Story: Dan's Adventure

Dan woke up with a migraine. Upon further inspection he found that he could attribute the migraine to sleeping face-down on a rock floor. After trying to go back to sleep and failing, Dan decided to inspect his surroundings. He was in a cage. Not a cell, but a cage. The type of cage that makes you admire the spaciousness and privacy of the average jail cell. As soon as his pounding head permitted him, Dan began to observe the world outside the cage. He soon began to notice an alarming abundance of brimstone in the surrounding area and a seemingly permanent smell of sulphur, also the heat. The heat in the room was not merely pressing, it was suffocating. Being a logical man, Dan attempted to find an ordinary explanation for his dilemma and eventually came to the conclusion that he had passed out drunk in a “haunted house” amusement park attraction and stuck with this conclusion.

About 2 hours later Dan found himself on the floor of his cage with an enormous wet spot underneath him. He deduced that he had fallen asleep from heat and boredom. He also deduced that the wet spot was, unfortunately, not sweat. He began to re-scan the room and noticed that the apparently impenetrable brimstone walls outside of his cage were lined with doors. A short while later one of these oddly hidden doors opened and, rather than the miserable theme park attendant Dan expected to see, from it emerged a creature that had no business being bipedal. Dan was understandably distressed by this, but screaming and collapsing at the sight of it was probably quite rude. 

Apparently insulted, the creature returned what felt like a few hours later, or was it a different one? Regardless, Dan thought they all looked the same to him, before acknowledging the subtle differences in antennae length and scale texture and reprimanding himself for being racist… or speciesist, or whatever. The creature scuttled, or waddled or crawled (depending on your point of view), over to Dan and produced a long metal rod with a spherical bulb on top and began to poke him. At first Dan didn’t mind since the metal was nice and cool but eventually it became intensely annoying.

“C’mon, stop” said Dan  

The merciless poking continued

“Seriously dude, please”

No response.

“Please stop” said Dan as a last resort. After many more pleas and an obvious lack or interest and care from the creature Dan lay down on the floor of the cage and curled up, assessed his situation, evaluated the facts (that he was hungry, dehydrated, in pain and smelling powerfully of semi-dried urine) and began to sob. The creature stopped prodding and started to observe the hysterically sobbing Dan. It then showed some indication of surprise and interest before raising its head to the air and making the most incredibly hideous noise Dan had ever heard. To cope with this he began to cry more. As he sat there wallowing in self-pity a group of creatures converged around the cage and began to scrutinize Dan with what appeared to be interest, insofar as far as interest could be shown by something that technically did not have a face. The original creature then reproduced the Sceptre of Mild Annoyance and began to swab at Dan’s tear drenched face. It seemed amazed that he could produce water from his eyes, or at all.

An opportunistic weasel at heart, Dan recognized opportunity when he saw it. He realized that the creature that was currently gazing in amazement at the moisture on the Sceptre of Mild Annoyance was fascinated by his ability to excrete water. With this in mind Dan unclenched from his foetal position, got up slowly and flashed his previously hidden armpits to his audience and robustly yelled “BEHOLD, WATER!” Upon recovering from the initial shock of the sudden loud noise, the creatures’ attentions were drawn to the sweat spots on Dan’s shirt and they appeared to gawk with all three of their mouths (even the one with mandibles). Saying that they looked surprised would be like saying that some people disagree with the mullet, sure it was true but only to the extent horrendous understatements were called true. Slowly, as if in awe, a few of the assembled creatures branched off from the group and came closer to Dan.

The creatures were not used to water; this much was obvious from their reaction, why this was so was the real question. See, Dan knew only to the most limited extent that he shouldn’t be here. Here, was not defined. Dan’s memory was blank and as far as he knew he could’ve been anywhere from an alien space-ship to the bottom of the ocean. His actual location though, would be far more surprising, both to him and to the human population at large. As he flashed his pits and examined the assembled creatures, he was surprised to hear a door shift open. The freakish monsters parted to reveal a familiar figure. A figure he had seen pretty much everywhere since he was a child. Dan was shocked to find himself gazing at the red-skinned, goat-legged, black-horned mustachio’d icon: Satan himself. Dan then did what most people confronted with an existential crisis, the sudden possibility of being dead and severe dehydration would’ve done in that situation and fainted rather daintily.

When he awoke, Dan was surprised to find himself wearing clean clothes on a shockingly tasteful porch overlooking the pits of damnation, seated on a satin sofa in front of a room that was, surprisingly, not filled with fire and brimstone but rather with doilies and fine china teacups. It really was quite excellently decorated. Dan coughed politely to catch the attention of the figure seated on the opposite sofa. When this failed he tried “I love the décor”

“Interior design is my passion” replied Satan.

“So, what brings a mortal to my domain?” Satan continued

“So... I’m alive?” said Dan

“Yes, yes you are. The water proved that. Souls don’t sweat, or not as profusely as you did in any case. You gave my demons quite a shock I hope you know.”

“Well, they’re quite shocking themselves”

The Prince of Lies chuckled, then asked “How exactly did you get here without dying?”

Dan shut his eyes, concentrated and attempted to recall the previous evening “I remember… I 

remember falling…falling for a long time and landing…soft sand, when I landed it was soft. Then nothing. Then I woke up in a cage.”

“Yes, yes, I know all that. It was caught on the CCTV. Where did you fall from?”

“It’s a Friday, right?”

“It was when you fell.”

“Then I was getting drunk with my friends at a club so, maybe there.”

“Really?” Satan inquired sarcastically

“Okay, I was getting pissed in a bar.”

“They don’t call me the Prince of Lies for nothing you know.”

“Fine, fine, I’d bought a few bottles of wine from the supermarket and planned to pass out into a bowl of cornflakes to end my miserable life while watching Family Feud. Happy?”

“Yes but obviously you didn’t do that otherwise you wouldn’t be sweating”

“I’ve never been able to do it. I always get bored around the 20 minute mark and leave to do something stupid. First, though, I usually sober up at a…oh…OH!”

 A stream of memories from the previous night suddenly smacked into Dan’s conscious mind with the speed and force of a family heirloom flung by a furious spouse; his first recollection was Steve Harvey’s surprisingly lacklustre performance that night and heading to Starbucks 10 minutes earlier than usual completely hammered and seeking a way out of his crippling loneliness and boredom. He recalled finding the barista in the parking lot holding a thick black book and chanting something unintelligible. He remembered shouting at the barista for a double shot of espresso as the guy was in the middle of his invocations and getting a horrified look in response. The barista stopped chanting halfway through the incantations and what should’ve been a doorway to hell forming on the asphalt of the parking lot, turned out to be more of a sinkhole to heck. The barista’s expression turned from one of horror at being discovered, to one of rage at being interrupted. Dan then recalled being grabbed by the barista, asking for his manager and subsequently being flung into the half-formed sinkhole. A sinkhole which was essentially a crack in Hell’s ceiling and would probably attract an unhealthy amount of attention.

Satan received this information with no small amount of distaste. As the big boss it was his responsibility to fix this and he was going to have to go to the detestably cold Overworld in order to plug up an interdimensional sinkhole and return this mortal, before going back to an eternity of monotony. Once you’ve tortured one soul, you’ve tortured them all. Ruling hell was not very motivating and Satan considered leaving the issue for later so that he’d have more to do in the future and a way out of his cycle of bore. He acknowledged, however, that he had a responsibility to return this young chappie to the Overworld and decided to get on it. He led Dan through a number of exceedingly tastefully furnished rooms and into a corridor with an elevator at the end. The interior of the elevator had three buttons labelled “Heaven” “Earth” and “Hell”. Satan pressed the “Earth” button which proceeded to glow blue. A few seconds later, the elevator slowly jolted into action. “It’s going to be a very, very long ride” said Satan.

It would, in fact, be eight hours before they reached the Overworld. The distance from Hell to Earth wasn’t exactly short and the mechanism used to traverse dimensions depended on an imp taped to the outside of the elevator working a spell to move the elevator through the interdimensional veil to a specific location. This would be speedier if it weren’t for the fact that the spell was written in very tiny handwriting on a roll of paper that measured in the kilometres and the imp reciting it was elderly, had  a stutter, failing eyesight and a tendency to fall asleep at awkward times. It’s just that the imp has family in need and Satan couldn’t bring himself to replace him. Satan’s a sweetie at heart really.

It didn’t help that the medium through which the veil between the worlds is traversed is an elevator. It’s a nice elevator, very spacious, plays some decent elevator music but it’s still an elevator and as with virtually every elevator ride in the multiverse it was awkward. Given that this particular elevator ride was eight hours long there was a great deal of awkward to get through. The constant shuffling of feet and mumbled half comments from both sides did nothing to help the atmosphere.  Eventually they were forced to make actual sentient connection and break the ice. 

Surprisingly, it went well. Dan’s father walking out on him at age 6 resonated with The Prince of Darkness’ serious daddy issues pertaining to being tossed out of his father’s home over what he believed to be a petty squabble. Millennia of boredom on Satan’s end seemed to fade into nonexistence with Dan’s conversation. Finally, for the first time in memory The Prince of Darkness had someone new to talk to; someone who was happy just to have a friend. Dan’s hectic work life as a horse inseminator left him little time to make friends at work and he’d always found it difficult to approach people, as a result of this Dan’s chance encounter with Satan was the first serious social interaction he’d had in months and he was absolutely elated.

They were almost surprised when the elevator stopped.

 It was around 4 AM when the duo exited the, now hideously rank, elevator into the parking lot of the Starbucks. Apparently no real effort had been made to fix the gaping hole into Tartarus in the floor of the parking lot, the maintenance crew instead decided to put four “Caution: Wet Floor” signs around the partially formed portal and hope for the best. It was at this point that Satan resolved to plug up the hole with the barista’s, preferably still living, flabby body, partially due to his incompetence in basic demonology but mostly because the “Caution: Wet Floor” signs were placed with seemingly no regard to aesthetic or design whatsoever. They found the barista inside the coffee shop picking his nose. At the sight of Satan and the man he had thrown into a pit to Hell, the barista let out a shrill scream and began to run. Fortunately for Satan, goat legs have the added advantage of speed, and unfortunately for the barista, boobs on a man tend to create aerodynamic drag. Satan then proceeded to calmly carry the squealing barista to the hole and forcefully shoved him into the partially complete portal. The barista functioned as a very satisfactory, if noisy, plug. Then Prince of Darkness then gently placed his hand on the floor of the lot and, as if in immediate response, the asphalt began to shimmer and heave before the very ground began to move in a distinctly snakelike way. Long, fat, tendrils of asphalt slithered towards the howling barista and began to cover him, thereby closing the hole and creating an accidental speed bump in the process.

 Having resolved the matter, Dan and The Prince of Lies were about to part ways, each ready to return to their respective lonely and unfulfilling lives before Dan turned to Satan, locked eyes with him and said

“Hey, wanna go clubbing?”

  END

Story: Sassyquatch

           Max was disgusting. It wasn’t even an active form of disgusting, like being a slob with purpose or a chauvinist, just a passive, unintentional form of lazy disgusting that only the severely negligent and the totally uncaring can achieve. Max’s pudgy eternally Cheeto coated fingers, receding hairline (which was tipped by a rat-tail) and omnipresent miscellaneous stains only served to heighten and clarify his repulsiveness. His room in his grandmother’s basement also reflected his vile personal hygiene. The room contained one bed, topped with a sheet that would shatter if you hit it too hard, a desk littered with random culinary memorabilia, on which lay a desktop computer from the early 90’s which could not possibly be a shittier machine. The floor of the room was carpeted with the kind of nasty shag carpeting that you only find in offices that people kill themselves in (or from). The carpet did not manage to protect the floor from the barrage of disgusting as it was covered with used tissues, packets, wrappers, bottlecaps, papers and toenail clippings. The walls were painted institutional green and would be visible were it not for the massive spiderchart that dominated the room. It was obviously meticulously crafted with photographs, pins, threads of colored yarn and the customary blood, sweat and tears involved with such a project. It was the only neat and clean thing in the room and was centered on a single word “Sasquatch”.

               Max’s unholy obsession with the Sasquatch started when he was in 3^rd grade when he believed that he saw one in the middle of the playground after school (it was in fact two stoners in a cheap gorilla costume). Being called an idiot seemed to only increase his obsession and drove him into more investigation. Over the years the obsession grew until the only things Max did daily were: eat junk food, drink soda, attempt to convince others of the existence of the Sasquatch and expand the massive spiderchart on the wall. Max therefore had no friends, source of income, fresh air or sex life of any kind. He lived in his dark, dank room in his grandmother’s basemen. He didn’t even notice when his grandma died.

               His grandmother owned the house and had willed it to him. Literally all he had to do was show up, sign some papers, show his ID and he’d be home free; an entire house richer. Obviously, Max did nothing. He didn’t even read the letter sent to him, he absentmindedly used it to wipe his armpits. He was therefore extremely surprised when a wrecking ball destroyed his bathroom and a good chunk of the ceiling.

               Contrary to his lack of hygiene and complete obsessiveness, Max was not stupid. He sought out a court settlement for damages and walked away with a considerable amount of money and promptly decided that he was going to use this medium sized fortune to seek out the Sasquatch. Max had decided to camp out and capture definitive photographic and video evidence of the existence of the Sasquatch so that everyone would finally believe him. He rented out a motel room, recreated his spider chart and cross referenced the number of sightings in each area with the town’s generated income and tourism (especially from Bigfoot related activities) and factored in the UCC (upstanding citizen count) to come to a conclusion of the most likely Sasquatch populated areas. Max’s calculations brought him to a town in the deep Northwest.

              Following the trail led him to a small town, dwarfed by the giant redwoods native to the area. Actually, calling it a town doesn’t do other towns justice. It was 12 derelict houses, a police station, a sort of school (he assumed) and a general store. The entire half-town was made exclusively of the “Olde Tyme”-ish   log cabins found very commonly in cheap horror movies (which are cheap because they’re filmed in shitty towns like this). Max made his way to the general store expecting to find a sort of mini-Wal-Mart which would sell everything he needed, what he did in fact find were lots of jars of pickles and opossum jerky. “Okay” thought Max “I can do this. I can make my own tent and sleeping bag. These chumps would’ve sold me something defective anyway. I’ll make do.” And that’s how Max ended up in the forest, freezing and shelterless, with no provisions.

             Max was deep in the woods, panting, grunting and cursing when he started to have withdrawal symptoms. The caffeinated products were the first to have their revenge. The ridiculous amounts of Cola, Coffee and Mountain Dew (otherwise known as unfiltered, semi-nuclear sewage sludge) he used to regularly consume returned to haunt him. Now, Max was deep in the woods, panting while slumped against a tree with a migraine that could topple cities. The absence of the e-numbers and preservatives within the massive mounds of Cheetos he happily absorbed for years struck him next. Now, Max was in a fetal position in the freezing cold, damp mud, deep in the forest with one hand clutching his pounding head and the other clasped around his belly (which occasionally rumbled with gastronomic unhappiness). Max lived in this state for approximately three weeks, surviving only on tree-bark, leaved, feces (which he thought were “wild raisins”) and the occasional overly curious rodent or insect. Once he recovered from this painful crawling state, Max briefly returned to the half-town, stole some blankets and bought some opossum jerky.

                  Max quickly returned to the wilderness and believed himself to be of “clear body and mind”. In fact, Max had only undergone the first phase of bodily detoxification, Pain. He now had to deal with severe cravings and, subsequently, hallucinations. He began to get suspicious when he noticed that the squirrels had been replaced by walking bags of chips, he knew something was off when it rained cola and figured out what it was when the giant redwoods that constantly surrounded him became giant mugs of coffee that softly sang to him in a soothing tone. It was in this unfortunate state that Max discovered an inhuman footprint.

                 It was so perfect and picturesque. Every doubt Max harbored since his first discovery suddenly vanished. The insults that had been thrown at him and latched on, the “idiot” the “moron” the “total fucking lunatic” all disappeared. Max felt more empowered and useful than he ever had in his life. He had found a print. He had finally done something meaningful and important. His life finally had real meaning to it. All of his lifelong dreams (which stemmed from finding the Sasquatch) would finally come to fruition: he’d be a super cryptid expert, renowned throughout the world for his genius and epic pecs, he’d accomplish so much in his job as a firefighting astronaut but his only regret would be that he couldn’t see his smart, funny, supermodel wife more often (it would be good to note that Max’s daydreams started in 3^rd grade and were never edited, only expanded upon). He took a couple of photos of the print and set up camp right next to it. Giddy from his discovery. What he neglected to take into consideration was that he was hallucinating at the time, and when the print apparently vanished Max broke his camera in rage.

                    After emerging from the Pain and Craving phases of the detoxification, Max now had to go through the final phase: The Purge. By the start of The Purge, Max’s physical and mental torment had reached a new high, his initial jarring migraine and stomachache were removed, distributed equally throughout the body and then returned with a vengeance. He was extremely sore everywhere and being in the freezing cold woodlands did not aid his situation. The cold stung him from the outside, the sores generated mediocre warmth from their dull pain but there was a fire brewing within his anus. The Purge is when the body suddenly and violently “purges” itself of all foreign or unnatural substances. Eventually Max quit wearing pants as the energy expended in taking them off and replacing them in a hurry could be better utilized. In times of confusion and need Max experimented wiping with a plant he would later discover is known as poison oak, tree bark and, on one occasion, a very confused and insulted squirrel. Now; in his Purge induced state Max began to think, for the first time, if it was really worth it. He’d always had nagging doubts which he’d silenced with ease but now he was truly considering the possibility that A) he should turn back B) everyone was right in calling him an idiot and C) that the Sasquatch may not actually exist. At this depressing point, Max decided to return to the half-town and leave for home (which he would have to make) and as he trudged on, his dreams shattered, he noticed an odd decline in the mud. Max ran towards it to find a print totally unlike the one before. The other one was exactly what one would expect when discussing Sasquatch tracks, these were different. They weren’t picture perfect; they were smudged, faded and odd looking but not odd looking in a fake way, odd looking in the extremely (almost undeniably), uniquely flawed, ultimately realistic way. Max stood at it and began to feel vigor reenter his flabby body. He smelled it, tasted it and videotaped it with his video-recorder. He then camped next to it and checked on it every day until The Purge ended. It was genuine. With renewed morale, Max continued his search.

                Max tracked the tracks to a circular clearing, surrounded on all sides by giant redwoods. Upon extremely careful examination Max deduced that the trampled sediment revealed a sleeping area and the scratched trees revealed a taste for tree-bark. While acute, his observations were completely incorrect. Max decided to camp close enough to see, but not close enough to be seen. The next 6 hours were the most excited, hormone driven and sweaty hours he had ever experienced. He felt like a teenager again. Eventually, Max heard a noise: a sort of long, low, almost melancholy wail. Max followed the sound to the clearing and saw, with his own eyes, a Sasquatch: The living, breathing proof of his life’s work. The Sasquatch was close to 2.5 meters tall, covered in coarse chestnut fur (except for the eyes, nose, mouth and chest which showed peach colored leathery skin), strange long arms and slightly bandy short legs. It seemed to have no real neck joints as when it turned it moved its entire upper body. It walked in the most bizarre way; it seemed to bounce as it moved and looked like a performer doing a silly walk. Close examination of the hands of the animal would reveal significantly long nails which insinuated a tree inhabiting, or partially tree climbing, Sasquatch. Max hurriedly pulled out his video recorder, alerting the Sasquatch to his presence. The Sasquatch looked him in the eye, as though it was telling him not to ruin its home with scientists and thrill-seekers. It was in fact not saying anything remotely close to that. What happened next could be attributed to the fact the Max had never studied primates and if he had, he would know that primates are: 1) extremely strong (2) highly territorial (3) see eye contact as a threat and (4) omnivores.

              Around 3 months later some hikers would find Max’s remains. Autopsy reports would assume death by wolf as the bones were obviously gnawed on. The autopsy reports would be very, very wrong.                 

Update: Total Overhaul

Instead of just cartoons, from now on the Weeklys are going to include all the content that I would to share but doesn't fit specs of the usual content on the main blog.

As a token of goodbye, I'm posting one last cartoon weeklys, ironically the first one I ever drew:

Man. Centaurs are just getting gayer and gayer.

Peace out for now.