Thursday, March 03, 2005
"The Interview" by Peej
“So, er Mr Nukem? I mean, what interests you in this line of work? Why have you applied to work with us?”
The oddly wasp-like head of the interview panel regarded the slightly paunchy figure sitting in front of him with mild disgust. Here was a man who was obviously not a winner in life. Here was a man who, quite probably, couldn’t even be trusted to gather trolleys in the car park let alone enter the cut and thrust world of vegetable arrangement and grocery retail.
“I…uh…Well, I need the money. Things have been a bit lean lately. Hell, lean’s a fucking understatement, pardon my French.” He started to laugh a horrible cough-hacking smoker’s laugh. The response was icy to say the least.
The wasp-like head of the interview panel, whose name was Mr Beasley, cringed as the profanities invaded his aural cavity like a pine cone inserted without KY into the rectum of a small wild feline.
“Mr Nukem! Can I remind you that you are here to try and convince us that you are suitable for a job at the “Happy Mart” – a job which has strict guidelines about the use of common profanities on the shop floor?”
“Sorry sir” said the shambolic figure. Duke sat up straight in his chair and tried to puff out his pigeon chest a little.
Other members of the interview panel coughed impolitely and started to regard this interviewee like buzzards regard a piece of flyblown roadkill. Part of the satisfaction of working in HR was taking a nice fresh piece of meat and dissecting it.
A tall lemon-faced woman waded into the breach next.
“Your Résumé made very colourful reading Mr Nukem. Let’s just cover the salient points here…’Can kill a pig guard with bare hands or trained in the use of all weapons including Vwoop Guns, chain guns, rail guns, gatlin guns, pistols, machine guns, laser guns and stun guns’ – would you describe yourself as a jack of all trades?”
“Hell yeah baby, er I mean Miss Fotherish. I can turn my hand to anything if you know what I mean?” One eyebrow raised then dunked into a lascivious wink.
Miss Fotherish, a woman who had never known the love of anything that didn’t run on 4 AA batteries looked like a nun who’d been goosed.
“IF I may continue Mr Nukem. As you know we have a small opening in our establishment and we are looking for someone who is reliable, dependable and punctual. Although your service record is distinguished, quite frankly you’re just not convincing me that you’re the man for the job…”
Duke had just about taken enough. He stood up and leaned across the interview table to bring his face to about 6 inches from the wasp’s. Even though most of his muscle had turned to flab, and his once proudly bristling flat-top was now a slightly sad looking peroxide comb-over, he still made quite a threatening sight.
“Listen you pimply piece of shit. Do you think I’m here because I WANT to be? I’m here because those bastards at 3D realms have left me strung out for so long that the only thing I’m living on is a few measly fees from crappy public appearances when my arsehole of an agent can be bothered to fix them up for me. There’s a whole GENERATION of kids out there who think the greatest anti-hero of the action shooter is some specky wanker of a guy in an orange suit who wears glasses – not sunglasses to look cool, but glasses because he can’t fucking see his hand in front of his face!”
With every punctuated point, tiny fragments of spittle leaped from Duke’s mouth and spattered the wasp’s face like machine-gun fire.
Duke realised that this probably wasn’t the best tack to take, and sat back down slowly – his eyes not leaving the wasp’s for a second.
“Very well Mr Nukem. We will be in touch.”
Wasp-man thought better of offering a handshake, and merely gestured towards the door. Duke’s temper had once again got the better of him and he saw no other option but to storm out with as much dignity as he could muster…
“Oh one more thing before I leave” he said...
He pulled down his trousers and pants, exposing about half an acre of podgy duke nukem arse to the panel, which he sassed left and right like a school kid on the bus home.
When he’d gone, the panel started to twitter and confer like slightly alarmed hens.
“Well, that was certainly different” said the wasp.
“I take it we can’t possibly offer him a position on the shop floor” said the lemon. “Perhaps something in the customer complaints department?”
The oddly wasp-like head of the interview panel regarded the slightly paunchy figure sitting in front of him with mild disgust. Here was a man who was obviously not a winner in life. Here was a man who, quite probably, couldn’t even be trusted to gather trolleys in the car park let alone enter the cut and thrust world of vegetable arrangement and grocery retail.
“I…uh…Well, I need the money. Things have been a bit lean lately. Hell, lean’s a fucking understatement, pardon my French.” He started to laugh a horrible cough-hacking smoker’s laugh. The response was icy to say the least.
The wasp-like head of the interview panel, whose name was Mr Beasley, cringed as the profanities invaded his aural cavity like a pine cone inserted without KY into the rectum of a small wild feline.
“Mr Nukem! Can I remind you that you are here to try and convince us that you are suitable for a job at the “Happy Mart” – a job which has strict guidelines about the use of common profanities on the shop floor?”
“Sorry sir” said the shambolic figure. Duke sat up straight in his chair and tried to puff out his pigeon chest a little.
Other members of the interview panel coughed impolitely and started to regard this interviewee like buzzards regard a piece of flyblown roadkill. Part of the satisfaction of working in HR was taking a nice fresh piece of meat and dissecting it.
A tall lemon-faced woman waded into the breach next.
“Your Résumé made very colourful reading Mr Nukem. Let’s just cover the salient points here…’Can kill a pig guard with bare hands or trained in the use of all weapons including Vwoop Guns, chain guns, rail guns, gatlin guns, pistols, machine guns, laser guns and stun guns’ – would you describe yourself as a jack of all trades?”
“Hell yeah baby, er I mean Miss Fotherish. I can turn my hand to anything if you know what I mean?” One eyebrow raised then dunked into a lascivious wink.
Miss Fotherish, a woman who had never known the love of anything that didn’t run on 4 AA batteries looked like a nun who’d been goosed.
“IF I may continue Mr Nukem. As you know we have a small opening in our establishment and we are looking for someone who is reliable, dependable and punctual. Although your service record is distinguished, quite frankly you’re just not convincing me that you’re the man for the job…”
Duke had just about taken enough. He stood up and leaned across the interview table to bring his face to about 6 inches from the wasp’s. Even though most of his muscle had turned to flab, and his once proudly bristling flat-top was now a slightly sad looking peroxide comb-over, he still made quite a threatening sight.
“Listen you pimply piece of shit. Do you think I’m here because I WANT to be? I’m here because those bastards at 3D realms have left me strung out for so long that the only thing I’m living on is a few measly fees from crappy public appearances when my arsehole of an agent can be bothered to fix them up for me. There’s a whole GENERATION of kids out there who think the greatest anti-hero of the action shooter is some specky wanker of a guy in an orange suit who wears glasses – not sunglasses to look cool, but glasses because he can’t fucking see his hand in front of his face!”
With every punctuated point, tiny fragments of spittle leaped from Duke’s mouth and spattered the wasp’s face like machine-gun fire.
Duke realised that this probably wasn’t the best tack to take, and sat back down slowly – his eyes not leaving the wasp’s for a second.
“Very well Mr Nukem. We will be in touch.”
Wasp-man thought better of offering a handshake, and merely gestured towards the door. Duke’s temper had once again got the better of him and he saw no other option but to storm out with as much dignity as he could muster…
“Oh one more thing before I leave” he said...
He pulled down his trousers and pants, exposing about half an acre of podgy duke nukem arse to the panel, which he sassed left and right like a school kid on the bus home.
When he’d gone, the panel started to twitter and confer like slightly alarmed hens.
“Well, that was certainly different” said the wasp.
“I take it we can’t possibly offer him a position on the shop floor” said the lemon. “Perhaps something in the customer complaints department?”
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
'Since Eve ate apples, much depends upon dinner' by Boo
The gap was wide. Maybe a little too wide. She walked gingerly to the edge and looked down; through the mist she could see the sea being whipped to a foam against the rocks. Across the gap he urged her to hurry. Taking a few steps back, she turned, and telling herself not to look down, ran.
And leaped.
She closed her eyes. She wasn't going to make it. There was a sickening feeling in her stomach as she started to fall.
Suddenly his hand grabbed hers at the last possible moment, and she swung there, before he pulled her up.
As she scrambled over the edge, he'd already turned to continue onwards. She hurried after him in silence.
The small boy looked up at the tall, willowy girl who walked beside him.
"One day you'll actually thank me for that.' he said, with the merest trace of sarcasm.
"Well if you'd get around to fixing some of these walkways maybe I wouldn't have to take my life in my hands every time we go anywhere," replied Yorda, for it was she.
"Anyway, come on, I need to get back and you need to pick some things up."
"Why, what's the rush?" said Ico (for it was he).
She stopped and looked at him.
"Don't tell me you've forgotten," she said testily. "My Mother's coming over for dinner tonight."
So it was that half an hour later, after getting Yorda back to the windmill (which was a lot nicer inside than it appeared from the outside), Ico found himself heading into the village to pick up some provisions.
Some small children playing in the street shrank back in fear as they saw the horns. He scowled at them.
"It's a bloody hat!" he shouted, removing it to show that, indeed, he had a normal head, and that he was just wearing a Viking-style horned furry hat.
There had been some embarrased apologies the first time he'd returned after breaking out of the castle. The elders admitted they might have been a bit hasty in carting him off to be locked up for life without making a few basic checks. As a result, he and Yorda had negotiated free supplies from the local shopkeepers - it was, they agreed, the least they could do under the circumstances.
He tied up his horse on the hitching rail and walked in to the baker's.
"Morning, young feller me lad," said a red faced man who clearly liked to sample his own wares judging by the losing battle his belt was fighting with his waist. "What'll it be?'
Ico read through the shopping list and stuffed the bread and cakes into a bag slung over his shoulder. He liked the baker a lot, but felt it important to keep a general air of grumpiness while dealing with anyone in the village. If they thought it was all forgotten and in the past, they might decide to 're-negotiate' their deal.
A visit to the butcher's and the greengrocers later, and he was nearly done. Just one more thing to pick up...
Back at the windmill, Yorda was trying to get the place clean and tidy but Rover wanted to play. She reached for the stick and whacked him a few times before he de-materialised. It wouldn't be long before he was back.
The first time one of the 'shadows' had grabbed her and pulled her through the floor she'd been terrified until she realised it was like some ethereal helter-skelter that lead to the lawn at the back of the castle. All they wanted was someone to throw a stick for them to chase, and because they couldn't bring the stick to Yorda, they brought Yorda to the stick.
They'd adopted one of them, who they'd named Rover. He was big and goofy, like a King Charles spaniel would be if it had been made from black smoke, rather than the more traditional dog components.
She pressed on with getting the place straight. Her Mother was bound to find something wrong, but it couldn't be helped. She'd never taken to Ico after that unfortunate incident with the sword, and made no secret of it. The feeling was mutual.
Yorda, meanwhile, was stuck between the two of them. She and Ico, despite the odd disagreement about DIY, were devoted to each other, and despite the whole 'being locked up' thing, she got on fairly well with her Mother.
She was just laying the table when Ico reappeared.
"Did you get everything, dear?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied.
She didn't notice him grinning as he kissed her forehead on the way past.
A couple of hours later, the smell of delicious food wafted from the windows and Ico had to whack Rover every five minutes to keep him out of the kitchen.
Outside, a black shadow crept across the courtyard heralding the arrival of the Queen. On several occasions, Ico had tried to establish exactly what it was that she was Queen of, but she'd always changed the subject.
She swept through the door and kissed her daughter, merely acknowledging Ico's presence with a nod.
Ico bit his tongue and smiled to himself as he took her cloak..
Yorda busied herself with serving canapes and tried to engage the two of them in conversation.
"Ico's thinking of making a vegetable patch in the courtyard, Mother." she said brightly.
"Really?", the Queen replied icily.
Silence descended on the room and Yorda elbowed Ico in the ribs.
"Oh, yes," he said with forced enthusiasm. "You know, carrots, onions, potatoes, that sort of thing. Save trekking into the village every couple of days."
Silence fell again.
"Anyway," said Yorda brightly. "Dinner's ready, let's all sit down shall we?'
Ico pulled out the Queen's chair for her.
As the inflated pigs bladder that was under the Queen's cushion let out a loud 'pppphhhaaaaaaarrrtttt', Ico howled with laughter.
The Queen looked horrified and Yorda didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Some hours later and Ico still had a stupid grin on his face as he played with Rover. Despite every fibre of her being telling her it was wrong, as soon as the Queen had stormed out, Yorda had collasped on the floor in hysterics.
"We are so going to pay for that." said Ico.
"We, we? I had nothing to do with it." retorted Yorda, trying to look indignant and failing.
"Hmmm, maybe we should avoid her for a while," he replied. "how about a trip to V'Anadiel? I hear that's nice this time of year."
~DSP~
And leaped.
She closed her eyes. She wasn't going to make it. There was a sickening feeling in her stomach as she started to fall.
Suddenly his hand grabbed hers at the last possible moment, and she swung there, before he pulled her up.
As she scrambled over the edge, he'd already turned to continue onwards. She hurried after him in silence.
The small boy looked up at the tall, willowy girl who walked beside him.
"One day you'll actually thank me for that.' he said, with the merest trace of sarcasm.
"Well if you'd get around to fixing some of these walkways maybe I wouldn't have to take my life in my hands every time we go anywhere," replied Yorda, for it was she.
"Anyway, come on, I need to get back and you need to pick some things up."
"Why, what's the rush?" said Ico (for it was he).
She stopped and looked at him.
"Don't tell me you've forgotten," she said testily. "My Mother's coming over for dinner tonight."
So it was that half an hour later, after getting Yorda back to the windmill (which was a lot nicer inside than it appeared from the outside), Ico found himself heading into the village to pick up some provisions.
Some small children playing in the street shrank back in fear as they saw the horns. He scowled at them.
"It's a bloody hat!" he shouted, removing it to show that, indeed, he had a normal head, and that he was just wearing a Viking-style horned furry hat.
There had been some embarrased apologies the first time he'd returned after breaking out of the castle. The elders admitted they might have been a bit hasty in carting him off to be locked up for life without making a few basic checks. As a result, he and Yorda had negotiated free supplies from the local shopkeepers - it was, they agreed, the least they could do under the circumstances.
He tied up his horse on the hitching rail and walked in to the baker's.
"Morning, young feller me lad," said a red faced man who clearly liked to sample his own wares judging by the losing battle his belt was fighting with his waist. "What'll it be?'
Ico read through the shopping list and stuffed the bread and cakes into a bag slung over his shoulder. He liked the baker a lot, but felt it important to keep a general air of grumpiness while dealing with anyone in the village. If they thought it was all forgotten and in the past, they might decide to 're-negotiate' their deal.
A visit to the butcher's and the greengrocers later, and he was nearly done. Just one more thing to pick up...
Back at the windmill, Yorda was trying to get the place clean and tidy but Rover wanted to play. She reached for the stick and whacked him a few times before he de-materialised. It wouldn't be long before he was back.
The first time one of the 'shadows' had grabbed her and pulled her through the floor she'd been terrified until she realised it was like some ethereal helter-skelter that lead to the lawn at the back of the castle. All they wanted was someone to throw a stick for them to chase, and because they couldn't bring the stick to Yorda, they brought Yorda to the stick.
They'd adopted one of them, who they'd named Rover. He was big and goofy, like a King Charles spaniel would be if it had been made from black smoke, rather than the more traditional dog components.
She pressed on with getting the place straight. Her Mother was bound to find something wrong, but it couldn't be helped. She'd never taken to Ico after that unfortunate incident with the sword, and made no secret of it. The feeling was mutual.
Yorda, meanwhile, was stuck between the two of them. She and Ico, despite the odd disagreement about DIY, were devoted to each other, and despite the whole 'being locked up' thing, she got on fairly well with her Mother.
She was just laying the table when Ico reappeared.
"Did you get everything, dear?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied.
She didn't notice him grinning as he kissed her forehead on the way past.
A couple of hours later, the smell of delicious food wafted from the windows and Ico had to whack Rover every five minutes to keep him out of the kitchen.
Outside, a black shadow crept across the courtyard heralding the arrival of the Queen. On several occasions, Ico had tried to establish exactly what it was that she was Queen of, but she'd always changed the subject.
She swept through the door and kissed her daughter, merely acknowledging Ico's presence with a nod.
Ico bit his tongue and smiled to himself as he took her cloak..
Yorda busied herself with serving canapes and tried to engage the two of them in conversation.
"Ico's thinking of making a vegetable patch in the courtyard, Mother." she said brightly.
"Really?", the Queen replied icily.
Silence descended on the room and Yorda elbowed Ico in the ribs.
"Oh, yes," he said with forced enthusiasm. "You know, carrots, onions, potatoes, that sort of thing. Save trekking into the village every couple of days."
Silence fell again.
"Anyway," said Yorda brightly. "Dinner's ready, let's all sit down shall we?'
Ico pulled out the Queen's chair for her.
As the inflated pigs bladder that was under the Queen's cushion let out a loud 'pppphhhaaaaaaarrrtttt', Ico howled with laughter.
The Queen looked horrified and Yorda didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
Some hours later and Ico still had a stupid grin on his face as he played with Rover. Despite every fibre of her being telling her it was wrong, as soon as the Queen had stormed out, Yorda had collasped on the floor in hysterics.
"We are so going to pay for that." said Ico.
"We, we? I had nothing to do with it." retorted Yorda, trying to look indignant and failing.
"Hmmm, maybe we should avoid her for a while," he replied. "how about a trip to V'Anadiel? I hear that's nice this time of year."
~DSP~
Welcome to the EG Forumites Creative Writing Collective...!
Thanks to some sterling work by Fozzie and Djini, we've now got a cool idea for a creative writing blogspot...
The idea is this - "Come up with a 1000 word short story about a game character's 'off-game' life" - No more than 1000 words, in whatever style you fancy. Accompanying image nicked off Google Image Search FREE with every emailed entry...
email pjmaybe@gmail.com with new entries.
Critics are welcome to comment after each and every story. Person with the most positive comments goes through to the next round, where they shall battle "Rhino" from Gladiators armed only with a giant Q-Tip.
The idea is this - "Come up with a 1000 word short story about a game character's 'off-game' life" - No more than 1000 words, in whatever style you fancy. Accompanying image nicked off Google Image Search FREE with every emailed entry...
email pjmaybe@gmail.com with new entries.
Critics are welcome to comment after each and every story. Person with the most positive comments goes through to the next round, where they shall battle "Rhino" from Gladiators armed only with a giant Q-Tip.
