Two Fisted Toast!

Re-Animation

2006-06-16T13:46:00.000-06:00

Seems like I go through these cycles, of what I want to do.

Today, I come back to the Two Fisted Toast blog. We'll see how long that lasts. But for now, you can catch a short preview of the impending (and slightly delayed) Soupy Toasterson book if you come to this space on Monday. On Tuesday, you can read my television column, and on Wednesday, a new Lost Toast. After that, your guess is as good as mine. Maybe I could con my old contributor friends into donating a piece or two.

Let's kick it.

Stay lightly toasted.

-B.

Dear Bloggers Re-dux

2005-11-18T17:57:00.000-07:00

So, right after I posted the "Dear Bloggers" post, I wasn't allowed to access the posting page for this site. Now, I think it was a coincidence, but just in case, and appology to the Hard-Done-By-Teenage-Bloggers:

Sorry for bad mouthing you. Everyone really does hate you, and the universe is, in fact, conspiring to make your lives blow.

Thank You.

-B.

Dear Bloggers

2005-11-14T23:22:00.000-07:00

Dear Hard-Done-By-Teenaged-Bloggers.

The world doesn't hate you.

The universe isn't working against you.

Do you know why you're sad? It's because you like the attention that you get when you pretend to be hurt beyond all repair by this "cruel, cruel world", and don't you deny it. If you weren't in it for the attention, you wouldn't be blogging it for the entire world to see. You'd keep the hurt inside, or maybe share it with the few friends that care about you.

And on that note: yeah. You have people who care about you. Surprised? Don't be. Everyone has someone who cares about them, and you should take the time to thank them for caring. Stop pretending like they say nice things just so that you can twist them into some depressing comment about your life.

Oh, and you know that girl or boy you like? Or the many boys and girls that you like? The ones who you say you have no chance with, and then proceed to whine about how the whole world's population would be better of if they just saw how special you were? Stop telling me about them, and take a chance by... I don't know... trying to connect with one. You just might be surprised by the results.

That is all.

Magnaimously yours,

-B. Schatz

Strands Begins Next Week!

2005-11-13T23:57:00.000-07:00

So, a few years ago, I completed a story. It was called "Strands", and I was so incredibly proud of it, I began to show it to everyone who would take the time to read the printed copy.

And they loved it. Some told me that they even cried while reading it, and the thought of making people feel absolutely horrible made me happy inside.

But here's the thing everyone didn't know: what they read, was a first draft. It was terribly rough and some of the dialogue made me cringe. However, even in all this time, I've done nothing with the property.

Until now.

"Strands" will be posted at this site starting on November 21st, 2005, all shiney and pretty, and will be serialized until mid-February. But, if you can't wait that long, an "in-your-hand-kind-of-book" version will be availible by December 8th.

Check out the site for details when "Strands" premieres next week.

And if you have any questions regarding "Strands" send them to twofistedtoast - at - gmail.com, or make a comment below! I'll hopefully use them as a countdown to the beginning.

Magnanimously yours,

-B.

NaNoWriMo - (Day 12)

2005-11-12T15:29:00.000-07:00

"Crap. What day of NaNoWriMo is it?"

Yes, that's what I thought before writing this post. Little did I know that when you start counting at November 1st, the days will match all the way through.

But anywhich.

NaNoWriMo is running full steam ahead! I'm at roughly 20,000 words, and I've gone back and expanded upon Peter's history and backstory. This project is looking to be at least double the 50,000 words, if not ever more, so it's all going to be used. How, is another question that will be addressed in the editting stage.

And while I'm doing that, I'm making notes about everyone else's history. Gregory Chaucer, Bill Shakespeare, the Ugly Boys, Faith, Jacob (bonus points if you've heard me use those names in previous works...)... everyone is getting a fair shakedown.

Faith is by *far* going to be the most interesting of the bunch, as she is one of the mysterious "Dreamers" who will end up playing a big part in The Everlast, and I can't wait to get to the psudo-ending of Peter's story so I can start building hers.

In other news, Craig Reade has already gotten past the halfway mark, and I will hate him for that forever. Just three more days until 25,000 needs to be hit.

It's going to be decent.

Magnanimously Yours,

-B.

Remotely Pretty #08

2005-11-11T19:54:00.000-07:00

Remotely Pretty
Created and curated by B. Schatz

#08 - Saw This, Thought of You

The day after you dumped me, I felt a little strange. I thought I was angry with you, but I couldn't really tell for sure.

Then I looked at the sky, and I suddenly knew.

The Soupy Toasterson Show #05

2005-11-10T02:07:00.000-07:00

The Soupy Toasterson Show
Created by B. Schatz

#05 - The Gummy Bear Story.
Written by B. Schatz

[Soupy Toasterson]
This isn’t going to be easy. But then again, the past is never really easy. It’s more like a giant monster, hiding in a dark corner, waiting to pounce on you when you walk by an pop open your head, so that it can fill it with all the things you left behind.

The process, I hear, can kill you. Or at the very least, leave you mentally handicapped to the point where you begin to eat soup by placing a spoon between your toes and hoping for the best.

But today, I’m going to brave the toe eating future, and take a run at some old memories. Hopefully it’ll help me forget her… rather than bring everything else back. But these are the chances we take…

Soupy Toasterson, was in a marching band, and had been ever since 1998. When he first joined, he was much quieter than he was in his days where he was king of his own band mafia. In fact, even as the tail end of marching season came around, Soupy barely knew a soul, and he was actually thinking of quitting the band.

But, at the end of every marching season, there came The Stampede. Touted by locals as the most famous outdoor show on earth, there were many performances that the band would partake in, and for the whole year, the band had worked hard putting together a field show that they would take into competition against the other local marching bands. It was a big event, and required the members of the band to stay in close quarters for six whole days.

Soon, Soupy had developed a group of people who he used words to talk to, and in turn, they used words to talk to him. Also, he developed a crush on a girl.

It was the first girl he had liked since grade two when he had gotten married in the playground outside of his school. That, obviously meant something.

But Soupy was never the world’s most confident guy. While he saw this girl quite often over the course of the six days, he didn't really know how to get her attention. So, he often tried to look for casual excuses to sit near her and hang his head low, very careful not to give her eye contact.

Because if he gave her eye contact, she would know.

Anyway, it wasn’t long before Soupy learned that the last day of the six day Stampede commitment fell upon the girl’s birthday.

Bolstered by this convenient excuse to possibly create some attention, Soupy set out to buy this girl a birthday present. But, this was 1999. He was only in grade eight, and didn’t exactly make a whole lot of money. Added to that: the band was already near the end of their stay at The Stampede, so any of the money that he had brought, was mostly spent.

So, with no other recourse, Soupy set out to the nearest convenient store, and began to purchase various kinds of candy. Sweet, sour, soft and hard… a kind for every taste, just to cover all of his bases.

Shortly after he did this, he returned to the place where the band was staying, bag of candy held tightly in his hand. Soon after, the girl appeared within his sight.

There was no one else really around her, but she wasn’t close: almost the entire length of a hallway away. But she was there. And all Soupy had to do, was walk up to her, and hand her the bag of candy.

He took a step forward, and his legs began to feel as if they were made out of rubber. His mouth went dry and his hands began to shake.

Then out, of no where, both of his feet planted themselves on the floor, and his mouth opened.

“Hey,” his voice yelled down the hallway.

The girl looked at Soupy.

Soupy nodded in her general direction.

“Happy birthday,” he yelled.

Then he threw the bag of candy, and it hit the girl square in the chest.

Afterwards, Soupy ran.

That girl would go on to be Soupy’s second actual girlfriend.

End.

The Soupy Toasterson Show is recorded every Thursday before a live studio audience. If you want tickets, send a postmarked envelope to our studios filled with money. Lots and lots and lots of money. The preceeding was, as always, entirely true and entirely false, depending on the moment and the memory. Look for the girl with the broken smile… ask her if she’d like to stay a while. -B.

Love Under 100 #07

2005-11-09T13:00:00.000-07:00

Love Under 100

#07 - Different Words For Abuse
Written by B. Schatz

After we went swimming, we took a walk outside. The cold froze our hair, and I showed you how to snap of some strands of hair with your finger nails, and you hit me, because I took out a chunk of your own.

I called it a love tap, but I wasn't about to tell you that.

Love Under 100 is a weekly segment appearing every Wednesday here at Two Fisted Toast! If you have a story about love and can tell it in 100 words or less, send it in to twofistedtoast@gmail.com. Anything recieved regarding this column that includes more than 100 words (not including the title), will be deleted. Our word counter is swift, and our word counter is merciless.

NaNoWriMo - (Day 07)

2005-11-07T20:57:00.000-07:00

The first week is over, and things are still on track, but I've become increasingly aware that posting this story without the proper story structure editting... isn't the grandest idea.

So that last part of The Everlast that I just posted? It will be the last you see in full.

Sorry about it. Don't get mad. Look, to make it up to you, here's a picture of a baby panda.

Thanks for reading so far. Hopefully you'll buy the published version when it comes out.

The Everlast - Put It In Your Pocket #02

2005-11-07T20:50:00.000-07:00

Right Here and Now

Jacob felt cold.

He had felt cold ever since he first boarded The Everlast a few weeks ago, and remained cold when as he saw the Starcrosser transport ship worm its way through Everything to look at the inhabitants of the floating wooden boat.

Cold was his natural state of being.

“Everyone, take whatever you have in your hands, and give them to the Ugly Boys!” the captain commanded, “It doesn’t matter what it is, so long as it is something, and not nothing. If we’re lucky, there may be a way out of this.”

In fact the more he thought about things, the more he remembered feeling cold quite often through out his life.

When he had lived at the Durmstrang Orphanage for the Dishevelled and Unruly, he remembered shivering under the thin sheet that was meant to keep him warm on the cold winter nights in There, where winter lasted months rather than a few weeks around Christmas time.

When he was adopted by the Kempt family, he remembered shuddering inside of his drafty room, despite the mounds of blankets he kept himself well wrapped inside.

And when he stood outside in the rain on the day of Mr. and Mrs. Kempt’s funeral, he remembered his teeth chattering as the falling water soaked him to the bone as their bodies slowly faded from existance.

“Move quickly!” another command arose, “They are starting to deploy, and it won’t take long for them to be on top of us!”

The sad truth of the matter was this: Jacob was always cold. Or rather, he was cold in the moments that he remained awake.

When he was sleeping… oh ho, was Jacob warm. Whenever his eyes fluttered shut and his mind began to drift away to other places, he could feel a strange warmth overtake the cold.

It would start at his toes, first as a tingle, and then as a glow. That glow would then spread, going up to his feet and through his ankles, going ever upward until the warmth would coat him completely, making him feel safe.

Jacob liked the warmth. He hadn’t been warm in many, many days.

“Does everyone know what they are doing? Is everyone in position? Jacob? Jacob, what are you doing?”

Standing on the deck of The Everlast, looking face to face to what he could only assume would be his eventual destruction, Jacob wondered what he would do to gain that warmth back again.

He had agreed to the attempt to catch the star: their supply of The Sleeping Dust had been running quite low, and as everyone knew, no one would get any sleep without it, not so long as they remained Here. He had known the risks going in and, like many others, was willing to take the chance needed so that they could all sleep peacefully, and so that he, specifically, could warm himself once again.

“Jacob, take this and get ready to fight,” the captain said, handing him an umbrella, “And whatever you do, don’t open it until you absolutely need to.”

However, as looked up at the several uniformed bodies floating a little ways off in the distance, defiantly wielding a device that would make Mary Poppins proud, he began to think about ceasing to exist.

It was accepted lore, that whenever anyone ceased to exist, whether they be one hundred and nine, or just nine years old, they would enter a state of eternal slumber.

Of eternal warmth.

It was then Jacob realized that no matter what the looming battle meant for the future, he had nothing to lose.

One way or another, he would feel comfort again.

But, knowing this still, he would do his best to fend off all those who would attack The Everlast. The crew and the boat had, after all, been nothing but good to him, offering him a chance to take part in adventure and comfort. He felt a kinship to them all.

And so when the aggressors began to rain down from above, he smiled.

He was satisfied with his future.

And happy to share his cold with whomever was stupid enough to cross his path on his way to it.

NaNoWriMo - (Day 06)

2005-11-06T23:24:00.000-07:00

We're at Day 06. How are things going?

Well, when Day 05 hit, so did the family drama, and I got a little behind. But, the cruel fact about NaNoWriMo, is that there are no excuses. November is a month just like any other, with life and all the grandness that it brings. Will you be lucky and have a good month or hit a rough patch and have a bad month? It's all the luck of the draw, and in the end, time will march on. You get no extensions. Midnight is midnight.

But I'm not letting things get me down. The adage where I ply my boot to your face whilst you doubt me still stands, and Abe Lincoln is stirring in his grave. You hear me?

It will get done.

Of course, you can catch a bit of my progress by clicking on "The Everlast" link over to the left, and you can get a look at my word count progress by hitting up my NaNoWriMo profile.

And hey, Dougie is still chugging right along with his own story, "The Adventures of Little Timmy", and Craigerton J. Reade has graciously pried open some front page space on Still on the Shelf to show us just how badly he's putting the rest of us to shame with his word count.

Yes, I know there's an adage that says "quality over quantity", but you can't exactly use that when the quality is also there.

Oh, how I loathe him for it.

Anyway, just thought I'd update you on how things are progressing. Except at least one more post of The Everlast tomorrow, followed by a picture of a baby panda.

Because I can.

Until then, stay lightly toasted!

Magnanimously yours,

-B. Schatz

The Everlast - Put It In Your Pocket #01

2005-11-05T23:56:00.000-07:00

The Everlast - Chapter 03 - Put It In Your Pocket
by B. Schatz

Back Here and Then.

At 6:59 p.m., the sky high above Here was filled with the warm glow of sunrays and giant, puffy white clouds. Every single day had little variation. Sure, when things seemed a bit dry, the clouds would immediately begin to turn into ominous shades of grey and expel water for a few hours, and for a few days around Christmas time, when the ground was supposed to be covered with a little bit of snow, the thick, white flakes would fall from the sky, but other than those few exceptions, Here remained quite bright and cheery from exactly seven in the morning, to six fifty-nine at night.

And then, night would fall.

For anyone who was visiting (or for that matter living) Here for the first time in their lives, it was quite an amazing sight. As soon as the clock struck seven p.m., the sky and clouds and sun and clouds would fade away inside of the course of five seconds, and in their place, a large yellow moon would appear and shining, majestic golden stars would dot the black sky.

This, was when the Starcrossers would start their work.

“Welcome to the Starship Hopeless Wonder,” an overly cheerful automated female voice greeted newly instated Starcrosser Chaucer as he set foot on the ship, “N. Consistency and Co. hope your stay will help you better appreciate your ability to exist.”

“Sounds like fun,” Chaucer muttered to himself.

“Making Everything a better place to live is always enjoyable, and you have the greatest job in the world!” the automated voice replied from somewhere above his head.

“Great. You can understand me.”

“I can also speak every single language recognized by the great people at N. Consistency and Co. and debate about the advantages of staving off mind-numbing depression!” it chimed.

“Which,” said a smiling man who strode towards Starcatcher Chaucer, “I hear, is an unfortunate pratfall in our profession, I’m afraid. Not that you were told that when you signed up for duty, I’m sure. The good old folks at N. Consistency and Co. tend to keep anything bad on the down low, so don’t be afraid if by the end of the year, you’ll feel the entire world crushing you very will to live.

“My name is Bill Shakespeare, and I’m the newly appointed Chief of Anomalies and Troublesome Events here at the Hopeless Wonder, but I’m not a huge fan of the whole hierarchy of titles thing, so… I’m going to pull rank here and tell you that you will be calling me Bill,” he continued, extending his hand in gratitude, “I’m also the reluctant but accommodating guide to new recruits. That last one is not an official position, however, it’s a job that needs to be done, and I am the only one here who has the cheerful disposition for it. Are you ready to get yourself acquainted with your home away from everyone and anyone who cares?”

“And you’re the happy one.”

“If you don’t count the computers, this is the best you’re going to do.”

“Sounds as if I’m going to be right at home here.”

“Grand, because it will be your home for a good portion of the year,” Bill smiled, leading Chaucer out of the entrance area and out into the first hallway in the ship, “New recruits are required to stay here for the entire year, your two weeks of vacation included. Yes, it defeats the whole purpose of ‘getting away from it all’, but N. Consistency and Co. are sticklers for rules when it comes to the new kids. What’s your name by the way? I was supposed to read the file on you, but my time is better spent doing things that don’t directly pertain to this job.”

“It’s Chaucer. Gregory Chaucer.”

“As in the Canterbury Tales?”

“Yeah, actually at the training academy, they used to call me Canterbury. I didn’t really care for that.”

“That’s clever,” Bill grinned, “Those new kids are clever. Canterbury. It’s catchy, I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Actually-“

“As you were probably told and… as you can see, this place is quite sizable,” Bill interrupted and continued, “A necessity when you have to house as many people as we do here. Now, your room will be of standard issue. Bed, desk, closet, and a half bath. There are communal showers, kitchens, and gathering areas on every floor, and you can use them as much as you please, but keep in mind, they are shared facilities, and the other occupants can, may and almost definitely will be a little cranky, because this place tends to bring out the best in people, are you following?”

“Kind of, uh-“

“Now, right here,” Bill pointed as the hallway opened up into an expansive room filled with monitor, knobs, dials and widgets of many different sizes and styles, “Is where all the magic happens. As you know, being a Starcrosser has been deemed very important by those at N. Consistency, and is, quite possibly, more important than anyone around here could possibly imagine, however that will not be discussed any further, because the computers, they are always listening, isn’t that right?”

“We monitor your life so that N. Consistency and Co. can keep Everything happy and existent,” the happy automated voice chimed.

“And while that never ceases to be a pain in everyone’s backside, we all deal with the hand we are dealt, and do our jobs to the best of our abilities, which brings us to,” he paused at an empty work station and held out his hands, as if he were presenting it to an audience, “your work station.

“What we have here is, again, standard issue for the new kids. You will be assigned a specific area of the skies to watch, and ever star in that area will be your responsibility. If anyone approaches them, and is not riding inside an authorized N. Consistency and Co. issue Starcrosser transport ship, you will alert your superior. Now, since this is one of your only duties until trouble strikes, you will be incredibly bored, and while we frown upon any and all distractions,” Bill directed those words upwards towards the automated voice that was no doubt following them around, “We certainly won’t prevent you from doing what you will to maintain your sanity. Now. You look bored.”

“Actually, I’m just wondering where my room is.”

“All in good time, Canterbury, all in good time.”

“My name isn’t-“

“Now, beside your work station, is a prince of a guy,” Bill explained, wandering a bit to the left, “Been working here for years, and hasn’t let a thing get to him. Some say it’s because he has no emotions of his own, but I think it was because he was raised over There, rather than Here, and let the mundane crawl right into the folds of his mind and take over. Say hello, Fford.”

“That’s Fford with two ‘f’s,” the man stated mundanely.

“Fford here is our resident know it all. Anything in the Starcrosser’s Handbook is firmly planted in his memory. We sometimes test him because, like I said, we all get very, very bored,” Bill continued, “Want to take him for a test drive?”

“I-“

“Fford, give us the N. Consistency and Co. standard explanation of the importance of Stars,” Bill commanded jovially.

“Stars are one of the most important resources of keeping the balance of Everything intact. Also, it has been proven that the positioning and crossing of said stars help determine certain outcomes, which is why it is integral for them to be monitored closely for anomalies and troublesome events. Though one of the purest sources of The Sleeping Dust around, N. Consistancy and Co. chooses and refines only those stars that have been deemed repetitive and unessential to Everything’s assured existence.”

“See?” Bill grinned, “Word for soul sucking word. The man’s a charmer.”

Bill moved further to the left, “And right next to him, we have Starcrosser Ford, with one ‘f’. And yes, just so you know, I placed them beside each other purely for everyone’s continued entertainment. Say hello, Ford.”

“Word.”

“It should be noted that Ford is utterly and completely different from Fford, and has been responsible for most of the near catastrophes we’ve had up here.”

“Just doin’ my best to keep things interesting ‘round here,” Ford stated, spinning around in his chair.

“And we all appreciate it, now as for your quarters and when you start working-“

“Bill!” an angry cry arose from another part of the main control centre.

“Ah. Mr. Jonathan Gower, right on schedule,” Bill smiled, “I apologize in advance, but I may have to relinquish my duties as your shepherd, and leave you to your own devices: the man is a prime example of why everyone here drowns their sorrows at AlMega’s on a more-frequent-than nightly basis. You should be able to find someone around here to show you the ropes and John!” Bill remarked as Gower arrived, “Fancy meeting you here. I’m assuming this is about my promotion?”

“You mean my promotion,” Gower seethed, “And don’t call me John.”

“You know, I’d love to, but the newly instated Chief of Anomalies and Troublesome Events isn’t all that big on formalities,” Bill said, smiling calmly, “You know how it is. Now, if you’d like, we can surely discuss this matter further in my office…”

“Discuss this in your office. You know, you are a piece of work…”

The two began to argue using what Chaucer recognized was two completely different styles: Gower being consistently short and angry, while Bill seemed to use a consistently calm and happy tone for no matter what he was describing. He could easily see why the two had found conflict, as their personalities already seemed incompatible, and he had just arrived.

But that was the thing: he had just arrived and had no bearing as to which direction he was to go next. Thankfully, before Bill had left, he had imparted at least some information…

“Fford, would you happen to know where I can find out where I’ll be living, or… you know, what I’m supposed to do?”

“Damned if go to the I know office down the second where you need to and turn right at the do I look like and you should find yourself at your mother,” a jumbled reply melded together from both of the Starcrossers.

“…great I’ll just…” Chaucer pointed in the general direction of one of the hallways, before realizing that neither was paying any real attention to him, “Yeah, I think I’ll just go.”

He began his trek out of the room.

“Greatest first day ever.”

The Everlast - Here and There and Elsewhere #02

2005-11-04T17:21:00.000-07:00

The Everlast - Chapter 02 - Here and There and Elsewhere #02
by B. Schatz

Back Then and Here.

Faith Edwards hadn’t slept in over a week, and it was starting to affect her ability to live and breathe. This wasn’t good, because she liked living and breathing: it helped her exist. But still, she knew the end of every month would be like this. They always had been, and would continue to be unless some kind of enormous windfall would come to her family and grant them enough money to buy adequate amounts of The Sleeping Dust for her condition.

That was not very likely.

From somewhere beyond the foot of her bed, Faith heard the front door of the house close, followed by a large and laborious fit of hacking coughs.

Her daddy was home.

“Hey daddy…” she whispered weakly, not expecting him to hear her.

“Hey babe,” he replied.

He had not actually heard her, but knew she greeted him every day all the same when she was awake.

He sauntered into her room and sat beside her on top of the bed.

“How’re you feeling today?” he asked, brushing back her long strands of brown hair.

“Okay,” she put on a brave face, eyes rolling involuntarily from fatigue, “I’m still here.”

“Hey, that’s great babe,” he smiled, “You know tomorrow’s the day, right? Our ship will come sailing in, and we’ll have no worries again. You’ll be able to go back to sleep, and you can be a little dreamer again.”

“’Kay,” she said, much happier now that someone was home with her, letting her know she only had to hold on for a little bit longer.

“Tell you what,” her dad smiled, “I’m gonna’ go get supper ready for when mom comes home, and when she does, we can bring the telebox in here and watch a little bit of the shows if you want.”

“Sounds good.”

“All right. See you in a bit, babe.”

He smiled and walked out of her room slowly, turning down the hall and making the short journey to the kitchen.

“God,” he whispered hollowly, “She gets worse every month…”

He didn’t like the fact that his baby girl was constantly in pain for extended periods of time, but then what good father would? And for that matter, what could he do about it?

Both he and his wife went to work everyday and worked as long as they were allowed to, and every month, they would be given enough money to pay for their tiny apartment, the bills that came, and the food that they ate. They would also be given a ration of The Sleeping Dust, which had, as of late, been in such short supply that buying any extra was not feasible by any means.

Now, for a normal family, there would be no problem: the amount rationed was enough to let a family of three sleep their daily requirements of 10 and 8 hours respectively. Unfortunately, Faith had a condition.

She, was a Dreamer.

“A Dreamer?” her mother had asked when they found out, “What does that mean? I don’t get what that means…”

“It’s quite fascinating, really,” the doctor explained, “Faith’s mind… like a few others of her age… lives in a different place than where the rest of us do. While her body might be here, her life and existence, is… well, for lack of a better word, it’s Elsewhere.

“Now… before you ask, no. No, I’m not really sure where her mind goes to, or why it does, but research is progressing,” the doctor smiled, “Some of the top existentialists at N. Consistency and Co. are piecing together what they can from studies, and their preliminary findings are suggesting that the Dreamers contribute to the balance of Everything, making sure things don’t tip and cause problems. But… sadly, nothings been proven yet, and until they are… you’re going to have some problems.”

“Problems? What kind of problems? I don’t like the sound of these problems…”

“Well, being a Dreamer, Faith needs lots of sleep. In fact, she’ll need to sleep more than she needs to wake, so that she can… well, continue to live. See, as long as her existence is maintained Elsewhere, her existence can be maintained here. But to do this, she needs more of The Sleeping Dust then is normally rationed, and unfortunately… since it’s not yet recognized as an occupation that helps maintain balance… there won’t be any more set aside for her, and even if both you and your husband cut back on your consumption… there’s a good chance that she still won’t have enough to keep sleeping an amount that’s healthy for her.

“But… the good news is, there are supplements. And… if you can’t afford those, there is a regimen that I can suggest that will, at the very least, help her continue existing. But beyond that… there’s not a whole lot I can do…

“Sorry…”

There was nothing worse than knowing you couldn’t help your little girl live a life a little bit above just fading away from Everything… but the truth was… Mr. Edwards was doing everything that he was capable of doing right now. Maybe one day.,. he’d be able to do more. But until that day came, Faith was stuck lying in her bed, writhing in pain, trying to be as existent as she could possibly be for long periods of a time, until the end of the month came…

And she could begin living again…

Remotely Pretty #07

2005-11-04T12:57:00.001-07:00

Remotely Pretty
Created and curated by B. Schatz

#07 - This Is How We Roll

The first time we went into space, we went to touch the stars with our hands.

When I reached out to grab one, it kicked me in the stomach and kissed you on the lips, and left me crying on the ground.

"Welcome to space, bitch!" it told me, and it rode away with you.

I probably resent you a little for not putting up a fight.

The Everlast - Here and There and Elsewhere #01

2005-11-04T00:47:00.000-07:00

The Everlast - Chapter Two - Here and There and Elsewhere #01
by B. Schatz

Back Then and There

Exactly forty-two days before, Peter Torrington was poking at his food with sheer disinterest. He was troubled quite deeply.

“I am troubled,” Peter mused, “Quite deeply.”

“Eat yer food,” his father stated gruffly while he shovelled through his own plate of food.

It had become the standard response to whatever Peter would say while at the dinner table.

“My toes are itchy.”

“Eat yer food.”

“Jordan told me that his dad thinks that you might think that he might think you’re crazy, because Jordan thinks you are.”

“Eat yer food.”

“I miss mom.”

“…don’ talk about yer mother that way.”

A pause.

“Now eat yer food.”

Peter’s father was not a warm man by any stretch of the imagination, a fact that Peter didn’t find entirely gratifying.

“I’m not hungry,” Peter mumbled.

“Eat yer food.”

“But if I do, I’ll explode and then I’d be dead,” Peter complained.

“Not likely,” his father grumbled as he stuck the last item of food that resided on his plate with his fork, and dropped it into his mouth.

“Are you still hungry?” Peter asked.

“Been workin’ all day. ‘Course I’m hungry.”

“You can have the rest of my food.”

“You will have the rest of your food.”

“It will just go to waste in my belly,” Peter claimed, “because it doesn’t want any more food, and it’ll just get rid of it later.”

Peter’s father eyed the plate of food.

“’Spose you’ve ate enough for the size of you,” he reasoned, grabbing the plate.

“Thank you dad.”

“Mff,” his dad replied, mouth full of food.

Peter slid away from the table and scurried out of the dining area door, emerging at a long hallway, made entirely out of wood. This wasn’t an unexpected sight to Peter, because he had seen this place with his own two eyes practically every single day he had been alive.

It was the main corridor of his father’s ship, which he had christened “The Everlast” on the day that Peter had been born.

“Look at our beautiful baby boy,” his mother had cooed, cradling Peter in her arms while lying comfortably on the snug hospital bed, “Isn’t he absolutely beautiful?”

Peter’s father grunted in recognition, and then changed the topic.

“I named the boat today.”

“Which boat, dear?”

“The family boat.”

“We have a boat?”

“We do now,” his father explained, “Have to have a place big enough an’ safe enough to raise a family, an’ a boat’s just the thing that’ll do it.”

“Charles, just because you were raised on a boat, doesn’t mean that every child should be,” she said, “Besides, I don’t like boats. They creak and they rock and they’re dangerous when there are storms. We could all drown and die or worse.”

“No we won’t,” he stated curtly, “You haven’t seen a finer boat, handcrafted by the finest boat craftsman in the whole of Everything.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“You’ve been building this boat in your spare time? Behind my back?”

“I build boats for a living,” he explained, “I paid myself for it, an’ worked on it at work. Didn’t hurt no one.”

“Charles…”

“Thought you might want to name it, seeings how I built it for you an’ the boy, an’ seeings how I’m not too good with the names and such,” he said.

His wife paused and thought.

“You really have your mind set on this, don’t you?”

He said nothing, and she sighed.

“The Everlast.”

He took a deep breath in through his nose, and stood up.

“Right. I’ll go paint ‘er on the side of the boat.”

They moved on the boat one day later, and a good forty-two days shy of ten and a half years later, Peter was running down the length of the boat to get to his room.

Arriving at this door, Peter took a quick glance down the hall to make sure that his father hadn’t decided better of his decision to let Peter go about the ship and followed. There was no sign of the big man.

With the thought that no one was watching him safely tucked into a fold of his brain, he quickly opened the door a crack, slipped inside, and closed it once again.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he turned around to face his room.

It was a little dark, as the tiny circular glass window at the side of his room showed the sun sinking low in the sky, so he made his way towards the desk that he kept in the far right corner of the room, careful not to trip on any of the items that he quite carelessly left on the floor.

Upon reaching the desk, he opened the top right drawer and pried open the false bottom, and took out a box of matches. He lit the lamp and it cast the entire room into a warm glow.

The light was comforting.

Now able to see much better, he walked over to his bed and crouched beside it, reaching below to extract a large paper map that he had created of Everything. Or rather, the amount of Everything that he had seen in his lifetime.

The drawing extended from one side to the other, and while several markings and doodles that applied to specific places were quite prevalent in several far-flung places, an entire half of the picture remained quite empty. Yes, it was true that living on a boat made it easy to travel the world, going from port to port and town to town as one pleased, and it was true that, as boat making work dried up in the various locales, Peter and his dad had would go to other places, however his father absolutely REFUSED to cross the line between Here and There.

He refused to tell Peter why that was, and Peter knew better than to ask.

But that didn’t stop Peter from thinking about how it would be like over on the other side. He had heard tales of wonderful things: Of souring dragons, of powerful wizards and of any number of fantastic beings that his little mind could only dream about.

One day, he knew that he would venture to the other side, and glimpse at their kind of life. He would go on grand adventures and explore the world beyond the one he knew, and become a person of myth and legend, to be whispered about and admired

Yes, one day, he would do it all: Because nothing could’ve been worse than his current mundane existence.

The Everlast - Star Light, Star Bright #04

2005-11-03T13:44:00.000-07:00

The Everlast - Chapter One - Star Light, Star Bright #04
by B. Schatz

“Ah. Hmm. Yes. Hmm. Quite.”

“Could you please keep your thoughts inside your head?”

“Apologies, dear brother. I did not realize they were leaking from my mouth.”

“Well, they were.”

“Terribly sorry.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The Ugly Boys were the owners of two of the finest minds in all of Everything, and they both knew this fact because… well, they were the owners of two of the finest minds in all of Everything. They had created miraculous creations, calculated difficult calculations, and were the driving force behind the ship’s assent into the sky.

And right now, they were putting the finishing touches on their plan to catch a star themselves.

“You shouldn’t be putting that there.”

“Have you seen the latest version of the schematics? This is where it’ll need to be.”

“You’re going to ruin everything!”

“Not if you ruin it first…”

At that moment, a knock arose from the door.

“What!?” they both grumbled sharply.

‘Pardon my intrusion,’ Pips stated while he walked into the room, ‘But the captain requests your attendance on the main deck. We’re arriving at the star.’

“You see, we’re here!”

“I’m not deaf.”

“Well, sometimes, you might as well be.”

“Just make sure that everything is in it’s proper place.”

“Everything is in it’s proper place.”

“I still think that you should be installing that component elsewhere.”

“You never look at the new schematics…”

‘Ahem?’

“We’ll be up shortly,” one of the Ugly Boys grumbled.

‘I shall alert the captain.’

“You know I hate it when you act like this.”

“And I hate it when you change the schematics.”

They loved each other quite dearly.

Ω

‘They say they will be ready momentarily sir,’ Pips took the news back to Peter.

“And do you believe them?”

‘I would certainly hope so,’ Pips stated, ‘An operation like this will surely be bringing the Starcrossers about quite soon, and the crew is already running on fumes as things are.’

“A simple yes or no, Pips.”

‘Hopefully,’ Pips replied, ‘I am in no mood to have blame pinned on me if they don’t follow through. If you are so worried, you can check on them yourselves.’

“It would be unfitting for a captain to run errands when he has a perfectly good crew to do such things for him,” Peter mused.

‘Oh, come off it. Everyone knows you can’t stand the sight of the Ugly Boys.’

“That is beside the point.”

The Ugly Boys, though smart, were indeed incredibly ugly. This was, quite ironically, a family trait that wasn’t exactly inherited. The Uglies, you see, believed in the adage that children were to be seen, and not heard, or else they were hit in the face with the large knobbly wooden stick that had been used in the Ugly family for generations.

Many an Ugly had gotten their face rearranged by the Ugly stick.

The Ugly Boys, however fared particularly bad before they escaped from their family and somehow managed to have their eyes, nose, mouth and ears misplaced amongst their respective faces. The sight of them had never ceased to give Peter the willies, which was why he was glad they mostly kept to themselves in their room.

And this was why his body cringed when they emerged from the lower decks, carrying an enormous silken looking cloth.

“Oh good. They’re here,” Peter gave a tepid smile.

“Sorry for taking so long!” one of them stated from their mouth at the top of their face, “This pinhead kept changing the plans.”

“Because your original plans were flawed.”

“Perfection is hardly flawed.”

Blinking his eyes and averting his gaze, Peter spoke, “Just get whatever you two have concocted ready. I doubt we have much-“

The sound that came about at that time would later be described as “that sucking noise that happens when you reach the bottom of a milkshake”. A second after the sound was heard, a great big wormhole type of hole appeared not too far from the ship, and slowly expelled a Starcrosser transport ship.

“Greetings from the N. Consistancy and Co.’s Starcrosser division!” the ship’s external voice projection system exclaimed, “We regret to inform you that you’ve either intentionally or unintentionally wandered far too close Star 4672 of the Hopeless Wonder quadrant, and will either have your molecules deconstructed, or be taken into custody, depending on how severe the infraction. We ask that you refrain from attacking during this process so that the safety of Everything, as well as it’s occupants, can be assured.”

Peter sighed despairingly as the entire crew looked toward him.

“Give whatever you have in your hands to the Ugly Boys,” he stated bravely.

“It looks as if we are going to have a fight on our hands.”

The Soupy Toasterson Show #04

2005-11-03T00:52:00.000-07:00

The Soupy Toasterson Show
Created by B. Schatz

#04 - A Quest of Noble Nature
Written by B. Schatz

July 2005

The shoebox sat open beside him, it’s items displayed for all to see.

It was the place where Soupy put the memories of all his past relationships, so he wouldn’t have to look at them by accident.

A ring made out of Starburst wrappers.

A copy of that old Hanson CD with MmmBop on it.

A saran wrapped red gummy bear.

A green sparkle pen.

And more recently, a picture of That Girl, when she made it clear that she just didn’t feel like thinking of him as more than just a friend.

Soupy was having a hard time letting That Girl go, and he honestly was wondering why. All of the other girls… they had been easy. There was just something about them that let him just shrug them off, even though at one point in time, he felt as though they would be the only one for him.

Soupy looked at the box.

There was something about those other items. There was something about those girls, that made them all easier.

And that was when he realized it.

“If I want to get over her, I have to remember how I got over them,” he muttered.

Sure. That was it. It could entirely be that easy. After all, it wasn’t as if his mind was booby trapped. There was no reason why he couldn’t dig back through his mind and find… things that he should’ve forgotten about. Things that he had left behind because they were too painful to remember, and then that would make all the old ones seem just like That Girl.

It would hurt.

It would produce an effect completely backwards from what he intended.

Soupy sighed.

It would have to do.

He got up and walked over to his computer, turning it on. In his experience, there was only going to be one way that this was going to work.

He was going to have to write.

He was going to have to tell a story.

His story.

The Soupy Toasterson Show is filmed every Thursday in front of a piece of pie. Because pie gives +3 to happy tummy. As always, the preceeding is entirely true, and absolutely false, depending on the moment and the memory. Staring into the intersection she thinks that she can fly, and she might... -B.

The Everlast - Star Light, Star Bright #03

2005-11-02T17:28:00.000-07:00

The Everlast - Chapter 01 - Star Light, Star Bright #03
by B. Schatz

Peter emerged from the lower deck and took a look around him.

Surrounding him on all sides were pictures of the night sky, full of many stars that were glittering their golden sheen from great distances away, and one that was coming closer as his ship flowed through the air.

“There it is,” he said quite loudly, pointing straight ahead, “The solution to our troublesome lack of sleep.”

The crew cheered dimly, and a few even made the effort to raise an arm into the air and wave it in a weak form of celebration.

“Pips!”

‘Yes captain?’

“About how much time would you say we have before we’re close enough to catch it?”

‘I’d venture to say somewhere in between a moment and a jiffy,’ Pips offered, ‘Although my math could be quite off at this point in time.’

“Well, if you’re anywhere near being correct, you’ll need to take Lewis and stir up the Ugly Boys. Tell them that we’ll need their services with the net,” Peter commanded.

‘Lewis claims to be busy minding his hat,’ Pips quickly informed.

“Ah,” Peter paused, “Well, you best leave him to it then, and rouse the Uglies yourself.”

‘You can’t be serious, sir.’

Peter looked at Pips, making sure that he composed himself with an air of unquestionable leadership.

“You can never underestimate the importance of a well kept hat,” he stated.

Pips sighed.

‘Yes sir. I’ll rouse them right away.’

“Excellent,” Peter smiled, turning to look directly at the star.

It’s golden aura shimmered quite beautifully, casting a warm glow against the utter empty blackness of the space behind it.

Soon, it would be his.

Ω

Starcrosser Gower stepped aboard the transport vessel and immediately set to assessing the situation at hand using the patented John Gower method of obtaining information in a timely fashion.

“Can anyone tell me what’s going on here?” he stated gruffly.

“Blow it out yer hole!” came a response from the room.

Immediately triangulating the direction the words had come from, Gower shot towards a sheepish looking man wearing a hat who was trying really hard to look very busy with his keyboard and monitor.

“And what, exactly, was that all about?” he questioned venomously.

“What was what all about?” the man stated quite nervously.

“I heard what you said son, and I don’t appreciate the quality and tone of the words,” he grumbled.

“Aw, suck an egg,” came a reply.

“Excuse me?”

The nervous man sighed and turned around in the chair, “I’m sorry sir, it’s not me, it’s the hat.”

“You honestly expect me to believe that?”

“You heard the boy John,” a commanding voice sounded from behind his back, “Now leave him to his work.”

Gower closed his eyes in frustration, recognizing the voice within an instant.

“Bill, what are you doing here?” he asked quite bitterly while he turned to face the voice’s owner.

“Why, you know very well that I was promoted to Chief of Anomalies and Troublesome Events at the Hopeless Wonder,” Bill explained quite calmly, “Where else would I be when trouble finally brings itself to this division of Everything?”

“Apparently, on the side of the troublemaker, defending the snot-nosed and petulant,” John stated, pointing at the source of the ill-tempered remarks.

“Ah, yes, well, the remarks you heard were indeed quite course and rude, but there is no reason to blame young Mr. Hornby when it is his hat that’s to blame.”

“His hat?”

“Yes, his hat,” Bill grinned, “You are, no doubt, quite familiar with the protocol that states that all personnel located on the Hopeless Wonder, or on vessels associated with the Hopeless Wonder are to wear N. Consistency and Co.’s specially designed protective headwear correct?”

“Yes, but-“

“Well, Hornby here had the misfortune of being hired at a time when our supply was short, and so we had to give him one of the hats that had been made prior to the current run. All we had remaining in our stock was one of those ironic ‘Hard Hats’ that spews insults when provoked. Quaint little thing, but it gets quite cumbersome after you have to listen to it pontificate for long spats of time.”

“Your mother wears army boots!” it exclaimed ruefully.

“Indeed she does,” Bill stated serenely, “But sadly, her fashion sense will have to be a topic for another day. We seem to have yet another star crisis on our hands that must be dealt with presently, but you’ll have to forgive me if I’m a bit foggy on the details, having just been notified of the trouble myself. If you would care to expand on the case for me, that would be greatly appreciated John.”

Starcrosser Gower opened his mouth and tersely replied, “I too, have just arrived, and was attempting to assess the situation myself.”

“Ah, so you know nothing as well,” Bill stated, leaning over Hornby’s shoulder to take a look at what his monitor was showing, “I suppose that is the punishment I reap for assuming you knew of your assignment.”

Gower seethed silently.

“Interesting,” Bill whispered, looking at the screen with an intense interest, “Quite interesting indeed.”

“What is interesting?” Gower demanded to know.

Bill pointed at the screen, “It’s a ship.”

“Thanks Tips,” the Hard Hat grumbled.

“A sailing ship. As in the kind that sails the watery High Seas with masts and scaffolding and the whole glorious works. How exactly it is floating it’s way through the Low Seas, well…” Bill pulled himself upright, “That is a question I would like to see answered.

“John? See to it that when we confront this ship that we take whoever is in charge into custody.”

“Bill, surely as the Chief of Anomalies and Troublesome Events at the Hopeless Wonder, you are aware that protocol about any vessels that approach a star without the proper clearance: To prevent any chance of damage to the existence of Everything, the offender must be eradicated, whether the man in charge would like to satisfy his curiosity for floating boats or not.”

Bill looked at John, his smile remaining calm.

“Starcrosser Gower, I understand your concern. Really, I do,” he stated quite evenly, “You are a very ‘by the book’ kind of fellow, always making sure that Everything continues to exist unfettered by the various evils that plague our world, but… as you will quickly learn, working your way through the hierarchy as a Starcrosser, things aren’t always as black and white as the protocols in the handbook we are given when we start training. There is a larger game being played, and we’re all just pieces. So, when someone of higher rank gives you a specific command, you carry it out without any questions. Understood?”

John’s face told Bill that he was angry, so his mouth decided that it didn’t need to say away before his legs carried him away in a huff.

“Ponce,” the hat snapped.

“Indeed,” Bill agreed, “Let’s move onward, everyone. We’ve got Everything to think of and only so much time to do it in.”

NaNoWriMo - (Day 02)

2005-11-02T16:06:00.000-07:00

As I near the average I'll have to hit ever single day if I want to build up to 50,000 words, I'm taking a break to take a look at how the whole experiment is going.

If you go to the official NaNoWriMo website, you'll see that between all the contributors, 47,393,236 words have been written and we're just only 40 hours into the month, which means two things: one, there are a lot of people taking part, and two, they are writing up a storm.

Out of all my friends making the mad dash to 50,000 Blake M. Petit and Craig Reade are the furthest ahead with well over 5000 words EACH. They are ten percent done, and day three isn't even here yet, and I, of course, hate them for it.

But to each, their own pace.

As for Dougie and I, we're both chugging along. Two parts of The Everlast have made it online, and by tomorrow, I should be done the next three, which will round out the first chapter. And Dougie's "The Adventures of Little Timmy" has two chapters of his own to boast, so thus far, we're living the dream.

And if that we're enough, the content here at Two Fisted Toast is not slowing down. Love Under 100 was posted today, and a brand new The Soupy Toasterson Show will be posted bright and early Thursday morning, followed by another tasty Friday installment of Remotely Pretty.

Hopefully you're all enjoying this cavelcade of content, and check back here later tonight for the third part of The Everlast's first chapter.

Magnaimously yours,

-B. Schatz

--------------------------------------------

This just in: William Shakespeare himself approves of NaNoWriMo:

Love Under 100 #06

2005-11-02T12:00:00.000-07:00

Love Under 100

#06 – Touch.
Written by B. Schatz

I remember that summer. You're eyes looked so big and filled with wonder, but they couldn't see a thing while they gazed out at everything.

You knew I was there by touch only. And I knew you were there when I felt your hand on mine.

But then you left, and my world crumbled.

I just want someone to hold my hand.

Love Under 100 is a weekly segment appearing every Wednesday here at Two Fisted Toast! If you have a story about love and can tell it in 100 words or less, send it in to twofistedtoast@gmail.com. Anything recieved regarding this column that includes more than 100 words (not including the title), will be deleted. Our word counter is swift, and our word counter is merciless.

The Everlast - Star Light, Star Bright #02

2005-11-01T23:30:00.000-07:00

The Everlast - Chapter 01 - Star Light, Star Bright #02
by B. Schatz

There were many different theories as to how Everything was created, and every single one of them were wrong. The reason for this was quite simple: the Everything wasn’t really created, per say: It was just happened to exist one day, and it continues to do so even now.

However, the whole “non-creation” thing has been a source of many troubles. Things that are created, you see, are created in such a way that they are hard to destroy. After all, no one works so hard to give something life, just to have that creation destroyed mere moments later. Things that just happen to exist, however… they are fragile. Nothing has been set in place to keep it from bringing about its own destruction.

There were people existing in Everything who knew this. Some used this knowledge to make sure that the integral balance to things was maintained, and others used this information to further their own agendas.

The Starcrossers were, according to their motto, fully committed to maintaining the balance of Everything through the means of… well, star crossing. Star crossing itself was an ancient art, handed down through many families until the good people at N. Consistency and Co. bought the rights to the craft in order to make the universe a better and more stable place to live, and everyone loved them for it.

Well, almost everyone.

Ω

“Holy moley, what’s all this?”

Starcrosser Chaucer rolled his eyes, but did not lift them from the paper he held within his hands.

Ever since he had completed his dream training and arrived at the Hopeless Wonder, the more experienced Starcrossers had been constantly been giving him a bad time. At first, it was because he was the new guy, but he soon proved to be such an easy target, they continued to taunt the man through-out his tenure.

“Look alive, Canterbury, Star 4672 is careening out of orbit!” they would scream, and Chaucer would jolt with fear and run screaming through the station, calling for everyone and anyone who could spare the time.

“We have trouble, people!” he would yelp.

“Lives are at stake here!” he would scream.

“Everything could be in dire peril!” he would profess.

And soon after, he would notice the laughter.

He was too easy of a mark, and he wasn’t going to take it anymore.

However, his co-workers somehow sensed this, and caused a real emergency at that very moment.

“Good gracious, it looks like we have trouble, people!”

“…sure… not falling for it.”

“Canterbury, lives are at stake here!”

“My name isn’t Canterbury, but thank you…”

“Everything could be in dire peril!”

“Really, guys, aren’t you taking this a little too oh my God.”

Starcrosser Chaucer had, in fact, lowered his paper and looked at the monitors, and he did not like what he saw.

“Oh no,” he breathed, “Does that look like what I think it looks like?”

“If it looks like a floater attempting to star catch illegally, then probably.”

“We have to do something about this,” he stated.

“While your delayed concern is appreciated, Canterbury, but Gower’s already got a reign on this one. Go back to reading your paper.”

Chaucer glowered and flapped the paper in his hands

It was quite obvious that they were all working against him…

The Everlast - Star Light, Star Bright #01

2005-11-01T13:25:00.000-07:00

The Everlast
By B. Schatz

Part One: Strands.

Chapter One • Star Light, Star Bright

Right Here and Now

The boat rocked and creaked gently as it sailed through the Low Seas, coming ever closer to the cobblestone shores of The Jolly Old. The sky was full of stars and those that filled the upper deck were all yawning with exhaustion as they went about their duties. The hour was late, and sleep would soon be upon them all, but before that moment arrived, a stop would have to be made, and a package would have to be retrieved, and none would sleep until the task had been completed.

Using the broomstick he had been charged with moving about the deck to hold himself up, Pips sauntered over to Lewis, who himself was leaning against a wall, hat covering his eyes.

‘You’re sleeping,’ Pips snapped as quickly as his sluggish mind would allow his mouth to move.

“Am not,” Lewis grumbled, also quite sluggishly, “ ‘M mindin’ my hat. Don’t want it to run away or nothin’ so ‘m keepin’ an eye on it.”

‘Your hat is not going to run away,’ Pips claimed, ‘It doesn’t have a reason to.’

Pips was both wrong and right respectively: while Lewis’ hat might’ve been quite fashionable, it was also one of the very few remaining “Thinking Caps” that N. Consistency and Co. had put on the market a few years back as part of an ironic line of caps that sold quite horribly. They actually thought for themselves, and were not very content to remain atop people’s heads, as the task was thankless and boring. A few hours after purchase, they tended to abandon their owners when they weren’t paying much attention to them, which infuriated many, and caused the company to prompt a total recall of the caps.

Stores returned their entire stocks, and often sent back the equally quirky “Bowler Cap”, the angry and spiteful “Hard Hats” and the outright bizarre “Butt Heads”, as the concepts weren’t being readily accepted by consumers.

Despite all of this, however, some people managed to keep their “Thinking Caps” and continued to wear them until this very day through means of trickery, or friendship.

Lewis maintained his, through sheer trickery. That wasn’t to say that he wasn’t a very friendly sort of person, oh no. In fact, Lewis had gone out of his way to be nice to his hat, cleaning it quite regularly, and only wearing it on occasions of great importance, but the hat would have nothing of it, often dreaming of the day that his owner would venture near the edge of the boat, so that it could jump to freedom.

So, it could be said that the hat didn’t have a reason to dislike Lewis, but it did so just the same, and Lewis let Pips know this in his own eloquent fashion of speaking.

“Says you,” Lewis muttered.

Pips sighed, much to tired to get into an argument about a hat, and took a quick look towards the bow. Not too far off, he could see a bright white star growing quite large as the ship drew closer.

‘Almost there,’ he said, his voice sounding a little more chipper at the thought that sleep would soon come to him, ‘Someone better warn the captain.’

“If that someone’s supposed to be me, you’d best go to make sure the job gets done,” Lewis advised.

‘Quite,’ Pips muttered, and he quickly hobbled off towards the captain’s quarters, moving with all the speed and motivation of a slug holding onto a broom.

Below the ship’s main deck, Peter Torrington sat at his desk, head in hands while he stared despairingly at the hodgepodge of papers that covered the top surface. He, himself, hadn’t slept in days, and that fact wasn’t agreeing with his body: it was trying to shut down and leave him for dead. Or, at the very least, that was what it felt like.

It was not a kind sensation.

Carefully listening to the sounds around him, Peter took note that none were close to his quarters, so he shoved his chair back a little, and reached for the top left desk drawer. Upon drawing it open, he lifted the short stack of boring looking papers that occupied the space, and felt around the edges of the false bottom for a place where his fingernails could pry. He soon found the spot, a mere two-and-a-half inches from the back, and pulled the panel covering the obviously quite secret lower compartment off.

All of this effort was rewarded by the sight of a small clear cloth bag containing a fine, powdery golden substance that shone in the cabin light. It was tied tightly near the top with a short, silver rope, which he used to grab at so that he could place the bag atop the desk.

He spent a few long moments admiring his own private reserve of The Sleeping Dust, contemplating its usage. Surely, his ship was nearing their first destination, and there would be a whole lot of time to sleep afterwards, but he was nearing the edge. The edge was not a kind and friendly place, and it was quite easy to fall off of. The temptation pull on the rope and open the bag was becoming all too great.

Thankfully, it was at this moment that he realized he could hear the tell-tale swishing sound of Pips coming down the hallway.

He quickly tossed the bag down into the compartment and busied himself with putting all of the business that hid the reserve in place, and went back to the pose that made him look like he was fretting over the muddled state of his desk top. Soon after, there was a rapping at the door.

‘Request to enter, captain,’ Pips voice spoke through the door.

“Come in,” Peter stated with all the boldness of a sleepy ship captain.

The door opened with a creak, and revealed the body of Pips, who didn’t venture forward. Instead, he continued to stand in place, arms holding onto the broom while his body rested.

‘We’re nearing the quarry,’ Pips informed, ‘and you attendance is requested for the star-catching.’

“Tell the crew to be at the ready,” Peter explained, “If we miss this one, we’ll surely have a rough ride on the way to The Jolly Old, and none of us want that.”

‘Righto,’ Pips mimicked a chipper attitude, before reaching out and closing the door.

Peter used his arms and pushed himself upwards and stretched his arms.

The night had been a long one, and the entire crew’s state of fatigue was not going to make the remaining bit of it easy, but Peter had faith.

He had to. After all, he was the eldest member of the ship, having ripened to the age ten-and-a-half, while carrying the sophistication of a man of twelve, and was the only one with the means to stand upon the deck and point his right index finger towards any given direction with the confidence of a person who quite obviously knew where they were going.

If he didn’t seem confident, the night would surely be a bust, and the future would become all the more uncertain, and that, would not stand.

Not when the fate of Everything would soon be in the balance.

The Day Before...

2005-10-31T20:21:00.001-07:00

NaNoWriMo is beginning tomorrow.

And everyone is taking a deep breath. Out of both the contributors, Dougie and I are both writing a contribuion (mine being serialized on this very site while his being located RIGHT HERE), and some of our friends are attempting as well.

What I hope to do is keep you comprised of ALL of our progress (permission pending, of course), and look around for other notable NaNoWriMo productions that are going on.

On top of writing The Everlast, that is.

Yes, it's probably not the smartest thing to do, but hey. I can do what I want *grins*.

We'll see you all here tomorrow!!!

(On an unrelated note, this is this blog's 50th post. Sadly, that more than any other blog I've ever done...)

The Crap Box - Halloween Special

2005-10-31T01:14:00.000-07:00

The Crap Box.
An exploration of the hard-to-find gems and the discarded thoughts better left un-thought.

Welcome to The Crap Box.

What I hope this will become is a venue for anyone who becomes a contributor at this site to trot out a dusty old relic from their files, and ruminate on the thought process behind it.

This time around in The Crap Box, I’m cracking out some vintage Soupy Toasterson, going all the way back to Monday, February 14th, 2005 to bring you the aptly titled Holiday Special: Soupy Gets VD.

-------------------------

Soupy Gets VD – A Holiday Special
Soupy Toasterson sits at his computer, on Valentine's Day, and shrugs. Obviously, he's come to expect being alone for the holidays, more or less: it seems to be the line life has given him to tow, so tow it he will. However, he's not going to take it sitting down.

The computer is turned on and the browser window is showing a little box in which he can post to his blog. Despite being a freakishly self-contained person, he's going to prop his life on a pedestal for all to see and judge. The irony is not lost on him.

There seems to be something odd about Valentine's Day. It makes people think of people and things in ways that they'd rather not, all because someone decided that they felt like some candy, or that they wanted a reason to show someone else their love. Which is stupid. Valentine's is just another day on the calendar, and just another moment in the sun, no different than any other day or moment.

Yet everyone makes a huge deal about the day. Even I've been making a big deal of the day, and I would rather not. The question is... why? Why are we compelled to do these crazy acts of love on this day? Why are we trapped into doing the bidding of some big card company who, for all intensive purposes, is mind raping us on roller skates in order to get us to buy their stuff?

I don't have an answer for that. If I did, I wouldn't be thinking about how I'm currently not dating someone, and how it eats me up inside, and how this day, is making things worse, because I feel this innate compulsion to do something, to do anything, but I can't for various reasons.

It shouldn't drive me crazy. None of this should drive me crazy, but after nearly five years of wondering and waiting, and screwing up, and getting back on track, and the deep freezes and the pleasant thaws... I think the thought of having one day, just to smile and to stop with all of the crazy and all of the wondering and everything like that... it would be nice. It'd be a nice break from my life of sitting there, watching a seemingly endless stream of romantic movies, all the while unceremoniously and somewhat perversely eating a bag of chips while the two star-crossed lovers on the screen go through their own rocky road of love that'll lead to that inevitable end: that kiss, that'll just make everything better, and make the whole world seem perfect.

It'd be nice to take a glimpse at my own little happy ending, even if for a moment. It'd be nice to stop watching the people on the screen have their own little gloriously Hollywood ending, because it's all just a big ruse... a fake-out of people who have no real feelings for each other making the rest of us who long for something they can just pretend to have...

It'd be nice to have all those things, just for one day, even if that's all I get. But really... it won't happen. I know it won't happen. And I am actually being a complete asshole for posting this... this message where everyone can see it, because it will eventually get back to her, and when it does, it's just going to screw things up like I seem to have the tendency to do because really... how fair is this message? This "oh-woe-is-me" message... this plea for her to see us the way I can see us...

It's not fair at all, and it's an exercise I'm doing only to make myself feel better. So in the end, do I really deserve her love and attention? No. No, I don't. That's why I'm alone this Valentine's Day. And that's why I'll be alone after it. But at the very least, for now, I get to have my time. My glimmer, my day on the calendar, my moment in the sun. And in the end, it will be what sustains me until one day... hopefully, I will get to have more.

Hopefully.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone.

-Soupy Toasterson

---------------------

Now, you’re probably asking me why I would trot out the one and only Valentine’s Day Special that I had in my files out on Halloween. Couldn’t I bring out something spooky? Something with some kind of horror bent to it?

Well, yeah, I could’ve. But I have some issues with Valentine’s Day that relate directly to Halloween, and thought now would be a great time to talk about it.

You see… I think Halloween and Valentine’s Day are the same damn holiday, only with slightly different connotations. Let’s look at the specifics, shall we?

Halloween, is a night for the ghosts and ghouls of times gone by to come alive and haunt the living. It’s when all the creepies come out and taunt the lonely, because they know that no one in their right mind is going to believe them when they find more people and start screaming about ghosties and whatnot. It is meant to induce fear, and can be quite scary given the right environment.

Now, conversely, Valentine’s Day is a day where the ghosts and ghouls of past relationships come to haunt the lonely. Being by yourself on that day… it can break a person. It can cause all their fears to rupture forth, as they think about the future, and how there is no one. And it’s damned scary.

Halloween is a time filled with masks and costumes. Everyone and everything can and will be something else, just because we can be, and no one will care, because… hey! It’s Halloween. That’s what everyone is supposed to do.

Valentine’s Day is a time where everyone puts on masks and costumes, pretending to be people that they aren’t. Everyone becomes extra sensitive and extra thoughtful, and no one seems to think this is out of ordinary because… hey! It’s Valentine’s Day. That’s the way everyone is SUPPOSED to act.

When it’s Halloween, you give all of the people dressed up in their spooky finery buckets of candy as a reward for all of their hard work in deception.

And when it’s Valentine’s Day, you reward those masked with thoughts and sensitivity with chocolates, to reward them for being someone you’d want to stay with forever, just for one day.

So yeah. Those are the broad and general reasons why Halloween reminds me of
Valentine’s Day. Any other reasons I have… well, they are more personal.

But for those, let’s just say I find no pleasure in noting that Halloween occurs in “The Fall”, and Valentine’s Day is nestled quite nicely in that time of year where everything is frozen.

And let’s just say I like it better when things are warm.

Those who need to know what that means will get it.

And with that, I bring this edition of The Crap Box to a close.

Until next time, stay lightly toasted.

Magnanimously yours,

-B. Schatz

The Everlast #00.5

2005-10-30T00:00:00.000-06:00

The Everlast
Created by B. Schatz

Brave New Something - “Preparing to Create”
[Part 05 of a 05 part series detailing the pre-production of my 2005 NaNoWriMo contribution]

All the pieces are in place, and November is still about two days away.

It’s going to happen, right? It’s just gotta’ happen.

I’ve been working on hitting the minimum 1667 words a day, and most of the time, I’ve gone over and above that number. And then there were some days when I didn’t even get close. There’s been no real happy medium, which is kind of disturbing.

But that being said, I’ve written more content in the past few days than I have in the last year. I’ve got the entire month’s worth of content ready for the site in November, and right now, I’m just itching to start writing this story, as it’s due way before any of the other stuff I have coming up.

But I can’t. Not for two days.

It’s driving me crazy.

But I can do it: I know I’m capable, and I’ve got some good friends cheering me on, so long as Soupy doesn’t suffer as a result. And no matter what the outcome, it’ll sure be an experience.

The Everlast begins on Tuesday.

Until then, doubt the impossible, and always stay lightly toasted.

Magnanimously yours,

-B. Schatz

First Time Around: Chapter 04 - Halloween Special

2005-10-29T11:32:00.000-06:00

Halloween special

I have worn the same costume for the last five years.

It's pretty simple. Jeans, sneakers, t-shirt of my choice, and my Hyatt hotel waffle-weave bathrobe.

Oh, I say it's different things. I add a t-shirt that says "Aliens Exist" and I'm a wandering lunatic. I add a giant spoon and I'm the Prince of Heck. It's defined by its accessories.

That year I added a messenger bag and towel and went as Arthur Dent.

You know, Arthur Dent. From The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. He gets dragged around, through, over, under, and across the universe in his bathrobe.

Unusually, I decided not to go Trick-Or-Treating that year. I went to a party at somebody's house.

Boy, was that a mistake.

I hate parties. The music is never good but always too loud. You can't hold a good conversation with anybody but that's okay because there's nobody you want to talk to.

Sometimes the food is okay.

So why, oh why, did I go to this party? The answer's simple, and one echoed by withdrawn, introverted young men around the globe.

"She was there."

I wish I could say that it made a difference. As it was, I ended up spending most of my time on the porch, on a deck chair, in lotus position. Mary was there too, talking to someone, having a good time.

After an hour of that, it felt like my kneecaps were coming off, so I walked down the stairs from the porch into the backyard. Something told me to look back.

There she was, silhouetted against the light of the porch, a black outline that I already had learned to recognize.

I turned back around and found someone to talk to.

The Everlast #00.4

2005-10-28T18:00:00.000-06:00

The Everlast
Created by B. Schatz

“Brave New Something #04: Here, There and Elsewhere.”
[Part 04 in a 05 part series detailing the pre-production of The Everlast]

So, I have a ship, and people. Now, I need a place for them to live.

Here and There
The Here and There are basically the yin and yang to the entire world. There, is where the mundane is most prevalent, it’s inhabitants having long since given up on all things fantastic. The here contains elements of the unbelievable and the impossible.

Both exist to balance the other, and if the scales were to be tipped into one direction or the other… let’s just say the results would not be pretty.

Elsewhere
The Here and There are where all the living and generally mundane people live and dwell. Rumour has it that Elsewhere - if it even exists - contains magics beyond even the strangeness of the Here.

The Jolly Old
This is the first locale that will be visited by The Everlast when the story begins. It’s a place of cobblestone shores and creatures beyond normal recognition. It’s also where our hero meets the first trial of his journey.

We’re only four days away until things really take flight.

Tune in on Sunday for the last of these pre-production features, and then on Tuesday, The Everlast will begin.

Magnanimously Yours,

-B. Schatz

Remotely Pretty #06

2005-10-28T00:00:00.000-06:00

Remotely Pretty
Created and Curated by B. Schatz

#06 - It's Called Radar Love.

As the sun sets in the sky, I'm climbing up that radio tower.

"Broadcast this!" I'll scream from the tippy top.

And my middle fingers will seen froma around the world.

The Soupy Toasterson Show #03

2005-10-27T00:00:00.000-06:00

The Soupy Toasterson Show
Created by B. Schatz

#03 - It’s All the Same
Written by B. Schatz

Soupy went back into his room, and grudgingly pulled the shoebox out from underneath his bed.

“This is stupid,” he breathed, trying to convince himself not to open the box and take her picture out, “You’re over her. She’s over you. Do you got that? It’s done, and over.”

“C’mon,” the box replied metaphorically, “Take my top off. I know you want to see the goods.”

“Be quiet, you dirty metaphorical box of temptation,” Soupy groused, “I want nothing to do with you, hear me? Nothing.”

“Then why do you touch me so?”

Soupy dropped the box quickly, and it clattered to the floor. Something sounded like it broke, and he immediately remembered the frame and the glass that surrounded the picture.

“Uh-oh,” the box mused playfully, “That didn’t sound good.”

“Shut up.”

“Aren’t you worried about her? She could be hurt…”

“It’s only a picture of her.”

“Don’t you care about her? I know you think you do, but obviously-”

“It’s not really-”

“-you don’t, otherwise you would’ve checked already.”

“I don’t need to-”

“Do you love her? You used to say you did, but she’s gone.”

“Shut up, you don’t-”

“She’s gone, so what does that mean? Does it mean that she never loved you, or does that mean you didn’t love her enough to find a way to make things work? Or-”

“Just SHUT UP, okay?” Soupy yelled, “I love her, okay? Is that what you want to hear? I loved her, I love her, and as far as I know, no matter how many times I try and tell myself that I am actually over her, I never will be, and I’ll live out every single one of my remaining days just thinking about what could’ve been, but you know what? She’s gone. She doesn’t want me, and me? I’m trying to respect that, and I’m trying hard to see if I love her enough to let her go, but to do that, I need you to just SHUT UP and let me try and deal with things the way I want to.”

The shoebox fell silent.

“Oh, hell,” Soupy muttered darkly, as he bent low, sat down, and opened the box.

The picture was fully intact.

“Oh, thank God,” Soupy whispered, his body relaxing. Then to the shoebox, he said, “You know, you really had me scared for a while there. Not that I should’ve been, but… I’m working on it, you know? It’s just… taking some time, is all.”

The shoebox said nothing.

“Right,” Soupy breathed, “Shoeboxes can’t talk.”

The Soupy Toasterson Show is filmed every Thursday before a live studio audience without the use of what you quote-unquote “normal” people call “pants”. We let it all hang loose, and if you can’t handle it, well… wear glasses, and draw little pants on the lenses, so when you look out at us, we’ll all be fully clothed. That should take care of things. The preceeding was and is both entirely true, and entirely false, depending on the moment and memory. Clear is the new black. -B

The Everlast #00.3

2005-10-26T22:00:00.000-06:00

The Everlast
Created by B. Schatz

“Brave New Something”

#03 – Of Dreaming and Dreamers
(Part 03 of a 05 part series detailing the pre-production of B.’s 2005 NaNoWriMo contribution.)

When The Everlast sailed into my mind, it was just an idea: a means by which to transport the characters, whoever they may be, to all sorts of fantastic places.

However, there was a big problem with this premise: I had no characters.

If you’ve read any of my other work (I’m almost betting that you have, but that is neither here nor there), you’ll probably know that the main character is almost always me, in some way, shape or form. Now most times, this is not a conscious choice, but as I write, my mannerisms naturally come out when I’m writing the teenage characters that I tend to deal with.

But with this project, I wanted to have something different. I wanted the main characters to be other people, as far away from me as I can write them.

It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve begun the process, and all of the characters that appear in the first act have all been put into place. While I can’t divulge too much information about each of the characters (as much of that would be quite spoilerific), but I can give you the quick and dirty.

I'm not going to pretend like I'm doing something amazingly different from everything that's been done before. There will be, very early on, a hero figure, who will essentially know nothing about the new world that he steps into. He'll be a child, and there'll be something cooky going on with his parents. Who knows? They may very well be dead. (I actually know about the parents, but I don't want to trot out all the candy.)

There will be one character, who will serve as the catalyst of change. You know the one: they show up, open the gate to the new world, and provide us with an insiders perspective.

There will be several characters with what I hope are charming names and personalities. Right now, they're in place to fill out The Everlast, but they will play more important parts as things go on.

But by and large, there is nothing too terribly special about the general characters. However, I do plan to use a bit of subtle characterization just to make them more believable and (un)likeable.

And, of course, there will be many, many people who will populate the story, but I do like to have so semblance of wonder when it comes to my stories, so you’ll have to wait until they appear in November.

Be wary of The Dreamers…

Magnanimously yours,

-B. Schatz

Love Under 100 #05

2005-10-26T00:00:00.000-06:00

Love Under 100

#05 – What Do You Think It Means?
Written by B. Schatz

I dreamed of you last night, and you were going to get married. I didn’t know to who, but I knew that I hated him with a white hot intensity that boiled my insides and made me want to scream.

But I couldn’t scream, because he was going to make you happy, and you would just hate me if I asked you to be unhappy with me instead.

I loved you enough to let you go.

I hope that isn’t supposed to mean something bad.

Love Under 100 is a weekly segment appearing on Wednesdays here on Two Fisted Toast! If you have a story about love and can tell it in 100 words or less, send it in to twofistedtoast@gmail.com. Anything recieved regarding this column that includes more than 100 words (not including the title), will be deleted. Our word counter is swift, and our word counter is merciless.

The Everlast #00.2

2005-10-25T01:30:00.000-06:00

The Everlast
Created by B. Schatz

“Brave New Something”

#02 – Handles Like a Dream
(Part 02 of a 05 part series detailing the pre-production of B.’s 2005 NaNoWriMo contribution.)

Truth: I took the NaNoWriMo challenge before I even had an idea what story I was going to write.

Now, I know many people do this, and find this to be part of the NaNoWriMo charm, but me? I’m a guy who likes some idea of what he wants to do before jumping out into a big ol’ space of nothing. But still, for what still remains to be no apparent reason, I jumped in with nothing.

And I came up, riding a ship.

It was nothing special: very old, made out of wood, and a little tattered. After all, it had been in the Torrington family for a few generations.

Up until quite recently, it sailed The Low Seas, going where the jobs were, keeping the family in enough money to get by.

Now, it floats in the skies, visiting places of grand imagination, piloted by individuals, all younger than 18.

It’s called The Everlast.

And if things go right, it’ll take everyone to places they’re only dreamed about…

Magnaimously yours,

-B. Schatz

The Everlast #00.1

2005-10-24T00:00:00.000-06:00

The Everlast
Created by B. Schatz

“Brave New Something”

#01 - Doubt the Impossible
(Part 01 of a 05 part series detailing the pre-production of B.’s 2005 NaNoWriMo contribution.)

“I’m going to write a novel in 30 days.”

“You’re going to start writing a novel in 30 days? Cool. Let me know when it’s done.”

“No, no, no, I’m going to write a novel inside the span of 30 days, start to finish.”

[Laughter.] “No you’re not. You’ll get burned out by the novelty after the first week, and you’ll never finish it.”

“No, this time is going to be different. I’m going to do it. Just you wait and see.”

“Oh yeah, different. Right. So who falls in love this time, and how are you going to relate it back to that girl of yours?”

“Um… it’s not going to be a love story. Not really. It’s going to be more like an all-ages fantasy tale. A big and sweeping ‘once upon a time’ epic.”

[Pause.]

[Much laughter.]

“Oh, quiet you.”

That was a conversation I had shortly after I decided to take part in this year’s NaNoWriMo. Note the sheer lack of support lent to me by this person. It’s quite heartwarming, don’t you think?

I mean, yes, the thought of me concentrating on nearly any project – let alone an entire novel – for one month is something that doesn’t seem incredibly likely. Couple that with the fact that I intend to continue with my weekly Soupy Toasterson schedule and work my two part time jobs… well, let’s just say the lack of confidence some people seem to have in me is quite warranted.

However, some good old fashioned lying would’ve been nice. That said, lies actually do very little to inspire my mind to write. What does seem to work in that department, is doubt.

Doubt is like liquid napalm for my creative process.

Don’t think I can do something? Great. Tell me. Explain to me how my hair-brained ideas aren’t only going to cause me to die alone, but that they are also going to kill puppies.

Lots and lots of puppies.

I’ll look at you defiantly.

Purely of its own will, my foot will boot you in the face. Hard.

I will stand upon your face, and then bend low.

“My writing,” I’ll tell you, my breath hot on your face, “is going to change the world. It’s going to move mountains. It’s going to destroy monuments. It’ll resurrect Abe fricken’ Lincoln, who’ll read my work, and then say just two words before the effort of speaking turns his body into dust:

“’Fuckin’ Abe’.”

And you’ll believe it too, because anyone crazy enough to kick you in the face and speak those words would probably kill you if you didn’t.

In short, your doubt will cause you to believe that I could kill you.

And seeing how I’m a scrawny 150 pounds of kitten-like fury, you’d be nuts to believe in the impossible.

So.

November.

The Everlast.

30 days.

50,000 words.

175 typed pages.

I dare you to tell me that isn’t going to happen.

Because I’m ready for the impossible.

Magnanimously yours,

-B. Schatz

NaNoWriMo

2005-10-23T00:00:00.000-06:00

Good gravy.

We're actually going to do it.

For those of you out of the loop, NaNoWriMo - or National Novel Writing Month - is about to fall upon us. The basic challenge of the month is thus: write a complete novel (at least 50,000 words... which equals out to 175 pages), within the course of one single month.

Yes, it's suicide. Yes, it will cause brains to leak, blood to boil, and the death of all who eat the muchables in our general vacinities.

But whatever. We're going to do it, and if we're going down, by golly, we're taking the whole damn world with us.

You can see my submission to NaNoWriMo on this very site, starting as soon as the first chapter is done in November. It's called "The Everlast", and a synopsis and character sketches will be going up over the next few days.

Dougie's submission is called "The Adventures of Little Timmy", and from what I've heard, it will be a very unique work that you should check out. At this site right here.

Both, if they reach completion on the due date of November 30th, will be published and availible for purchase at this site. Here's hoping.

First Time Around: Chapter 03

2005-10-22T14:29:00.000-06:00

In which our hero takes a trip down memory lane.

It was first grade and her name was Melissa. It was all those years ago, and by some trick of memory I can still remember that.

I guess she was my first crush.
She, of course, didn't know who I was. Well, I assume she didn't. I didn't have many friends in the class and never tried to call attention to myself. Maybe she had some vague idea of a kid with my name in her class.

I remember that in my class we were required to have notebooks which we spent fifteen minutes at the beginning of the day writing or drawing in. Sometimes I would write something, some simplistic diary entry. Other times I would draw something in thick, shaky carbon graphite.

I remember turning to a page deep in my notebook, where I figured no one would look, and writing, in caps, Melissa. I then drew a frame around it and added some other decoration. It felt good to have my feelings personified in some way, even if it was just a hasty scrawl where I thought no one would see it.

And I remember lining up to go to lunch. Back then we had a rhyme... "First is the worst, second is the best, third is the one [insert favorite rhyme here]." I generally tried to be second, as did the rest of the guys. (Only the guys were stupid enough to really care about it.)

We were waiting and she asked me to watch her lunchbox for her.

Could she have known?

I said yes.

Could she have felt the same way?

I left the school the next year.

Remotely Pretty #05

2005-10-21T00:00:00.000-06:00

Remotely Pretty
Created and curated by B. Schatz

Issue #05 - Crush You Under My Foot

I have a crazy, giant robot lust for you. I know this because my gears burn and my head spins when you walk by.

Also, giant robots are fucking cool.

Don't you forget that.

The Soupy Toasterson Show #02

2005-10-20T00:02:00.000-06:00

The Soupy Toasterson Show
Created by B. Schatz

#02- “As Seen On TV”
Written by B. Schatz

July 2005

“You’re still watching this?” Soupy asked Dr. V, while the television in the living room glowed with the sounds of Single Room Apartment.

“Marathon’s almost over,” Dr. V explained while Soupy sat down on the other chair in front of the TV, “This is the last episode. Ever.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“So if I tried to talk to you about anything important, you wouldn’t actually hear me, would you?”

“Nope.”

“Great,” Soupy sighed, “So… what’s going on in this show?”

“Oh, well, this guy and this girl? They used to hate each other, but over the years, they sort of dated and grew close and stuff, but they just recently had this huge fight, and he got a job offer in some place far, far away, right? And they’re both pretending like they don’t care about not seeing each other probably ever again, but you can tell that they don’t want to be separated.”

“So it’s like every single other sitcom ever invented?”

“Probably,” Dr. V breathed.

“So… you know those girls that we’re both over now?”

Dr. V sighed impatiently.

“I’m trying to pay attention to the television. Can we talk about this later?”

“But I just had a breakthrough.”

“Series finale, Soupy. Last episode ever.”

“I put away That Girl’s picture,” Soupy breathed.

“…I thought you had already put away her picture,” Dr. V said suspiciously, eyes not moving from the picture on the television screen, “We both put away their stuff. I put away the pillow Tuba Girl made for me, and you put away the picture.”

“I put the picture in the drawer where I keep my glasses,” Soupy admitted, “So that when I took my glasses off, she’d be the first thing I’d see in the morning, and the last thing I’d see at night.”

“Dude. That’s lame. And creepy,” Dr. V said.

“And hopeless. I know. It’s not… it was never going to work, right? That’s why we both put their things away. We were supposed to be over them, right?”

“Right.”

“So… today, I just… I put it away. I really put the picture away, in a shoebox,” Soupy told him, “So as of right now? We’re both officially over them. Right?”

Dr. V said nothing.

“Right?”

“Shh… this is the important part.”

Soupy looked at the TV screen, and saw the scene begin.

She was looking inside their old apartment, which was empty because all of his stuff was moved out, and she couldn’t (…or wouldn’t…) find another roommate who would like to share a one room apartment with her. Then, she closed the door, and locked it.

She turned around.

And there he was, standing with luggage in hand.

The studio audience gasped.

Everyone watching (including Soupy) held their breath.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, drawing the scene out with the utmost emotional care.

He looked at her in that way that let everyone know what was coming next.

The wait was still excruciating.

“You know… I almost made it to the airport,” he explained, his voice ringing with that nervous bravado that scripted true love brought, “But then… then I realized that the life I had always wanted was right here with you.”

She glared at him.

“You’re an idiot,” she said.

The comment hung in the air, before he replied, “Well… I’m staying here with you, aren’t I?”

They continue to look at each other.

“Sorry, that was supposed to sound romantic, but-“

She topped him, grabbing his arms as she went up on her tip toes and kissed him.

The audience gasped again, and the whole world gave a silent cheer.

She pulled away. He looked shocked.

“I…”

She hit him hard in the stomach, and began to cry.

“Don’t you ever leave me again,” her voice warbled, “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

He drew her near.

“Okay.”

And they kissed again.

And everyone cheered.

And the scene faded to black, as the credits rolled.

Soupy and Dr. V continued to stare at the screen absently.

“…I wish life could be more like a TV sitcom,” Soupy muttered.

Oh yeah. He was so over her…

The Soupy Toasterson Show is recorded in front of a live studio audience, just like all good sitcoms. No, the irony isn’t lost on me. All of the above did and didn’t happen, depending on the moment. I’ll be leaving you, if you don’t believe in me. –B.

For the Last Time...

2005-10-19T12:04:00.000-06:00

...no. I am not Lucas J. Thompson. If you'll notice, the writing styles are the furthest thing from being similar.

That is all.

Love Under 100 #04

2005-10-19T00:47:00.000-06:00

Love Under 100

#04 - Rock Star.
Written by B. Schatz

On the stage, I'm a rock star, singing into the microphone, looking right into the eyes of every single girl out there, making them fall in love with me, using my dreamy looks and ass-flattering pants.

Every single one of them is mine, you hear? Ever one is someone I could take away from you for one night, utterly destroying you forever.

After all, we all know that rocking out is all about two things: getting laid, and dying before anyone can touch you.

Love Under 100 is a weekly segment appearing on Wednesdays here on Two Fisted Toast! If you have a story about love and can tell it in 100 words or less, send it in to twofistedtoast@gmail.com. Anything recieved regarding this column that includes more than 100 words (not including the title), will be deleted. Our word counter is swift, and our word counter is merciless.

Achamian - Chapter 01

2005-10-18T13:48:00.000-06:00

Achamian - Chapter 1 - Timen

by Lucas J. Thompson

A tall figure silhouetted by the moonlight limped into the musty bar. It wore a long dark green robe which concealed it’s face. From it’s side hung a long curved sword it’s sheath blood red. It was extremely tall, however, it was gaunt as if undernourished. The drunken miners of Aienst barely seemed to notice the menacing figure walking through the smoky, dirty bar that reeked of urine and beer. It crossed the bar with an odd air, as if it was royalty, even though it had to bend it’s neck slightly to prevent it from hitting it’s head on the ceiling. It stagger over, as if injured, to the fat bar-wench who was busy collecting beer glasses and humming merely.

“O’my I didn’t ev’n see ya d’ere sir” she exclaimed dropping her glasses which landed on the rough wooden floor and smashed into hundreds of pieces, “wh…wh…what would ya like sir?”

“Where issss Achamian?” it’s voice like nails on a chalkboard.

“Wha..Wha…” but she delayed too long. The thing, with amazing speed, threw off it’s robe revealing a scaly green reptile-like body with it’s head like a birds. It’s eyes were small black dots and the feathers on it‘s head and feet where white. It had a yellow pointed beak and folded green wings. It’s tail was nearly as long as itself and it had two ten inch claws on each arm instead of hands. Wearing only a pair of ankle length war mail pants and a torn mail shirt, it had several injuries caused by a blade, a stab wound on it‘s side, a large slash on it‘s left leg and a cut that went from it’s shoulder to it’s lower back. Blood as dark as a Barfraids’ soul covered it’s legs and back and it was holding it’s side in pain. With inhuman speed and strength it dug it’s claws into the women’s neck, blood sprayed on it’s face as she fell limp to the ground. The cut on it’s back began to disappear. It spun around to reveal itself to the rest of the people in the bar. The entire room grew completely voiceless. The only sound was coming from the crackling fire.

“WHERE ISSS ACHAMIAN??” it hissed whipping out it’s long curved blade. Ancient writing on the blade was red and it shone in the firelight. Nothing, not even a whisper came from the terrified crowd. It grew impatient.

“WHERE ISSS ACHAMIAN??” it screeched, but did not wait for a reply. It whispered something under it’s breathe and it’s eyes grew wide and light poured out of them. The shards of glass that lay at it’s feet began to rise and quickly shot up to it’s eye level. The crowd gasped and began to run to the entrance, but it was to late. The words now bellowed from it’s mouth and the pieces of glass shot out with extreme precision hitting every person in the bar and sending them hurdling toward the floor dying in pain. Blood sprayed on the walls and the floor was a pool of red. The things injuries were gone now and it put on it’s robe and clambered out the wooden door into the rainy streets of Aienst.

*****************************

The incense in the tent was merciless. Achamian sat up startled, he felt his wet cheek and strained to look where he was. The incense overpowered him and he coughed loudly. A naked body lay next to him, partially uncovered by blankets, groaning for warmth. Her breasts were wet in the light of dusk and her hair was cascaded over her entire chest and stomach.

I wonder how I ever won the heart of such a beauty.

Achamian thought as he laid a scratchy wool blanket over her tender body and kissed her on the cheek. It was warm and tasted of salt. He lit the candle in the centre of the leather tent with a whispered word and got dressed distracted by his own thoughts.

Had it been a dream? he thought, or a vision? I have never seen such a creature, it must have been a dream.

He sat up his blonde hair brushing his eyebrow as he grabbed his short sword and buckled it to his skinny waste. His black robe tickled the top of his feet and was held by a red sash around his waste. Wrapping his white quiver around his shoulder along with his white Elven Bow, he crept out of the tent and the wind brushed his youthful white skin. They had camped on the small island of Timen, in the north western part of the Sea of Väinguard. They had been delivering a message in Aiënst two days previous.

Achamian had been cheapened to messenger boy after The Jade Underground’s loss in the Jobia Desert. A crackle from behind, Achamian spun around hand on blade. But it was only Zareb. He was wearing a dark blue imperial robe and carried a longsword across his broad back. His face had seen many battles and his sword many victories. His long dark hair wheeled in the wind. Although Zareb was not gifted in sorcery he was an exceptionally good warrior and Achamian had relied on him in many situations.

“A little jumpy this morning? While you where sleeping with that wench I caught us breakfast!” he teased throwing down a pike with five rabbits. The sun was rising on the sea and men were already busying themselves with the ship below.

“Your just jealous of her beauty” Achamian retorted playfully , “and that you don’t have…”

“Are you talking about me again Achamian?” Seria said mischievously as she left their tent. Achamian thought in the sunrise she looked more like a queen than a Sorcerers lover. Her long blonde hair brushed against her simple brown servant robes. Her beauty rivalled the princess of Corinserin. She was bold, and that was what originally drew Achamian to her. Unlike most submissive Corinsi women she wore a dagger and a small bow.

“Well, if it isn’t the Queen of shit!” exclaimed Zareb with a smirk. He hoped to make her mad.

“Oh shut up you big oaf” she said as she punched him playfully in the stomach.

“Enough you two!” exclaimed Achamian, “We have much to prepare, the traders ship leaves today, they are done trading with the small villages on this island. If we miss it, another won’t be along for six months! Seria, you gather wood and Zareb and I will take down the tents.” They grumbled but agreed to the work without much protest, they where anxious to leave. They had been camping on Timen for several days without much to do but sit and wait for the traders to return to their boats.

There is nothing on this island but a few shit small villages and a bunch of looted ruins Achamian thought I can’t wait to get back to Cagenstien.

Packing up all of their personal things which where a few blankets, some incense, a couple canteens and several robes, he proceeded to take down there pole-style tent made of birch and cow hide and packed everything into two large packs, one slightly smaller for Seria.

Zareb joined him as he stood looking down the steep decent to the sandy shore, the sun was now miles above the horizon. Zareb was nearly a foot taller than Achamian. It made Achamian look short when Zareb stood next to him but the reality is that Zareb was unusually tall, but also wide and powerfully built. Achamian’s knowledge of him before they met was sketchy at best. He never really talked about it. Achamian knew that he came from some ancient city in the Jobia Desert, but that was about it. They had met in Cagenstien, the Holy City of Corinserin. He was working as a guard in the Jade Underground, the most powerful sorcery school in Corinserin, and the home of Achamian, when they met. Achamian immediately liked Zareb and they were soon very good friends and travel companions. He had become a powerful ally over the years and now they were almost inseparable.

“You’re a lucky man to have a lover with such beauty, even if she is bold” said Zareb passively. Achamian thought he heard a hint of jealousy.

“I know, I am a lucky man. Are you looking forward to the journey home?”

“Ugh, not really, long and no enemies makes for a boring journey” Zareb said with a chuckle.

“Always looking for a fight eh? I am looking forward to finally getting home, even though I am worried about the state of the Jade Underground.”

“They’ve bounced back from greater tragedies than a simple loss of a hundred or so footmen, most not even sorcerers. The campaign to capture the desert was frivolous anyway. Such a fool is Johan, to send two hundred men to do the job of an army”

“He can be foolish sometimes, but he is a good leader” Johan was the one of the members on the Council of Sorcery in the Jade Underground, he was in charge of military action, both defensive and offensive. Seria returned with the fire wood and placed it in the pit. Achamian lit it with a word and they began to cook the rabbit.

“Achamian” Seria said pausing to take a generous portion of a Rabbit torso, “when will you teach me to use sorcery?”

“You know it is not my place, you have the ability to learn, but you are much to old and I would be a much to strict teacher.” Achamian replied.

“To old, I could get any man I wanted, even greater men than you.”

“Okay, Okay, people usually start learning magic before the age of eight and your 23! But it is still not my place, you have to talk to the council.” What she had said scared Achamian.

“I have and they deny me ever time! You are my only chance to learn the holy arts and that is all there is too it! I don‘t want to learn destructive spells, just some tricks to make my life easier when your not around.”

“I’ll think about it.”

She did have a good point, and what could it hurt?

They ate there meagre, yet sufficient breakfast quietly. Achamian stared at Seria, he was madly in love and lust.

“What?” she asked feeling her mouth and cheek “Do I have something on my face?”

“Just marvelling at your beauty”

“Ugh, are you trying to make me sick??” added Zareb.

After they finished there rabbit they put on their packs and started the long decent down to the steep cliffs. The sun was now shining high above the horizon and it looked to be a hot day. It took them several hours to traverse the cliffs. Seria had wanted to stay at the top for the view, and Zareb for the safety from bandits. When they reached the bottom they made their way to the loading docks and started climb the wooden ramp to board the ship.

“Achamian?” came a voice from behind them, deep with authority.

Achamian wheeled around hand on blade along with Zareb and Seria, just as surprised. In front of them stood ten Väinguardian soldiers.

“Who asks?” said Zareb angrily. One of the men whispered something to the captain.

“We have a warrant for your arrest” said the Captain.

“On what charge?” exclaimed Achamian

“High Treason, you’ll fry for this one you fucking Corinsorin Spy!” He whipped out his short curved sword and began to move closer followed by his company, armed with pikes and short swords. Achamian seized his sword and took a defensive position. Zareb unsheathed his mighty longsword and put on a scowl while Seria grasped her small bow and strung it.

“I’m warning you were not to be messed with, Väinguard has no authority over this island!” exclaimed Achamian, but they proceeded to move closer.

Zareb delivered the first blow cutting a surprised soldier’s head clean off. Blood shot out of the headless neck as it collapsed on the ground. With a few words Achamian’s eyes grew wide and light poured from them. The words echoed though the cliffs and tore the bowels out of three men. They screamed in agony and fell to the ground staring at their own burning innards in terror. Seria released her bow and shot an unsuspecting soldier in the eye followed by another in the neck. Achamian approached the captain short sword drawn. A high blow delivered by the captain was easily parried and Achamian quickly replied with low stab that caught the surprised man in the leg. In one last struggle for survival the captain lunged at Achamian’s stomach grazing the side of his robe slicing it and causing a half inch cut below his rib. Startled Achamian stepped back holding the wound but quickly regained his bearings and stabbed the wounded man through the throat. He let him wriggle a while before removing the blade and allowing him to fall dead to the ground. To his left Zareb had disembowelled two more men and with a great blow of his longsword cut another man wielding two daggers. The man collapsed to the ground and Zareb stabbed him through the heart. The last man began to retreat but Seria strung an arrow and it stuck through the man’s calve. He fell to the ground in pain. Seria strung another arrow and it whizzed through his lower back and stuck out his stomach. Blood gushed from the fatal wound and the man fell to the ground eyes still wide in surprise.

“Where in the fuck did they come from?” exclaimed Zareb still puffing from the battle.

“I don’t…” Achamian began to get dizzy. His legs faltered, and his eyesight blurred. He saw Zareb sheath his longsword and run over to him.

What’s wrong with me? The wound isn’t that deep…

He felt himself fall to the ground and he looked up into the sapphire blue sky. He thought he saw a bird descending to the ground, but seemed to view it over a great expanse…. Darkness…

DigDug of Love.

2005-10-16T22:38:00.000-06:00

I was digging around my old blogs the other day (no, I'm not telling you where they're hidden), and ran across something I had called "The Big Book of Love".

Basically, it was meant to be something where I'd stop by and post my thoughts on the subject of love. The only reason being, people seemed to think I was the Internet Jesus of Love, and I thought that... if the people wanted it, I would deliver.

Turns out, I liked writing my ideas through fiction later. But I still like this little nugget, and thought I'd re-post it.

Re-enjoy, kiddies.

-The Maganimous B. Schatz.

Love isn't that feeling you get when you look at a person and wonder what it would be like to live with them forever. Love is the feeling that you get when you can see that forever, and would endure whatever pains come your way to see that forever come.

Love isn't the happy feeling you get when you feel like someone completes you: love is the driving force behind staying complete, and it will make you feel absolutely horrible. But if you truely feel love, you won't mind that in the least.

First Time Around: Chapter 02

2005-10-15T12:26:00.000-06:00

In which our hero eats lunch and receives mixed signals.

Some Wednesday, two years ago
It was between classes. There were a couple of minutes until English, and Mary and I were loitering in front of the room. I was staring at my feet, trying to think of some conversation starter.

"So... What did you write your book report on?" Mary asked.

My mind froze for a second and then I remembered.

"It's this book called, uh, Afterzen."

"What's that about?"

"There's this German guy... Or maybe he's Dutch, who can tell... And he becomes a Buddhist monk and eventually a master and the book's his sort of rise to enlightenment."

Mary laughed. I felt relieved for no real reason.

"You remind me a lot of my brother."

I froze. Alarms went off. The sky darkened and broke, shattering like shards of glass.

Just like her brother?

I don't know anything about relationships, but even I know that's not good.

Well, unless you live in Arkansas or someplace. Then it's a part of life. Nobody wants to go out with her brother! Well, some people do, but those aren't the sort of people I want to go out with. They tend to have too many teeth and not enough hygiene.

Just like her brother?

Well, that's it, man. You're done. Shot out of the water before you even dipped your oars in it.

Just like her brother?

The thoughts coursed through my mind like pike in a river, cold and fast. Not more than a second passed before I smiled weakly and said, "Is that so?"

Lunchtime, a few days later
Mary and I are eating lunch together, sitting on the grass, our backs up against a door. It had become something of a routine. I didn't know why or how it had happened, but I wasn't going to complain.

A kid walked up. I knew enough people's names by then to recognize him as Brad.

Brad was that kid who everyone hates. The kids who he usually hung out with constantly badmouthed him and the teachers watched him warily. He was annoying, hyperactive, and amazingly unfunny. He made me uncomfortable.

"So what," Brad asked, in that aren't-I-funny tone of voice, "you two are boyfriend and girlfriend now?" His hands made vaguely suggestive gestures.

I froze again, this time to watch Mary's reaction. I'd be damned if I was going to say anything to incriminate myself.

"No," she said. "I've got a boyfriend."

I nodded to myself. I thought so. She had made things pretty clear, hadn't she? Anyway, I had already assumed she did. She seemed like the kind.

"Oh, well, that's too bad," said Brad, and he wandered off.

We ate in silence for a few minutes. Well, silent except for chewing and so on.

Mary cleared her throat.

"You know... I don't really have a boyfriend."

What?

Dude, that's totally a sign! She told that guy she had one, but she told you that she didn't! You have a chance! Somehow, I don't know why!

"Really?"

"Yeah."

Then, like an idiot, I finished my lunch and said nothing more.

Dougie is going to start leaving off the "two years ago" thing, since it's all going to be two years ago for a while. He also hopes that you will learn from his mistakes.

Remotely Pretty #04

2005-10-14T02:06:00.000-06:00

Remotely Pretty
Created and curated by B. Schatz

Issue #04: Inside Your Head.

Remember that night we all got lit and walked around the park? You thought the lights were aliens, trying to steal your brain.

And we all laughed, because you were being ironic.

The Soupy Toasterson Show #01

2005-10-13T00:11:00.000-06:00

The Soupy Toasterson Show
Created by B. Schatz

#01: Where He Keeps His Memories.
Written by B. Schatz

July 2005.

“You’re an idiot.”

The television woke Soupy up with those kind and gentle words, and Soupy, in response to this kindness, cursed.

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” Soupy mumbled as he pulled himself up slowly to a sitting position, “What possess’ you to be so cruel?”

“Well, I’m staying here with you, aren’t I?” it replied, “A sane person would’ve left this place years ago if they had to live with you.”

“I’d be offended by that if you had legs,” Soupy explained, rubbing his eyes.

It was at this moment he realized he is having an actual conversation with the television set. That meant one of two things: one; someone or something had turned the television in his room on, or two; he had previously woken up, drank an entire bottle of STDs and fallen ill, only to gain consciousness without any memory of the incident and would shortly die from too much chlamydia.

He didn’t feel like dying today, so he was quite grateful when his roommate, Dr. V, sauntered into the room and sat on Soupy’s bed with a bowl of popcorn.

Until Soupy realized that he was also not wearing a shirt.

Soupy’s hands shot upwards and covered his nipples.

“What are you doing in my room?” he asked quickly.

“Waking you up,” Dr. V stated, mouth already full of popcorn, “And getting you laid.

“You see this?” Dr. V continued, pointing at the television screen, “This is called Single Room Apartment. It’s about a guy and a girl who through a series of wacky coincidences end up sharing this apartment that only has one room in it. Now see, at the beginning of the series, they both hated each other, but then over time, they both realized they had feelings for each other, and they keep on doing the whole on-again, off-again, will-they-or-won’t-they thing. Point is, over the course of the show? This guy gets laid. And today, in honour of the series finale that’s on tonight, they’re doing this marathon thing, so you can get some pointers while we watch.”

“I’m confused,” Soupy said, “Are you saying you want to have sex with me?”

“Do we live in a single room apartment?”

“No.”

“Well there you go.”

“Oh,” Soupy stated, “Well in that case, please get out.”

“Get out?” Dr. V munched, “But the show’s a classic.”

“And you can watch it in your room,” Soupy told him, “Or the living room. Or anywhere else where my nipples aren’t.”

“You still have that thing with your nipples?”

“They’re shy,” Soupy grumbled coldly, “Now get out.”

“You don’t know what you’re missing…” Dr. V told him while he made for the exit.

“And close the door behind you.”

Dr. V complied, and Soupy slowly let his hands fall from their place.

“I can still see you,” the television blared.

Soupy quickly drew up the covers.

“Stupid television.”

Reluctantly, he reached an arm out from underneath his cover and opened the drawer in his nightstand that contained his glasses. He put them on and then…

There she was.

Smiling at him.

From the picture frame inside the drawer, she was smiling that smile of hers that causes her green eyes to light right up.

That… that was when he liked them the most. Her eyes, that is. She only had one smile, and he would never describe her smile as “them” under any circumstances, but that was neither here nor there.

The fact was, he liked her eyes best when she smiled. Of course, that wasn’t to say there was a moment that he didn’t like her eyes, oh no. In fact, he found them to be quite warm when they were even just glancing at nothing in particular, or even glazed over as she looked inwards, thinking of things that no one else was meant to know.

But it was when she smiled… oh, when she smiled, they are truly beautiful and full of life.

And yes, she’d deny it. She’d always deny it, because she couldn’t see them herself. Well, not really. Sure, there were mirrors, but mirrors only show us what we want to see, and not what other people see, so she didn’t see it, not even when she tried to.

But it was there: that lust for life, that spark for the utterly wonderful…

It was there.

It was always there.

In his drawer.

Soupy did this every morning. The whole ritual, getting his glasses, and then… seeing her. It was kind of sad, actually…

She had broken up with him a few months before, and he still wasn’t saying good-bye. Why wasn’t he saying good-bye?

“Some of us,” the television stated wisely, “Have lives. And we live them. We move on from being stupid, emotionally retarded teenagers, and become adults.”

…Soupy hated the television.

But somehow… somehow…

He knew it was right.

That picture… her face… he looked at it every day. He looked at his past, every single day, and stayed there, hoping, and wishing that he could go back to that.

But he knew that he couldn’t. And it was about time he did something about it.

Slowly, as to not disturb the covers that cover his nipples, Soupy reached down underneath his bed, and he grabbed a tiny little shoebox.

He opened it gingerly, and moved his hands towards the photograph grabbing it carefully, looking at her face… her smile…

Her…

…

Soupy breathed.

He looked at the other things in the box.

They were other memories he… at one point in time… was reluctant to give up.

The ring made out of Starburst wrappers…

The saran wrapped red gummy bear…

The old Hanson CD with MmmBop on it…

And the green sparkle pen.

Soupy breathed deeply.

Each one of them, in their own little way, symbolized a chunk of his life, and a girl of the moment.

He had secretly hoped that this girl would be different than all the others. That she would be that one that he would stay with forever.

He honestly wished that That Girl could be… that girl.

But…

Soupy sighed. He told himself that he’s been hanging on long enough, and that… yeah, even though he thought it was kind of stupid that a cookie cutter sitcom was the thing to actually force this to happen… that he had to do it.

There were only so many ways he could say good-bye to her before he had to actually let go…

So he did.

The photograph floated down to the bottom of the box.

Just another memory…

The Soupy Toasterson Show is filmed before a live studio audience and a crate of frosted oranges, for old time’s sake. Some of the things listed above are true, and some of them, not so much. Also, events that have taken in place in the past have stayed there. Anything you’ve read isn’t an accurate picture of things in their current state. There’s never any place… for someone like me to feel terribly happy… -B!

Two Fisted Keywords (October 12th, 2005)

2005-10-12T14:34:00.000-06:00

Most recent keywords used to find Two Fisted Toast (as used by real visitors):

"Allow me to introduce myself."
"Girls getting fisted."
"Is Scrubs cancelled."

Love Under 100 #03

2005-10-12T00:00:00.000-06:00

#03 - The Night.
Written by Pips

Know that one magical night? The one where you and your partner sit and talk for hours on end? Where you learn everything about them? At the end when there isn't anything left to say, you just lay in one another's arms; you know that you belong with this person.

Now that they already know everything about you and you about them, you can have an even more magical night; because you skip everything up to holding each other. You lie there for hours on end in the arms of that one person controlling your thoughts.

Far more magical that way.

Love Under 100 is a weekly segment appearing on Wednesdays here on Two Fisted Toast! If you have a story about love and can tell it in 100 words or less, send it in to twofistedtoast@gmail.com. Anything recieved regarding this column that includes more than 100 words (not including the title), will be deleted. Our word counter is swift, and our word counter is merciless.

This week's edition was submitted by a reader. If you wish to contact the writer for comments or pointers, comment below or e-mail us at twofistedtoast@gmail.com with "Love Under 100 #03" inside the subject line, and we'll relay the message. Thanks.

Happy Canadian Thanksgiving

2005-10-10T19:24:00.000-06:00

Apologies for the lack of service over the weekend. The Canadian national holiday, combined with some unexpected family issues made updating quite hard.

As most of you may not know, I have a very close cousin with terminal brain cancer. Sadly, she's just 13 years old, and this weekend, took a turn for the worst.

Updates will be given as required...

Normal service will resume promptly.

Little by Little, Bit by Bit

2005-10-07T11:54:00.000-06:00

When a band you like releases a new album, you're excited.

When you hear of a band that's released their newest album for free over the internet, you're gratified.

When a band you like releases their latest album for free over the internet, it's magic.

Such is the case with with Harvey Danger's "Little by Little."

File sharing is an ongoing debate in the media, in our government, and in our minds. It's currently viewed as being mostly illegal in use, although the legal precedent has been set that it's legal.

So it's nice to see a legitimate band using arguably the best, and most prevalent, file-sharing tool, BitTorrent, to distribute their new album -- completely legally, completely free, no strings attached.

As for the album itself: the lyrics are fairly derivative, the rhymes simple and unsurprising. But it's a case of the whole being greater than the sum of its parts; the lead vocals are strong, and some of the guitar licks are truly rockin'. It's enjoyable and there are more than a few songs that will implant themselves in your skull and refuse to leave.

"Little by Little" doesn't break any new ground, musically. However, it's another blow for Good in the fight against the evil record industry, and as more bands lend their legitimacy to the file-sharing cause, I expect that tools like BitTorrent will be used more and more, whether for paid content or freely-distributed files.

Dougie has used BitTorrent more legally than illegally and recommends you do the same.

Remotely Pretty #03

2005-10-07T10:37:00.000-06:00

Remotely Pretty
Created and curated by B. Schatz

Issue #03: Tropical Getaway.

I arrived on the island a day later than I expected myself to: I had been bumped from my flight the day before, and had to stay in the frigid Canadian weather one day longer. It made me cranky, because I had hired a hooker to greet me at the airport so that I could seem loved.

But I was late, and so the only things around to greet me were two overly affectionate turtles who were clearly taunting me.

That night, I had soup.

As Seen On TV (October 6th, 2005)

2005-10-06T12:43:00.000-06:00

As Seen On TV (October 6, 2005)

The new TV season has just begun, and it’s time to take a quick look at some of the winners and losers of the past few weeks.

The Winners

“Veronica Mars”, the oxymoronically critically acclaimed UPN show, received it’s highest viewer ratings ever when it premiered for it’s second season last week. The show, which uses the formula of creating season long mysteries with actual tangible payoffs, was a poor performer for UPN last year, however the network renewed it for a second season, and placed it in it’s plum post-America’s Next Model slot.

However, no matter how good it does, it still seems sad that UPN’s greatest gift to the show is a lead in touting the joys of anorexia.

“My Name Is Earl”, the NBC show that ripped “Scrubs” from it’s precious timeslot, is actually doing quite well in the ratings, drawing in a crowd 61% above last year’s averages for the Tuesday timeslot. NBC has subsequently renewed it for a full 22 episodes. And while part of me is sad that this leaves “Scrubs” without a timeslot when it returns for it’s fifth full season later in the year, another part of me is glad that “the sitcom” is not yet dead (as was prophesied last year).

The second new show to receive a full season is another UPN media darling called “Everybody Hates Chris”. The show, which is described as Wonder Years distilled through Chris Rock, gave UPN the highest ratings it has ever received for a sitcom since it’s inception.

The Losers

The first new show to be cancelled this season has been the Fox helmed “Head Cases”, which starred Chris O’Donnell and Adam Goldburg as two remotely crazy lawyers. The karma for Batman & Robin is kicking in. I call for the head of George Clooney next.

Not yet cancelled, but pulled from NBC’s schedule for one week, is the dismal performer “Inconceivable”. It’s a procedural show about work at a fertility clinic. How was it a good idea in the first place?

And showing the world that it hasn’t strayed far from it’s red-headed step child ways, UPN’s The O.C-lite show “Sex, Secrets, & Lies” has stopped production, presumably for poisoning the water table of the existence itself.

Welcome

2005-10-06T00:00:00.000-06:00

Welcome to Two Fisted Toast!

For those of you new to the site (there should be a few of you, because this site hasn’t been actively advertised), the mission statement is below.

Check in frequently for updates!

“Five Minutes.”

Five minutes ago, the world was a different place.

I say this, because five minutes ago, I wasn’t writing this. I wasn’t even thinking about it even. Instead, I was watching this movie: it was about a guy who decided to erase his ex-girlfriend from his memory.

And I, was thinking about my ex-girlfriend.

Five minutes ago, the world was about the girls who break our hearts. And right now, it isn’t.

Right now, it’s about writing: communicating ideas through words and expressions, and creating entire worlds with the subtle stroke of a finger. It’s about blank pages turning into castles, it’s about separate letters combining to create people and places and emotions, and it’s about every single possibility just waiting to be explored.

It’s about forgetting those girls who break our hearts.

And the only thing that has changed is those five short minutes.

The world changes that fast, and it’s sad, really, to think that as the seconds tick by… that the one that is here right now, will disappear forever into the unforgiving mists of time.

However… I was never a big fan of forgetting the little moments that we could one attempt to treasure through the fogged up looking glass of memory. So I decided to create this site.

Two Fisted Toast, as it exists in this world, in this moment, is a site dedicated to preserving moments and thoughts and stories and moments. It’s here to serve as a history book for all the little moment worlds that come our way.

It’s here to remember the girls who break our hearts.

And it’s here to show us that there’s always the possibility for the world to change.

Just give it five minutes.

-B. Schatz

...1...

2005-10-05T17:30:00.000-06:00

Two Fisted Toast is going live in about 6 and a half hours!

Alert the media, sound the alarms, and direct as many people here as you can, as we plan on going full tilt with content and posts from here on out!

Love Under 100 #02

2005-10-05T00:16:00.000-06:00

#02 – My 16 Year Old Love Could Kick Your Ass.
Written by B. Schatz

You’ve seen us together, and you make comments behind our backs, saying that we’ll never make it, because we’re so young and things change.

But you’re all jealous, that’s all it is. You can’t handle seeing something that you don’t have, and you don’t like the idea that we’ve found it at such a young age.

Our love will be forever, and it will be everlasting, and by God, if I wanted it to, it could kick your ass.

So smile, and laugh, and carry on, and we’ll see which of us end up being alone when we die.

Love Under 100 is a weekly segment, appearing on Wednesdays. If you have a story about love and can tell it in 100 words or less, send it in to twofistedtoast@gmail.com. Anything recieved regarding this column that includes more than 100 words (not including the title), will be deleted. Our word counter is swift, and our word counter is merciless.

...2...

2005-10-04T13:54:00.000-06:00

With just two days left until the official site launch, it's time to talk up some projects coming to the site.

Project: The Soupy Toasterson Show
Start Date: October 13th, 2005
Synopsis: Soupy Toasterson is a twitchy guy. Everything and everyone seem to scare him, which is bad, because he really wants to calm down and get the nerve to live a decent life with That Girl. Hijinks often ensues. An weekly finite series

Project: I Won't Forget You
Tentative Start Date: November 2005
Synopsis: Ben and Alyssa are two people who are meant to be together, but life continues to pull them in different directions. Will they make it together in the end, or are there different plans for the pair? A limited series.

Project: Chase McGee, Blind Detective M.D.
Tentative Start Date: January 2006
Synopsis: Chase "Fisticuffs" McGee is a blind doctor who used to be one of the world's greatest detectives, until something crazy and mysterious happened to him. Can a wisecracking pre-teen sidekick and a man who is overly affectionate towards sandwiches bring him out of retirement?

Check back here tomorrow for more preivews before the big launch!

Going Live in 3...

2005-10-03T13:13:00.000-06:00

Three days, and Two Fisted Toast officially opens to the world. I'd be lying if I said that the day didn't just sneak up on me, even though I've been attempting to put a few things together over the past several months, so I won't say that.

Instead, I'll post a picture. It's addressed to most of the other bloggers out there.

Spoken with hugs and love, just to piss them off more.

More substantial posts shall appear as we near the launch!

First Time Around: Chapter 01

2005-10-01T12:40:00.000-06:00

In which we meet our hero and get some background.

That day two years ago
Tears rolled out of my eyes, streaking my face. How could I have been so stupid?

The pain became too much to bear. I stifled my keening and reached for the cold metal by my bedside.

Five hours on the river, in the sun, and I had forgotten my sunscreen. I grabbed the can of Solarcaine and applied another coating to my lobster-red arms and legs. Oh, that felt good.

I replayed those moments of rafting down the river again in my head and sighed. It was worth it.

The day before that day
I was one of the new kids. I wasn't comfortable grabbing a raft with people I didn't know, so I was relegated to one with two teachers in it, neither of whom paddled more than a few strokes the entire time. Well, at least it meant I got more exercise.

Keeping my eyes peeled for a figure in red, I thought about the girl I had met yesterday.

The day before the day before that day
A man was on the stage in the gym. It was a multi-purpose stage, used for plays, assemblies, guest visitors, and graduations. The man up there now, the school head, was addressing us regarding the School Adventure rafting expedition tomorrow.

I was sitting a little way away from everyone. I was never comfortable forcing my presence on anybody.

A couple of feet away a girl was sitting, with cropped brown hair and bangs that have had songs written about them. Much to my disbelief she turned and beckoned to me during a lull in the man's diatribe.

"What's your name?" she half-whispered after I had scooted closer.

"Doug. What's yours?"

"Mary."

Pause. I was never good at talking to people.

"So, uh... You going to this Adventure Day thing?"

"Oh yeah, I love rafting."

"Oh! Uh, yeah, me too." I had never gone rafting in my life.

Silence.

That day
I sighed again. It was going to be hell putting on the uniform over my sunburn. But... Maybe it would be worth it.

This is my first shot at writing something like this. Be gentle. Names have been and will continue to be changed; all except my own, obviously.

Remotely Pretty #02

2005-09-30T00:17:00.000-06:00

Remotely Pretty
Created and curated by B. Schatz

Issue #02: A Snowy Day

It was snowing outside when I finally proposed to her. I looked into her billowy grey eyes and whispered the words, "Will you marry me" into the crisp air.

She looked at me all crazy like and said, "I would but... you don't look too good when you're naked."

I felt bad at the time, but the joke was on her: I had already seen myself naked.

One-Time Web Comic

2005-09-29T23:45:00.000-06:00

"How We Got Engaged!" isn't your regular web comic.

To critique it, would be almost inhuman. Not a single soul that has any decent thoughts dwelling within can attempt to disect this happenstance literature.

Take a look, and see what I mean.

Love Under 100 #01

2005-09-28T01:03:00.000-06:00

Love Under 100
created by B. Schatz

Summer In California
by B. Schatz

On the sun-soaked beaches of California, when the sun sinks low in the sky and sets the ocean aglow with shimmering orange tones, couples get together and say their summer good-byes on the sand.

They’ll never forget each other: that’s the promise they make as they cry and whispered and refuse to let go.

But eventually, and reluctantly, they part, leaving behind deep imprints of their feet standing oh-so-close together in the sand.

Soon, the sun sets.

Soon, the tide rolls in.

Soon, the footprints get washed out to the sea…

…floating in the depths, another sun-soaked summer memory…

Love Under 100 is an experiment in writing a love story using 100 words or less. Submissions are open to everyone, however those who are not (yet) contributing members of the site should send their submissions to twofistedtoast@gmail.com. Works containing more than 100 words will be deleted: our word count machine is swift, and our word count machine is merciless. Published every Wednesday.

Allow myself to introduce...myself

2005-09-27T17:59:00.000-06:00

I would guess that most of you have been lured here by my colleague B. Schatz.

It's understandable, of course; he's an amazing writer.

So to all of you who aren't familiar with me, the name's Doug. To those more familiar, it's Dougie, or Dougward.

Anyway, I'm really glad you're here. I'm not as good a writer as B. (not by half), but I aspire. I tend to write in the first person, but I'll try and make it more interesting for you readers.

A Drinking Game for the New TV Season!

2005-09-27T13:21:00.000-06:00

Premiere week is like Christmas for me, as I am addicted to television. I shouldn't because most of it sucks beyond all belief, but every year I think: maybe this year will be different.

And every year, I'm woefully wrong.

So, instead of crying because the shows are horrible, I've decided to cry because I'm going to be piss drunk while watching the television, and here's how I'm going to do it.

Chug one beer - For every second I accidently watch one of those boring proceedural shows (CSI, Bones, etc.) after not changing the channel quick enough.

Drink one shot - For every woman who gets raped...

Drink two shots - ...if she's a hooker...

Drink three - ...if "she" is a man in drag.

Drink one shot - For every "soap opera shot" on The O.C.

Chug one beer - For every time someone gets punched on The O.C.

Chug two beers - Because you actually watch The O.C.

Drink one shot - For every time you laugh at a sitcom (the only ones that this will be dangerous for will be Arrested Developement, My Name is Earl, and The Office, even though the english version will always be better...)

Drink a pitcher of beer - For every actor or actress that appears on any show on The WB who makes their way to a poor quality teen flick.

Break into a liquor store, and empty it's contents _For every laugh that Joey brings you. Which will be none.

...and that's all the rules for now. If you can think of more, add a comment below! It shall be added.

Music Notes: Jack Johnson

2005-09-27T00:19:00.000-06:00

Please forgive the pun in the title: I was looking for something simple, and it was the first thought to creep into my head.

So. Jack Johnson.

For those of you out of the loop, Jack Johnson is your music on a rainy day. Jack Johnson is your music when you watch a sunset.

Jack Johnson, is your music for when you're mellow, for when you're happy, for when you're sad, or for when you want to relax.

He plays a soft guitar, and writes songs about girls, the french language, love, break-ups, trains, situations, stapling things together, and bad weather, and makes them sound pretty.

The picture you see to your right, is that of his latest album, which I naturally have on CD that's been listened to quite feverishly. However, it's been getting a break from being played recently.

Not because I've stopped listening to Jack Johnson, oh no.

But because I've found something better than Jack Johnson on CD.

It's called "Jack Johnson on vynil".

That's right: the subtle sound record popping of vynil matched with a brilliant singing voice and acoustic guitar.

The world has never known a sweeter sound.

Remotely Pretty #01

2005-09-23T14:20:00.000-06:00

Remotely Pretty
Created and curated by B. Schatz

Issue #01: While in Tokyo

You can only enjoy yourself so much when you’re in Tokyo, running away from the monsters. You don’t have time to stop and take a look at all of the shops that you find interesting or talk to all of the people who look rich enough to bother pick pocketing.

Instead, you just get this blurred snapshot of existence while you run from the things that are chasing you, screaming at the top of your lungs.

And you start to think about the craziest things. Like how you probably left the stove on in your apartment. And how you should’ve told Jenny McMurphy that you were going to propose to her before the monsters struck.

She’s going to dump you for sure once you’re dead.

Remotely Pretty is posted every Friday. Send in a photo to twofistedtoast@gmail.com with the subject line titled "Remotely Pretty Pic" and check back here weekly to see if a story comes from it.

The Soupy Toasterson Show #00

2005-09-23T13:26:00.000-06:00

Two Fisted Toast has not yet officially "launched", but for those lucky few who found us early, you get a sneak peak of the content we'll be running over the next few months.

Kicking things off is a little something I like to call The Soupy Toasterson Show, which is 99.9% based on my real life, and 0.1% based on things I just made up to make the story flow easier. What follows is not only the first episode of the upcoming Soupy run, but the overview of where I'm going with the story until it's inevitable conclusion.

Here's hoping you enjoy.

-B.

The Soupy Toasterson Show
Created by B. Schatz

#00: The Ballad of Soupy Toasterson
Written by B. Schatz

On August 1st, 1985, Soupy Toasterson was born in the entry way of a central Alberta hospital. He came out screaming, because the air felt cold on his skin and the sensation melted his sensitive little brain and screaming was the only thing he knew how to do.

He had no hair.

On April 23rd, 1993, Soupy got married for the first time. He was only in grade two at the time, but had been so taken by the girl’s sophisticated third grade charm and willingness to touch his hand (despite the recent outbreak of cooties), that he felt compelled to marry her.

He had light blond hair.

On July 13th, 1999, Soupy found himself gazing intently at a bag of candy. He had filled it himself, with a variety of different delectibles ranging from the chewy, to the sour, to the hard to the sweet. It was all there, just waiting to be eaten. However, it wouldn’t be – at least not by him – for they were destined to sacrifice themselves for the greater good of mankind. And they did.

On August 7th, 1999, that sacrificial bag of candy was very far from Soupy’s mind as he snuck out of his room to attend his first non-clown, non-birthday, non-supervised party with a girl who wouldn’t see him metaphorically. He left the party with a girl who couldn’t see him physically, and within a few weeks, she’d inspire him to start writing seriously.

He had dirty blond hair.

On July 28th, 2001, Soupy mustered up all of the courage that dwelled within himself, and honoured the memory of the long lost candy bag through a note. He found himself to be quite content with this gesture, until his whole world shook around him, making him see everything and everyone in a new light.

On February 23rd, 2002, he used this new light to finally try and be happy.

He had brown hair.

On June 28th, 2011, Soupy got married for the second time in his life to a girl who was not only willing to touch his hand, but was in love with him just as much as he was in love with her.

On August 3rd, 2015, their first child was born.

He had graying brown hair.

On October 31st, 2049…

…

…

On October 31st, 2049, Soupy’s hands felt cold. Colder than they had in the longest time.

He opened his eyes slowly, and looked into hers.

They were looking back into his, shining with tears and… and… and many loving memories of a long and happy life.

At the sight of this, Soupy too, began to cry.

They both knew that it would soon be over.

Everything was getting so cold…

…

…

Soupy took a deep breath and whispered, “I told you I’d love you forever.”

She smiled weakly through the tears.

Soupy slowly closed his eyes.

His hair was gray.

The End

The Soupy Toasterson Show returns for it's final run on October 13th, 2005. Be there for all the moments you never knew, and the ending you never expected. Weekly every Thursday.

Life as an RPG

2005-09-21T13:45:00.000-06:00

A geek turns his life into an RPG.

And yes, before your jaw drops in awe and shock or shock and awe, it is a work of satire. However, I’m pretty sure it would be interesting if it were applied in real life for… well, for real. In fact…

Historically Inaccurate 50’s Instructional Video Theatre!

Announcer: Meet Timmy. Timmy is a young, virile, all around American teenage boy who likes to do well in school, and hates the dirty gooks and communists. In his free time, Timmy likes to finish his homework so that he can get good grades, and play fantasy games like Dungeon’s and Dragons and Hide the Scurvy Ridden Hooker from Mommy. He is very good at both of those games.

Recently, however, Timmy has found his attention drawn by… the fairer sex. Unfortunately, Timmy also has a crippling fear of talking to girls. Isn’t that right Timmy?

Timmy: My pants feel funny.

Announcer: That’s because your pants are evil Timmy. But fear not! There is still hope for you and your pants if you just play to your strengths!

Timmy: Play to my strengths?

Announcer: That’s right Timmy. You live in a world of wonder and fantasy, and reward yourself with experience points when you complete certain tasks and hide disease ridden hookers. So, why not apply that technique to your real life?

Timmy: How am I supposed to do that?

Announcer: Glad you asked Timmy.

For every girl you talk to, you’ll receive experience points. If once you acquire enough of these experience points, you’ll be able to perform such tasks as “go out on a date” and “touch her hand”.

Timmy: You mean I’ll actually get to touch her?

Announcer: No with that face you won’t be at least there’s hope now, right? Now repeat after me: “Hello there, female companion. Those are mighty fine child bearing hips you have”.

Timmy: Are you sure that’s the wisest thing to say?

Announcer: Don’t be a commie, Timmy.

Five Minutes

2005-09-21T02:17:00.000-06:00

Five mibutes ago, the world was a different place.

I say this, because five minutes ago, I wasn’t writing this. I wasn’t even thinking about it even. Instead, I was watching this movie: it was about a guy who decided to erase his ex-girlfriend from his memory.

And I, was thinking about my ex-girlfriend.

Five minutes ago, the world was about the girls who break our hearts. And right now, it isn’t.

Right now, it’s about writing: communicating ideas through words and expressions, and creating entire worlds with the subtle stroke of a finger. It’s about blank pages turning into castles, it’s about separate letters combining to create people and places and emotions, and it’s about every single possibility just waiting to be explored.

It’s about forgetting those girls who break our hearts.

And the only thing that has changed is those five short minutes.

The world changes that fast, and it’s sad, really, to think that as the seconds tick by… that the one that is here right now, will disappear forever into the unforgiving mists of time.

However… I was never a big fan of forgetting the little moments that we could one attempt to treasure through the fogged up looking glass of memory. So I decided to create this site.

Two Fisted Toast, as it exists in this world, in this moment, is a site dedicated to preserving moments and thoughts and stories and moments. It’s here to serve as a history book for all the little moment worlds that come our way.

It’s here to remember the girls who break our hearts.

And it’s here to show us that there’s always the possibility for the world to change.

Just give it five minutes.

-B. Schatz

The Soupy Toasterson Show Archives

1990-04-21T13:21:00.000-06:00

Author: B. Schatz
Synopsis: See boy. See girl. See boy meet girl. See boy screw up. Wash, rinse, and repeat.
Frequency: Weekly on Thursdays

Volume 01: The Shoebox.

#00 - The Ballad of Soupy Toasterson
#01 - Where He Keeps His Memories
#02 - As Seen On TV
#03 - It's All the Same
#04 - A Quest of Noble Nature

Remotely Pretty Archives

1990-04-20T01:01:00.000-06:00

Author: B. Schatz
Synopsis: A picture can tell any tale you want it to, if you think hard enough about it. These are the tales you get when you squeeze decent looking pictures through the mind of someone who is quite possibly crazier than you are.
Frequency: Weekly on Fridays

Readers my submit pictures (nothing illegal and/or naked) to twofistedtoast - at -gmail - dot - com.

#01 - Life in Tokyo
#02 - A Snowy Day
#03 - Tropical Getaway
#04 - Inside Your Head
#05 - Crush You Under My Foot
#06 - It's Called Radar Love
#07 - This Is How We Roll

First Time Around Archives

1990-04-19T01:17:00.000-06:00

Author: Dougie
Synopsis: The chronicle of one boy's amazing ability to get everything wrong.
Frequency: Somedays (semi-weekly on Saturdays)

Love Under 100 Archives

1990-04-18T01:27:00.000-06:00

Synopsis: Love stories and experiences that all take place under 100 words.
Frequency: Weekly on Wednesdays

Readers may submit content for this feature to twofistedtoast - at - gmail - dot - com.

#01 - Summer in California
#02 - My Sixteen Year Old Love Could Kick Your Ass
#03 - The Night (Reader Submission)
#04 - Rock Star
#05 - What Do You Think It Means?
#06 - Touch

Achamian Archives

1990-04-16T01:45:00.000-06:00

Author: Lucas J. Thompson
Synopsis: [Insert]
Frequency: Monthly

Chapter 01 - Timen
Chapter 02 - Coming November 15th, 2005

Strands Archives

1990-04-02T15:59:00.000-06:00

Strands
by B. Schatz

Chapter One: "Pulling"

Part 01: Little Girl
(November 21st, 2005)
Part 02: Teddy Bears
(November 28th, 2005)
Part 03: Good Life
(December 5th, 2005)

On Chapter One: Thoughts and Processes
(December 6th, 2005)

Chapter Two: "Connections"

Part 01: Squares
(December 12th, 2005)
Part 02: Hurt
(December 19th, 2005)
Part 03: Ask
(December 26th, 2005)
Part 04: Gone
(January 2nd, 2006)
Part 05: Truth
(January 9th, 2006)

On Chapter Two: Thoughts and Processes
(January 10th, 2006)

Chapter Three: "Interweave"

Part 01: Go for a Drive
(January 16th, 2006)
Part 02: Faces
(January 23rd, 2006)
Part 03: Black and White
(January 30th, 2006)
Part 04: Differences
(February 6th, 2006)
Part 05: Ways We Crash
(February 13th, 2006)
Part 06: Assume
[Buy the book!]

On Chapter Three: Thoughts and Processes
(February 21st, 2006)

The Everlast (2005)

1990-04-01T22:48:00.000-06:00

The Everlast

2005 NaNoWriMo Contribution

The Everlast is a story about a boat that floats through the sky, piloted by children with unstoppable imaginations. It's first draft was written during National Novel Writing Month 2005, and if all goes to plan, will see life as a series of novels, created for all ages to enjoy.

November 2005

The following is a portion of the first draft that required and recieved heavy editting. The basic idea is still there, although the structure is quite broken. Feel free to read if you like.

Star Light, Star Bright #01
Star Light, Star Bright #02
Star Light, Star Bright #03
Star Light, Star Bright #04

Here and There and Elsewhere #01
Here and There and Elsewhere #02

Put It In Your Pocket #01
Put It In Your Pocket #02

October 2005 (Pre-Production)

Brand New Something #01
Brand New Something #02
Brand New Something #03
Brand New Something #04
Brand New Something #05