Not Your Average Fairy Tale

I just had this crazy awesome idea to take my top seven words off savethewords.org/ and write a short nonsensical story. It's both challenging and fun. This sounds like a potential assignment for a creative writing class. 

Anyway... let's get this started.

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Um...

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Okay, I've got something.

Once upon a time, specifically WWII Germany, an airgonaut was flying through the air in his biplane, 'cause that's what airgonauts do, when his plane was shot down by some Nazis. He survived, but his plane was toast. He was in quite a predicament. Without a plane, how could he call himself an airgonaut? He wasn't all that worried though, 'cause he saw himself flying a plane again in the future using his essomenic powers he gained from secret British experiments on psychic abilities that were never mentioned in the history books.  However, he didn't know how he got a new plane in the future. Suddenly, he remembered that the biplane he was flying was one of the ones the Nazis used, so he figured out that he must have stole it from the Nazis!

Now having a concrete plan with absolutely no holes in it whatsoever, he dawned a fake moustache he had prepared ahead of time just in case something like this happened and traveled on foot to Berlin. Once he arrived at the cynicocratical (at the time) capital of Germany, he blended in seamlessly with the German citizens. Confident in his xenization, he didn't look where he was going and walked right into a Nazi officer and his escort. The Nazi officer was outraged and demanded to know who the airgonaut was. The airgonaut was in a pickle. Even though the airgonaut knew enough German to get by, he didn't know the icasm the officer used, so he tried somehow to talk his way out it with his very limited German. 

Unfortunately his quibbleism didn't fool the Nazi officer who knew that any real Berlin citizen would have understood his icasm. With his cover blow, the airgonaut decided to say, "Screw it", headbutted the escort, and stole his StG 44 assault rifle. The Nazi officer tried to shoot him with his Walther PPK 7.65 semi auto pistol, but the airgonaut kicked the officer in the place that houses a man's soul (Ya know the place). With his newly obtained weapon, he proceeded to moderncide (at the time)  the officer and his escort and ran towards the air base blindly firing his weapon wildly in the air. Somehow, he made it to a plane with no injuries on his part and only thirty Nazis killed. And what luck, the former pilot left the keys in the plane!

So, the airgonaut finally made it back to sky and lived happily ever after... until his own allies shot his plane down  'cause they thought he was the enemy, and he crashed into the Alps
 

Fin.

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I really don't know exactly what this was.

Well, anyway, I hoped you enjoyed reading it as much as I had fun writing it, and if you didn't, well that's too bad.

I Think I'm Accident Prone

My morning has been full of injuries. While cutting a piece for a Styrofoam bust, I've burned my hand with a hot glue gun in several places and stabbed my thumb with a cut-away blade. I was bleeding a lot everywhere. There weren't any bandages or anything, so I had to McGyver one using masking tape and tissues. Earlier this week I cut my fingers twice, however, those were just nicks, and I had access to bandages.

This is making me think I may be accident prone, but it's not like these were my first injuries.

I've melted the skin of my right hand with scalding hot milk that overflowed onto my hand when I used to work at Starbucks, and before anyone says anything it wasn't my fault. The customer ordered an extra hot cappuccino, which we're not technically suppose to make extra hot (only cappuccino) for the very reason it will overflow, but
"The customer is always right!" 

(coughbullshitcough)

And of course, I can't forget the half a dozen times I cracked my head open when I was a little kid of one or two, and the fact that I slammed my head into the ground repeatedly 'cause I had teeth problems when I was still little and it hurt. And don't make a joke about how this explains a lot about why I am the way I am 'cause I've already heard it. Hell, I was the first one to say that joke.

All of this points to me being accident prone. Then again, it could all be in my cracked head. I'm such the actual accident prone people are much worse off than me.

Ode to Minions

First of all this is not mine. I had absolutely nothing to do with this. This is the 200th comic from Brawl in the Family.

It's just pure awesome in a can.

See if you can recognize all the references. I can and that scares me a little.

A Series of Unimportant Questions

What would happen if Carmen Sandiego and Waldo had a kid?

Would we ever find him or her?

Would he/she use his/her power of unfindability for good or his/her own nefarious purposes?

What would he/she do for a living?

What would he/she look like for that matter?

Wide-brimmed hat or stocking cap with a pompom?

Glasses or no glasses? Or perhaps contacts?

All good questions that don't really have an answer, but ponder on it if you will.

O, and if you don't know who either of those people are, look it up for not only for your sake but for their sakes as well.

Umm...

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Writer's block is a bitch...

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Procrastination's a bitch, too...

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That's all I've got to say.