The Ant Returns - Chapter VI - Travailler dans la Nuit (Long!) (628 hits)
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Rating: 1.69 on 31 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Jack McCallum (View user info) at 2005-02-04 13:05:00 EST
(Prologue - http://www.ubersite.com/m/57985)
(Chapter I - http://www.ubersite.com/m/58042)
(Chapter II - http://www.ubersite.com/m/58125)
(Chapter III - http://www.ubersite.com/m/58205)
(Chapter IV - http://www.ubersite.com/m/58437)
(Chapter V - http://www.ubersite.com/m/58529)
Chapter VI - Travailler dans la Nuit
Rob was not, in fact, escorted back to the farm.
He slowly regained consciousness while being dragged up the last flight of stairs by Huber and Fassel, the gnawing, burning pain in his shoulder making him wonder if someone hadn't set a starving rodent against his flesh and set it afire the moment it began to chew into him.
He was dragged past the church, past the fountain and its clean-swept square, past the shops and well-dressed, horrified onlookers.
The mercenaries took him to the middle of the Chandon Bridge, stood him on his feet, and gave him a hearty shove toward the poor part of town, laughing as he staggered, then fell, and then rolled to a stop on the far side of the creek. They threw the ragged remains of his shirt and coat after him.
Rob crawled into the shadow of the bridge and dozed, hurting and tired. A group of children crept close, went through his pockets for valuables, and found nothing.
Water in the face, fresh this time. Rob sat up, surprised to see that it was early morning, and saw Etienne standing before him.
Etienne had a black eye. He was holding a rope. On the other end of the rope was a cow in rigging, pulling a small wagon.
"Hey, kid," he said. He sounded feeble, and hated it.
Etienne helped him stand. "It's funny seeing you here, Monsieur Courgette. In fact, it's a miracle to see you at all." He saw the cauterized wound on Rob's shoulder and his features twisted with disgust.
"Call me Rob." He said, pulling on the threadbare coat.
"Rahb?"
"Rawb."
Etienne tried again, this time getting it right. The cow made a disgruntled noise.
"Taking the cow for a walk?"
"No," the boy said sadly, "We have to sell her. I've already sold the last of our vegetables. Now I have to take Annie to Slauvigne the butcher."
"Annie, huh?"
"And I wish it were not so," Etienne said. "She may not give any milk but she works hard and pulls a plow or a wagon as well as any horse. But the country is falling apart. Crowds run rampant in Paris. The king has been executed. Guillotine blades are singing across the land, cutting into rich necks and poor necks. Everything is expensive, our taxes have been raised again, and Vachon is demanding our rent, which he has increased, because we have not been able to clear the far field and—"
"Did you leave your sister and Béatrice alone with Rancon and Guertain?"
The boy looked grim. "I had no choice. Vachon said if we did not pay the rent he would throw us off his land. Béatrice and I fought them and kept them away from Justine. And we made sure they had lots of wine when night came so they would sleep the sleep of the drunk."
"You're not selling the cow," Rob said. "And we're going back to the farm. I'll talk to Vachon. We'll work something out. Right now I'm more worried about your sister."
"Me too," Etienne said.
After a half hour of struggling with the hard-to-maneuver cow, they had only reached the outskirts of the village.
"Can't this thing move any faster?" Rob asked, walking behind the cow and prodding a jutting hipbone with one finger. He had to dance around a sudden obstacle as the cow passed a load of processed vegetable matter in response.
"Annie is steady," Etienne replied, as if he had been personally insulted. "But she is old."
"Hang on a minute," Rob said. He translated his words exactly, which resulted in a confusing moment for Etienne as he wondered exactly what it was the stranger wanted him to hang on to. "How strong is that wagon?"
"It has not aged well," the boy replied, "But it can hold many bushels of—"
"Could it carry the cow?"
Etienne frowned. "I suppose. Why?"
As he had been walking down the road behind the cow, Rob had been wondering about his mysterious strength, and its limitations.
"Can you get the cow up into the wagon?"
The boy looked at Rob, and then focused on the welt on the stranger's forehead, where his sister's stone had found its mark.
"No, I'm not deranged," Rob said. "Trust me."
Etienne released the cow from its harness, giving Rob curious looks. He went to the rear of the wagon and took out a pair of planks he often used as a loading ramp. It took a few minutes, but with Rob's help he was able to coax Annie up into the wagon. Rob tossed the planks in beside her.
"What do I do?" Etienne asked.
Rob pulled off his coat and tossed it to the boy. "Cover her eyes, and hold her as steady as you can."
Etienne did as instructed, whispering calming words into one large, flicking ear.
Rob grabbed the wooden arms of the wagon, still warm from being strapped to the cow's sides. With one arm in each hand, he gave the wagon an experimental tug. It moved easily.
He began to walk. The wagon was as heavy as hell, but with a little effort he was able to pull it at a steady pace. He started walking faster, and he could hear Etienne alternately praying and swearing behind him.
After a pause to make sure no one else was on this wide stretch of road, Rob began to run.
As Rob ran, he talked with the boy. "The Abbé really seems to hate your grandmother. What's his problem?"
The boy was putting on a good show of bravado as the wagon wheels squeaked madly and the road rushed under him. He tightened his grip on Robs jacket, murmured reassurances to Annie, and told the stranger what he knew of his grandmother.
"She was once a member of the household staff for the Collisons. She helped raise Henri, our master, and before him his father Hectoire. One day when she was coming to visit our mother, her daughter, and our father, a fire broke out in our house. We were poor. The house was almost all wood. It burned quickly. Our chimney and hearth were made of clay. It started when the chimney collapsed and the fire exploded into the room. My father was engulfed and my mother would not leave him, even when Béatrice appeared and tried to drag her to safety.
"The old woman rescued us and nearly died when a burning timber fell and struck her in the face. She could not save our mother. Afterward, people whispered that there was no way she could have saved Justine and me from the fire without the help of devils. She was thought to be a witch and interrogated by the Abbé. Hectoire obeyed his wife's demands and released Béatrice from service; after all she had done for the family. We were beggars for a while, until Hectoire died and Henri took pity on us. He could not have Béatrice working in his home, not looking as she did and with the villagers and their endless whispered rumors, but he did find her the cottage and the work on the farm where we are now."
Rob was beginning to realize that the Collisons were a bunch of pricks.
He ran on, and soon, to his surprise, Etienne began to laugh and whoop with glee.
*
There were two good reasons Rob slowed down before reaching the smaller road to the farm. He didn't want to be seen by the Dominican or the mercenary playing out his Hercules scenario, and he wanted to slow down gradually, figuring that if he stopped short he would launch a pair of lowing, screaming missiles through the air.
He helped Etienne get the cow down from the cart -the boy wasn't scared, as Rob had assumed he would be, but was grinning and trembling from an adrenaline rush—and then he ran ahead to the farm.
Béatrice was tied to the pump handle. Her mouth was bloody, and she was cursing in such creative ways that for a moment Rob almost envied her.
"In the barn!" she cried. "Those animals who call themselves men have just gone into the barn with Justine."
Rob was suddenly furious. He took a powerful step forward, willing himself in his haste to jump clear across the courtyard and into the barn, when suddenly he was rising through the air, wondering fleetingly if he was indeed possessed.
His feet slammed down on the roof of the barn, which held him for a moment, then aged and worm-rotten timbers cracked and burst apart, and he was falling down into the shadows.
A short while before, Guertain and Rancon, both severely hung-over, had been arguing over who would be the first to get the girl who was hiding in the shack with the old woman. They were glad her brat of a brother was gone.
"You probably don't even know how many uses your prick really has," the Swiss mercenary snapped in perfect French.
"The Lord works in mysterious ways," Rancon replied, rubbing himself through his robe, "and as the spirit fills me, I shall fill the girl, blessing her with my staff and anointing her with my holy waters."
Guertain brayed like an ass. "Perhaps you should be the next Pope!"
"There is no rust on my sword, my Swiss friend."
The mercenary laughed again, clapped Rancon on the back, and called Vachon to them. "Make yourself useful you fat bastard! Bring us some wine."
Vachon was in and out of his small house in a flash, a jug of wine under one arm. "I would be careful, gentlemen," he said. "The girl may be small but she fights with the strength of ten."
Guertain gulped wine and then gagged, spraying some in Vachon's face. "Do you Frenchmen water down your wine by pissing in the press?"
Rancon took a deep draught and grimaced. "Not the finest vintage, but better than anything from your homeland!"
The priest and the mercenary quickly finished the wine, and then demanded more. When Vachon vacillated, Guertain began telling him of one of his many adventures in Mysore under Lord Cornwallis, during which he made a foe eat his own testicles. Vachon raced off for more wine.
The two drunks had literally knocked the door down in search of the girl. Guertain was kicked in the gonads by the old woman, and fell to his knees. Rancon stopped and stooped to help him up.
The priest looked up just in time to see a study wooden rolling pin descending on him, then the top of his head seemed to blow apart and he could hear the girl cheering her own bravado.
Vachon was returning with the wine when he saw the Dominican, clutching his head, and the mercenary, clutching his genitals, stagger out of the shack.
They grabbed the jug from Vachon and almost seemed to suck it dry, and then charged the shack again. This time they emerged with the old woman and the young girl in tow, the soldier gripping Béatrice's ragged shift with one hand, holding a length of rope in the other.
Guertain dragged the old woman to the pump handle and quickly trussed her, but not quickly enough to go to the aid of the Dominican.
Rancon had been swaying on his feet, and fumbling with the sash of his frayed robe. "Now," the priest roared, wiping a trickle of blood from the crown of his head out of his eyes, "I'll show you something that proves I have been truly blessed by the Lord!" He opened his robe.
Justine stared, and then vomited. Rancon was splashed in the face before he realized what was happening. "My eyes!"
The mercenary took a few painful steps toward the priest, grabbing the man's dark robe and flinging him toward the pump, and then reached for the girl who was bent at the waist. Looking over his shoulder, Guertain bellowed, "Rinse your damned—" he tried to say eyes, but he was mysteriously breathless, and the pain in his gonads had blossomed again. He turned back to the girl, watching the bare foot that had just hammered his swollen testes settle to the ground. He tried to curse her, gave up, and sank to his knees again.
While Guertain groaned and Rancon danced around the pump, trying to work the handle and get a handful of water while dodging the mouth of Béatrice, who was snapping at him like a rabid hound, Vachon grabbed the girl and wrapped one fist in her hair.
"You are a sickly one," the big man asked, "aren't you?"
"He opened his robe and I saw his things," Justine said dryly. "They were all dirty and discolored, like they weren't even a part of him. I was sickened."
"Well, you'll pay for that, mademoiselle," Vachon whispered in her ear. He began dragging the girl to the barn, calling to Guertain and Rancon. "Are you two coming?"
The Dominican and the mercenary shuffled toward the barn slowly, ignoring the filthy curses coming from the old woman and not noticing the cloud of dust being raised as something moved quickly down the road to the farm.
When the barn roof collapsed under him, the first thing to flash through Rob's mind was a vision, a miniature waking nightmare, in which as he fell an old sturdy wooden beam rose up out of the shadows like a shark closing on a swimmer, slipped between his legs, and slapped into his ballsack with the entire force of his bodyweight.
There were no beams. There was a cluster of cobwebs that momentarily covered his eyes like a blindfold and then blew away, there were dust motes dancing like tiny living things in a shaft of sunlight between Rob and the ground, and there were shards of dry wood falling below his feet. Rob saw the ground rushing up fast, and braced himself.
He hit hard in an empty stall, his teeth clicking, the startled horse in the next stall whinnying, but he wasn't hurt. He looked up, and saw a patch of blue sky far overhead. Looked down, and stepped out of the four-inch deep divots his feet had hammered into the earth.
Rob was expecting a fight, some kind of confrontation. When he stepped into view, ready to slam the skulls of the mercenary and the priest together for threatening the young girl, the drunks shrugged and turned away, seeming almost relieved.
Vachon tried to melt against the wall, but the solid bulk of his gut made that task impossible.
"The Abbé must have released him," Rancon said, stepping into the sunlight and shielding his eyes with one hand.
Guertain feigned a yawn, trying not to wince with every step and quite sure he would be pissing blood tonight. "Then our job here is done, my friend. Shall we return to the village?"
Rancon nodded and clapped the mercenary on the back. In moments, after carefully hoisting themselves into the saddle, they were on their horses and passing Etienne, who was just coming into the barnyard with the cow and the cart.
Rob was relieved, and with relief came a dissipation of tension, fatigue, and pain. He leaned against a stall door. The occupant, the family's worn old horse, looked at Rob with eyes that seemed to say, 'Welcome to my world, two-legs.'
Justine hesitated a moment, studying Rob fearfully. Then she mastered her fear and ran to his side. "Let me help you, Monsieur Courgette," she said. Things started getting gray around the edges. Rob let the girl lead him out of the barn.
It had taken Vachon an hour to muster his courage. He crossed the now quiet barnyard and knocked on the cottage door once before pushing it open.
The Bas women were huddled by their small dining table, tending to the stranger, cleaning and wrapping an ugly burn. Etienne was placing a few lengths of cordwood into the old stove, and Vachon wondered how the boy could tell the difference between the shit wood worthy only of burning and the shit wood which had been used to build the cottage.
Vachon rubbed his chin and said, "Strange to think that after so many years, a member of the Bas family will not be living here after tomorrow." He sniffed and his lips curled. The room was filled with the foul odor of the home-made herbal balm Béatrice had smeared on the stranger's wound.
"We need a little more time, Monsieur," Béatrice said. She had been berating Rob and Etienne for not selling the cow, and now they were all going to pay the consequences.
"You have until tomorrow morning to appease me," said Vachon. "You can pay the rent. You can clear the far field. Or you can offer me something sweeter, mmm?"
He glanced at Justine in what he hoped was a paternal expression. "She could be my maid when not working with you." If she were his maid, there were a select few services he would request of her.
Vachon could see the grime on the girl's skin, but he knew that underneath the layers of dirt she would be like a potato plucked from the earth, fresh, white, and satisfying. Funny how he had thought potatoes a distrustful and likely distasteful Prussian fungus when he had first heard of them, and didn't even consider tasting one until he heard that they were prized by the now headless Louis and his foreigner wife. Ah well. The more noble heads lopped off by le rasoir national, the more potatoes would be left for the common man.
Etienne was holding a length of wood as if it were a weapon, and Vachon was hoping the boy would make a move on him so he could smash the brat's teeth to bloody shards with one fist, when the stranger spoke in a weary voice.
"Give us until tomorrow, then, and leave us now."
Vachon considered a harsh reply, then he remembered tines of the pitchfork imbedded in the wooden beam. He gave a stern nod to no one in particular and then left the cottage.
Rob stood, surprised by how unsteady he was. He wanted to express reassurances but instead realized he was toppling over, caught in the arms of the Bas family, half-dragged, half-lifted, moved across the cottage, and placed in a bed with a rough and lumpy mattress that smelled of straw and sage and lavender.
He would later remember Béatrice forcing a cup of thick soup into him, soup that tasted more like stems and hides than vegetables and meat. He would also remember her studying his face with fierce concentration, wondering out loud if he really were a bastard son of the old Master, whatever that was supposed to mean.
*
He woke to the sound of crickets. He was in a bed near the back of the cottage. His shoes had been removed and he was wearing a sturdy patchwork shirt.
Under the shirt, strips of clean cloth encircled his chest and shoulder, holding a foul-smelling bandage over his burn, which hurt less than he expected it to.
He figured the old lady knew what she was doing and left the bandage in place. As stinky as it was, it beat the hell out of the smell of putrifying flesh.
He sat up and his feet found his shoes. A fresh breeze shifted the heavy curtains over the windows in each end of the cottage.
In a bed against the other wall, Béatrice and Justine were curled against each other, fast asleep under coarse blankets. The old lady was snoring loudly and Rob got a better, longer look at her scars and bruises. The girl was frowning in her sleep.
They deserved better than this, he thought, slipping into his shoes. He didn't see Etienne anywhere.
He noticed a narrow door in the rear wall of the one room cottage and peeked through it, pleased and relieved to find a rough but comfortable privy a few quick steps away, which he duly made use of. Hanging on the inside of the door were two burlap sacks. One held broad brown leaves which Rob was glad to have, and the other held pine needles. He finished his business, scattered a handful of pine needles onto his scat, and went back into the cottage.
He took a drink of water from a cask on the table, and decided to look for the boy.
The front door creaked when he opened it, and he slowly slipped outside. A burst of sound came from Vachon's small house and he flinched. The sound began to repeat. It took Rob a moment to realize that what he was hearing was not a goat or a sheep bleating in pain, but Vachon snoring.
"Holy crap," he whispered.
Etienne was nowhere to be found, but the old horse was missing as well, so Rob followed a old path behind the barn, in the general direction the boy had looked whenever mentioning the far field.
"Jesus, kid," Rob said a few minutes later.
Etienne was in the far field, a wide, level spread ruined by hundreds of tree stumps and a profusion of stones, of every size, breaking the surface of the dark soil.
Near the boy was the old horse. Etienne was leaning against a large boulder, fast asleep. The horse was nodding on its feet. Horse and boy and stone were all connected by a crazy rigging of leather straps. Nearby was a tremendous old tree, and beside it small pile of stones, some still damp from the earth in which they had rested. There were also tools, a shovel, an axe, and what had to be a plow.
The kid had clearly been trying to clear the field of obstructions before exhaustion caught up with him, but at this rate it would take him months.
Rob picked the kid up, freed him from the leather straps, and carried him back to the recently vacated bed. Then he returned to the field.
He removed the remaining straps from the horse. It woke up, stepped back out of his way, and watched Rob curiously.
"Gonna keep me company?" The horse raised its head. Rob knew it was probably just shooing a fly, but he took it as a nod. "Cool," he said. Then he set to work.
The moon was in its last quarter, a perfect half sphere. The night air was fresh and cool, the breeze evaporating the sweat on Rob's skin.
He had expected the night to be silent. He was wrong.
The old horse Rob had kept nearby for company was watching him sleepily, giving an occasional snort. Far to the west, he could hear an intermittent roaring, either a fire, or a large crowd. Once there was a volley of cracks like the snapping of dry twigs and he assumed it was gunfire. There were insects chirping and buzzing. He could hear the low grumbling -or romancing— voices of toads, and followed their calls to a trickle of a stream that was fresh tasting and must have had the same source as the well from which the handpump drew water. There were night-feeding birds circling overhead, and fluttering closer to the ground, flurries of bats, moving like wind-blown leaves, their high-pitched cries nearly making Rob's eyes water. There were discontented cows to the south, lowing bitterly. Somewhere a cat was in heat. And Rob could still hear the faint buzz of Vachon snoring.
He had cleared about three quarters of the field in the last few hours.
A few times during his labors he had nearly stopped to consider the implications of what he was doing and how he was doing it, but that just drew his mind back to the questions of who he was and what he was doing here, since he did not feel this was his time or place, and the vital, ever-elusive action he must take before things went from bad to worse. It was better to lose himself in the work.
He enjoyed those busy, tiring hours tremendously, ripping massive stumps free of the earth and initially chopping them up for cordwood, until he realized it was easier to simply follow the grain of the wood and pull the stumps apart. The field was dry on the surface, but as Rob drove his hands into the earth and sifted the soil for stones, carefully setting any earthworms he found back where they belonged, he realized that the soil was rich and very slightly damp to the touch, perhaps due to the underground stream.
He constructed a long, waist-high wall in under an hour, turning it into a game as he raced back and forth, first hammering large boulders into the ground with one foot and then placing smaller and smaller rocks and stones atop one another as if working a massive jigsaw puzzle, until the wall was sturdy, and every stone had found a niche.
"Time to get back to it," he said to the horse.
He wondered what was up. Literally. The horse was no longer watching him, it was cocking its head and watching the sky. Rob heard a sound, soft, revoltingly fleshy, like rippling leather. "Either there's one fuck of a big bat up there somewhere or—"
Something slammed into him from behind and he hit the ground face-first, getting a mouthful of dirt.
He sat up, and saw a young woman standing over him. She was wearing a light colored cape and high boots, and beneath the cape he could see that she was wearing some kind of tight-fitting shift that did little to conceal her incredible figure. She laughed, a girlish sound, and her head tilted back, the golden ringlets of her hair shining in the light of the half moon. Then she opened her cape further, letting him get a good look at her, and Rob began thinking that maybe the Abbé who saw demons lurking everywhere wasn't so crazy after all, because this wasn't a girl. This was a gargoyle.
"Call me Angela," the girl-thing said in what Rob considered contemporary English. "I've been told you killed my mother, and my father. How should I address you?"
"Your guess is as good as mine," Rob said, getting to his feet. "I—"
The cape that wasn't a cape at all but wings, translucent and as pale as the rest of her, unfurled, and one hand lashed out, the fingers elongating and thickening into fantastic claws.
Rob leaped backward, bumping up against something that should not have been there. He turned and saw the young guy with the piss-colored hair he had seen in town. The guy hit Rob in the chest.
He felt himself lifted off the ground as if he'd been hit by a cannonball. He landed hard and rolled a few yards away.
"Call me Rudolph," the guy said. "You killed my mother, and my father."
The guy trotted across the field to Rob and grabbed him by the throat. With a fleshy rustle of wings, Angela dropped out of the sky and wrapped her arms around Rob's chest, arms that were already becoming pink-skinned tentacles which began squeezing the breath out of him. Rob figured that if Rudolph didn't let go, that air was going to come out his ass.
Rob was blacking out, and he had to squint to be sure he wasn't seeing things when he noticed Etienne standing alone by the new-made wall, grabbing a bunch of round stones, winding up, and throwing one as hard as he could.
The stone hit Rob in the forehead, connecting with a fading bruise. As he slipped into darkness Rob thought, Christ kid, you throw like your sister!
User Reviews
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-08-03 11:53:54 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Supreme Overlord damage control...
Submitted by Supreme_Overlord (user info) at 2005-07-21 22:24:21 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
shite
Submitted by BLITZKREIG_BOB (user info) at 2005-02-16 15:10:30 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by munkeypants (user info) at 2005-02-08 15:37:37 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by FuckTheArmy (user info) at 2005-02-05 09:06:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
A cliffhanger. Way to keep an audience, man.
Submitted by tlozoot (user info) at 2005-02-05 00:19:52 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Damnit it's after midnight and I really need to get some sleep.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-02-04 21:15:02 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Mitchapalooza (user info) at 2005-02-04 20:30:31 (#)
Ranking: -2
woah woah jack mccullum... calm down.
I'm straight, and you're an idiot.
Please leave me alone.
Also, your stories are overrated.
--
You've done the impossible.
Your shit is new... but it's already old.
You are done, son.
Submitted by Mitchapalooza (user info) at 2005-02-04 20:30:31 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-02-02 13:21:11 (#)
Ranking: 0
Mitch, you are right, I am indeed afire in a deepening circle of my own ego and stupidity.
As a noob, I'm just really upset that you continue to strike me down in the uberlescence of your wit and ingenuity.
You've only been on uber for a week... and already you've captured my heart.
I'm glad I'm gay, because I finally know you are my soulmate.
Call me.
PS: I'm not wearing any pants.
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woah woah jack mccullum... calm down.
I'm straight, and you're an idiot.
Please leave me alone.
Also, your stories are overrated.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-02-04 19:42:01 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Mitch, you are WAY too bitter for a noob.
Burned* in ubermadness, perhaps? Or just so heart-breakingly untalented that you weren't even considered eligible?
Sorry for the interruption. I'll let ya get back to those Reader's Digests.
(*Not necessarily by me, of course.)
***taps fingers... waits for Mitch to click on this post and scroll down and think, 'AHA! I got to the motherfucker! I AM NOT COMPLETELY IMPOTENT! I CAN AFFECT SOMETHING BEYOND THE REACH OF MY LA-Z-BOY RECLINER!!!!!!!'***
Submitted by Mitchapalooza (user info) at 2005-02-04 19:02:24 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by horse87 (user info) at 2005-02-04 17:59:01 (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2005-02-04 16:54:20 (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2005-02-04 16:37:54 (#)
Ranking: 2
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Submitted by Mitchapalooza (user info) at 2005-02-04 15:36:28 (#)
Ranking: -2
yawn.
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Jackass ^
_______________
agreed
_______________
I'll second that!
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i'll third it.
also............ yawn.
Do you people actually read his stories? do you laugh? do you even crack a smile?? are you intellectually (or otherwise) stimulated with anything he writes??? I can spend 2.95 on a reader's digest and read better stories.
I am impressed with one thing though... sooo many people give him +2s. I'm assuming he either has a lot of alters, or a lot of money.
and definitely a small penis.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-02-04 19:01:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by horse87 (user info) at 2005-02-04 18:01:56 (#)
Ranking: 0
Don't feel bad.
I've known Jack since we were kids, and he's uncapable of being nice with anybody...
--
How dare you, you foul fucking bastard! I'll crack your skull open on the curbside and stir your brains with my dick! I am perfectly capable of being nice.
Submitted by Falconer (user info) at 2005-02-04 18:57:51 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Fantastique.
Submitted by horse87 (user info) at 2005-02-04 18:01:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2005-02-04 17:55:38 (#)
Ranking: 2
You didn't rate my last post because you uncapable of being nice with me.
Or you were just in awe at my gorgeousness.
I choose B.
________________________________
Don't feel bad.
I've known Jack since we were kids, and he's uncapable of being nice with anybody...
Submitted by horse87 (user info) at 2005-02-04 17:59:01 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2005-02-04 16:54:20 (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2005-02-04 16:37:54 (#)
Ranking: 2
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Submitted by Mitchapalooza (user info) at 2005-02-04 15:36:28 (#)
Ranking: -2
yawn.
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Jackass ^
_______________
agreed
_______________
I'll second that!
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2005-02-04 17:55:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
You didn't rate my last post because you uncapable of being nice with me.
Or you were just in awe at my gorgeousness.
I choose B.
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2005-02-04 16:54:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2005-02-04 16:37:54 (#)
Ranking: 2
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Submitted by Mitchapalooza (user info) at 2005-02-04 15:36:28 (#)
Ranking: -2
yawn.
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Jackass ^
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agreed
Submitted by Brdn_Nkd (user info) at 2005-02-04 16:37:54 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
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Submitted by Mitchapalooza (user info) at 2005-02-04 15:36:28 (#)
Ranking: -2
yawn.
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Jackass ^
Submitted by JonnyX (user info) at 2005-02-04 16:14:01 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by Remission (user info) at 2005-02-04 16:13:20 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Ha! I love it!
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-02-04 16:12:17 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by ess-arr (user info) at 2005-02-04 13:24:31 (#)
Ranking: 2
Look Jack, my time is money I can't be expected to blow off my work to read this...
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Why not? I blew off work to write it!
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-02-04 16:11:00 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by TigerLilly (user info) at 2005-02-04 13:20:56 (#)
Ranking: 2
So now I have to go back and read. How did I miss these?
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You were having fun in the sun while I was slaving away...
Submitted by Mitchapalooza (user info) at 2005-02-04 15:36:28 EST (#)
Ranking: -2
yawn.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-02-04 14:50:33 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Adamdidit2u (user info) at 2005-02-04 14:41:04 (#)
Ranking: 2
You should stop posting, you're making the lot of us look bad. And believe me I DON'T need anymore help
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Just keep your own partiicular form of art coming and you'll do fine. I still laugh thinking about the whole 'I ate the sun' thing.
Submitted by Adamdidit2u (user info) at 2005-02-04 14:41:04 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
You should stop posting, you're making the lot of us look bad. And believe me I DON'T need anymore help
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-02-04 14:37:42 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2005-02-04 14:11:32 (#)
Ranking: 2
speaking of wine: http://www.ubersite.com/m/58584
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Putain de frappe!
(I'm just guessing here... probably doesn't translate correctly.)
Submitted by Caulaincourt (user info) at 2005-02-04 14:11:32 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
speaking of wine: http://www.ubersite.com/m/58584
Submitted by AshK (user info) at 2005-02-04 13:51:45 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Woo!
Submitted by CaptainThorns (user info) at 2005-02-04 13:37:38 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Keeps getting deeper and stranger, I like it!
Submitted by ess-arr (user info) at 2005-02-04 13:24:31 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
Look Jack, my time is money I can't be expected to blow off my work to read this long amazing story...okay so i did, Aces.
Submitted by TigerLilly (user info) at 2005-02-04 13:20:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 2
So now I have to go back and read. How did I miss these?
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2005-02-04 13:05:56 EST (#)
Ranking: 0
Okay, this one is long, but the Ant will be taking the weekend off, so what the hell.
Enjoy!