Writing

"Steady now, Ensign, that speeding car isn't necessarily going to try to ram the wooden gate," the Security Chief said blandly, "No, it's likely going to turn wildly... yes... and drive clear through the--" the bright orange 77' Chevelle plowed through the wooden security station, losing only a fraction of its impressive velocity, and leaving the remains of a very shaken-up security crew the task of extracting itself from the wreckage, "...security post," finished the Security Chief, before losing consciousness for what would be the last time. 

Douglas stumbled into the hallway and noticed an unfamiliar noise. It sounded light and fluttery, a bit like two leather gloves slapping together; it was one of those noises that invited you to look about anxiously, wondering if you really wanted to find its source. Up in the corner of the hallway ceiling, approximately seven feet from Douglas's pillow-sculpted hair, was a god-damned bat. It was only the size of a Russian nesting doll, but Douglas shrieked like a prepubescent girl and ran back into his room, slamming the door behind him.

By Zachery S. Beauvais

I work in a sloppy land for a sloppy man. His name is McPherson.

Fifteen years ago, I left home to go and find the world. I thought I was a musician. I left for a fantasy land, a bohemian paradise, but all I found was goo.

Twelve hours a day, six days a week, I mix the slop--a steaming concoction not dissimilar to gravel and afterbirth.  I was starving and needed work. The Factory was my only choice.
    
The slop pours out of four tubes into the vat. Splish-splashing out onto the steel grate. There is where I stand--a man with his paddle. Alone. Mr. McPherson says it's crucial the goop is mixed evenly and constantly. Once a shift, a truck pulls up to the vat. A man in a plastic jumpsuit and winged-frame glasses nods up to me and attaches his hose to the vat. He leaves. I am relieved by a burly man with a cigar, and then return to my chambers. The same day--nine years.

A well-dressed white man enters an office. A white woman is sitting behind the desk.

Woman: Sit down, please. It's good to meet you, Mr. Philips.

Man: It's my pleasure to meet you too.

Woman: Well, I know your time is valuable, so let's get down to business. Your company needs quality work-flow and cubicle dynamic consultation. And I think that quality is exactly what we're best at providing here in Red China.

Please enjoy this taut and thrilling exploration of the darker side of children's television by a staffer who wishes to remain anonymous, for reasons that might soon become apparent.

The mission was clear and simple. Get in, get out, no dicking around. Brian hoped this was all worth it. The operation hadn't been easy, and the doctors had almost thought he wasn't going to make it. Some idiot somewhere (probably a darkie, he didn't trust them and their shifty ways) had written that the fusion should occur at his ass. Luckily, the mistake was caught before irreparable damage occurred and Brian could never go to the bathroom again. After a month of recovery, Brian finally removed the bandages from his chest and gazed down at it.

God damn undercover work, he thought. God damn it to hell.

"Time for Teletubbies! Time for Teletubbies!" the obese baby in the sky screamed out.

"No," thought Brian. "Time to die."

This summer I have been living in a small town you may have heard of called "New York." New Yorkers are peculiar people in many ways, but one of the most prominent (and certainly the loudest) is their extreme fondness for the car horn as a means of communication.

In a place where hundreds of languages are spoken every day, the honking of a car horn is a universal language. For the uninitiated, though, these sounds might be confusing and unintelligible. Here are some common honks and their translations for your convenience.

Honk! - "Look! Look! The light changed color! I'm excited!"

HonkHOOONK - "I can't see what's going on up ahead, but I am angry about it!"

Hoooooonk - "You! Pedestrian! You are walking in front of me, and I don't like it! But I will wait for you to get out of the way before continuing!"

HOOONK - "You are braking, car in front of me! I don't like braking! I like going fast!"

And, of course, the most common of all:

HOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNK - "I AM DRIVING A CAR"

I'm a girl of simple desires and aspirations. I don't want much, but one of the things I've always wanted to do is see popular '90s multi-hit wonder Smash Mouth perform live. I can only imagine how fun it would be, singing enthusiastically along with such songs as "Walking On the Sun," "All Star," and that cover of "I'm A Believer" they did for Shrek and then listening with mild curiosity to whatever other songs Smash Mouth has written.

But it seems the fates are conspiring against me.

It's time for the Gargoyle Online Article section's tri-monthly update. This time we have two passionate and wildly dissenting cereal reviews by Stuart Vandenbrink that I should have uploaded two months ago when I received them. Oh, well. Perhaps I was drunk. Click on the article-title-link-thing to read them. Now.