posted by arthbard at 10:28 am on Sunday, May 16, 2010
Labels: Arthimation, Humor
[ 9 comments ]
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Twilight is pretty much the hottest thing out, right now. The first two films in the series have been breaking box office records, and your esteemed blogger Arthbard has just been given a special sneak preview of the third movie. I know! I was as surprised as anyone! Anyway, in this film Bella has a brand new vampire love interest who I predict is going to be even more popular than the Edward Cullen character of the previous films. The movie is still several months away from release, but I’m pleased to be able to show you this trailer, which is presented in comic format for some reason. Just go with it! posted by arthbard at 12:41 am on Saturday, December 5, 2009 Labels: Humor [ 6 comments ]
… Here’s a an old drawing of me made by a young relative many years ago.
 posted by arthbard at 8:02 pm on Friday, November 13, 2009 Labels: Humor [ 5 comments ]Police are warning about a new threat to our safety. A new criminal walks our streets, threatening our way of life. A criminal who invades our very homes. For the past several months, this mysterious offender, known only as “The Bread Molester,” has been breaking into houses in order to stroke, grope, and otherwise fondle your bread. Police sketch artists have issued this image based on witness descriptions:  Police are advising everyone to examine their bread carefully. You may have been a victim of the Bread Molester if your bread exhibits any of the following syptoms:
If you or anyone you know suspects that your bread has been molested, please:
and, above all else,
Please! Warn your friends! Spread the Word! Protect your bread! Only with your help can we ever hope to end the menace of THE BREAD MOLESTER! posted by arthbard at 7:56 pm on Saturday, October 10, 2009 Labels: Humor [ 3 comments ]Michael quietly stepped through the gate, walking down a dark, shade‑filled passageway. The passageway opened into a spacious clearing. In the center, spirits crowded around a tall stone structure, at the peak of which sat three men, presumably judges determining the ultimate destiny of the dead. As Michael stepped forward, a booming voice on his right announced, “The mortal clearly wishes firsthand acquaintance with my wrath.” Michael turned to see the great lord Hades on his adamantine throne, the queen Persephone on his left. Their dark robes hung over their bodies, flowing onto the floor around them. Hades’ piercing eyes were fixed on the intruder. “Perhaps he desires early admission to Tartarus, hm? Or maybe he would prefer the pursuit of the Furies?” Persephone eyed these proceedings with obvious interest. She linked her arm around the dark lord’s and leaned closer to him, her pallid lips whispering into his ear. “Let us see why he comes, my husband.” Hades stated simply, almost as if the idea had been his own, “Speak, human. What is your purpose?” “Well …” Michael hesitated for a moment, avoiding eye contact with the fearsome deity. Then, he stuttered out, “Well, Mr. … that is … Lord Hades … I come seeking Valerie O’Connor.” Underneath the heavy beard, Hades’ mouth twisted up in a vague sort of smirk. “A woman,” he said. “How original. Let me guess. Your recently departed love?” “Well …” “Rhadamanthus.” Hades turned to one of the three judges. “We have this … Valerie O’Connor?” A bearded man on the stone pedestal quietly flipped through a book, searching intently. After a few moments, he looked up, saying, “Yes, Lord. She arrived here, recently.” “I should like her present.” Rhadamanthus gave a slight nod to an unseen being somewhere in the midst of the shades. There was immediate motion, but the crowd of the dead made it difficult to make out exactly what was going on. It seemed that spirits were hastily moving aside to make way for something else that was traveling through their midst. Soon, the crowd opened, revealing a twisted hag—possibly one of the dreaded Furies—accompanied by a single shade. Michael turned his head aside to avoid having to gaze upon that horrible countenance. Picking up on this, Hades grinned a small, cruel grin and said, “This is merely Megaera. Pray you never have to meet her sisters, as well.” He then nodded to the creature, who promptly receded, disappearing into the crowd to attend to other matters. The spirit who had accompanied Megaera came forward before the lord of the Underworld, in whose presence the ambiguous shadow lifted, revealing the earthly form of a short, dark‑haired woman, possibly in her mid‑forties. She was dazed at first, struggling to adapt after being jerked through various levels of reality, but soon came to herself, blinking in confusion. “Michael …?” Hades looked her over, his intense eyes seeming to absorb every aspect of her being. “I expected more.” He turned his attention back to Michael. “But I suppose you intend to tell me of a love surpassing all others, an emotional bond that not even death can break. You think to tell me, as every other lover I’ve ever met, that your love is special, stronger, more intense than any on earth, hm?” “Well …” “Am I right?” “Well …” Michael shuffled his feet in the dirt, feeling a bit silly. “We’re not really lovers …” “Oh …” For just a moment, the great lord almost seemed to be taken aback. “Who is she, then? A sister? A cousin? A close friend?” “She’s my boss.” Hades said nothing. Persephone sat quietly by his side. Even the murmuring of the shades ceased. Aside from a brief scream of suffering echoing from somewhere in the farther reaches of Tartarus, the Underworld appeared to have gone silent. Valerie stared at Michael in puzzlement. “Why are you here? You don’t look dead.” At some length, Hades blurted out, “Explain yourself.” Michael made every attempt to sound elegant and convincing, but found it to be a bit difficult given the circumstances. “You see, Mr. … Lord Hades … We’re in kind of a pickle. The deadline for our weekly paper is tomorrow morning, but without our editor, we’re basically screwed. Nobody else knows how we’re supposed to lay out the ads … No one knows how to do the proper format for page one … And I’ll be damned if I’m going to be the one who has to deal with the board of directors.” After an uncomfortable pause, Hades said bluntly, and mildly awkwardly, “No.” It wouldn’t occur to him until later that he’d just missed the perfect opportunity to make a joke about already being damned. “Michael …” In shock and horror, Valerie was finally starting to get the gist of what was going on. “I don’t really want to go back … I actually kind of like being dead.” If Michael heard her, he didn’t show it. Instead, he continued his negotiations with Hades. “Now, I realize what I’m asking is a bit … unorthodox … but we’re really desperate, here. Look, if you like, I can talk with some of the board members. We can probably arrange some sort of deal. I’m sure I could convince them to relinquish, say, a 20% share in the stock. I know, we’re a small paper, and our profits may not be as much as, well, chartering dead souls across the river, but I think …” “No …” Hades, wide‑eyed, turned briefly towards his queen. Just as dumbfounded as her husband, Persephone apologized, “I’m sorry … I was sure he was in love or something.” Trying desperately to regain his composure, Hades turned back to Michael and said, “No. I’m sorry, but this sort of thing’s just not done.” He paused for a moment. “I don’t know … I suppose I should punish you and stuff …” Michael sighed heavily. A powerful surge of frustration was rushing through his body. “Look, Mr. Hades … I didn’t want to come to the Underworld. My coworkers voted, and I got stuck with the task. Why? Because I’m the only man in the office. Really. They talk about equality, but when it comes down to the dirty stuff, why is it always still up to the guy, huh?” “Look, sir …” Ignoring the interruption, Michael continued, ranting, “Why is it always ‘Michael, come lift this heavy crate?’ ‘Michael, go down to the Underworld.’ ‘Michael, come step on this spider.’ I don’t even like spiders! I …” Valerie, still trying to make her point, interjected, “Michael … I slaved away the last twenty years of my life in that place. That’s twenty years of deadlines, twenty years of board meetings. I did the bills, I dealt with unsatisfied advertisers, angry letters to the editor, I installed software on the computers, I put the toner in the printers, I cleaned the carpet that time your little nephew threw up in the office. For the past twenty years, I’ve been stuck with every problem, every crisis, every unpaid bill … I tell you, Michael, if that car hadn’t killed me, the stress would have. I’m sick of it. I’m tired. I’m done. All I want now is for everybody to just leave me alone and let me rest in peace.” Once again, quiet filled the Underworld, not even the screams of the tormented daring to interrupt it. It was Michael that broke the silence, speaking to Hades. “There has to be some arrangement we can make.” Her eyes widening, Valerie blurted out, “Michael!” Hades shook his head, his beard waving against his chest. “I’m afraid it is poor practice for the lord of the dead to return souls to the earth.” “Well,” Michael reasoned, his brain desperately searching for any logic that might help him to achieve his goal, “it’s not like she has to stay or anything.” “What do you mean?” “Well,” Michael said, “I’m to understand that you’ve got your wife, here, on a sort of a shared basis.” Persephone’s eyes dropped awkwardly. “You only get her for six months, right? The other six months, you have to let her go topside.” Hades grunted unhappily. “Well,” Michael continued, “it’s not like we need her for that long, or anything. We really only need her for the deadline. Say, you send her up every Tuesday, and you can keep her down here for the rest of the week.” Valerie was speechless, her jaw agape, but Hades pointed out, “It doesn’t even seem that she desires to return with you.” “Well, can’t you punish her or something?” Hades simply stared at the man, unblinking. Michael said, “Well, you do that here, don’t you? Punish the wicked? I mean … Why here, right? Coming topside can be … You know … Sort of like her community service.” Hades considered this and, turning to the three judges, said, “Minos, Rhadamanthus, Aeacus.” In response, the three judges all began carefully studying their records, intently considering every detail. Still speechless, Valerie stared at Michael, who merely shrugged and cast his eyes down. Somehow, saying sorry just didn’t seem like it would help anything. The judges began discussing things amongst themselves, comparing each others’ notes. After a few minutes, the one on the left turned to Hades and said, “Lord.” “The girl has sinned?” “It seems she was wont to watch a television program in which a group of men play cruel, and sometimes obscene, ‘practical jokes’ on unsuspecting innocents. My associates and I have determined this material to be unsuitable for viewing.” “I see,” said Hades, “and how often was she known to watch this program?” The judge turned his attention back to his notes, studying them briefly before looking back up and announcing, “Every Wednesday at nine o’clock.” Hades nodded, then, turning towards Valerie, declared, “In light of this new evidence, I have no choice but to decree that, since the defendant sinned once a week, she shall henceforth be punished once a week by being required to finish the newspaper in question in time for the appointed deadline.” After a moment, he added, “Oh, yes, for all eternity.” In shock, Valerie stumbled and fell to her knees, as Michael heaved a sigh of relief at having successfully accomplished his task. Persephone elbowed her husband’s left side and stared intently at him, a look of accusation clearly showing in her fierce eyes. Hades turned to look at her, paused for a moment, and shrugged, saying only, “What?” ***** One Tuesday later, Valerie O’Connor stood at a counter explaining to a baffled customer the definition of the word late. “I’m sorry, sir, but the deadline for accepting classified ads was at noon, yesterday.” The disgruntled man said, “But the paper doesn’t come out till Friday.” “That’s Thursday, actually,” Valerie corrected, “but it’s printed on Wednesday, the deadline for getting it to the printer’s is tomorrow morning, the classified page is already done, and we have ten more pages to lay out.” “Uh‑huh,” the man answered, “well, do you think maybe you could squeeze it in?” Valerie explained, “If we put another ad in, it will throw off that page, the classifieds will have to spill over onto another page, which we’ll also have to completely redo, we’ll have to move material from that page to another page, which would throw it off, forcing us to redo it as well, probably taking out important stories in the process, all so you can tell people about your yard sale that doesn’t happen for another two weeks anyway.” “But the paper doesn’t come out till Friday.” Valerie sighed heavily, holding her head in despair. She’d had this conversation before and knew there was only one way it could turn out. “We’ll see what we can do.” “Well, I’d appreciate …” The man hesitated, studying the despondent expression on Valerie’s face. After a moment, he said, “Hey, didn’t you die?” THE END posted by arthbard at 9:23 pm on Saturday, October 3, 2009 [ 3 comments ]Black water splashed and swirled around the oar. Charon pulled it from the river, dripping wet and covered in algae, only to plunk it back in a few feet forward. He moved the boat along at a leisurely pace. He did this all day, every day. Clearly, he was in no hurry. Michael sat beside the shades, hearing their incessant mumblings. He tried to stave off the fear of where he was and what he was headed to. “I, uh … I like this little setup you’ve got here …” “Eh?” “This ferry gig,” Michael elaborated, trying his best not to embarrass himself. “The dead people, you know … They’ve got to get across the river, and you’re the only one to take them.” He paused for a moment, awkwardly groping for something else to say. “Very … capitalistic, you know.” “It’s a living.” The ferryman spoke without facing Michael. His eyes continued to stare across the expanse of coal‑black water. When Charon didn’t continue, Michael nodded his head, saying, “I’ll bet.” After another moment, he added, “So … um … How much would you say you take in … in, like, a week or something?” “Enough.” “Ah … Yes …” Michael fidgeted in his seat, looking from one shade to the other. “Enough for what?” Charon rowed on, apparently paying no heed to the question. “I mean … like … what do you do with all those coins.” The oar plopped out of the water and plunked back in again. Plop. Plunk. Plop. Plunk. Then, just when Michael thought the conversation was over, the ferryman answered, “I save them.” “Frugal. That’s a good quality.” “I store them in my dwelling‑place at the shore.” Plop. “I have a chest.” Plunk. “With a lock.” Plop. Plunk. Michael considered this carefully, then ventured, “So you don’t really … do … anything with them?” “Not much call for money, down here.” “Oh …” There was an awkward silence. “If that’s the case …” Michael stopped for a moment, hoping he wouldn’t come off sounding very stupid. “… You might as well do it for free, I’d think.” “I don’t run a charity.” “Of course not.” Michael shifted nervously in his seat, hoping the gruffness in the ferryman’s voice was just a product of his aged vocal cords and not an indication of anger. Charon’s silence did little to reassure him. The boatman continued staring forward, motionless save his constant rowing. Plop. Plunk. Plop. Plunk. Finally, the shore began to emerge from the darkness, and Charon broke the silence. “Cerberus guards the gate.” He reached into his robe, pulling out a small object. “You’ll need this if you hope to get past.” Michael extended his arm to take the object that was offered to him and examined it. As Charon turned back to watch the way ahead, he observed, “It’s a chicken bone.” “You must keep your wits about you, stranger. Ahead of you lies great peril. To survive, you will have to use every means at your disposal.” “But,” Michael reiterated, “it’s a chicken bone,” The boat reached the shore, Charon pushing it onto land with his oar. The shades onboard disembarked, hurrying forth to meet their respective destinies. As Michael stepped foot onto the sand, the ferryman said, “Farewell, mortal. If the Fates decree it, perhaps we shall meet again … before your allotted time.” “But it’s a chicken bone …” Charon sighed in exasperation. “You Americans … I suppose you’d rather have an AK. For the gods’ sakes, I said I’d carry you over the river, not hold your hand the whole bleeding way. Figure out the rest yourself. It’s not that bleeding complicated.” With that, he pushed the ferry back into the water, mumbling in irritation to himself about what the world was coming to these days. Michael sighed heavily, turning inland. Ahead of him, he could see the great stone gate. In front of it, a monstrous, three-headed canine—Cerberus—sat on its haunches. Its six fiery eyes kept an astute watch on the shades that had accompanied Michael as they entered the gate, then turned to Michael, himself, as if daring him to come within twenty feet. Michael gathered up his courage and stepped forward to meet it. In response, the beast rose, its body tensing in anticipation of battle, a low growl emanating from its slavering lips. Black sand puffed into the air around an enormous paw as it took one step towards the trespassing mortal. From Michael’s throat came only a nervous gulp. He lowered his eyes, looking helplessly toward his open palms. Cerberus’ eyes followed the mortal’s down, stopping at his hands. Then, the creature’s snarling stopped. Three tongues lolled over three sets of fangs, panting, as the monster sat back down, eagerly watching the human. Seeing this, Michael looked from Cerberus to his hands and back to Cerberus, again. Then, he pulled his right hand back and flung the chicken bone as hard as he could. With obvious joy, the great beast bounded off after the prize, its paws thudding loudly against the ground. Its left head snatched the bone up, only to have the right head try to pull it away as the third head—stuck in the middle—struggled to participate in the action without being crushed by its two brothers. posted by arthbard at 7:11 pm on Monday, September 28, 2009 [ 2 comments ] |
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