venerdì, agosto 20, 2004

The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 2

The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 2
By Eddie G.

Two guards ambled aimlessly across the rocky outcrop of the Mad Squirrel Range.

Their names were Bosch and Kalmbie, and they were exceedingly incompetent.

In fact, so incompetent were they that they had no idea that they were ambling aimlessly around in elaborate circles, and constantly tripping over rocks in the process.

The same rocks they tripped on over and over and over again.

“Fools! Fools! And rightly so.
One and two and away they go!”

For some reason, Sunny-Jebus the Court Jester had decided to join them.

“You’re no help!” complained Bosch bitterly, “why did you follow us anyway?”

“To amuse, and to be amused. But mostly to be amused,” chanted the Jester, “Scrubbie thinks so. Yes indeed.”

“Scrubbie’s an idiot!” snorted Kalmbie before tripping over the rock again.

“No, YOU are an idiot,” the Jester giggled.

“Well just don’t come running to us when you’ve got a couple of squirrels after your miserable heinie.”

For generations, the Mad Squirrel Range, as the name suggested, had a HUGE problem with mad squirrels. It probably explained why the populace of Teffaru rarely ventured there. Unless of course if the King were to send them there for some reason or another.

And for Bosch and Kalmbie, the reason was most princely.

“Hey those clump of bushes look awfully familiar,” said Bosch excitedly.

“They should,” Kalmbie replied, “we passed them some time back.”

And the “some time back” before the “some time back” before the “some time back”.

Elsewhere in the Mad Squirrel Range, Prince Kyovane hurried across the rocky wasteland. He knew that the only way out of Teffaru was through the Rillian Pass, and knowing his father, the King, there was probably a search party out to find him and bring him back.

Rillian Pass began to loom up ahead across the horizon. The Prince was making good time, and should reach there before nightfall. Briefly, he looked back and then heaved a long sigh. Looks like his father was too caught up with his “wrestling” to even bother sending a search party. After a moment or two, he continued his journey.

If only the Prince would have looked a tad longer, he would have seen the search party, along with a Court Jester, being bound, gagged and carried off by two giant squirrels.

The sun had just slipped behind the mountains when the Prince reached Rillian Pass. This was it, he told himself. The beginning of his quest to find true love. A huge sign that read “Now leaving Teffaru… you crazy bastard!” merely gave it affirmation. He braced himself, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. Unknown perils awaited the young Prince in his road ahead.

The first of them came in the form of a dark Figure who stood in his way.

“Turn back,” the Figure said, “for you have no reason to leave this land… you crazy bastard!”

The Prince squinted in the near-darkness, and could barely make out the Figure who challenged him. It was draped in a dark flowing cloak, and carried a shining blue sword in its hands. Upon closer inspection, he realized that the Figure also sported a pair of cherubic wings.

“Stand off!” he ordered fiercely, drawing his blade “for I shall not relent until one of us falls.”

“Fine,” the Figure muttered, “if you want to learn the hard way.”

With dazzling speed, the Figure took flight and soared overhead the Prince. A blue gleam from behind betrayed the Figure’s deft strike, allowing the Prince enough time to react and parry the blow. Fiercely, he retaliated, but his blade only met with the night air.

Again the Figure spiralled down on its opponent, but the Prince managed to dodge the incoming strike and countered with a graceful uppercut, grazing the Figure’s shoulder.

Reeling slightly, the Figure swore and then swooped down for yet another attack. The blue blade was glowing menacingly now as it nearly took the Prince’s head off in a manic swing. Just as the Prince was about to strike out at the Figure, the blue blade came crashing down again on his weapon, disarming him and sent it sprawling across the uneven ground. Unperturbed, the Prince charged at the Figure, in an attempt to headbutt it – a move he had learnt from his Jester.

“You mortals never learn,” groaned the Figure as it held the Prince by the head, preventing him from further advancing.

“Wait and see, demon,” growled the Prince, his arms flailing about futilely at the Figure who still had his head in its hands.

This mortal needed to be taught a lesson…

When Bosch and Kalmbie regained conciousness, they found themselves both tied to a stake.

“Oi! Let us go!” demanded Bosch as soon as he found the energy to.

“Who would do such a thing?” whimpered Kalmbie.

“Must be them squirrels.”


“Yea. Did you se the size of those freaks?”

A moment of silence passed and then:



“I don’t want to die.”

Those words had a profound effect on the two guards, who promptly broke into hysterical tears.

“Tsk! Such manly guards Teffaru is blessed with,” chimed the Sunny-Jebus who was tied to a separate stake. That did little to stop the crying however.

Presently, two squirrels scampered in, squirrels twice as big as they were.

“Feisty little critters aren’t they?” the bigger squirrel asked.

“What manner of creatures be you!” shouted Bosch.

The squirrels spent the next hour rolling on the floor with violent laughter.

And when giant squirrels laugh, you had better join them.

“Is it customary for you humans to ask stupid questions despite being the ones held captive?” mused the smaller one finally, “but since you’re that eager to find out, the name’s Furcoat, and my younger brother here is Mink. And yes, we are squirrels. Say after me, ‘squir-rels’.”

“I know what your are,” the Jester snapped, “but Scrubbie wants to know why we are here.”

“Who’s Scrubbie? Did we miss one?” wondered Mink.

“That’s just the name of his silly hat,” grumbled Kalmbie.

And again the squirrels spent another hour on the ground in helpless spasms of laughter.

“This is precious!” hooted Furcoat, “but now it’s our turn to ask questions. And we would now like to know what you were doing on our turf.”

“Your turf?” echoed Bosch.

“Blast! You humans are not only stupid, but deaf too,” grumbled Mink, “yes. OUR TURF! We squirrels have been living here for generations. We squirrels run this here place. That’s why it’s called Mad Squirrel Range and not… and not… and not something else.”

“But we were only passing by,” protested Bosch.

“PASSING BY?!?” roared Furcoat, “let’s make this clear alright? Wild animals pass by, the Great Westerly Winds pass by, the Sun and the Moon pass by, a dashingly handsome man passed by. You three, however, were going around in elaborate circles, constantly tripping over our lawn ornaments, inviting us to catch you.”

Bosch looked at Kalmbie.

“So that’s what we’ve been doing eh?” he said.

“A mistake, a mistake we’ve gravely make,” moaned the Jester, “So our apology, sirs, we bid you take.”

The squirrels were touched by the Jester’s magnanimous words. No one had ever apologized to them before, mostly because their captives would usually scream “GIANT SQUIRRELS!!!” before passing out over and over again.

To reward the Jester’s efforts, the squirrels untied him.

“Apology accepted,” they chorused.

“That’s really nice and all,” said Bosch, “but what about us? We’re sorry too.”

“We know you are,” said Mink sadly, “but I’m afraid we are still going to eat you.”

“EAT US?!?” screamed Kalmbie, “I thought you guys only eat nuts.”

And he regretted saying that.

Furcoat grinned. “Of course we eat nuts,” he said, “but we usually like to eat those last.”

Prince Kyovane had no idea how long he had been hanging from the tree, but his aching arms gave him a pretty decent idea. From his current surroundings, he knew he was no longer anywhere near Rillian Pass.

The Figure who put him there no longer wore the dark cloak it had been wearing and now sat on a nearby rock looking up at him.

“Serene, isn’t it? Booya Wood?” it smilingly asked.

The Prince held his silence.

“Tsk. Such resilience from a mere mortal,” it mused.

The Figure was none other than the demi-Mortal known as The Eddie G. in hiS incarnate form.

“Keep silent all you want, mortal” hE laughed, “I’m not the one hanging around here.”

The Eddie G. lit a cigarette, took a puff, started coughing violently and then stubbed in out, cursing and swearing. So much for acting cool, hE thought.

“What do you want from me, demon?” the Prince glowered painfully.

“Ah it finally speaks.”

“Accursed demon, you will not get away with this!”

“Look numbnuts,” The Eddie G. said, “how many times must I tell you, I am NOT a demon. Demons have pointed horns, I don’t. Demons carry pitchforks, I don’t. Demons wear red rubber underwear, and I… let’s just skip that one. And a demon would sure have carved you up like a turkey on Thanksgiving Day by now.”

Thanksgiving Day was an annual celebration in Teffaru, glorious Teffaru where people spend the day being thankful for what they have, after 364 days of complaining about what they don’t.

And why poor, defenceless turks – I mean turkeys – are slaughtered by the thankful celebrants and then brutally carved up to be eaten still remains an enigma to this very day.

“Then why do you still tie me to a tree?” asked the Prince, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to run away from a winged demi-Mortal even if he tried.

“Wrong question.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” the right question.

“Pretty much.”

“So are you going to get me down?”


“THEN WHAT DO YOU WANT?” the Prince yelled.

“Questions questions questions,” The Eddie G. said, “we know you’re more than capable of asking them. But can you answer as well as you can ask?”

“Answer what?”

“See, mortal. You’re not getting my drift are you now? The solution does not lie within the questions you ask, but in the questions you answer. I have a question for you, and if you answer it satisfactorily, I shall release you.”

“Looks like I have not much of a choice,” grumbled the Prince.

“Ah, but choice is merely an illusion,” The Eddie G. smirked. “Very well then. Your question is: What are the three questions that idiots love to ask?”

The Prince was stunned. He wasn’t expecting a question of such nature.

“You want me to answer that?”

“Very good,” beamed The Eddie G., “now for the other two.”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“Splendid! Now for the last one.”


“WE HAVE A WINNER!” The Eddie G. yelled back.

“So you’re going to let me down now?”

“Whoa! I only wanted three questions. So what did you learn from all this?”

The Prince bowed his head, defeated.

“I’m an idiot.”

As he said those words, the magical ropes that once bound the Prince snapped and he tumbled to the ground.

“Knowing your weakness is half the battle won,” The Eddie G. smiled. “You seek desperately for love, but you have not yet learned to love yourself. But that will all change in due time, I assure you. For now, another journey awaits us. Come along then.”

“Hey where we going?” the Prince called after.

The Eddie G. turned around and smiled.

“I’ll tell you in the next episode.”

In the blink of an eye:

  • The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 1

  • The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 3

  • The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 3;Part II

  • The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 4

  • The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 5
  • lunedì, agosto 16, 2004

    The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 1

    The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 1
    By Eddie G.

    Twice upon a time, there was a beautiful resplendent land called Teffaru. The reason why it was twice upon a time and not once as one would usually expect was because the author knew how appealing the name was and foresaw that another dumbass author would copy it, breach about 17 copyright laws and still not get sued.

    Anyway, Teffaru was an enchanting place, laden with lush rolling plains, elaborate fjords, majestic mountains, equally resonant valleys and a playground.

    The playground could be found just a few miles away from the Teffaru town square, while the plains, fjords, mountains and valleys could all be found in an atlas.

    Smack dab in the middle of Teffaru, a few miles away from the Teffaru town square, stood an awesome castle - Castle Blackrock as it was called - and at the drawbridge of Castle Blackrock stood two very incompetent guards. So incompetent were they that were even unable to stop pesky kids from running around the courtyard, horny teenagers from making out under the drawbridge and adventurous nuts from scaling the castle walls and then base-jumping from the turrets.

    In short, Castle Blackrock was the playground.

    In the middle of Castle Blackrock sat a splendid jewelled throne. And on the spendid jewelled throne sat a fat grumpy cat.

    Beside the cat stood an even fatter and grumpier King, who'd just spent the past three hours talking to the cat, not because he wanted to, but because he never really had a choice.

    "Now see here, Pussy," reasoned the King for the thirty-second time that evening, "I'm the King around here, you're not. I rule the land of Teffaru, you don't. I should be sitting on this here throne, not you. So I think be high time you removed your fat Pussy ass and let me put mine there. Now what say you?"

    Old Chinese proverb: He who is wise would see no point talking to cats.

    And for the thirty-second time that evening, the cat looked up at the King, and went back to grooming itself.


    The two incompetent guards dutifully hurried in, and in a gesture of utmost respect and piety, knelt before the cat.

    "I'm up here you fools!" the King bellowed!

    Bosch looked up to the ceiling.

    "Where?" he asked.

    A bookmaker stood outside the castle.

    "The stone well pays 3:1," he announced, "the clump of mulberry bushes 5:1, the great oak tree 10:1 and the gargoyle fountain pays a whopping 50:1. Place your bets now!"

    He allowed a couple minutes of flurried activity before finally clearing his throat.

    "Alright! Betting is officially closed. Now we sit back and wait."

    Presently, the two guards came out, and landed in the gargoyle fountain.

    The King now sat squarely on the splendid jewelled throne. And rightfully so, he reminded himself. The cook, unlike those two morons, had managed to take care of the fat grumpy cat, along with dinner. The King was in a terribly foul mood, a mood one would expect from someone who'd spent the entire evening talking to a cat who just wouldn't listen.

    "Send for my Jester!" he ordered.

    A jingling of bells annoyingly accompanied the arrival of Sunny-Jebus, the Court Jester. He wore on his head a ridiculous-looking Jester's hat, one which he loved very much. He called the hat "Scrubbie".

    "Me and Scrubbie await your command," the Jester sang, bowing low.

    "Scrubbie and I!" yelled an irritated Court Historian from across the hall.

    "It's poetic licence!" the Jester offered.

    "It's poetic bullshit!" the Historian snorted.

    "Sez you!" the Jester.

    "Sez me!" the Historian.

    "SEZ YOU!"

    "SEZ ME!"

    In a fit of rage, the Jester charged across the room and caught the astonished Historian in a malicious headbutt. A fight ensued.

    And of course, no fight would be complete without degenerating into an all-out brawl.

    The King sat on his throne applauding heartily, enjoying every moment of it. A punch here, a slap there, the dropkicks, the spinebusters, the piledrivers and even the occasional steel chair. He knew, though, everything was all choreographed, and everyone could smellllllllllllllllllelellel what the Blackrock was cooking!

    Readers of the Chronicles thus far would probably get the feeling that it lacks a certain something. And they are right. For in the entire land of Teffaru, astounding Teffaru, there lived only ONE female, called Atria the Washerwoman. But because she was just a washerwoman, her deeds were thus unrecorded in the Chronicles. And good thing too, because how Teffaru - like the Smurfs who only have one "Smurfette" - was able nonetheless to sustain their population despite all that is really none of your business.

    But it was the business of Prince Kyovane, a dashingly handsome young man who inherited NONE of his fathers looks. In fact, it would actually be easier to believe that the population of Teffaru was sustained by a horny washerwoman than that Prince Kyovane was really the son of that fat grumpy King.

    Now the Prince had a problem on his hands. He was on the verge of turning 18, about the proper age for someone to start a family. But in all of Teffaru, he couldn't find someone to love. And for the longest time, he yearned dearly that he would find that someone and find her soon.

    It would have helped considerably if the Prince was a bloody mother-fucker.

    But he wasn't.

    "Father, we need to talk," said he.

    "Not now, son," grunted the King who was applauding his Jester who had just been choke-slammed.

    "But father, this is important!" the Prince insisted.

    "Alright. What is it?"

    The Prince took a deep breath. Where was he to begin?

    "It's just that I-"

    "You have my permission," declared the King, his eyes still glued to a maimed Sunny-Jebus.

    "You don't even know what I'm going to ask for!"

    "Look, son," the King said, finally turning around. "You're the bloody Prince for crying out loud. You don't have ask my permission every time you want to rob the bank."

    "Have you any idea what I really want?" yelled the Prince, dodging a sledgehammer that was thrown in his general direction.


    The Prince shook his head. There was no point in continuing this conversation. Angrily, he stalked out of the throne room, stepping on a bleeding Historian on the way out.

    That was it, he decided. The time had come! The Prince would leave Teffaru, enamouring Teffaru, on a quest to a faraway land. A quest not for power and wealth, a quest not for glory and fame, but a quest for love.

    Now in the land of Teffaru, spell-binding Teffaru, existed a demi-Mortal known as The Eddie G., who realized that if the Prince were to really embark on his quest then the name of this story, "The Chronicles of Teffaru" would effectively be made redundant. So in a deft flick of hiS wrist, hE created another FEMALE character. Enter Sylvanas Reinhart, a girl as ravishingly beautiful as Prince Kyovane was dashingly handsome.

    However, The Eddie G. was sadistic in hiS own way, for hE made the path that the Prince had to take laden with tests and trials of fortitude. Tests and trials to prove that Prince Kyovane was indeed worthy of fair Sylvanas.

    The Eddie G. was also sadistic enough to only reveal what these tests and trials are to be in the next episode of "The Chronicles of Teffaru".

    In the blink of an eye:

  • The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 2

  • The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 3

  • The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 3;Part II

  • The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 4

  • The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 5
  • venerdì, agosto 13, 2004

    The Paradox of Life

    George Carlin - the often coarse and mouthy comedian of the 70's and 80's - wrote this very eloquent piece shortly after his wife died:

    The paradox of our time in history is that we have taller buildings but shorter tempers, wider freeways, but narrower viewpoints.

    We spend more, but have less; we buy more, but enjoy less. We have bigger houses and smaller families, more conveniences, but less time.

    We have more degrees but less sense, more knowledge, but less judgment, more experts, yet more problems, more medicine, but less wellness.

    We drink too much, smoke too much, spend too recklessly, laugh too little, drive too fast, get too angry, stay up too late, get up too tired, read too little, watch TV too much, and pray too seldom.

    We have multiplied our possessions, but reduced our values. We talk too much, love too seldom, and hate too often.

    We've learned how to make a living, but not a life.

    We've added years to life not life to years. We've been all the way to the moon and back, but have trouble crossing the street to meet a new neighbor.

    We conquered outer space but not inner space. We've done larger things, but not better things. We've cleaned up the air, but polluted the soul. We've conquered the atom, but not our prejudice. We write more, but learn less. We plan more, but accomplish less. We've learned to rush, but not to wait.

    We build more computers to hold more information, to produce more copies than ever, but we communicate less and less.

    These are the times of fast foods and slow digestion, big men and small character, steep profits and shallow relationships. These are the days of two incomes but more divorce, fancier houses, but broken homes.

    These are days of quick trips, disposable diapers, throwaway morality, one night stands, overweight bodies, and pills that do everything from cheer, to quiet, to kill.

    It is a time when there is much in the showroom window and nothing in the stockroom.

    lunedì, agosto 09, 2004

    Every Cloud...

    That Silver Lining
    By Eddie G.

    A wise man once said, "A man who cannot cope with his feelings will eventually lose them."

    He never really believed it, until recently. The last month had been a trying one for him. He was constantly at war with his feelings, and hated every fucking moment of it.

    There was nothing more in the world that meant anything to him than she did. And she knew it. She had to. He fucking told her!

    Reason told him that the only thing that could salvage the situation now was to tell her that they'd be better off as friends. But that would be lying, wouldn't it? Not only lying to himself, but more importantly to her. For awhile, he juggled with that idea. Yes, to "just be friends" with her could very well keep the friendship going... but at an insurmountable expense.

    Was he being selfish? Would that count as selfish behaviour? How could it be when everything was about her, when all he ever wanted was to love her, be with her and care for her. But even then, he believed it was selfish in its own way. He knew this situation took a toll on her as much as it did him. Or did it? He felt terribly incompetent, and didn't even know how she felt about him. He didn't have the courage to find out... as much as he wanted to.

    He then began to entertain the notion that we was obsessed.

    Day in and out he wrestled with the two conflicting schools of thought... friend, jilted lover, friend, jilted lover, friend... He knew it was humanly impossible to be both at the same time. It ate him up inside, making him moody, unpredictable and inconclusive.

    He tried watching the TV, but saw her face on every channel.

    He tried sleeping it off, but it merely haunted his dreams.

    The rain began pouring steadily now as he trudged along the sidewalk. He would give anything to turn back the hands of time to the day he said those fateful words and clamp a forceful yet reassuring hand over the mouth that started this whole episode.

    But he couldn't.

    The rain showed signs of vehement unrelent, as did his heart. But he knew had to let go sooner or later.

    It was for the best, he told himself. He had to let go.

    And he did. As the last of his tears splashed against the pavement, mingled with the raindrops of indifference, he looked up at the sky. A numbing sensation washed over his emotions. Never would he make the mistake of caring for something ever again. It was just not worth the hassle.

    As he made his way home, the rain slowly began to subside and the sun began to re-emerge from the grey rainclouds that once shadowed it.

    Every cloud does have a silver lining - but this wasn't his...

    lunedì, agosto 02, 2004

    What Dungeons and Dragons Character Are You?

    Eddie G. - Chaotic Good Elf Bard

    (do they know me or do they know me ^_^)

    Chaotic Good

    Chaotic Good characters are independent types with a strong belief in the value of goodness. They have little use for governments and other forces of order, and will generally do their own things, without heed to such groups.

    A chaotic good character acts as his conscience directs him with little regard for what others expect of him. He makes his own way, but he’s kind and benevolent. He believes in goodness and righteousness but has little use for laws and regulations. He hates it when people try to intimidate others and tell them what to do. He follows his own moral compass, which, although good, may not agree with that of society. Chaotic good characters possess a potent combination of a good heart and a free spirit.


    Elves are the eldest of all races, although they are generally a bit smaller than humans. They are generally well-cultured, artistic, easy-going, and because of their long lives, unconcerned with day-to-day activities that other races frequently concern themselves with. Elves are, effectively, immortal, although they can be killed. After a thousand years or so, they simply pass on to the next plane of existance.


    Bards are the entertainers. They sing, dance, and play instruments to make other people happy, and, frequently, make money. They also tend to dabble in magic a bit.