Billy Berries and Caplooey

When Billy Berries, age 9, needed good advice, he would always look for his friend Caplooey, age 10. In Billy’s mind, age was connected to how big you were. So the bigger you were, the older you were, and the older, the smarter. Billy, himself, was a little tall for his age and felt smart enough for it, but at 6-feet-3, 400 pounds, Caplooey was the wisest kid Billy had ever known. And it was only Caplooey’s wisdom that Billy needed that day.

Billy found Caplooey coming off the end of the Dirt Path, which was less a path and more a large, wooded, vacant dirt lot bordered by Fairfax Street, where the two boys lived, on one side and a construction company rental lot on the other. The construction company never locked anything up, so Caplooey liked sneaking onto their lot to see how many trailer generators he could start before the workers chased him off.
Caplooey was sweaty from running from his latest attempt at besting his record but stopped on the Fairfax Street side where Billy caught up with him.

Through, his panting, Caplooey bellowed, “Dude, that was fucking awesome. Seriously, you shoulda seen me turn on those motors. Those guys were so pissed!”
Billy smiled, not brave enough yet to turn on any generators of his own. He wasn’t big enough yet, though he aspired to the day when he could follow Caplooey onto that rental lot. The two friends walked down the sidewalk toward their houses. Billy dropped his question while Caplooey caught his breath.

“Caplooey, we’re learning about the sex education in school. Do you know about the sex education?”
“First of all, dude, it’s just sex. You sound like a dweeb when you call it the education. And second of all, sex is totally awesome!”
“But I heard it was for making babies.”
“No, dude, it’s the best. First you take the girl’s clothes off, and then she tells you to stick it in –“
“The peter?” interrupted Billy.
Caplooey slapped Billy’s shoulder, “The peter, the jubblies, all of it, dude. You stick it in and you just start doing it.”

Caplooey stopped,  looked into the sky, closed his eyes and started swinging his fat in gentle circles, ending each round with a thrust into the air that rippled his fat.
“Dude, when you stick it in, the girl is supposed to say, ‘oh baby’, and it’s like fire!”
Billy cringed. “Wait, what, there’s fire?! And where do you put it in? Do you put it in the butt, because isn’t that where the mommies poop out the babies? Why is her butt on fire?”
Billy’s questions were cut off by the voice of James Earl Jones booming the full length of Fairfax Street.

“Caplooey, get your ass home!”

It was Caplooey’s mom. She only had the voice of the actor, but not the face. She was so ugly, she had to buy new hair curlers every day because the old ones would straighten out when they saw the hairy moles growing on her brown teeth. She was also the only woman Billy figured was big enough to be able to have pooped Caplooey out of her butt.
“Caplooey, get home and clean your pig-shit room or I’m taking away your Metallica for a month!”
“Don’t touch my fucking tapes, Mom! Fuck, dude, I gotta go home,” and Caplooey bounced down the street and into his house where Ugly Earl Jones beat him through the front door with a rolled-up Vogue.”

Billy crossed the street toward home and wondered why anyone would ever put their peter into a fire. Even after everything had been fully explained during sex education class at school, Billy was still confused because no mention of fire had ever been brought up. And he knew there was no point in asking the teacher, Mrs. Grinell, about the fire, because she was shorter than Billy.

Monkey Soup

This one is for Mike, Janeen and the Oh Boys.

Monkey Soup

One day, the Mack family, of Dayton, Ohio, walked to Ireland. There, they met an old man on the road. He was wrinkly and hunched over from being old. He had a walking stick and wore a large hat. He smiled at the Macks and stopped to talk.
“Hello, friends. Are ye enjoyin’ your walk through me fine country?” he asked.
“Yes we are,” said Dad. “And who are you?”
“I be Connor O’Hatstoobig. I own the inn and café just down the road.”
“That’s perfect,” Mom said. “Walking to Ireland has made us so hungry. We would like to eat at your café.”
“Excellent!” said Mr. O’Hatstoobig. “I’ll serve you up me specialty: Monkey soup.”
“Monkey soup?!” asked Orion Mack.
“Why yes, lad, our monkey soup be the most delicious stew south of Dublin.”
Ozias and Oakly weren’t surprised; They were still young enough that everything from floor to ceiling was food to them. Even monkeys.

At the café, the Mack family sat down, stretched out their legs, and let out long breaths of relaxation. It had been a long walk to Ireland from Dayton, Ohio. They could hear Mr. O’Hatstoobig in the kitchen talking to the cook: “Set aside the Cats Heads and Easy Diggins. Bring out some boiled leaves, an Atlanta Special and three 55s for the ankle biters. Then set me new friends up with four bowls of Bonobo guess water.”
“Do you hear that?” Dad asked the boys, “Mr. O’Hatstoobig is speaking in an ancient language called Gaelic. That’s how Irish people used to speak in the olden days.”

The old man brought out some tea for Mom, a Coke for Dad and root beers for all the boys. And soon after came the Monkey soup!
The Macks looked at their bowls of soup carefully, seeing if they could spot any discernible monkey parts, even though they knew the meat would have been chopped and cooked way past looking like any monkey.

Mom cautiously spooned up a mystery chunk of food: “Is this white cube a piece of monkey fat, Mr. O’Hatstoobig?”
“No no, lass. That’s a potato.”
Then Dad looked at a dripping piece of red something: “Is this monkey meat?”
“No, lad. That’s a tomato.”
Then Orion held up a small nub of a piece of food: “Is this a monkey toe?”
“No, wee fella. That’s a white bean.”
Ozias and Oakly didn’t say anything. They were already shoveling soup into their mouths and enjoying it no matter where the monkey parts were hidden.
“Well,” asked Mom, “are there ANY monkey parts in this soup, Mr. O’Hatstoobig?”
“No, lass, it’s all vegetables. And a very fine mix of vegetables, if I don’t say so meself.”
“But, Mr. O’Hatstoobig,” asked Orion. “Why is it called Monkey Soup?”
Mr. O’Hatstoobig shuffled to the kitchen door, swung it open and pointed inside.
“Because it’s made by me friend Dave, the finest chef in all of Ireland.”

Cartoon sneak peek

Fun with mustache

Lascaux

Cumberbitches

Mouse

Mouse goes to work.

Mouse has a sword, and he's a lefty.

Busker sings a ballad about why Mouse has no tail.

Mouse arrives at work, and- oh my goodness- a cameo by Pig!

Like a hotdog, Mouse's office is quite drab despite being full of many animals.

Mouse takes lunch with coworkers. He concocts an idea for later.

Mouse's plan comes to fruition. "I will fly home," he says.

Mouse swoops down on a herd of elephants. One of them screams, "It's in my hair! It's in my hair!"

Looks like trouble for Mouse.

Moustache No. 2

Piglet's Rocket

Bear Brown goes to the corner shop

Robs group

The racy version

Bryan the Showman

Trees for Gus

yoga practice

Charioteer example

Kong

Big Spider found in the apartment

Calvin

Apacalators battle report (using Red Sand, Black Moon rules)

It was only a slight bump in the Karthij market, but it was enough for Brutus to issue a brash challenge to the offender.
"No one touches Brutus Driver! I'm the best Qwik driver in the Rest of the Wasteland- and master with the halberd! I want your blood, waste rat!"
Only after Brutus had issued his challenge did he realize who his opponent was. It was Legarius of Capyooa, apocalator of the Wasteland, and he had been on a blood quest seeking just such a moment to hone his skills.
Legarius eyed Brutus and smiled lightly.
"Qwik is your game, and quick is your action, blood seeker. I accept your challenge. Place and time, driver?"
Brutus could not back down now. His reputation as a Qwik player and as a warrior stood on the brink.
"There's a field south of the Hell Forest- I'll see you at high sun!"

As an apocalator, Legarius was balanced in his abilities and master with the sword and shield.
Brutus was more talk than skill, but his experience on the qwik fields has given him great speed and reflexes, dangerous when coupled with his halberd. Still, Legarius outclassed Brutus, and they both knew it.

At the Hell Forest arena, the two fighters faced off. As a witness to the day's earlier events, Sharon of Styx was chosen to be patron to ensure that the fight was honorable.

Brutus took the initiative and quickly moved to the center of the arena with Legarius moving in to meet him. Brutus knew his weapon and had started to swing the nasty halberd before the two fighters reached one another. But it was a feint! Brutus reversed his swing impossibly and came down on Legarius's unshielded side. But Legarius, having fought more than 50 fights, had seen this maneuver before and was able to dodge the attack, sending Brutus's halberd into sand and rock. Brutus quickly recovered and the two fighters swung their weapons. Legarius parried Brutus's halberd again and again but was unable to find an opening to begin his own attack; Brutus was relentless; he was fighting scared.

And then it happened- Legarius, going all out, missed his mark, lost his balance and went stumbling past Brutus.
"South sands!" cursed Legarius.
And those proved to be the fighter's final words; Brutus was able to bring his halberd into Legarius's lower back, and the heavy rusted blade severed muscle and spine -- a killing stroke!

Outclassed in fighting ability and manners, Brutus's victory not only boosted his fighting ability, but also his confidence and his loud mouth.