Wednesday, March 20, 2013

The Greatest Friendship that Ever Was, or Will Be

Once again, these two have graciously given me permission to post their commission online. If you'd like me to write one about you, hit me up at!

Otherwise, prepare yourself....

Dan Walker and Hannah Ireland: The Legend, The Legacy

Prepare yourself for a tale of the greatest friendship that ever was, or will be—the tale of Daniel
Walker and Hannah Ireland.

They were destined for friendship from the moment of their first meeting. They met not with
words, but a…no, the bro-fist of the age.

The extraordinary connection between these two paragons of human achievement was more than
a mere schoolyard comradeship; their very minds were as one. It is said that they had matching
outfits, though few have ever actually claimed to have seen them. Neither Hannah nor Dan have
ever addressed them publicly.

To this day it is rumored that they only donned these outfits when they sensed that they were
needed somewhere in the world. Some believe that they were donned as a symbolic gesture, like
Superman putting on his cape. Others insist that the outfits were given to them by a Maori
shaman long ago, and that they granted the wearers superhuman speed, strength and agility.
Others believe that they simply got really drunk one night and stole an incongruous set of
costume parts from the Beloit College scene shop.

Together they journeyed to nations consumed by starvation, extensively stocked with non-
perishables and agricultural equipment, distributing them freely, defeating hunger worldwide in a
mere fortnight. They robbed half the banks in America and had parades that congested entire
blocks of major metropolitan areas for hours, in which they literally threw billions of dollars at
cheering pedestrians. They even sang the national anthem of the United States at a major league
championship game, and didn’t embarrass their country, or themselves.

And they did it all while earning degrees at Beloit College…and graduating on time.

I must ask, do you remember the nightmarish rise of Mecha-Hitler? Do you remember the streets
filled with corpses? Do you remember the pterodactyl sentinels, the cyborg centurions? Do you
recall the fall of man? Hannah and Daniel are the reason you don’t. They changed the world, the
two of them, so that the irreparable damage caused by the Cyber-F├╝hrer and his underling, the
eternally scorned Rasputin Gingrich, was wholly erased from time.

Because these motherfuckers could travel through time.

Yes, Hannah and Daniel were indeed extraordinary individuals. Lesser civilization may have
even called them gods.

Yet, I know that they are not gods. They have not had comparable contemporaries, but there
have been others like them, individuals whose friendships with one another allowed them to do
amazing things.

Lewis and Clarke. The Blues Brothers. Bonnie and Clyde. Those jacked dudes from “Contra.”
Now, finally, in our own time, we have Hannah and Dan.

Saturday, March 16, 2013

Tyrion Lannister's Alcoholic Shenanigans

The new season of HBO's "Game of Thrones" will be kicking off soon, continuing the story of angsty teenagers with swords, corrupt kings, and everybody's favorite foul-mouthed dwarf.

Speaking of which, I've started dabbling with Twitter lately. My favorite thing to do with it is create "Novelty" Twitter accounts. Basically you use Twitter to publish poetry, musings, or even take on the persona of someone else. 

This combination of things has led me to create one for the character Tyrion Lannister, played by Emmy-winner Peter Dinklage. Specifically for when he's drunk.

Go home, Cirsei. You are drunk.

Monday, March 11, 2013

Transcription of a Linguistic Philosophy Presentation

Are there any Wittgenstein scholars here? No? Okay, this is going to be hard to explain…

Wittgenstein = natural language is a family of “language games”


Whole jumble…(error: data not found)

[Someone’s Name]



Academic pontification…(error: data not found)

[Someone’s Name]

Slight changes in meaning from translation can change the meaning of a piece altogether

Multi-linguistic creation

In essence, we are able to make the strange the familiar by accessing it through a different part of our mind.

Friday, March 8, 2013

Look what I did for a friend of mine! And money!

Been a long while since I uploaded something new, I know. However, I thought I'd use this Spring Break as an opportunity to catch up on non-school related things, things that are important to me. So I'm going to use this blog to advertise my side business! Yay capitalism!

Basically I'm doing this thing now where I write short stories about other people, for other people. Payscale tends to vary based on the length and complexity of the project. The idea is to create fun little mini-fables about that person, but I'm not opposed to doing non-fiction or experimental prose. I try to incorporate as much as I know about the person as I can into the plot and content of the story. For those whom I may not know as well as others, I have them fill out a quick little questionnaire that asks a few impersonal questions about themselves.

So this is the first one so far. Send me a message at if you'd like to write one for you! Otherwise, enjoy this thing I wrote!

The Man from Japan

Until the Captain was murdered, the war had been uneventful for the crew of the CSS Porthos.

All my life I’ve loved books, especially loved ancient adventure stories—the ones about European knights, magical swords and powerful sorceresses. I even happened upon a few books about places even further east by way of a friend of my second eldest brother Charlie. Those were my favorites.

There were clans of assassins in Japan called ninjas. The legends about them made them sound like gods, or devils. The stories I’ve read never mentioned white men among their ranks. Then again, they never mentioned active ninja much over the past two hundred years.

The prime suspect is currently a young private by the name of Swanson. He disappeared the night Captain Sinclair was killed. I wish not to accuse the man of such a terrible crime, if for nothing else but our friendship…unfortunately the evidence is not in his favor.

He arrived on the Porthos about a year after the majority of the crew. At first he had our suspicion, the  same treatment newcomers always get. Let me tell you, I have never seen a man win people over as quickly as he. One night, first week he was on the ship, walked right into the common area where half the crew was playing cards. “Anyone fancy some bourbon?” he announced. Pried open this big box he was carrying. Inside were four bottles of good Kentucky bourbon and three pounds of tobacco.

From our conversations I learned we shared a keen interest in the culture of Asia, particularly Japan. He could even speak the language. He showed me a collection of merchandise he’d purchased in the orient, including an empty earthenware bottle of rice wine and a letter that had been written in the Japanese alphabet by a friend of his. I asked him to translate it for me, and after a second of hesitation he cheerfully obliged. I’m forced to wonder if he really spoke to me the same words written on that parchment.

One night Swanson brought in a rare shipment: a few bottles of some expensive Northern cognac. Of course, he’d been smuggling liquor onto the ship for us for months, so we thought nothing of it. Everyone on the crew had a taste, including the captain, whom Swanson had politely demanded take the first swig.

When I came to, I saw the entire crew was slumped over, inebriated to the point of incapacitation. I did not see Swanson, but I did see the captain. He was dead in his seat, a black, triangular knife protruding from his neck, his uniform soaked dark with blood. Parchment was attached to a loop at the end of the handle, written in the Japanese language. My name was printed at the top of the page, the only English words written therein.

Why Swanson killed the captain, I may never know. I’ve found a man in Mexico who speaks both English and Japanese, and can read and write in both. I’ll show it to him, and maybe then I’ll get some answers. Or maybe I’ll just be left with more questions.

Pvt. Dale Moreau
April 14th, 1864