Sunday, July 31, 2011

The Golden Screw

I put this in my 3BT blog as well, I just enjoyed it so much I had to share it.

In The Wise Man's Fear by Patrick Rothfuss, Kvothe tells a story around a campfire. Condensed: A boy is born with a gold screw in his belly button. No one knows what it is for -- not his parents or grandparents or the wise folk of the town or anyone he meets in his travels. Eventually he meets with the most powerful king in the world and asks him about the gold screw in his belly button. The king opens a gold box on a gold platter and behold, there is a gold screwdriver. He takes it out and turns the gold screw in the boy's belly button. Once, twice, three times. And the boy's ass falls off.

Monday, July 25, 2011


These are the hilarious results of a competition for the funniest first lines of imaginary novels.

Thursday, July 21, 2011


This is my response to a flash fiction challenge on unicorns proposed by Chuck Wendig at http://terrible

Gerald polished his pearly horn on his flank and then checked his reflection in the lake.

“Looking good!” neighed Simon. “They won’t be able to resist you.”

Gerald straightened his neck. Was the horn really big enough? Sure, it gleamed in the moonlight and all that, but he’d feel a lot more confident if it was just a little bigger. He knew Simon was admiring, but he hardly counted. Simon was still practically a foal. He wouldn’t get his initiation night for years.

The other stallions were watching from the nearby trees. Magnificent, every one of them; with noble necks and shiny hooves and glowing white coats. And big horns.

Gerald grimaced a goodbye to Simon and trotted towards the other males. They spun in perfect unison and led him away through the forest. Like the ghosts of horses, they flowed through the warm night with an elegance no other creature had ever attained. They cantered through burbling streams, wove between ancient trees, and galloped across moonlit glades until at last they reached the edge of the forest. A human town lay across the fields, lit by the huge bonfire that marked the midsummer festival.

“The festivities are well underway,” said James, the eldest. “They will all be drunk by now, relaxed and lusty. Go, find your virgin.”

Gerald nodded to them, and started to make his way around the edge of the field, staying in the shadows. He was looking forward to his initiation, but he still wasn’t sure his horn was big enough.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

The finger

Stephen Fry says that the legend about flipping someone the finger deriving from British archers showing the French (who threatened to cut them off) they still have their bow-drawing fingers is just rubbish that started circulating in the 1970s. It is more likely that the gesture is a two-horned cuckold.

He knows everything, doesn't he.