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Olaf

“Can you see why this spell won’t compile?” Olaf asks, defeated.

Tatanga leans in. “You don’t have syntax highlighting on?”

“That’s cheating,” Olaf grumbles.

“I bet you just left off a hagalaz.”

“I didn’t leave off a hagalaz.”

“Does it say UNEXPECTED ꍸ-SYMBOL in the console or–”

“I didn’t leave off a hagalaz!”

She reaches over and clicks on his highlighting. Eldritch light flares from the screen (he left off a hagalaz).

“Low-level algorithmaturgy really does have a steep learning curve,” she says gently. “Have you maybe thought about, like, web development?”

“YEEAGH,” says Olaf, clutching his ruined eyes.

A Handy Pocket Guide to Distinguishing Wolves from Foxes

  1. Everyone you know is a wolf or a fox (and if we grow up, we grow up to be badgers).
  2. Foxes laugh at all their own jokes. Wolves just repeat the ones they heard from foxes.
  3. Foxes are pretty; wolves are lovely. Foxes can dart, but wolves can run.
  4. Foxes can walk on top of the snow, whereas wolves clear a path for the others.
  5. When a wolf loves a fox, it ends with tears shed. When a fox loves a fox, it ends in blood.
  6. A fox loved a wolf once. It never ended.
  7. Wolves cry; foxes burrow.
  8. Everyone kills.

von Bloöd

“What the hell was that out there?” yells Coach von Bloöd.

“Sorry, Coach,” says Thung, as the team medic wraps bandages around the axe in his skull.

“I want to see hustle! I want to see some execution!”

“But we ran that play just like you–”

“No! Literally execution!” says von Bloöd. “Can’t any of you decapitate their paladin?”

“Us not been playing dungeonball very long!” whines Ragachak. “Ragachak forget most of rules.”

“There are no rules!” roars the Coach, swelling with dark rage. “Just go kill the stupid adventurers!”

“Yeah, right,” mutters Bazuzel, “after we all got nerfed in 3.5.”

Bad Pennies

Pennies don’t go bad from mere
Exposure to the air;
They need immersion–turbid, warm–
And gentle, cruel care.
Don’t let their tarnish verdigrize.
Don’t keep it bright or clean,
But mold it, topiarylike,
Into a thing of green
And verdant, fertile, grasping hands
Impossible to sate.
Then turn them loose in pocket change
And watch them propagate:
Each zinced-out copper currencette
Will sow discord and strife
And reap a feast of misery
From someone’s ruined life.
Don’t act surprised to see it work,
You who set loose the flood.
There’s a reason, after all,
That pennies taste of blood.

David Mamet

After the reading, an eager Betsy shuffles through the line to get her copy signed. “This is a real honor,” she says, trying to sound cool. “I was wondering if maybe you’d draw in it? Like you do on HuffPo–“

“Of course.” Smiling, David Mamet draws two large and shaky circles, then a smaller circle within each of them. Finally, at each of their epicenters, he draws a single dot.

Betsy accepts it with a hint of hesitation. “Er,” she says, “is it an illustration of the inherent conflict between human need and masculine aggression, or–”

“It’s boobs,” explains David Mamet.

Scrooge

“You will be haunted,” resumes Marley, “by three Spirits.”

“I–I think I’d rather not,” says Scrooge.

“Remember what has passed between us!”

Scrooge goes to bed, and falls asleep upon the instant. He wakes as the curtains are drawn aside by a strange figure–not so like a child as like an old man, viewed through some supernatural medium. His arms are twiglike, his face and belly swollen. He has no eyes. His skin is pale and spongy, ripe with decay.

“WHAT THE FUCK,” says Scrooge, before the monster child renders him like a cow for the slaughter.

Merry Christmas!

Crucible

Crucible and the other dungeonbots burst into a room, surprising eight kobolds. They attack first, their hammers and flamethrowers damaging four of the kobolds. Then the kobolds attack and damage them. Then the dungeonbots kill two kobolds. Then the remaining kobolds attack. Then the dungeonbots kill four kobolds. Then the last two kobolds attack but don’t do very much. The dungeonbots kill them.

“Healing?” says the clericbot, holding up a steel plate and some rivets.

“I’m fine,” says the thiefbot, picking through kobold brains for pennies.

“Ah,” says Crucible, as tiny rubber blades wipe the blood from his optical sensors. “Adventure!”

A Horror Story

The Higbee’s Santa lives alone, and keeps his red suit on a hat tree by the door. He’s eating dinner under a bare bulb when Ralphie’s face appears outside his window.

“Jesus!” says the Higbee’s Santa, jerking back from the table. “All right, real funny, kid. You some kind of peeping–”

He hesitates. Ralphie isn’t peeping. His eyes are ruined, pierced by the shards of his shattered glasses.

“What the fuck happened to you?” he whispers.

“He shot his eyes out,” says Flick, opening his tongueless mouth to disgorge a torrent of blood. The Higbee’s Santa screams and screams.

Merry Christmas!

The Gift

There are two possessions of the Dillingham-Youngs in which they both take a mighty pride. One is his gold watch, which was his great-grandfather’s; the other is her hair.

Each of them, harboring a fond wish for vitality eternal, naturally chooses to invest their soul in a phylactery. She pours the sands of her life into the gears of his pocketwatch. While she sleeps, he weaves the strands of his own fate into her tresses.

Their enemies wither before them. Undying, unliving, the Dillingham-Youngs rule a kingdom of shambling corpses.

They are the wisest. They are the magi.

Xerxes

Wooden bridges, it transpires, have a pretty short lifespan when you try to march the world’s largest army across them in a storm. A thousand Persian soldiers all try to invent armored swimming. They fail.

“Christ,” says Xerxes. “Surely my invasion of Greece can suffer no more humiliating setback!”

“A floating bridge–” begins Harpalus.

“Fine, whatever!” says Xerxes. “I’m going to whip this stupid strait with a hot iron while my generals call it names!”

Then they do that. I’m serious, look it up.

The Hellespont is largely unaffected by the whipping, but some of the name-calling cuts pretty deep.