Strange mash-up dream

While I was sleeping Friday night, my brain was gnawing away at the topic of rules for writers. At first, it was content to consider the work of James Lee Burke; that part of my slumber yielded yesterday's blog post.

Then, though, my brain decided to mash up two unrelated titles. The result was a book I'd definitely try reading: a James Lee Burke/Mark Twain collaboration, In the Electric Mist with King Arthur's Court. With my apologies to both writers, I have to imagine the opening might go something like this:

"CAMELOT--Camelot," said I to myself. "I don't seem to remember hearing of it before. Name of the asylum, likely."

The sky had gone black at sunset, and the storm had churned inland and drenched the land and littered the winding path of a road with leaves and tree branches from the long canopy of oaks that covered it. The air was cool now, laced with light rain, heavy with the fecund smell of wet humus, night-blooming jasmine, roses, and new bamboo. The buzzing of insects and the twittering of birds masked the lack of people. There was no stir of life, nothing going on. It was as lovely as a dream and as lonesome as Sunday. Hoof-prints marked the road, and now and then a faint trace of wheels on either side in the grass--wheels that apparently had a tire as broad as one's hand.

Yeah, I'd give that book a go.

Aren't you glad I got that out of my system?

Mr. Creepy Cone needs a friend

He's lonely now that The Eared One has gone off to college with Sarah. (When during our parents weekend tour we got to see Sarah's dorm room, she showed us that The Eared One is indeed keeping a watchful eye on the situation there from its perch high in her closet. Nothing escapes The Eared One's watchful gaze.) Fortunately, while at the fair, Gina found and photographed that special companion: this guy.

If you're like me (and if you are, seek therapy), the first thing you think when you see this hot dog/human hybrid is, "Man, I need me one of those!"

For those who are wondering, if you're like me the second thing you think is, "Hmmm. I wonder how it would feel to squirt condiments on my head."

Again, be thankful you're not like me.

Anyway, even those of you who are considerably less odd than I must admit that this statue is awesome. Check out the weirdly accurate legs and shoes, the oozing mustard, the curly ketchup horn, and, of course, the focused, demented expression, complete with protruding, overly red tongue. The closer you look, the more the craftsmanship behind this creation becomes obvious. Note, for example, the eyebrows, one mustard and one ketchup. That's quality.

Yup, Mr. Creepy Cone needs a companion, and this guy is the thing for the job.

Now, if I could just figure out where to buy one....

The Signing: A Horror Story

The crowd gathers, pensive, angry, hungry.












The ringmaster urges them to stay calm. The sacrifice is coming. Their blood lust will be appeased.










Some ponder his advice and contemplate the treat to come, the mere thought of spectacle bringing joy and laughter.











Others are less trusting and withhold judgment.




















The creature appears! Drugged and stupid, it makes an easy target for the crowd.











Recovering from its sedated state, the creature feigns nonchalance while frantically searching the ground for escape tunnels.

It finds none.








Its panic growing, the sacrifice suggests a smaller subject might be easier to manage.











The crowd will have none of it.














In a final desperate act, the creature attempts to bribe the blood-lusting mob with shiny objects.










Success! The crowd accepts the sacrificial substitutes...











...requiring only that he inscribe each of them with his blood.










The creature chortles in triumph, for he has escaped fate...








this time.






(Thanks to Gina for the photos.)