Want Ad: Holiday Helper for Some Elfin Magic

WANTED: Seasonal boy toy.

Seeking a single, caucasian male from 30-45 in excellent physical condition. Tattoos and a great manscape preferred. Must have a flexible schedule up to and including New Year's Eve.

Christmas candidate must be able to:

Accompany me to several work and social events

Spend a day in NYC shopping for additions to my vinyl record collection

Attend an opening of the new Gordon Ramsey restaurant in Northern NJ

Visit my family's house on Christmas Eve as this year's new "boyfriend with potential"

Dress up as Santa at the annual Animal Shelter fund-raiser and take pictures with pets

We'll have plenty of time to tangle in the tinsel and get crazy with the Cheese Whiz. Let's just have fun, make the rounds, and play.

Hotel accomodations will be provided as well as a rental car. Please send background including personal references and recent photographs ASAP to missclaus@hotmail. Photos must not contain other women as they will be put in a picture frame on the mantle as a rouse for the family. If you ring my jingle bells, you'll hear from me.

Eulogy

Eulogy: As delivered by Captain Jonas Grumby

Today we gather to pay our respects to a man whose life was never boring nor precictable. An uncoordinated, bumbling man with the aptitude of a coffee pot, (quiet laughter), but a man who would pick up a butterfly on his finger to move it to a more nectarous flower. We loved him for both those reasons. He was able to survive the perils of being marooned on a deserted island, including a very close call with a boa constrictor, to the tsunami from the earthquake which nearly took his life as well several of us here too. Sadly, however, making it back to civilization was fraught with its own dangers.

Upon our return, his penchant for Angus beef was his demise; he choked to death on a piece of Omaha Steak he had purchase on QVC's Monday Meat Marathon. A sudden and unexpected tragedy, indeed. It is not only an honor for me to cast off my best friend, but to do so in the company of those who knew him best: Thurston Howell, III, Eunice Wentworth Howell, Ginger Grant, Roy Hinkley, renowned professor, and Mary Ann Summers. We never even know your last name. Farewell, Gilligan, (choking back tears), my "Little Buddy."

When Worlds Collide

She silently crept through the tall grass to stay upwind of her prey. She had to rely on stealth and camouflage to catch the hare, since her ability to sprint was especially hampered lately. She lacked the same speed and stamina she possessed at the previous full moon. The hunger in her belly kept her eyes transfixed on her prey, the scent filling her nostrils. Every muscles tensed with perfect balance, she moved one paw at a time ever so slowly, her whiskers seeking out the best path through the grass. She was almost within pouncing range when the hare alerted to her; she sensed it's fear and knew it was about to dart off. Not willing to miss the opportunity, she sprang from her hiding place, and missed. She gave a short chase but the hare was too swift and nimble for her now. Several moons prior the hare would have been hers. Several moons prior she would have been stalking deer. Several moons prior the wolves would not have driven her from her last kill. Tired and hungry, she rested under the shade of a tree, hearing her heart beat slowing as she panted, sensing the lives growing within her, and knowing it would not be past another full moon before it was time. That was, of course, unless starvation killed her first. Weakness and fatigue were setting in; she had traveled too far to the edge of her territory. She hauled up her lumbering frame feeling the weight of her expanding belly, and under the setting sun she headed for the safety of her den.

Birds alerted her presence on her short journey through the woods. She continued on unperturbed by them, since she was too exhausted to hunt, despite the pit in her belly. Her eyes caught sight of her home- a hidden cavern under a small rocky outcrop near a clearing- well-camouflaged by the trees and moss growing in the sparse soil above it. As she approached her senses tingled; something was different. In a flash her brain dissected the scents: one was relatively unfamiliar. The other was unmistakable; the tang of deer blood flooded her nostrils. Hunger compelled her to investigate. She crept to the edge of the clearing and through the dusk she noted two things: first, the strange wooden den that was dark for so long was now brightly lit. Secondly, a freshly killed deer was lying alone in the back of one of those shiny beasts the bipeds commanded. She realized the other scent must have been the bipeds. She had observed bipeds a few times from a distance; they were curious creatures. Unpredictable.

Right now, however, she saw no bipeds and the shiny beast seemed to be slumbering. Almost drooling from the scent of the deer, desperation drove her forward. She lowered her frame as low as her belly allowed and crept close to the shiny beast. She sensed no heat coming from it. Encouraged, she approached the deer- a young doe- put her paws on the back of the shiny beast, sunk her teeth into the doe's neck and pulled. It thudded to the ground. She released it to get a better grip and began to drag it off. It felt so much heavier to her weakened body than the last deer. She did not get far before she heard a noise; it was a biped. No- two bipeds- a male and a female. They had been in the wooden den, but were now standing almost within pouncing distance. She froze momentarily as their eyes locked on her. The male was holding one of those shiny sticks that made loud noises over his shoulder. They appeared to be vocalizing to each other. She sensed anger in the male but the female, who had no anger or fear, made sounds to him and pointed at her. He seemed to peer harder at her. Suddenly, a light shined bright in her eyes for a moment; she felt panic and let out a low warning growl. The light went out. She refocused on the bipeds and realized the male was no longer angry. They backed away and went into the wooden den which quickly went dark inside. Relieved and exhausted, she dragged her stolen prey back to the woods and filled her belly.

She headed out at first light two suns later to refill her belly. She needed nourishment for what she sensed coming soon. As she studied the clearing from the safety of the woods she caught a curious sight; another freshly killed deer slightly more than pouncing distance from the wooden den. Being upwind, she did not smell it. She did not see or sense the bipeds, and the shiny beast was now sleeping in the front of the den. Wary, but knowing a hunt would be strenuous, she crept closer to investigate. She could smell the faint scent of the male biped on the carcass. She snatched the deer and froze in place, waiting for confrontation for stealing his kill. Nothing but the sounds of birds filled the air. More confident, she gripped the deer and as she was about to drag it off her eye caught sight of both bipeds peering at her from inside the den. They seemed to be locked in a strange coupling with their upper limbs around each other, and they were watching her. She sensed no anger in them, only a strange contentment. They watched as she carried her carcass into the woods.

The curious encounters with the bipeds continued for several suns, with them venturing closer to her each time but always staying out of pouncing distance. At one point while she was investigating in the woods she saw them a short distance from her den and almost panicked, but they only pointed and vocalized quietly to each other, then retreated. She sensed no threat but kept a wary eye anyway, needing to protect to lives she was about to bring into this world. Her belly had grown heavy. It was time. She gave birth to three cubs: one was not moving. She cleaned him and tried to groom life into him but he was lifeless. She finally had to give up and give her attention to the other two. Several suns after constant suckling of the cubs, she felt the need to hunt. She wrestled with the instinct of not leaving her cubs with the need to feed herself to sustain them. Finally, she ventured out. She got to the edge of the clearing and noticed the female biped at the wooden den had spotted her. She faintly heard her call out to the male, who soon appeared with a strange object. The faint scent of blood filled her nose; he held a carcass and was slowly walking in her direction. She laid low, unsure of his intent. She sensed no threat or fear. He came within several pounces of the clearing, stopped, dropped the feral pig and slowly backed away. She waited until he was almost to the wooden den before carefully slinking out to grab it. These bipeds are curious indeed. Certainly the wolves would never offer her anything.

The bipeds continued to leave carcasses nearby and she accepted them. She kept a safe distance but now knew they were not a threat to her. When they were old enough to join her, she allowed the cubs to investigate the carcasses, and even to play and wrestle in the clearing. They were curious about the bipeds and ventured close several times. She always called them back, but their presence seemed to delight the bipeds. As the cubs got a little older, the carcasses stopped appearing but the bipeds continued to observe from a safe distance. Occasionally a live feral pig would appear in the clearing and she taught the cubs to hunt. As they got a little older, she introduced them to deer prey.

While venturing in the woods one day, stalking a deer from a distance, she sensed danger but could not pinpoint it. Within a few heartbeats she heard a loud noise, like from the shiny sticks of the bipeds, and felt a searing pain rip through her body. She tried to flee back toward her den in panic but quickly lost strength and breath, and collapsed. The cubs, terrified, hid in nearby bushes. She laid there a short time and heard an angry male biped running fast through the woods from behind her, and toward her. It was the male from the wooden den, followed by the female. The male looked at her, rage in his eyes, then ran off toward the direction the loud noise came from. The female stared at her and slowly approached. Water dripped from her eyes. She sat on the ground next to her. The male returned and vocalized angry words to the female. Then his voice lowered and water fell from his eyes. He slowly approached, sat on the ground and touched her fur. She wanted to flee in panic but it was getting dark and she had no strength, her body going cold and numb. He stroked the fur on her head and she allowed it. With what little strength she had left she called to her cubs who cautiously came out of hiding and approached the biped female. The female biped let them smell her and she stroked their heads. The male stayed by her side, comforting her. He made soft vocal sounds to her she did not understand, but they were soothing. The female biped scooped up the cubs in her limbs and vocalized softly to them, water dripping from her eyes. She knew her cubs were safe. She felt drops fall on the fur of her face as the world went dark.

Letting Her Go

He sat in the quiet cafe his fingers slowly turning the silver bracelet he held. His mind, not on the bracelet, but rather thinking of the girl who once wore it. He had given her the bracelet, and she had loved it. They were so in love. They were so young. They were so naive. They believed their love would last forever. They believed nothing could or would tear them apart. And then came Hitler.

He glanced at the decanter of wine sitting on his table. He really did not want to drink the wine. He thought the wine would give him the strength he needed. But rethinking his plan he decided he would rather be strong on his own, without the aid of alcohol. If he was to do this, he wanted to do it with a sober mind. The bag of potato chips on the table went unopened. He ordered them only because they reminded him of her. Potato chips had long been a favorite of hers.

Before being deported to the camps, she wrapped the bracelet in her silk scarf and handed it to him. She wanted him to have the bracelet to always remember her by. Keeping the bracelet wrapped gently in her scarf, he buried them in the back corner of his cellar. He hoped they would be safe there. He hoped they would remain there.

They had, of course, been separated at the camps. Initially at the same camp, but later, she had been transported once again. He knew not where. He asked. He got little information. He thought of her. He prayed for her. He could do nothing else. His heart ached. His soul anguished.

After his liberation, he made his way back home. She was not there. She had not been there. He ran down to the cellar and clawed at the dirt. His package, her package, was still there. Her silver bracelet remained wrapped in her silky blue scarf. He held them to his face and wept.

He searched for her. He searched for any information on her he could find. Eventually he discovered she had perished.

He knew he could no longer stay in that country. He knew he could never get on with his own life in that country. There were too many memories of her. There was too much to remind him of her. If he remained, he would continue to slowly die himself, day by day. He did not want to ever forget her. He did not want to ever get over her. But to save himself, he would have to begin a new life, in a new place.

So he sat in the cafe waiting to catch the ship that would take him to America. When he felt ready, he stood up and walked towards the dock. He walked towards his new life.

But he was taking along his scuba gear just in case he was not as brave as the thought. Just in case he needed to jump off that boat and swim back ...... to her.

Voodoo Cruise To Hell: Chapter 1

Jack knew the Christmas cruise was going to be a mistake from the moment his girlfriend suggested it, but he went along with the idea anyway just to make her happy, and to get to know her better. He gathered there had to be more to her than meets the eye, but that was a mistake. Two days into the journey he realized there was actually less. If she were a puddle, not only would it be impossible to drown in her shallowness, it might even be impossible to get wet. As he watched the sun sink into the ocean he recalled the conversation in his mind and realized "making her happy" was really synonymous for "shutting her up."

Now, half a world away and trapped with her somewhere off of the coast of Africa, on a ship equivalent to a glorified fishing vessel by cruise ship standards, Jack prayed a giant octopus would come snatch one of them off the deck so he could get some peace from her pretentious whining. He did, of course, secretly wish it would be her, along with her ridiculous Prada dress, Gucci shoes, who-knows-who's idiotic over-sized hat and all of her Louis Vuitton luggage. As the fantasy grew in his mind he had visions of getting the whole thing on video, and after proving his innocence he'd post it on YouTube, watch it go viral, wait for the cash to roll in and retire to a mountain retreat where he could live off the land and chop down his own Christmas tree. He fished his phone out of the pocket of his cargo shorts and opened the video camera app just in case. If nothing else, maybe a freak wave would wash her overboard. As darkness fell around the ship, he felt himself staring harder at the ocean in search of that wave or octopus, or both. Perhaps one of those colossal squids he saw on the Discovery Channel....

His aquatic fantasies of grim death were interrupted by the slowing, then stopping of the ship. They were dropping anchor; something must be wrong with the engines. Great, he thought, just my luck. I was almost out of this circle of hell. The deck suddenly became alive with activity. Passengers wandered out of the dining hall slightly bewildered, seeking information. He saw several crew members disappear below deck in a hurried fashion. A white-haired and well-tanned Dutch gentlemen in a cashmere sweater sidled up to Jack and greeted him warmly with an extended hand. "Good evening young fellow, my name is Johan." As soon as he heard the man's accent Jack realized his error- not Dutch- Afrikaner. "Good evening, Johan. I'm Jack," he replied, taking Johan's hand. "Have you any idea what's going on? Did an engine fail?" Johan looked unperturbed. "It would not surprise me. I overheard the crew speaking of some issues with the ship." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Apparently this ship had been seized by pirates. The company mysteriously reclaimed the ship only a short time before we left port, yet there were no reports of ransom being paid. Even the crew does not seem to know much, but the night before we left some of the local Africans hired as additional deck hands refused to board. I was not fluent enough to translate everything, but I distinctly heard the word 'cursed.'"

Before Jack could ponder this mystery further, he heard a familiar whine, clearly oblivious to the current turn of events. "Jaaaaack....I need to go back to the cabin. The night air is going to ruin my hair and makeup." Jack shuddered. The woman had enough hair product in to eat a hole in the ozone layer right above her head. And, her airbrushed makeup looked more like graffiti art applied with various hideous colors of spray paint. He suddenly realized she was probably highly flammable, and wondered what would happen if she spontaneously combusted out in the damp night air. A box of melted crayons came to mind. On the verge of a smile he quickly put the thought out of his mind, exchanged hasty pleasantries with Johan and rushed Flammable Barbie off to their unfortunately shared quarters.

As they entered the cabin Jack tripped over a a pair of Manolo Blahnik pumps as he scrambled for the light, eager not to get comically ensconced in any of her other rejected fashion accoutrements. He considered but could not grasp the mindset of someone who left thousand dollar pumps lying around as though they were a pair of old dog-chewed slippers. As sweet illumination filled the space he could see at least three rejected outfits from earlier in the evening strewn about the cabin. What was so hard about putting things on a hanger? He was on the verge of snapping and asking her if her maid wiped her ass and chewed her food for her too, but his words died in his throat when he caught sight of the basket of daisies that had been left in the cabin by the staff only a few short hours before. They were all dead. No, not just dead; they appeared black and brittle, as though they had been dead for weeks. Before he could formulate a concrete thought there was a bloodcurdling scream from the deck below. Then another, and another, followed by an ominous scraping sound. Something was dreadfully wrong.

[Give me another challenge and I'll give you another chapter, or feel free to write the next chapter yourself! :) ]

The Mantis Project

The Mantis Project

Some people are outspoken believers in the paranormal; hauntings, things that go bump in the night, and an occasional apparition or poltergeist. I just like weird stuff, which is why I met with Jim ‘Casper’ McDonough, self-described paranormal investigator, or in today’s nomenclature, a “ghost hunter.”

“I’ve spoken to at least a dozen civilians as well as military personnel who worked at the Delta 5 Base during its operations during the seventies, all of whom wish to remain anonymous,” stated McDonough. “All have reported experiencing some type of unexplained presence at Delta 5 before it was closed due to federal research cutbacks. Now we are here to see if we can connect with whatever type of manifestation has chosen not to leave this place.”

McDonough, his assistant (a rotund, creepy man standing all of five foot two), and I set off into the labyrinth of dark, musty hallways that formed the concrete root system of the research area.

Rumors but little else depict Delta 5 as a hotbed of research and secret experiments with insects, often referred to as the “Mantis Project.” Conjecture of the believers describes Mantis as an experiment to breed insects of winged death with immunities to the kind of diseases they carried - typhus, primarily. When introduced to a population…well, you know. An Area 51 for really bad-ass bugs. McDonough and several others were convinced that the spirits of research volunteers who never made it out still called Delta home.

We skulked quietly and blindly for over an hour, opening doors, groping behind lab curtains, knocking over tubules and Bunsen burners. McDonough tried to summon the entities. “Are you in pain? What did they do to you here? Are you burning with fever? Come out and show yourselves to us!” I could barely see my hand in front of my face but McDonough’s assistant, apparently trustworthy enough to balance an infrared camera, stopped. “There’s something about thirty feet in front of us.”

As we approached, I was disturbed more by the assistant’s labored, Darth Vader-esque breathing than the possibility of a specter. Once we were almost upon it, we saw the chest of sorts, a type of long, metal box with an old set of skeleton keys still hanging from it, as it was left in 1972. The gloved-handed McDonough turned the inset key, which fell out of the chest and made a clinking sound that seemed to echo from every concrete fracture. Slowly opening the chest, we peered in. At the bottom of this steel coffin was an unmarked DVD and a laptop; things that were only sci-fi at the time the lab was closed. McDonough carefully placed the laptop and the DVD in his back pack. “Let’s get this back to the mobile ghost lab, apparently someone has left this to tell us a story.”

Back at the mobile unit, McDonough’s assistant confirmed that the laptop was broken, and inserted the DVD into the team’s laptop. I started to feel excitedly anxious at what secrets someone left for us to find, a compilation of scanned reports, still photos, mutated insectum, reel clips of live experiments. As the DVD began to whirr, the screen filled with static, and then slowly, the black background began to emerge. White letters of the title of this historical archive slowly faded in, and we were immobilized by what none of us could have foreseen: Enema of the State. The following film contains explicit language and graphic sexual situations. Apparently we had not been the first to return to Delta 5 seeking the stimulation of the unknown.

Eulogy- Tinkerbell

Friends, we are gathered to mourn the passing of the beloved fairy Tinkerbell. Tink, as she was known to friends and fans, is now fluttering like a butterfly to the pearly gates of that great Neverland in the sky. Although tiny enough to fit in a coffee pot she fluttered and winked her way into the hearts of many. After surviving the great earthquake of 1908 at the age of four, Tink sprinkled her pixie dust across the country until finally finding a home at Disney World in Orlando in the 1950s. Tink is survived by her long time co-stars and friends Peter Pan and Wendy, who were tragically not swift enough to save her from Robert Iger's escaped pet boa constrictor. She will be deeply missed, but will live on in the hearts and on the bumper stickers of middle-aged bleach blonde women everywhere. To honor her memory Disney, through an exclusive contract with QVC, will be running a special on Tinkerbell merchandise for a limited time; ten percent of all proceeds will be donated in Tink's name to the Escaped Pet Boa Constrictor Awareness Program.