A Dog Of Panic

A Dog of Panic
by Ray Macula

Upon the day, a Dog of Panic
Crossed my way.
A bearer of Havoc he was,
He did say.
And with him first the Blight did come,
To rot out the teeth of everyone.
Second, came on quite the affliction,
Which could not be treated with the strongest prescription,
Soon followed by an increased conscription,
For the need for war became quite the addiction.
And as all these things transpired,
I asked why our land’s doom was desired.
To me he did say:
“Twas Havoc who let slip this Dog of Panic
And together we shall increase your loss,
As it was deemed by the Great Boss Chaos.”
“To what end shall these means justify?”
Was my only reply.
“End? No end, Squire. But before you ask, ‘why does this happen to me’
Know that all is merely a function of entropy.”
He responded with glee.
“Today it is you who will be ploughed under”
He went on
“Tomorrow your neighbor will fear the thunder.
The cycle goes on and none are spared, thus is The Way
And the Universe does not care.”
“The end then for me, The Universe
Does not weep with sorrow or dance with glee?”
Was the next question to come from me.
“To these both the answer is ‘no.’
It shall merely bestow,
New life, new challenges
To the next ones to grow.”
Said he the Servant of Havoc.
Then the sea he did cross
To find the next place to serve Chaos.

Death in the Valley of the Ants

Death in the Valley of the Ants
by Ray Macula

There is a valley of rock and sand,
Arid and dusty is this land.
From towers of dirt do they emanate,
For the Royal’s Command do they emigrate.
Their name is ‘Legion’ for they are many,
Of one mind from worker to sentry.
In the Deep and Dark the Royal commands,
For food they travel to distant lands.
Neither wing, nor speed, nor branch, nor rock,
Will impede this ravenous stock.
Upon the Dead they do feed,
For a meal this easy,
Is sure to please,
And their bellies they’ll not need to squeeze.
But in the Kingdom there lands an unfortunate,
“Food!” commands the Royal, and so they eviscerate.
Arms and legs are torn apart,
As well as all the other body parts.
The Dark of the Depths beckons for more,
And this fresh meat they’ll not bother to store.

I Am Azrael, Bringer of Doom

I Am Azrael, Bringer of Doom
by Ray Macula

By the Holy Imam I am called, “Azrael.”
A servant of humanity of the Highest Order,
For the broken and worn down I finalize their slaughter.
I am the friend of the new,
For I keep the world vibrant and healthy for you.
I have nothing but compassion for the old and the sick,
As I try to eliminate their pain relatively quick.
Speak not of me malice or of hate,
I simply am here to remove the dead weight.
I wish no thank, I bear no wrath, don’t bother to resist,
Simply try to understand that you’re no longer fit to exist.
Your time has passed, you can move on at last.

In a year you’ll be forgotten by all
save me, your buddy, Mr. Death Deliverer of Souls.
And to those I haven’t met,
do not fret.
I’ll be seeing you soon,
For I am Azrael Bringer of Doom.

A Lemming’s Sorrow

A Lemming’s Sorrow
by Ryan Livingston

What happens to a lemming when not treated right?
What causes a lemming to be filled with fright?
What is it’s worry, what is its woe?
Why does it call to its mates in fields farmers sow?
What possesses fifty of its friends
To run to the end
Of a cliff and into the sea?
What could this beast’s problems be?
What would cause it to no longer want to roam?
Maybe it was something that occurred at home?

Triumph

Triumph
by Ryan Livingston

The sun shined brightly on them.
His shield glistened, near.
He loved her and she loved him,
But his duty called.
Her tears stained his white tunic.

Then the sky grew din.
Rain flowed and the sea darkened.
Evil boat took him,
And its dark break waved at her.
She cannot see him.
She loved him and he loved her.

Night fell very quickly.
Tomorrow they would attack,
The fifth troop and him
But that was not important
She was far away
He missed her and she missed him.

She held his picture
Near to her still beating heart.
She longs for the day
That he will return to her.
Weeks pass without him.
She loves him and he loves her.

Victory at Chal.
Triumph in the Devil’s Gulf.
The front is now clear.
So what, she is no where near.
The brigands, they charge.
So must he, with sword in fist.

A pain fills her gut
It lingers, aching badly.

A carriage draws near,
A black cart with a black horse.
A man approaches.
At once she opens the door.
It was not her love.

He presents he with a box.
A cracked sword and shield
Lie atop a dark red cloth.
She cries, it’s her love’s tunic.
The man opens the carriage door.
On crutch her love comes,
His stomach bandaged.
He loves her and she loves him.

War is a strong force
It destroys everything.
A man’s devotion
And woman’s undying love
Will overtake war.

How to be a Creep at Xmas

by Ryan Livingston & Ray Macula

The Christmas season is upon us… again. Year after year it’s the same old thing, same Santa, same carols, same socks, same fruitcake (dusted off and re-packaged of course).

In order to make Christmas a little more interesting allow us to present ways to become a Christmas creep this season. Don’t worry, Santa’s no longer looking in order to fill his production quota.

Ask for gifts that come in large and/or odd packaging; something that when wrapped it’ll be obvious what it is. This gives the giver the challenge of wrapping creatively, making Xmas a sport of sorts.

Wait on the roof with a hose and hope the carolers come around on a particularly cold night.

Find where your loved ones hide the presents, then move them to the other side of the house. Be sure to have popcorn ready when they go to get them.

Go to midnight mass and instead of falling asleep, argue with the priest/minister.

Replace all the booze at your Xmas party with non-alcoholic substitutes then bribe your guests for better gifts (and cash) with the good booze.

Take the eggs you’ve saved from Easter and add them to the batch waiting to go in the nog.

Tell your guests that you’ll be playing one of the few movies out there that sow the true meaning of Christmas, and then put on Jurassic Park 3.

Shoot your limit of those Blow-up Reindeer Lawn decorations.

Then go to town on the Snowmen and Santas.

Put turbans on all of the ornaments and decorations that are human/human like; eg, Santa, teddy bears, etc.

Cry about not getting a dreidel.

Encourage children to wake their parents at 4am both on the 24th and 26th yelling, “Santa Came, Santa Came”

Rig the lights on the Xmas tree so they go up the angel’s skirt (conveniently sitting on top of the tree. Then rant for 30 minutes on what kind of funk things could be going on “up there,” as well as remark “no wonder she’s got such a big smile.”

Put The Chipmunks Christmas Song on loop, and hide the CD player.

Put mistletoe in the bathroom, and then wait outside whenever a pretty girl goes in.

Pronounce the “T” in Christmas.

And always remember:

Winter hath returned!

Today, for those of you elsewhere than where I am, the East Coast was, or still is rather, ravaged by a “Nor’easter.” Again, for the benefit of those in sunnier places, a nor’easter is this: blizzard conditions accompanied by torrential rains, winds, floods, thunder and lightning and the occasional locusts. They usually begin on a Friday and end somewhere on Monday afternoon (for some reason).

Civilization as we know it halts for a weekend; some places up to a fortnight depending on the damage. All in all however, we shrug it off like a nomad would a dust devil.

The News hypes it of course; it’s their job. Reporters stomping around in roadside slush, dodging tractionless cars, interview all the fools who thought could get “out and back” before the gods sneeze on them. A supply to last a month is the usual cargo, as well as shovels and salt to combat the snow.

Now I can see buying salt from year to year. You use it, it’s gone; you store it, it melts. No biggie. What I can’t fathom is the snow shovel bit. It begs the question: What happened to the one bought last year?

It’s not like snow, let alone the white hell we’re in now, is rare. Who are all these people keeping the shovel industry in business? What’s the deal?

Do these people buy shovels, store them, and then forget where they put them? That’s one hell of a closet!

Maybe it’s customary to leave your shovel when you move? If that’s true, shouldn’t there be one waiting at the new place?

Are all of them new to the northeast? Can’t be that… the smart move from, not towards.

Have they all been in stasis since… forever?

I don’t know, but there they are, standing happily outside Home Depot with a shovel in their mitts and a microphone in their face.

I’ve been using the same shovel for years. I’m beginning to think this is some fashion faux pas. My shovel is so five years ago! I’m so embarrassed.

It’s just odd, that’s all I’m sayin’.