One of my players stole my tablet long enough to take down what Chris, (an Elf within the mob) had to say in order to motivate his men. These are just a few of the lines he used to really "draw them in"

Pansy ass pusses

Ladies

Kiss-ass motherfuckers

Kiss his hairy Elf ass

Boys of the hood

Jackass Pusses

Rip your spine out of your ass and shove up your dick and out your mouth and then floss your teeth with it

Boy scouts

Shitasses

Bitches move

Don't like it, fuck it (while flipping them all off)

Today's game was help around 9 am or so. You'll notice junk food all over the table. This is the continuation of the modern 3.5 game I started last week. They end up leaving the company they started with and heading into Elven held Mafia grounds. I have a Spellscale and Teifling now working in the most predigest race's gang you can imagine. No one but Elves ever make the cut.

First game of the new campaign. A mix of D20 Modern and 3,5

Seriously cat. If you can't reach the water don;t pull it over. A gallon container of water almost full and one of my furry brats dumps it all on the floor. They have a smaller water dish which they don;t have to reach into at all. What does she do? Go for the biggest one. Had to clean up water all over the floor with her sitting there watching looking at me like I had no reason to be pissed off at her.

I also had to clean up a spot on the floor in my work space which my two boys had been using as their personal pissing war zone. I went to go get food today only to find that once more my shoes had been pissed on and I couldn't ware them. Then I go to put on my boots (in the middle of the summer) only to find the laces had been pissed on as well. I got home and tossed them into the laundry along with towels which I had forgotten had been washed twice already.

So I put my leather saddles in to soak once more in a mix of vinegar and soap. Once that was done it was time to treat the carpet completely. move the table I put my keys on, put baking soda down then vacuum, then do a spray to remove order and then more carpet stuff only to vacuum again. I go in to finally do the dishes and guess what, there's kitten shit all over the place in the kitchen. Now I've locked them and mommy up three times now and still they don;t get it. So once more they are locked in with the little box, food and water. This time they are not going to be coming out until tomorrow.

Now if you think my day can;t get any worse it can. I go to put the new gun case in the spare room and find that anything that was on the floor had been pissed and shit on. I am really tired of the pissing war which my boys have been waging. I know I need to get them fixed which might help it but really? Two litter boxes and you can't keep it contained any better? You would think they would try and hide it better than that. But no.

If anyone has a suggestion on how to stop this please let me know. I'm ready to throw them against the wall the next time I catch them.

Here's the deal. I'm really going to try and get my site back up and running. No more out dated information. If you want to know more about me, check there.

Last one

This is the last one before I switch to my first ever fan-fiction. I really hope it's received with favor. I know I have said this before but I'm dyslexic which means for me editing is the bane of my existence. I miss so much I prefer the rough draft, or first draft as the case may be. I do a full edit when publish and while I understand this is a form of publishing, my audience here is going to be a bit more forgiving then those in the mass market. Well without father a due here it is.

Days from home. Nights without a proper bed. Meals cooked over nothing. He was bone weary and sick of the endless road and yet he marched on. The army had been called out and he was to go to war no matter what he thought of the conflict. It didn’t matter what he thought of the whole thing. It only matter what his King wanted.

His wife was at home with their six year old son. The boy didn’t understand why his daddy had to leave. He couldn't explain it to him either. How did you tell a six year old that daddy had to go off and fight a war in a land he didn’t know, for a King who didn’t care about his people and only about his land. How did you tell a boy that his daddy might not be back before he was old enough to join up himself. He had only looked to his wife kissed her sadly and left. His parting words to his son was not to become a solider.

They were a month out and still marching. The King was safe in his castle counting his gold. The very gold which would care for his family should he die. The gold which barely made ends meet for them now. He pulled the single charm he had of his wife and child, a parting gift before he had left and kissed it. He didn’t have much faith in going home. The reports form the front line had been clear. Those already there were pretty much doomed. They were heading there to replace those who had fallen.

He had thought like the rest of deserted. To leave this war behind but he had a family. If he left they would lose everything. He didn’t want to do that to them. He held the small charm in his fist the tears welling up. He’d never see his boy grow up. He’d never make love to his wife again.

  The boy of sixteen stood before the grave stone. He read the name again wanting to wipe his eyes but Kings didn’t do that. He looked up at the field which was covered with grave markers and shook his head. So many had died in a pointless war which had left him fatherless from six on. His mother was close beside his dad now just as they had been in his dreams.

He looked back at his guards and nodded. “I’m ready.” He told them turning to go back to the carriage. He could still hear his dad’s parting words. “Don’t be a solid my boy. You can do so much better. Know I love you and no matter what happens I’ll be proud of you.” The kiss had been the last he had felt.

His eyes scanned the country side which at long last had known peace. He had been the one to lead the rebellion when the old King had once more demanded sons to join up. His mother had died of a broken heart and his own friends had died in another pointless war.

He had stood on street corners been arrested and threatened. He didn’t care he’d rather die trying to end it then to stand by and allow others to died as his father had. When the battle had been won and the streets cleared of the rivers of blood. Those who had remained standing had called form him to take the throne. He hadn’t wanted it but there had been few others to take the Kings place.

He had vowed to make a land free form war. His first order of business was to sign peace treats, to start healing the riffs the King of old had made. In the three years he had been King he had done well. He had taken one a few new advisers, killed some of the old and left other positions open in case he had need of them again. Yes his Kingdom had come a long ways. He wondered if his dad would be pleased.

  A man stood on the grave sight and smiled his hand in the woman’s next to him. He lifted a hand and wiped tears which weren’t there. “Damn him. I’m so proud of him. He’s done so well.”

“You told him not to be a solid. He listened. He always was a good boy.” The woman squeezed his hand and smiled warmly at her husband.

“Yes he did.” They turned then together and walked out into the field with the other fallen. It was time to go home to their finally resting place.

My Muse has been on vacation the last week. I believe this is a good thing considering how many short things i had been cranking out. I'll be gone a couple days soon. My little sister gave birth to her first born and I want to see this small thing. I'll try and have a few things sitting around waiting to go up, but with an absentee muse it's hard to get or want to get any work done. There might be a short break in my posts. I want to work hard on my book. It's the last in the series (I hope) and I want to see if I can get it finished.

Running Low

Wow, I'm almost out of things to post here that I have already done. With no notion what I intend to do with them there's really no point in them sitting in my file collecting dust, so to speak. Being dyslexic makes editing hard so I prefer not to bother hence why this is a first draft and not a finished ready for publication work. I was listening to a song and nothing was coming to mind. I ended up writing this to reflect my frustration at the song. Turned out pretty good really.

Nothing came to mind as he sat listing to the song. Time ticked by and still nothing. No imagines took root. He could see an army in the distance but nothing else. A club seen came to mind but nothing stood out about it. He could see two people meeting after a long time but the story didn’t flow from there.

He tapped the paper with his pen and glared at the player wishing he could blame the song but he knew it was him. He couldn't come up with a single thing. “Maybe I’m burned out.” He whispered to the paper.

Even as he said that he could feel his muse stirring,  they weren’t burned out only not feeling this song. It was an exercise in futility to stop his muse when the mood was there. He looked up at the clock and sighed again. His editor was expecting something in a matter of hours and he couldn't even get a few words down on paper. He should have had at least three pages now. This was the tenth time on repeat.

Again he looked at the paper. He wished not for the first time stories wrote themselves. Why had he ever taken thi8s challenge. He had asked fans to send him a list of their favorite songs and he would write to them then after he had thousand done he would publish what he had in a book listing not only the song but also who had sent it to him. This was his sixteenth piece and he was failing at this song.

The others had all be easy. He had a long list of songs way more than a thousand to go through. Instead of picking which to do first he simple went from the first one he had received down the list. Mix-ups, as he had taken to calling them were fun to do. He had started doing these when he had writers block for certain books. Now that he was famous he was expecting to produce so many books a year. He was drawing a blank on his next one, so had suggested this.

Well he wasn't really drawing a blank he just didn’t feel like writing it just yet. He had told his editor he was out of ideas. It kept the man off his back. He had plenty but none he wanted to sit down and work on. He had been active plenty lately and he didn’t want to bruin his poor muse out again. He had done that just the year before write everything which came to his mind and then some. This was no different.

He had set a goal to write two songs a day. He was suppose to be out and about the next day so he had to write four and so far his first of the day was killing him. He was about to switch songs when an idea stirred. He could just write his frustrations of being a writer. It wouldn’t be as cool as the others but hey at least he would have the song done. It might not even be close to the mood of the song but others hadn’t fit the song either. He took up his pen and began to write. “There are days when being a writers suck.” Before long he had close to three pages. He had never realized how much he hated his profession at times. He glanced over the page then added another two pages about all the joys be what he did.

When the phone rang he could happily say he had something down. His face fell though as he realized it wasn't his editor but his friend. “Hey man.” He tried to put a happy sound into his voice. When ever the guy called it hurt. He had been close to the man but had been “friend zoned” long before he had asked. He knew better than anyone the pain of being just a good friend. What made it all the worse was the guy was dating a whore and they all knew it. He refused to end it with her, saying she was the only one for him. In truth he was scared to be without her. “What’s up?” He went on.

“You will never believe me.” The guy on the other end sounded pissed.

“You finally decided to stop pretending Kristy’s not cheating on you and getting paid for it?” He asked leaning back in his chair glad he had more than just a few pages to show his editor when the guy arrived. This wasn't going to help his mood by any means but at least there was something to show for all the hours staring at a blank page.

There was silence then. “No, well yea I caught her again but that’s not what I’m calling about.”

How could anyone stay with a whore like that. The writer wondered. He reached for his note pad and quickly added “staying with a whore,” then “Over addicted girlfriend syndrome.” To the list of things he wanted to write on. “What then?” He wasn't about to bring up his thoughts on the matter of Kristy.

“Well I was calling to cancel tomorrow.” The guy went on. “We’re going to go out and hang for once. I talked to her about all this cheating and she’s agreed to stop if I spend more time with her and less with you.” Now his voice sounded more than just excited. “She says that’s why she sleeps around so much because I spend so much time with you. Isn’t that wonderful?”

The writer only sighed. “Yea man. Awesome have fun. Look I have work to do, later.” He hung up without hearing if the other said good-bye or not. He looked at his paper and added one finally line. “When you are a writer, it’s important to get out once and a while. Never let your friends tell you that you ‘hang out’ to much with them.” He glanced at the calendar which listed the last time he had been out of the house. Three months ago they had hung out, three months and he was the reason she was cheating.

He stood up letting the pen fall from his hand. He had to get out of the house or he was going to go nuts. He reached for his jacket and tossed it across his shoulders then made for the door being sure to grab his keys and wallet. It was high time he made new friends instead of relaying on that dush of a guy who would believe anything to stay with that whore.

He slammed the door and stuffed his hands into his pockets. The phone rang, the name which flashed across the screen was the same which he had heard from just a moment before.