Contest and stuffs

I Wordled my compiled works that I've been posting. I sorta love this thing.

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First off, there is an awesome contest here: http://sarahwithachance.blogspot.com/2010/04/something-fun-and-celebratory.html#comment-form

(links hate me on blogger. Don't know why)

Sarah Wylie is celebrating being published. Go celebrate with her! It's very exciting.

Secondly, I got two chapters done over the weekend, as planned, but some things came up that prevented me from being around so far this week. My apologies to anyone who fretted.

Thirdly, I keep typing things out in this Post box, then deleting them. I hate to publicly pour my inner toxic into the world and bring people down, so let me just say I'm not having a good week and might be scarce. Sightings of me on blogger will be almost as unpredictable and rare as Sasquatch until I get my head on straight(er). I'm lurking around on pages at odd intervals and sleeping more than I should.

Here's a bit of fiction in the meantime.

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‘They’ are out to get you. No one knows who they are, but They exist and They mean business. We don’t know where They take you when They find you, or why it’s so important to be afraid, but we feel it in our bones it must be bad. People are right to be paranoid, I think. Not me, so I’m not. I’ve got nothing to worry about, but the rest… oh, yes. They are definitely coming for you people.

I tried to quit smoking today, but I started my period. I’m sure They are to blame for that, but I am still trying to piece together how. Perhaps it is in the water. Whenever They are up to something, They usually start there then move on to hiring aliens when all else fails. Aliens are a last resort, of course. Those little fuckers charge an arm and a leg, and all because they have bright lights and tractor beams.

Well, so did James Tiberius Kirk, but his services were free. He just impregnated the locals. Small price to pay, really, although I wouldn’t want an alien to do the same to me. It would come out looking like a Sally Jesse Raphael and Andy Warhol love child. Which is weird since I’m not entirely sure Andy didn’t fake his own death to become Sally.

But I digress.

We were discussing ‘They’ and how they are out to get you. And your dog. They don’t want your cat for many of the obvious (and not so obvious) reasons, but mostly because the cats are in on it with them. You know it, don’t you? The way their eyes follow you when you move about the room… surveying you constantly and gathering data to be held against you in a court of jaw. No, that is not a typo. You’ll understand better when They’ve taken a bite out of your ass.

I think They are the masterminds behind global warming. They try to blame hairspray and industrial factories, but the truth is… Earth has a temperature knob. I’m sure of it, and I think it’s somewhere in the mountains of Chile. My friends laugh at me and tell me I’m paranoid, but I’m not the one They are after, so I’m really not. I’m just prepared.

Like an adult Girl Scout. Only I ate all the cookies.