will) check out immediately, and is highly followable on Twitter as @ChuckWendig.  Go do these things.  Regret will not follow.  Or it will, but it’s the kind of regret you’ll keep reliving alone at midnight with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s and your own tears for comfort.

“Set phasers to love me” indeed!

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The Escape [Pt 1]

A commotion outside intruded upon the fragile order Madame Tirenn forced upon her young wards.  Several stories below, in the barren courtyard between the orphanage and the old money lender’s, came shouting and the clash of sword upon cobblestone.  For a moment Madame Tirenn attempted to keep the children in their seats, but as the sound of battle grew more heated, her own curiosity conquered her protestations, and she joined the children at the window.

Anafyn’s heart leaped.  Not an eye in the room could tear itself away from the action; all backs were to her.  She could not have asked for a better chance than this.  Thanking the gods, as breathless in mind as she felt in body, she backed away from the long row of windows captivating her peers and inched toward the door.  If the gods were truly on her side, then this room would not be the only one distracted by the clamor in the courtyard and she could make good on the escape she had planned a million times and more.  That none of her meticulous plots had involved what sounded like it must be the heart of war itself only told her she needed to be more inventive.

The room gasped and cried out in shock collectively as a shaft of ice pierced the long arm of the money lender’s L-shaped accommodations directly across the way.  Fyn lifted a brow in surprise, turned on her heel, and bolted down the corridor. A child fleeing danger should be no surprise, right?  A lone child in an orphanage having the presence of mind to run away from danger should be able to get away, shouldn’t she?

Though panic gripped her heart, it lent urgency to her flight and forced her onward and onward, faster and faster, as fast as her well-toned legs could carry her.  She had prepared for this day, training in the courtyard and anywhere else she could without being questioned for unusual exuberance, readying herself for the day when she could finally free herself from the constant fear of being “adopted” out to “nice” men who, by all rights, should have been married, but weren’t.  The whispers about what these men wanted with girls her age were enough feed a lifetime of nightmares, but she wasn’t content to hope for the best and wait for her time to come; she was a girl of action.  Speedy action.  Wheeling through the deserted halls of Gao’aine Priory action.

In her dreams, it took an eternity to reach the Priory’s entrance where her new life waited to be claimed, and for some reason reality had decided to play by the rules of her dream lands.  What she knew had to only be two minutes stretched out before her with a timelessness that spoke of eternities unrealized, which gasped and gaped at her heels.  She whimpered at the thought, tears springing to her eyes as she finally lay eyes upon her prize.  If she could just reach the doors, she could be free!

Spurred on with the desperate hope that no obstacle now defeat her, she pushed herself into a savage sprint down the Priory’s longest hall.

The doors exploded before her without resistance when she crashed through them at full force, but as the blinding light of day robbed her of sight, something else robbed her of momentum.  She should have flown down the Priory steps and into the street.  Instead, she collided with something solid enough to knock the air from her lungs.  Before tear-slicked eyes could blink themselves right, she felt two strong arms wrap themselves around her, and before her feet left the ground, she found the breath to give voice to the scream of the damned.

[To be continued . . . ]

—–

AUTHOR’S NOTE:

Welcome back!  The best motivation to get me writing again was hating that the last thing I put up was fanfic.  No matter how well received, that’s not what I want to be known for.  I want to be known for the above (but only if you like it).  Well, okay, even if you don’t, because at least then if you don’t like it you really don’t like what I love to write, and that’s valid.

Someday I may edit this further, but I doubt it.  Enjoy it for what it is, and welcome back to Flash Fiction Friday and my new layout!  I even have pages up there to such things as my short stories and where you can download them, and a compilation of all the Flash Fiction I have and will post on the blog for easy access.  And rules!  For Flash Fiction submission so I don’t have to keep adding it down here!  (In case you’re wondering: E-mail me your stories if you have them at CaffeinatedInspiration [at] gmail [dot] com, subject FLASH FICTION <Story Title>.  1000 words or less.  Go check the specs and get back to me.)

Also, in the mean time, I published my second short story, The Last Tower.  You might like it.  You know, if you’re a fan of the human condition and have any kind of soul.  It’s a short glimpse of the end of the world.  You know, the kind of thing everyone can connect with on every level.  Trust me, this is bedtime story material.  I would know, I dreamed it.

Speaking of dreaming, I need a nap before I head out to piano and the best Not-My-Birthday dinner ever with a woman who will absolutely end my life if I fall asleep before or during then, but after now.  (It’s her violence that keeps our love fresh and exciting.  You should try it.)

So, I hope you enjoyed the flash, and I hope you hate me for ending it on a cliffhanger.  I really, passionately hope you want to strangle me to within an inch of my life, and only that far because actually killing me would mean you never find out what happens next.  But I want you to hold on to that anger and let it simmer.  That’s it.  Stew in it and tell me all the horrible things you would do if I didn’t hold the conclusion in my wicked little brain.  That’s what the comment box is for, so have at it!  I’ll sleep easy knowing you’re out there, waiting for me.  Gosh I love you guys.

G’night everybody!

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