King of Rhins Isle


“Skull Island from King Kong” by RKO Radio Pictures (1933)

What happens when an intrepid group of filmmakers and sailors explore a mysterious and uncharted island in the middle of Scottish waters?  What gargantuan horrors lurk within its dense forests and thick fog?  All will be revealed in this exciting tale, written on the 11th May 2016.

King of Rhins Isle

In windswept Stranraer harbour, Rab McWheesht, famous for making dirty films in remote and exotic Scottish locations, had chartered Captain McNulty’s ramshackle ship Sleekit Bastard for his latest and greatest project. However, owing to the fact that there were next to no aesthetically pleasing women in the near vicinity, he had been unable to secure an actress beautiful enough for the lead female role. This upset the man greatly, for he had already arranged for the ship to sail the following day. The filmmaker was not one for planning ahead.

Desperate, McWheesht scoured the rain-slicked streets of Stranraer for such a lady for many hours. Eventually, he met a talentless, unattractive and penniless wreck of woman named Eryn Dunbar, and, seeing as he had little choice at that point, convinced the ill-smelling wretch to join him for the adventure of a lifetime. The promise of a battered fish supper sealed the deal.

After a bit of confusing paperwork, which was confusing only in that Eryn didn’t know how to spell her own name, the Sleekit Bastard soon got underway and puttered off into the murky grey waters of Loch Ryan.

During the arduous voyage, which was made all the more arduous by the fact that the captain was a prolific drunk with a secret stash of Curdled Slug brand whisky in his cabin, the surly first mate, a Mr. Jock McWhirter of Killantringan, gradually fell in love with the mentally and hygiene deficient Eryn. After weeks of sailing around in circles in Loch Ryan, McWheesht finally told Captain McNulty and McWhirter that their destination was to be Rhins Isle. Neither man had ever heard of such a place, and so they shouldn’t. It was a secret island. The kind that only exists in fairy tales or the middle of small sea lochs, permanently obscured by an impenetrable mist.

Upon questioning McWheesht further, the filmmaker explained to his crew that Rhins Isle lay somewhere in the middle of Loch Ryan and that no man had ever seen it, let alone set foot there. It was an uncharted island, shown only on a map in McWheesht’s possession. He realised that this made no sense but nevertheless produced an old map which allegedly proved its existence. McWheesht also spoke of something monstrous that resided there, a legendary entity known only as the “Big Yin”.

It didn’t take them too much longer to find the island which had so far managed to elude absolutely everyone who’d ever sailed in those waters. When McNulty had navigated through the dense fog and only hit six reefs, they anchored off the mysterious rock’s uninviting shore. From the deck they spied a native village. It was separated from the rest of the island by an enormous wall made out of discarded Buckfast bottles and moss-clad pit bull bones. A landing party, including the filming crew and Eryn, witnessed a group of native neds about to sacrifice a young single mother as the “bride o’ the Big Yin”. The intruders were soon spotted and the ned chief angrily stopped the ceremony. When he saw the blonde Eryn, he offered to trade six of his unkempt, heroin-addicted women for the “golden burd”. They declined his offer, laughed in his face and made several on-point insults about his haircut and fashion sense. After a brief scuffle in which the neds shouted a lot but kept running away whenever they got within striking distance, the film crew returned to the Sleekit Bastard.

That night, as the crew slept after a particularly indulgent drinking session whereby all of the captain’s Curdled Slug was consumed and the previously unmentioned cabin boy fell overboard and drowned, a band of native neds crept onto the ship and kidnapped Eryn from her bunk. She was bound and gagged, tea bagged and taken back to Rhins Isle. Once there, the neds dragged her through a colossal wooden gate in the great wall. Against her will, she was tied to a stone altar carved into the shaped of the Nike logo and offered up to the Big Yin.

After a brief ceremony in which redundantly repetitive trance music was played on bongos, the pine trees parted and the Big Yin himself emerged from the darkness. He was a giant haggis. With two gleaming black eyes and a mouth lined with razor teeth, the Big Yin was the most terrifying haggis Eryn had ever seen in her entire life. She tried to scream, but couldn’t on account of the sports sock in her mouth. The gargantuan haggis snatched up the petrified woman and carried her off into the dense forest.

By this point, the annoying trance music had roused the sleeping crew from their drunken dreams and they discovered Eryn to be gone. In a panic for her safety, they gallantly and awkwardly jumped into the inflatable canoe and made for Rhins Isle. They only capsized eight times but they reached the shore in the end. Once on the island, the crew removed some glass Buckfast bottles from the great wall and bottled the shrieking neds into submission. Once they had been taught a lesson and their bongos smashed, the bloodied ned chief explained that they had given the golden burd up as a bride to the Big Yin. The towering gate was opened and McWheesht, McWhirter and some brave volunteers entered the foreboding forest in search of their missing leading lady.

Not long into their journey, it became quite clear that there were other giant creatures on the island. Upon discovering a mound of excrement the size of a council flat, they were attacked by a giant battered sausage. It wriggled and rolled towards them like a worm in the throes of ecstasy, roaring into the night sky like an angry demon. Fortunately for the group, one of them was carrying a flare from the ship and fired it into the beast’s head, killing it instantly. Later on, when they attempted to cross a foul swamp in a makeshift raft, a colossal tartan sheep came crashing through the water and capsized their supplies, even killing some of the men. Out of sheer luck, one stick of dynamite was saved from the waters and used to blow the brute apart, sending tartan and mutton flying across the island.

Fleeing through the forest of horrors, they soon meet the Big Yin himself. The shambling tower of haggis immediately tried to stop them from crossing a ravine by shaking them off a fallen tree that the crew had been using as a bridge. Only the filmmaker McWheesht and the first mate McWhirter, on opposite sides, managed to survive the encounter with the enraged monster.

Meanwhile, a giant Belted Galloway bull had picked up Eryn’s scent, for it was strong and hard to miss on account of her soiling herself multiple times. The snarling bull found Eryn in the Big Yin’s nest and decided to make a meal out of her. But before it could pounce, the Big Yin returned from the ravine and killed the creature by tearing its head clean off and punting it like a football over a distant mountaintop.

Back at the now impassable ravine, Jock McWhirter and Rab McWheesht agreed upon a plan of action. It was pretty awkward to do, considering the distance between them and the fact that they had to shout really loud to be heard. McWheesht would return to the ned village for more weapons, knowing full well that neds would be stockpiling all manner of sadistic weapons with no realistic reason for owning. While he was doing this, McWhirter would stay behind and follow the Big Yin and Eryn.

Upon arriving in the Big Yin’s lair in a far off mountain cave, the huge haggis beast put Eryn down and left to go look for food. While her captor was gone, Eryn was terrorised by a mountain dwelling Scottish Terrier. It barked incessantly and even though it never actually bit her, it did annoy her greatly. In fact, it didn’t even attempt to physically attack the woman even once, it simply barked and tried to be as annoying as possible. The wee Scottie dug’s audio assault was to be its undoing however, as the Big Yin heard it and quickly returned to dispatch the yappy monster, snapping its spine before throwing it into a distant valley.

But the obnoxious terrier was not to be the only beast to attack the haggis titan’s lair, and the silently approaching McWhirter would take full advantage of that fact. For while the Big Yin was distracted killing a monolithic seagull that had tried to fly away with Eryn, McWhirter reached his love and together they clambered down the cliff face on a length of dangling vine. When the Big Yin had finally liberated the seagull from the binds of life, he quickly noticed that his bride was escaping and so started pulling the vine back up. In no mood for another encounter with the giant haggis, Eryn and Jock said a quick prayer and let go, plummeting into a deep lagoon far below. Luckily, they survived the fall unscathed and were soon running through the forest before eventually making their way back to the native ned village. Upon arrival, they were greeted by McWheesht, McNulty and the surviving crewmen, who were waiting with an array of highly illegal weapons.

Infuriated, the Big Yin tore after them, howling and roaring like a dinosaur with a sore throat. Smashing the great gate to pieces, the monolithic haggis immediately embarked upon a supremely bloody rampage throughout the village, consumed with raged that his bride had been stolen from him. Many cowering neds were converted into splodges and smears and many more were eaten or thrown like frisbees into the sea. On shore however, Rab McWheesht was concocting a plan. He was now determined to bring the Big Yin back to Stranraer alive, in order to exhibit him for monetary gain. Utilising the gas bomb that he had conveniently found in the ned chief’s weapon stash, the crew managed to knock the haggis giant unconscious and quickly wrapped him up in chains before securing him to the back of the Sleekit Bastard and setting sail for Stranraer, leaving the horrors of Rhins Isle behind forever.

A few weeks later, wherein the crew kept the creature subdued by giving it regular injections of heroin stolen from the ned chief’s stash, the ship arrived back in port. Subdued and shackled, the Big Yin was later presented to a Millennium Centre theatre audience as the “Biggest, Fiercest and Most Powerful Haggis in the Known World”. Eryn and Jock, now married, expecting their first child and proud tenants of a refurbished council house, were brought on stage to join the monster, followed by an invited group of local press and amateur photographers. During the impromptu photo shoot and selfie session which followed, the Big Yin, believing the ensuing camera flashes to be an attack, somehow managed to summon the strength in his haggis body to break loose from his chains, whereupon he completely lost the plot. Panic ensued.

The petrified audience began screaming and fleeing in absolute terror as the Millennium Centre was destroyed by the rampaging monster. Eryn was quickly whisked away by security to a hotel room on a high floor of the George Hotel, but the Big Yin, scaling the decrepit building, soon found her and snatched her up. Carrying the terrified woman in his huge haggis paw, he rampaged through the small town, killing, maiming and demolishing as he went. After levelling most of the town centre, he ultimately spied and subsequently scaled the tallest structure in all of Stranraer, the Castle of St. John.

Upon reaching the lofty heights of its ramparts, the Big Yin climbed to the very top of the castle’s flagpole where he roared to the sky in triumph and defiance. Surveying the smouldering wreckage that was the town around him, the Big Yin looked to his bride, cowering in his paw. But before he could do anything more, he was suddenly attacked by a squadron of radio controlled airplanes with homemade bombs strapped to them. They were controlled by local neds, who had been texted by their surviving relatives on Rhins Isle about what had just happened in their homeland. The Big Yin gently set Eryn down and began battling the whizzing planes, managing to swat one of them out of the air, sending it exploding into the Ryan Centre. But the raging haggis behemoth soon tired, and finally succumbed to the radio controlled bombs, whereupon he was blown apart like an over-microwaved sausage or a haggis that had been pressure-cooked into oblivion. The monstrous giant’s shredded carcass fell off the castle and landed with a mighty splat on the cobblestones below.

After the monster’s spectacular death, Eryn and Jock were reunited and embraced, both covered in bits of steaming hot haggis. Rab McWheesht soon arrived and pushed his way through a gathering crowd of townsfolk surrounding the Big Yin’s mangled body. When a policeman remarked that the neds’ radio controlled airplanes had gotten him, McWheesht slapped the man in the face and corrected him, “Oh no sir, it wasn’t the planes. It was questionable beauty that killed the ugly, brutish bastard. Now someone fetch me a fork, this haggis was made for eating!”

Dance of the Infernals


“Carina Nebula” by ESA (2010)

A short story about the end of time.  Written on the 25th May 2016.

Dance of the Infernals

The great titans sprung and stomped, leapt and twirled as time crumbled all around them. It was armageddon; the coming of the end.

None had predicted that it would happen this way, with the arrival of eight giants of fire and magma. They had come from the stars, and left blackness in their wake. Our planet was next, the latest stop on their catastrophic pilgrimage of dissolution.

In silence they performed their duty, dancing upon the surface of the world as it boiled and evaporated like forgotten soup. The living dissolved and their souls burned into nothingness, as did the liquids, solids and gases that made up the once blissful rock. The dancing continued, the eight icons of destruction unwavering in their charge. The skies fell and the battered core imploded, annihilating one more island in the vast sea of rupturing time.

There was no pause to bow, no moment to catch their breaths. The advancing tide of annulment waits for nothing. The eight took off once more down the collapsing corridors of space, unto their next appointment. It would be their last and it would be upon the brightest and grandest stage of them all. Lit up for the dying gods to see, the grand finale on their whirlwind tour of undoing would be their most powerful yet. A fitting end to the dance of the infernals. There would be no encore.

The Seed


“Seedling” by USDA (2014)

Today I decided to give myself a 100 word challenge.  No topic, no prompt, just a hundred words.  Written on the 25th May 2016.

The Seed

The green column soared skyward, mountains falling away to either side. As it turned out, Earth was a cosmic seed and the column was the sapling which sprouted from it. 4.5 billion years is a long time to wait for life. The vacuum of space is a slow incubator.

What would it become? A tree? Perhaps. Maybe it would produce the fruit which would become new galaxies, ripe and fertile.

Perhaps it would become a lily, blossoming in the twilight of time. A final expression of beauty before everything turns cold and black.

Whatever the case, none would ever know.

A Purple Odyssey

Prince, Montreux Jazz Festival 2013, FFJM 2013 © Marc Ducrest

“Prince, Montreux Jazz Festival 2013” by Marc Ducrest (2013)

I’ve always been a huge Prince fan, and when he passed away recently I was absolutely devastated.  Obviously, I didn’t know the man, but the way his music connected with me on so many levels, it almost felt like I knew him personally.  Anyway, I wanted to write something as a tribute to Prince, his life, his music and all that he meant to me.  So here is a short story I wrote on the 10th May 2016.  Rest in peace, sweet Prince.

A Purple Odyssey

Prince was a bad ass musical genius who lived with his guitars and his little pet starfish Morris Day in a sprawling complex called Paisley Park in Minnesota. One day, Prince bust out a guitar solo so epic that it spawned a giant purple tornado and both he and Morris Day were caught up in it. After whirling around inside it for several hours during which Prince recorded a new album, the tornado eventually deposited them in Funk Country in the magical and mystical land of Purpleonia.

After falling through the air, the recording studio-come-house landed with a mighty crash on top of the Warner Bros. Witch of the East, the evil ruler of the Funkins. She was killed instantly. Prince was so distraught that he wrote a song about it. He recorded and distributed it free of charge amongst the strange people who were gathering around to see what had happened. The Good Free Music Distribution Witch of the North soon arrived to calm the Funkins down, who were by now beginning to get hysterical upon meeting someone quite so awesome as Prince. The good witch told Prince that he could just call her Wendy, because Good Free Music Distribution Witch of the North was quite a mouthful. Prince took her into Paisley Park and recorded an album with her. Afterwards, she gave him the magical Silver Platform Shoes that once belonged to the evil witch who now lay in a puddle beneath Paisley Park. Wendy told Prince that the only way he could return home to Minnesota was to go to the Purple City and ask the great and powerful Wizard of Purpleonia to help him. As Prince embarked upon his journey, Wendy kissed him on the forehead, giving him magical protection from harm and lawsuits.

On his way down the purple brick road, Prince attended a banquet held by a Funkin man named The Artist Formerly Known As Joey Coco. They became good friends and quickly released an album together. The next day, Prince freed a talking lobster from the rock pool in which it was trapped. They released an album together too. Next, Prince applied a life-inducing guitar solo to the rusted connections of a forest-dwelling Amp Man. They became good friends as well and released an album together which charted in the Purpleonia top ten. Finally, Prince met a cowardly hipster in a lion onesie. Prince did not get along with the hipster. Even so, they recorded and released an album together (though Prince used the pseudonym Alexander Nevermind in its credits).

The rag tag gang of musically inclined friends soon discovered that they would make a great supergroup and so they promptly recorded a triple album box set together which went quadruple platinum in under an hour. During the record release party, Prince learned that his new buddies all had seriously upsetting voids in their lives. The lobster wanted a copy of Prince’s new album, but it wasn’t easily obtainable because Prince had only released it via his online fan club of which the lobster was not a member on account of there being no internet in Purpleonia because it’s considered “not a big deal”. The Amp Man wanted a family of sub woofers to call his own, but being sterile had made that all but impossible. And the cowardly hipster in the lion onesie wanted enough courage to give Prince a bad review in order to get a job with a terrible music magazine which shall remain nameless. Prince, in his infinite kindness, encouraged them to journey with him and Morris Day to the Purple City to ask for help from the Wizard. Except for the hipster of course, whom Prince pushed into a stream and was never heard from again. Prince even wrote a song about the incident. It became a number one hit.

After several adventures, each more fabulous than the last and each featuring an accompanying soundtrack album recorded on the fly by Prince himself, the travellers entered the gleaming gates of the Purple City and met the New Power Generation, who were the appointed guardians of the gates. The NPG asked them to wear purple tinted spectacles to keep their eyes from being blinded by the city’s brilliance. Each friend was then called in to see the Wizard. Prince saw the Wizard as a giant purple guitar on a marble throne, the lobster saw him as a lovely prawn in a purple silk gown and the Amp Man saw a Guitar World technician with a purple afro. The Wizard agreed to help them all if they successfully sued the Wicked Record Company Executive of the West. She ruled over Purpleonia’s artist’s community in the oppressed Controversy Country and the Wizard couldn’t stand it. The New Power Generation took the friends to the side and warned them that no one had ever managed to sue the evil record exec before and live to tell about it.

The Wicked Record Company Executive of the West saw the travellers approaching through her all-seeing crystal ball. Being the epitome of evil, she sent a pack of bloodthirsty lawyers with cease and desist orders to tear them to pieces. But they were thwarted when the Amp Man killed them all with a searing hot guitar solo previously taught to him by Prince. She then sent a horde of wild drug addicts to steal their musical instruments, but the lobster stopped them by giving them all complimentary copies of Prince’s greatest hits album, which cleansed their minds and souls and replaced their crippling addition with an insatiable lust for fantastic music. Growing increasingly angry, the evil executive next summoned a swarm of music journalists who used to work with the missing hipster to go and write abysmal reviews about the group’s latest releases. But they all gave up trying because Prince is a machine and they couldn’t keep up with the amount of records he was releasing. Plus, the albums were undeniably great and the journalists couldn’t bring themselves to lie about them. Exasperated, the irate woman sent her Controversy soldiers to attack the friends with bricks torn from the purple brick road, but Morris Day stood firm and tore them new ones with the mad guitar skills he’d gained simply by standing next to Prince for long enough.

Finally, the evil exec used the power of the Golden Recording Contract to send her enslaved winged pygmies to capture Prince and Morris Day, de-shell the lobster and tear out the circuitry of the Amp Man. Prince was forced to become the Wicked Record Company Executive’s personal slave, which he absolutely could not stand and showed his feelings on the matter by writing “slave” on his cheek and changing his name to an unpronounceable symbol. Meanwhile, the record exec schemed to steal all of Prince’s musical master copies so she could live off the royalties.

As Prince toiled away in the evil woman’s castle, the Wicked Record Company Executive of the West managed to successfully trick him out of one of his hit records; Purple Rain. Angered, Prince threw a bucket of cream at her and was shocked to see the evil executive melt away into a puddle of screaming ooze. Prince quickly converted the broom he had been brushing the staircase with into a guitar, wrote, recorded and mixed a song about it which soared to the top of the Purpleonia R&B charts.

Upon hearing the song on the radio, the local artist community rejoiced at finally discovering that they had been freed of the greedy executive’s tyranny. They all flocked to the vanquished executive’s castle and helped re-shell the lobster and mend the Amp Man. They asked the Amp Man to become the head of their artist’s guild, which he agreed to do after helping Prince return to Minnesota. Prince found the Golden Recording Contract and used it to summon the winged pygmies, which he provided with freshly knitted raspberry berets to wear. In gratitude for their fashionable new headgear, the pygmies agreed to carry Prince and his companions along with their musical equipment and stage props back to the Purple City. The High Chief of the winged pygmies told how he and the other pygmies were bound by an enchantment to the Golden Recording Contract by the sorceress Apollonia from the North, and that Prince may use the contract to summon the winged pygmies two more times.

When Prince and his friends met the Wizard of Purpleonia once again, Morris Day accidentally tipped over a large purple sheet in a corner of the throne room and revealed the Wizard in his true form. He was no giant purple guitar, nor was he a gown-wearing prawn or even a Guitar World technician for that matter. The Wizard was simply a little old man wearing a poet shirt and huge earrings. He sadly explained that he was a virgin—an ordinary old man who, not having the skill or sex appeal of Prince, decided to hop in a hot air balloon and see where it took him. He’d wound up in Purpleonia long ago from a far off place called Minneapolis. Prince had heard of Minneapolis. It was where he used to cycle to pick up groceries.

The Wizard, true to his word, helped the friends for liberating Purpleonia of the Wicked Record Company Executive of the West and her sordid ways. He provided the lobster with a gift certificate for Prince’s new album and gave the Amp Man three brand new boxed sub woofers to call his own. The Wizard decided to take Prince and Morris Day home to Minnesota in his magical hot air balloon and leave the Purple City. Much rejoicing was had, and several new albums were recorded.

At the great send-off, where Prince performed an entire concert which was immediately released on both double live LP and DVD, the Wizard appointed the lobster to rule in his stead, which he agreed to do after Prince returned to Minnesota. Morris Day, being a playful little starfish, chased a cute little kitten in the crowd and Prince went after him, but the tethers of the balloon broke and the Wizard floated away, leaving them both behind.

Undaunted, Prince summoned the raspberry beret wearing winged pygmies to carry him and Morris Day home, but they explained that they could not cross the great desert of diamonds and pearls surrounding Purpleonia because their intense shine would make them delirious and they would fall out of the sky to their deaths. Prince took some aspects of this excuse and turned them into radio-friendly hit singles. When Prince had finished, the High Chief of the pygmies informed him that Wendy, the Good Free Music Distribution Witch of the North, may be able to help him return home, and so the friends set out on their journey to see her.

Asking people as they went, they learned that Wendy lived in a duplex in Purpleonia’s Lovesexy Country. On their way, Prince recorded seven new albums and released them as a limited edition box set. At one point, the group of friends entered a dense forest wherein Prince scared off a giant camel that had been terrorising the other animals who lived there. The grateful animals asked Prince for an autograph and to become their king, but the man politely declined, insisting that he wouldn’t have time to dedicate his life to funky music otherwise. Instead, he used his guitar to bust out a searing solo so funky that it turned a nearby tree into a purple dragon and it became their protector instead. Prince recorded a song with the dragon and left.

A few miles later, feeling suddenly creative once again, Prince summoned the winged pygmies a third time so that they could get together and record a new album. It reached number one on the Purpleonia modern rock charts and won several industry awards. The pygmies and Prince then flew over to a nearby mountain to record the follow up because it had the kind of acoustics that Prince was looking for. It also happened to be the mountain where the Good Free Music Distribution Witch’s duplex was located. Wendy greeted the travellers and immediately recorded a four track EP with them as well as an accompanying music video recorded in 3D.

After performing a seven hour concert on top of the mountain, and after the subsequent after-party which was described by all those present as “orgasmic”, Wendy later revealed to Prince that the Silver Platform Shoes he wore could take him anywhere he wished to go. Understandably, Prince was somewhat upset that Wendy hadn’t told him this when he’d first arrived in Purpleonia. His anger produced perhaps his best hard rock album in years. Still, being that it was the product of a negative emotion, Prince decided to shelve it and it never saw the light of day. He quickly cheered up however, after recording a new single about his experiences in the uptown district of the Purple City.

Finally with a way to return home to Minnesota, Prince embraced his much loved friends one last time. They would all be returned to their new homes through Wendy’s three uses of the Golden Recording Contract: the lobster to the Purple City, the Amp Man to the artist’s community in Controversy Country, and the final to be used by Wendy herself to travel to the Purple City to open a museum dedicated to Prince and his adventures in Purpleonia. Afterwards, the Golden Recording Contract would be given to the High Chief of the raspberry beret wearing winged pygmies, freeing them from their magical binds.

Prince took his little starfish friend, Morris Day, in his arms and during the embrace they recorded a contemporary jazz duet album. Waving goodbye to his friends, Prince knocked his heels together three times, and made a wish to return home. Instantly, he began whirling through the air in a fantastical purple vortex and was soon rolling through the grass of the Minnesota countryside, right up to his Paisley Park studio’s front door.

Prince and Morris Day ran straight to his secret underground vault, embracing all his unreleased records and projects, saying “I’m so glad to be home again!” Then Prince had an idea, a brand new concept album based on his adventures in Purpleonia. A smile spread across his face as he picked up his most beloved guitar and started to strum. “That’s it”.

A Short Guide to Golems


“An Old Statue” by AvertedVision (2007)

It seems clear to me that not enough people know the truth about golems, therefore I wrote this short piece today (22nd May 2016) in an effort to educate people on the distribution of these wonderful creations in today’s world.

A Short Guide to Golems

Have you ever met a dormant golem? No? Well I have. Despite insistences to the contrary, the great living-yet-soulless constructs cannot be killed in any other way than by simply running out of juice (that is, magic). I’ve also heard that they die when their masters do likewise, though I’ve never been able to verify this. I thought I’d come close once, but it turned out that the man concerned was merely a potter who’d had a heart attack and landed on his largest gnome, smashing it to pieces. No, I believe that a golem will simply cease up and fall into a state of suspended animation as soon as the magic that powered it has run its course.

You probably don’t know it, but you’ve most likely met a dormant golem before. Several in fact. You see, for every statue out there in the world, around 25 percent of them are actually idle golems. They are all around us, in our streets, in front of our castles, along our seawalls. Yet despite this, very few know of their existence. Is it simple ignorance? A well-executed conspiracy? Or is it nothing more than people not caring about real magic in the modern era? Whatever the reason, I feel that more people should know what they’re really looking at when they go sightseeing.

As we are all aware, golems come in many shapes, sizes, colours and degrees of flamboyancy. Take the humble slate golem of Hatchet Castle for example, this particular effigy of an eight foot anthropomorphic being is in stark contrast to the two foot, sparkly orange amber golems of the subterranean cave systems of Outer Pagwei. Though rare today (so much so that few believe they actually exist at all), there was a time when golems were the most common expression of magical ability. More so than even self-immolation and instant ice cube making.

Most common are of course stone golems, also referred to as rock golems. These constructs account for more than 90 percent of all dormant golems left in the world today. Considering that stone is by far the easiest element to infuse with magic (after mort flesh), it should come as no surprise that this is the case. When I explain this, people often ask why mort flesh golems are not the most common. The reason is simple, as easy as it is to imbue dead flesh with a magical charge, it loses its potency very quickly (I believe its half-life to be quite pathetic in comparison to all other infusible elements), and therefore it is quite pointless even bothering to take the time and effort to create one at all. Besides, we all know what happened in Vanz City in the 12th century. The smell still lingers to this day.

Besides stone golems, there are of course timber, gold, magma, fire, ice and excrement ones. These are not as common as stone golems, especially in their dormant states, as the utter depletion of magic renders them susceptible to external influences. Wind for example, will blow a timber golem over, if it is small and light enough. Magma golems will solidify and eventually become fodder for tourists with small, rentable pickaxes. Fire will extinguish in the rain, ice will melt and excrement will eventually become fertiliser for plants. In fact, the great excrement golem army from the Ghaust Dynasty, once the 50 year War of the Foul was over and the royal mages no longer had any use for their pungent creations, became the unwilling underlay for the carpet of oak trees that now occupies the foot of Mount Graug.

What is even rarer however, are precious golems. And by that I mean ones formed out of expensive gemstones. Topaz, emerald, onyx, etc. These precious stones are usually turned into very small golems and given as playthings to rich folk’s children. Once their magic dies, they usually get turned into watches or broaches. A lot of them also get stolen and wind up on the black market. When he was finally incarcerated at the turn of the 15th century, the infamous head of the Voss Bargas crime syndicate, Earl Grimm, was found to be in possession of over 10,000 dormant precious golems. They were later broken down and used to decorate the Argnen Chapel in Valborg.

So there you have it, a short guide to dormant golems. The next time you find yourself staring at a lovely statue of a long-dead nobleman, consider this: are you staring at him, or is he staring at you? The remnants and evidence of age-old magic is all around us, all we have to do is look.

Stephanie McMahon – A Life of Privilege

Whore SM

“Devil-Faced Witch”

Here’s another entry from my unreleased book, Hangman’s Wrestling Bestiary.  A short biography of a woman I have absolutely no time for, Stephanie McMahon.  Originally written on the 9th October 2014.

Stephanie McMahon – A Life of Privilege

Think sports-entertainment is a man’s world? Well this colossal whore won’t make you change your mind anytime soon. Mr. McMahon’s only white daughter, this fervent consumer of penis-flavoured lollipops has been bossing WWE’s most mentally disabled and learning impaired employees around since she was old enough to form incoherent sentences about male genitalia. As one of the principal owners of a 1980s camper van and WWE’s Head Chef, however, she does a lot more than just shake her tits and sound like a barfly lesbian at an all-you-can-eat gravel buffet. She’s proven herself to be a master of flatulence, ineptitude, commercial stupidity and writing impairment. Also, she stinks like a hamster cage. She’s also a part time man with which to be reckoned both in and out of the sauna. After all, how many phalluses does it take to suck your way to the top? About thirty. Just ask any of the backstage WWE personnel she’s bequeathed the gift of oral sex unto in the name of furthering her career. Take her own father for example. His granddaughters are allegedly also his daughters. She’s also been branded the “Most Vile Bitch in World History”, though that is admittedly a bit of a stretch considering most of the world hasn’t even heard of this standoffish troll. She is also a former Women’s Special Olympics Champion (although she cheated and was later stripped of her medal).

With the benefit of being born into a stupidly rich family and having everything handed to her her entire life, Stephanie first got in on the family business by sucking off fans. Later, she started sucking off wrestlers, before finally graduating to sucking off business executives and people she doesn’t like. By the time WWE’s “Attitude Era” had taken pop culture by storm, the incompetent, worthless and totally full of herself young McMahon was caught up in a redundant sex rivalry between her father’s Corporation of Consent and the Undertaker’s diabolical Ministry of Mamba. She may have appeared overwhelmed at first, no doubt because she was, but within years of her uninteresting debut, Stephanie had wed her father, gotten a divorce, married some guy who was just aching for backstage power, Triple H, and orchestrated a totally uninspired takeover storyline of WWE. It quickly became obvious that the sluttiest McMahon to ever sound like a drunk lumberjack did not have one single iota of creativity when it came to writing wrestling storylines. Also, it was later discovered by doctors that she didn’t carry two X chromosomes, making her an actual man in the eyes of the law.

In recent years, the former woman and all-round worthless bag of silicone has made sporadic on-air appearances whenever she feels like it because her daddy owns a TV show. A self-imposed reign as Women’s Champion, a self-imposed stint as Smackdown’s General Practitioner of Mediocre Entertainment, a self-imposed position as head writer for both Smackdown and WWE as a whole (a job at which she sucks more than her impressive oral intercourse skills), and of course a self-imposed and fully-fledged copycat re-enactment of her billionaire father’s footsteps as half of The Authority (a tired and utterly devoid of all merit rehashing of the Corporation of Consent from the 90s). All of this has ensured the everlasting expansion of Stephanie’s queendom of self-loving and privilege.

Away from the bland and fantastically boring content of modern day WWE TV (shaped and helmed by the talentless inherit-a-monopoly slag herself), Stephanie continues to force the fraudulent image of a person playing an active role in the community. As a grudging and clearly fake supporter of various charities that she doesn’t even know the names of, as well as being a strong advocate for the “Be a STUD” anti-bullying campaign, Stephanie wants everyone to think she’s kind and has a heart, although this is simply not the case and is merely a business tactic akin to advertising and brand awareness.

Whether inside the squared circle or a WWE employee’s bedroom, she’s never at a loss for manipulation or generally being a low down, greedy, full of herself whore with big plastic juggs and a horrendous, nightmare-inducing voice that tames penises into a false sense of security before she can suck them into la la land. WWE may be considered a man’s world (because it is), but Stephanie continues to be a man pretending to be a woman, one who is firmly in charge of her rich parent’s chequebook.

Super Prolapse Adventure 2 (Walkthrough)


“Super Prolapse Adventure 2”

Despite the undeniable fact that it should, Super Prolapse Adventure 2 does not actually exist.  It was a figment of my imagination one night when I was quite bored.  I decided that this non-existent PC point n’ click video game clearly needed a walkthrough, just in case one day someone actually senses the world’s very real need for this game to become a reality.  So here it is, in all its glory: a fragment of the walkthrough for Super Prolapse Adventure 2: The Enchanted Asshat.  Originally written on the 7th October 2014.

Super Prolapse Adventure 2: The Enchanted Asshat (Walkthrough)

Chapter 3:  The Castle of Lust

By now you are fully erect. That penis pills you stole from the troll governor’s bedside cabinet have taken full effect. This will prove to be both beneficial and a hindrance. But for now, let’s use that hard as steel foot-long to break down the castle’s portcullis.

First, select your penis by equipping it from your sack. Next you’re going to want to click USE and then click on the portcullis. This will trigger a cut scene in which your phallus is used as a hinge and topples the iron obstruction. Be sure to PICK UP the rusty bolts and porno magazine.

One inside the main gate you will be presented with three doors, a pink one with an engraving of a penis on it, a brown one with ape shit stuck to it and a white one with a swastika on it. Take the brown one.

Once inside the Brown Chamber you will meet a guard named Lubb. If you TALK to Lubb, he will tell you that he enjoys the pleasures of anal love. Click on the chest in the corner of the room, click OPEN and retrieve the golden dildo inside. Next GIVE the golden dildo to Lubb. He will ask you if you are trying to bribe him. When given the option between “Yes, I’m a sordid bastard” and “No, I’d never do a thing like that”, make sure you select the former. If you accidentally tell him that you weren’t trying to bribe him, he will force himself upon you and you will lose all that lovely anus armour you spent most of chapter two collecting. Lubb will now escort you to the dungeon to await Sexecution. Do not worry, sexecution will only occur if you remain idle in the cell for more than 15 minutes. If you like, you may save your progress now and wait the 15 minutes to see a funny animation involving a manatee in a latex gimp suit.

Click on the dead foreskin rat under the bedroll and then select LICK. This will cause the player to vomit all over himself. A second guard will appear and remove you from the cell to wash you in the castle’s industrial washing machine. As his back is turned to fetch the detergent, USE the broom leaning against the wall on the guard’s exposed anus. This will kill the guard. Take his keys, unlock your nipple shackles and return to the cells.

Unlock the cell beside yours (69) and retrieve the Werebastard’s bones. Exit the dungeon.

Returning to the main hall, this time OPEN and go in the white door with the swastika on it. Inside you will meet three Aryans guarding a trapdoor. TALK to the middle Aryan and ask him about black orcs. Now TALK to the Aryan on the right and ask him about homosexuals. Last but not least TALK to the Aryan on the left and ask him about prison food. When the Aryan asks you if you’ve ever been to prison, make sure you tell him “No.” This will lead to the Aryan telling you a long story about his time in the Sausagefest Maximum Security Prison. He will tell you about how he to used to trade his bratwurst with the blacks and homosexuals for apples and chocolate pudding. This will enrage the other two Aryans and they will kill the first one. While the two Aryans are murdering their friend, USE the pocket circumciser you stole from the Yiddish ballerina in chapter one. The player will sneakily snap off the Aryan’s foreskins, making them believe, through their stupidity, that they are now Jewish and therefore commit suicide. This leaves the trapdoor in the floor finally accessible.

Click OPEN and select the trapdoor. It will reveal a flight of stairs to which the player will automatically say “I’m not going down there, it’s far too steep and I’m a great big pansy. I might hurt myself,” every time you try and go down. Even if you equip the “FEARLESS BASTARD” t-shirt. Instead, what you’re going to want to do is equip the toffee-flavoured used giant’s condom you found in the Forest of Grope and you will see a short cut scene of the player turning the condom inside out, climbing inside and rolling down the stairs like a glistening sausage. You have now entered the Ball Room.

This is a strange room, similar in dimensions to the Chamber of Vomit you swam through earlier, this room contains what appears to be a large scrotum hanging from the ceiling. You need to USE the bow and arrow you were given by the giant wasp and shoot it. This will cause the scrotum to rupture and explode like a piñata, showering the room with items. PICK UP all of them. Now proceed back the way you came and make your way back outside the castle.

Once outside you will see a large crate that wasn’t there before. Open it up with the crowbar taken from the scrotum. Climb inside and USE the Zappo lighter. Now you will be able to see inside the crate. TALK to the domesticated swamp pig. The pig will oink back. USE the pig dictionary to discover that he is telling you to put the crate’s lid back on. Refuse the request by selecting KICK and then clicking on the pig’s snout. The pig will now enter rage mode and attack you. Do not worry, you will not die. After the pig has mauled you, you will automatically crawl out of the crate and flop to the ground. Click anywhere on the screen to stand up. The player will pull a pig tooth from his hairy ass and pocket it. Now re-enter the castle.

Your unexpected entrance will scare off a feral pigeon, causing it to drop the limpet it was trying to eat. Scoop up the shattered mollusc and combine it with the Femur Bone of Emperor Gooch to form the Primitive Sex Toy. USE it on the three headed gimp now guarding the pink door. As the gimp begins to produce milk, catch it with your Empty Tin of Sun Ripened Fish Flaps. Proceed through the pink door into the Hall of Moist Panties.

Now you can sit back, relax and enjoy a lengthy cutscene involving the returning Warden of Flesh and the troll governor’s dyslexic daughter.

The History of LOL


“LOL Guy”

To my knowledge, nobody had attempted to document the history behind the famous LOL acronym before this definitive piece I wrote on the 31st May 2008.  The world will never need another chronicle now that this one has finally seen the light of day.

The History of LOL

The well known term LOL is of course an acronym for “laugh out loud”. Used by many, loved by all, this wonderful little package is commonly deployed in a sentence or simply uttered solitarily to inject a degree of mirth unattainable by any other utterance in the vast ocean of variables that is human communication. Mainly used in regard to online correspondence, it has also made the recent crossover into text speak via the electronic communications device known as the mobile telephone. Yet, as widely circulated as it is (having seen usage in places as far away as Easter Island and Wales), very few know the story of its origins, and what a story it is.

The phrase was first coined in 1724 by Hugo Lollygager who used it for many years as a slogan for his father’s shoe lace business in Boston, Bulgaria. In 1792 the rights to the phrase were sold to Frederick R Flockmann of Munich, Australia for the competitive price of four pre-plucked chickens and a half barrel of rat oil. Flockmann subsequently copyrighted the term and unsuccessfully attempted to exchange it for credit at a Las Vegas, Norway casino. Little was done with the term save for several equally unsuccessful advertising campaigns for the Smithsonian Bicycle Helmet Institute in New York, Kazakhstan. In 1842 the copyright ran out on Flockmann’s LOL and his estate chose not to renew their legal hold on the terminology due to their recent bankruptcy stemming from the infamous fall of the Trinidad Union in Soviet Luxembourg.

Unwanted, LOL remained unused for several decades hypothetically gathering dust until the first home computer was invented in 1888 by Jack the Ripper Conglomerate™ in collaboration with the White Chapel Trust. Jack the Ripper Conglomerate™, White Chapel Trust and a group of Japanese investors took over the copyright for the term LOL and used it in online chat rooms from 1888 right up until the great broadband depression of the 1920s. After the CEO of Jack the Ripper Conglomerate™ committed suicide by jumping off the 113th floor of the Empire State Building in Birmingham, Sweden, the company soon went bust and the internet as well as the home computing world vanished into obscurity never to be seen again until they were both reinvented by accident in 2010 by an Italian baker named Pablo Prosciutto who was trying to make sourdough bread. LOL was once again, without an owner.

In 1951 LOL briefly made an appearance in the world of music as it was used (without permission it must be noted) by Elvis Pressme in his single “Blue Suede LOL”. The song was a hit but when the authorities discovered that Pressme had been using the term without the consent of the copyright owners (a holding company named Pinocchio’s Wang who purchased the liquidated stock of Jack the Ripper Conglomerate™ after its demise), the song and any mention of it was removed from almost all public records and Pressme was jailed for 20 years in the Tower of London in Cape Town, Spain.

1973 ended up being the year that LOL would once again find itself dusted off and thrust back into the public consciousness, this time thanks to the world of pornography. Jeremy “Itchy” Jameson purchased the rights and began using the term to describe his low budget adult movies. His logic being that if his best attempts at erotic entertainment were in fact, as the critics claimed, “pathetic”, then his rebranding of them as “Laugh Out Loud funny” would secure the public’s interest in them. This proved to be a lucrative gamble as he soon became the 2nd richest man in the world after 1970s Ukrainian pop sensation Marginally-Malformed Mikael Mistrovski.

The rights to use LOL were quickly leased out to other corporations and international syndicates and the hysteria simply snowballed. Everyone was talking about LOL, from Mitchell Jackson (his smash hit record Chiller clearly being a concept album based on LOL) to Emmanuel Sandwich (who dedicated his 1982 Wimbledon win to LOL). It was the first word spoken on the moon when the Portuguese finally landed there in 1992. Even Dubai in the United Scottish Emirates is founded on the right to LOL whenever one wishes and whose famous annual LOLpalooza festival brings in tens of billions of Canadian dollars to the Help the LOL Foundation which benefits those who have never LOLed before. The success of LOL has continued right up to the present day where it has consistently gained momentum and become the most well known and overused word in the history of the English language.

Today, the term LOL has been translated into 74 different languages including Egyptian, Latin, Croatian, German and Sub-English (for the 78% of the internet using public who cannot and will not read or write properly). Plans for the future of LOL are brighter than ever and include a television series based on its thrilling history staring William Shatner and a hologram of Jack Lemmon, a range of denim sportswear, a his and hers fragrance aimed at the 18-30 year old demographic and a range of tongue-dyeing lollipops. The future of Hugo Lollygager’s gift to the world is bright indeed.