Geoph Essex 🤨💭 11742d/4h/3m; 16940d/18h/34m 🕟
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semperbufo.bsky.social
Geoph Essex 🤨💭 11742d/4h/3m; 16940d/18h/34m 🕟
@semperbufo.bsky.social
660 followers 280 following 7.3K posts
Son of Dangerous Cliff; Hal's little brother; Bazooka Girl's guy; Potato Pup's human; Monkey's dad. (In chronological order.)

Esoteric outsider touring reality. All pronouns welcome (including yours!).

#actor #author 💙📚 #artist #tech linktr.ee/semperbufo
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semperbufo.bsky.social
Convincing you to read my novel with the first sentence. Share yours if you want.

(Here's the opening of "Jackrabbit Messiah.")
[First page of "Jackrabbit Messiah" (by me):] [The chapter header "CHAPTER ONE" is accompanied by a roughly spraypainted (and dripping) cartoon of a goofy, smiling bunny head with big buck teeth.] It wouldn’t be the craziest thing in the world to question the sanity of a man in a worn, soiled bunny suit standing on the edge of a nineteen-storey building and looking calmly down at the crowd gathered on Eighth Avenue. No one could blame you for giving a second glance as his soft voice blew away on the wind unheard, like sugar dissolving in swirling black coffee, or as he gesticulated in a pleasant and animated manner like a Mafia Don caught on a good day.
November 12, 2025 at 2:49 AM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "burger"

Chapter 4 of "Storm of the Century of the Week" is a diversion with a different rhythm and tone, as we get a sneak peek at unseen antagonists (and more hints about Tim O'Boyle's mysterious past).

#StormOfTheCenturyOfTheWeek⛈️

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Part of Chapter 4 of "Storm of the Century of the Week" (by me):] A dark room. Loud music and conversation thumping mutely through the thick walls and heavy door, smoke drifting up from a smoldering cigar in a glass ashtray on a mahogany desk. “We got word on our Money Man.” The cigar got picked up and puffed, glowing embers in the tip farting gray smoke in little beats after each puff. Ice rattled in a short glass of Scotch. “What? When?” “A blue boy told me.” “Blue boy?” The cigar glowed angrily, reflecting in similarly smoldering eyes. “Don’t make me hit you.” “Oh! Right. A *blue* boy.” “Their computers got a hit from another blue man group.” “A...yeah, right. Got it.” The Scotch was empty. The ice got munched. [The rest of Chapter 4 of "Storm of the Century of the Week" (by me):] “*Marron*.” The cigar was put back in the ashtray. “They were lookin’ him up.” “Why?” “Maybe he’s there.” “Where’s there?” A big sigh, and the creak of a high-backed leather chair as it was pushed back from the desk and turned to the window. “Some podunk in Illinois.” Orange and red and blue neon spilled through the blinds of the window, painting the room in Burger King light, but more sinister. “What’s it called?” “Fuck.” Maybe the cigar would serve as a memory aid. It was snatched up and puffed again. “Shadows, Shade, something like—Silhouette. Yeah, that’s it. Silhouette.” “I’ll get some boys out there a-sap.” “Good. ’Cause that gypsy shit ain’t workin’. I don’t care *how* much time she said to give it.” The innocent cigar was stabbed down into the ashtray, and its living embers were snuffed out for good.
November 12, 2025 at 2:12 AM
semperbufo.bsky.social
"My science is different"

…said every goddamn dipshit who wanted to prove that their utter bullshit was real, ever.

(This shit makes me furious in ANY context—especially one that may impact my kid's education, mofo.)
[Screencapped text from the QP'd linked article, with parts highlighted:] Goodman rejected the idea that you can make a distinction between skilled readers and unskilled readers; he doesn't like the value judgment that implies. He said dyslexia does not exist — despite lots of evidence that it does.52 And he said the three-cueing theory is based on years of observational research. In his view, three cueing is [highlighted] perfectly valid, drawn from a different kind of evidence than what scientists collect in their labs. [end highlighting] [highlighted] "My science is different," [end highlighting] Goodman said.
November 11, 2025 at 9:50 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
First of all, stop fucking linking to "articles" on *LinkedIn*. (There are no real articles there; if you see it there, find the source.)

Second of all, here's the kind of quality LinkedIn reply you'll find on a LinkedIn post with scientific news from another site. 👇

(Friends don't let friends…)
[Screenshot of text that reads:] I thought this must be a hoax, so I ran it through Grok.
November 11, 2025 at 5:36 AM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "local"

On the run from the galactic authorities In Chapter 4 of "David Earth," David and his partner/mentor Gamingo Blux head to a very seedy city on a very seedy planet to catch up with a good friend.

#DavidEarth🌎🚀

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 4 of "David Earth" (by me):] Ban Kooroo was one of those planets allowed to perpetuate the illusion that it was “fringe”—not quite under Imperial control, even if it was always on the Imperial radar—though the well-known secret was that the Empire needed a thriving seedy underground just as much as it needed to appear staunchly opposed to such nefarious pockets of deception and underhanded dealings. Bureaucracy is how a government makes sure nobody else can get anything done, but when the government itself needs to get things done, it’s time to turn from red tape to black market, and cleaning house involves opening the closet door on too many skeletons. The occasional raid, sanction, or casual inquisition might shake things up, but as long as the right palms were greased and the right bank accounts continued to receive mysterious deposits, business on Ban Kooroo chugged along under the black haze of industrial districts and the cracked neon lights of recreational districts. What happened on Ban Kooroo may not have exactly *stayed* on Ban Kooroo, but the general understanding was that it was in everybody’s best interests to pretend that it had never actually happened in the first place. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 4 of "David Earth" (by me):] There were three major continents on the planet, all of them large and congregated on one hemisphere, leaving the other hemisphere to the great crashing oceans. One continent was left mostly wild and untamed—it was rumored that Galactic Overlord Megavorx himself took holidays there to hunt down horribly fanged and diabolically clawed beasts that probably would have preferred to just be left alone to nibble on the bushes or, occasionally, each other. The other two continents were sprawling with metropolises and transit networks from coast to coast. While the planet bore no native sentients, there were those who called it home. They worked in the factories and restaurants and stores that shielded the planet with a pleasantly civilized façade, beneath which the *real* commerce of Ban Kooroo burned like a sinister basement furnace keeping a gargantuan ivory tower warm and lit. Small Samos was a huge city on the western coast of Rall, the biggest of Ban Kooroo’s three continents. It was in the Glome region, just far enough north to avoid the scorching heat of the yellow sun in summer, but not far enough to ever feel the frigid bite of winter. Small Samos spread for clicks in every direction, including spires climbing to the sky and underground labyrinths of markets, subways and sewers. Historians told stories of Big Samos, which was at least ten times the size of Small Samos before the sheer mass of its infrastructure became too much for the tortured crust of Ban Kooroo to bear; the city literally collapsed into the surface of the planet in a spectacular volcanic disaster, and not even tourists had any interest in delving into the few ashen, decrepit ruins that remained. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 4 of "David Earth" (by me):] Huge areas of Ban Kooroo were known to be graveyards—the sites of thousands of crashed ships, long since burnt out and gutted by scavengers. Planet-wide air traffic control was more expensive than the occasional hazardous materials team, and any mid-air collisions guaranteed some marketable debris for the survivors below. An experienced pilot and interstellar traveller, Gamingo Blux knew to come in on the less trafficky ocean side of the planet first, and then cruise at low altitudes and lower speeds to his destination. The lights of Small Samos were visible clicks away from the coast, shining across the water like the radiant fingers of beckoning sirens. A quick radio conversation and an electronic exchange of Galactic Credits was all it took to find a place to land near the center of the city. David the Snarkling and Gamingo Blux stepped down the entry ramp of the *Snowball’s Chance* and breathed in natural atmosphere—with more than a tinge of smoky industrial pollution—for the first time in more than half a cycle. “How’s security here?” Blux asked the spaceport attendant. The insectoid tugged at a colorful scarf printed with a popular holograph character. “Not bad.” Blux fanned out a few metallic credit chits and smiled. “How’s security here?” he repeated. “Top notch, sir.” The attendant stowed the chits away in a satchel slung over its thorax, clicking its mandibles. Blux amiably patted the insect on its chitinous back and headed for the concourse. David jogged to keep up with him. The *Snowball’s Chance* had its own security systems, and would alert them if anyone was tampering with it, but it paid to have the locals on your side instead of eagerly helping would-be shipjackers to circumvent locks and alarms for a kickback, or worse, obediently looking the other way if a wrecking crew met their asking price.
November 10, 2025 at 11:33 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "local"

In Chapter 2 of "The Demon's Pawn," life-long dedicated sociopathic serial killer Andy Trout fondly recalls how he acquired Macheath, the star of his knife collection.

#TheDemonsPawn🔪🩸

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 2 of "The Demon's Pawn" (by me):] It was a stroke of luck, finding Macheath in a catalogue addressed to the previous tenants of their trailer space in South Carolina, where the boys lived for a time while Big tried some new angles with some new suckers. (Miniature golf was the claim; just another real estate con was the game.) Even the picture alone sang to Andy, whispered to him like Wendy Coleman, the smart girl behind him in fourth grade who hissed math test answers at him under dire threat of being romantically linked with his brother Billy; sharp and vindictive, but sweet and soothing and, best of all, productive. He cut the picture out of the catalogue, along with the order form, and kept it in his Vel-Croed wallet for months, working four jobs to save up enough money to purchase his own personal Excalibur. He even swore not to take another thoughtless asshole to the bog for a lesson until he finally had Macheath in his hands. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 2 of "The Demon's Pawn" (by me):] He broke that vow, of course. Twice. The first one was the lifeguard on the beach, who just had to start in on the Trout boys to impress some of the local girls with stringbean bodies, stringy hair, and string bikinis. Andy tied a few knots in him while teaching himself rigging from a book on sailing. As it turns out, tying a double sheet bend with large and small intestines is not as easy as it might sound. The other one was the fat kid who kept shoplifting at the movie theatre concession stand. Andy caught him every time, and every time, the kid’s dad weaseled him out of it and the theatre manager came down on Andy instead. Looking back later, Andy truly wished he’d waited on that one—Macheath would have been so much more elegant and thorough than the old hand axe he’d borrowed for the job. Luckily, the bog was always more than helpful when it came to disposal services.
November 10, 2025 at 11:33 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "local"

P.I. Lu Volasko gets to know her new client-slash-employee, Pen Duffy, as the head off to follow some leads in Chapter 6 of "My Electromagnetic Romance."

#MyElectromagneticRomance🧲💕

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 6 of "My Electromagnetic Romance" (by me):] “Uh...your sister,” Lu awkwardly introduced the subject. “Were you close?” Duffy nodded, her eyes drifting away across the tracks. “She was four years ahead of me. So I was supposed to...you know, just do all the same things she did. Like I was Ramona Duffy, Part Two—The Sequel.” The girl smirked, her freckles darkening. “Dance classes and theatre and all that stuff. I mean, it was okay while I was there, I guess. You think being a private detective in New York’s badass, you should try taking on the girls at Ballister’s in Peoria.” Duffy grinned viciously. “Those ballerina bitches’ll *pas de chat* on your freaking *corpse* if it means one less anorexic in line for Odette.” “You were a ballerina?” Lu made no effort to rein in her incredulous expression. “Eleven years at Ballister’s,” Duffy scoffed. She raised her arms and shifted her feet. “Second, first, third,” she called off, repositioning her feet on each count. She spun once, her arms curved in a graceful equator in front of her chest, then instantly dropped the act and went back to her more comfortable cynical slouch. “Easier without the boots, but yeah. If you grow up with a vagina in the Midwest, it’s kinda just what you *do*.” She laughed—it was an unexpectedly lilting trill, as if the nightingale she’d trapped in the thorny cage in her throat peeked through the bars for just a second. “It was okay, I guess. Ramona loved it. She wanted to be Clara so bad. In the *Nutcracker*,” Duffy explained to Lu Volasko’s baffled look. “It’s a thing, every year, like *all* the local dance companies do *Nutcracker*. Clara’s the lead. Ramona never got it—she wasn’t bitchy enough.” Duffy’s face twisted deviously. “You know how many ballerinas it takes to change a light bulb?” Lu shook her head, waiting for the punchline with a sly smile. “All of ’em,” said Duffy. “One to change it, and the rest to say they could’ve done it better.”
November 10, 2025 at 11:32 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "local"

Chapter 6 of "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime" opens in the aftermath of a bizarre blackout that hit half the eastern seaboard. Charlie Gelman's just happy it's unrelated to his case.

#ConfessionsFromTheSceneOfTheCrime🎳💀

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 6 of "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime" (by me):] The Nineteenth Precinct was buzzing and squawking like a swarm of bees laying siege to a henhouse. Between cops trying to get back on track and pick up the slack, IT guys making sure everything was back up and running, and a couple of boisterous morning-afters in the drunk tank with dark bags under their frightened eyes, it was a wonder the place didn’t collapse into a singularity under the assumed gravity of the situation. On the flat screen mounted to one wall, a redheaded news correspondent who looked more like an inflatable doll come to life than an actual woman delivered her report in her best Serious Business face, casually sidestepping along a heavy stone wall as the early morning sunlight groggily fingered the low building beyond a heavy iron gate. “...however, this morning’s blackout has been tentatively traced right back here, to Green Briar, where officials say an unprecedented power surge overloaded the grid. The damage so far seems to have been minimal, largely due to the early morning hour. Most people were fast asleep in their homes...and woke up to blinking clocks after power had already been restored. We’ll keep you updated as this story develops, but as the events of this morning suggest, perhaps the scientists who predicted doomsday on Long Island weren’t wrong at all—just a couple of years...ahead of their time.” Her face went from Serious Business to Night Club Selfie in the blink of an eye. “From the Green Briar Institute on Long Island, for Channel Twelve...I’m Sherri Sellick.” “I went to high school with her,” said a young officer, distracted by the screen and staring with a bemused expression. “That’s not her real name, you know.” Charlie Gelman shrugged. “Long as that report’s real,” he said, “she can call herself Fruity MacWhiskers, for all I care.” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 6 of "Confessions from the Scene of the Crime" (by me):] The cop laughed. Charlie watched as the news cut back to the anchor, who assured everyone that the minor disaster was strictly temporary and seemed to be largely resolved. If any small electronic devices still failed to operate, the carefully groomed anchor advised, replacing the batteries should solve the problem. Local shops and telecommunications chains alike were generously pitching in with discounts on cell phone batteries that dropped prices to only double or triple their wholesale value. All Charlie cared about was that it had nothing to do with him. A bunch of innocent, tactless eggheads at the Green Briar Institute let some mad science experiment get out of hand and blacked out most of the coast. There were no sinister forces tracking him down, no evil wizards tying up the loose ends of Laszlo Takach’s death—it was just an unsettling coincidence. After discovering that even their cell phones were dead (Charlie’s happily chirped: “No power, Chuck!”), he and Mae Tran had managed to get in touch with the department on Charlie’s dusty old walkie, unused and sitting on the floor under the passenger’s seat for the amount of time it took to build up a decent challenge for archeologists. Flickers of light—and welcome relief—were already reappearing less than an hour after the blackout hit. Now a population that relied on electricity and networked technology for everything from balancing their checkbooks and ordering Chinese delivery to pleasuring themselves and drying their hair was frantically but swiftly recovering from the temporary setback and, as usual, moving the heck on with their lives.
November 10, 2025 at 11:32 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "local"

In Chapter 3 of "Storm of the Century of the Week," Sharon sits down to dinner with her kids and her best friend, and inadvertently spills the beans about the least weird part of her unusual day.

#StormOfTheCenturyOfTheWeek⛈️

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Storm of the Century of the Week" (by me):] “You look like you’ve cheered up,” said Sophia Matuzewich. She was sitting next to Sharon—Don’s chair, at the other end of the table, was empty. “Better than when you called, anyway.” Sharon smiled and shrugged. “Just nice that the weather cleared up, is all.” She immediately regretted the last two words, which, by their inclusion, completely betrayed their inaccuracy. Sophia looked at her suspiciously. “Oh, Goddess,” she said. “You met a man.” “A who?” asked Nikki, looking up from her plate quickly. She’d done little more than lick broth off her spoon. She was in a phase where not much went down her throat other than Diet Coke. Joey was toying with the innards of the stew and poking through them distastefully. “No,” said Sharon, rolling her eyes. “Stop it,” she told all three of them for different reasons. “Only you could meet a man in the middle of the Storm of the Century,” said Sophia. “A,” Sharon began, “this wasn’t the Storm of the Century...” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 3 of "Storm of the Century of the Week" (by me):] “That’s what Errol Gaynes said on the six o’clock news,” said Nikki. Errol Gaynes was the local weatherman, blond and dreamy and therefore the only television news personality Nikki could name. “B,” said Sharon, ignoring her daughter, “he’s not a man.” “Your choice of pronoun would suggest otherwise,” Sophia said, pursing her lips. Her reaction to men looked strikingly similar to Joey’s reaction to her stew. “He’s just a guy.” “A guy’s a man, Mom,” said Nikki. Out of the corner of her mouth, Sharon said drolly to her daughter, “Whose side are you on, anyway?”
November 10, 2025 at 11:32 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "local"

Chapter 1 of "Grand Theft Galaxy"—no, really, this is the WHOLE chapter!—finds one of our protagonists in a very dicey situation: in a failing starship heading for an unplanned and very unwelcome planetfall.

#GrandTheftGalaxy🕳️🌌

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[The first part of Chapter 1 of "Grand Theft Galaxy" (by me):] Lights flashed violet, ultraviolet, hyperviolet, and mauve as a warning sounded off like a sphincter tightening around explosive flatulence. Even if the sound had gone unrecognized as a succinct and cyclical list of system malfunctions calmly announced by a pleasant female voice—for values of *pleasant* and *female* that specifically addressed the aesthetics and sexual dimorphism of the species for whom the buzzing and spluttering served as a native language—the sparking cables and noxious gases swirling about the cockpit would serve as an obvious indication that the ship was in bad shape. *Fbbbrrrbphtttttffffth.* More bad news. The pilot scrambled to get control of both the ship and some of the wilder panic swelling inside one of several stomachs. Thick but graceful appendages spun dials and trackballs in an incredible show of tentacular dexterity. The ship skimmed atmosphere, shorting out non-priority systems like the low frequency stealth baffles. Sixty miles or so below, a new blip appeared on a handful of screens across two continents. The blip registered as anomalous, but disappeared almost as quickly from most of the screens, and the less savvy sentients below, in their cozy naïveté, dismissed it as typical orbital debris. Back up at the edge of space, the ship executed a neat twist and flip, deftly diving through the scattered surface of the atmosphere like a smooth-skinned cetacean executing a spectacularly theme park worthy stunt. [The rest of Chapter 1 (really, the whole chapter!) of "Grand Theft Galaxy" (by me):] The coolant shields held, efficiently heating up by several thousand degrees to save the ship from the obligation of having to do so itself. The pilot exhaled a gurgling murmur of relief and tentacled two sliding switches from one end of a console to the other. A dim purple glow enveloped the cockpit controls, the viewscreens, the hatch and the secure mesh hammock that supported the pilot’s weight. The near-invisible dual-phase safety cushions pulsed, their purple light reassuring the pilot that any sharp edges and corners were carefully wrapped up in force beams that would react quite gently to limbs or other body parts that were hurled across the cockpit. Another soothing sputter of flatus escaped the console speakers, prompting several of the pilot’s eyestalks to twist abruptly, focusing on one glowing readout. The expletive that reverberated through the cockpit was remarkably clear in any language. The purple glow of the force cushions flickered and went dark. In one of the lateral viewscreens, a stabilizer fin, buffeted by waves of thick atmospheric gases, sheared off and hurtled away to a fiery demise. The ship began to twirl sickeningly. Several of the pilot’s tentacles squirmed idly across trackballs and dials, but it was a half-hearted attempt at best. The ship was going down. There was no stopping that now. Only two thoughts kept a glimmer of hope shining under the pilot’s cracked and leaking carapace. One was that the pursuing ship would have to veer away or slow down to avoid the same fate, perhaps losing the chance to track its target to the crash site. The other was that, with any luck, an unfriendly local might be stupid enough to investigate the crash site.
November 10, 2025 at 11:32 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
With extreme apologies to Charles Schulz AND to one of my favorites of his characters (and one of my favorite candies).
An altered Peanuts (by Charles Schulz) strip which originally features Peppermint Patty dozing at her desk in class for two panels, falling asleep with her head on her desk in the third, then suddenly flailing and jerking up with a panicked "I'M AWAKE!!" in the fourth panel while books and papers flying. But it's been altered to give her pale "blond" hair, jowls and wrinkles, a black suit with a red ties, and a face obviously and blatantly painted orange. The title has been changed from "Peanuts" to "Donald" too. Because FUCK Donald Trump and anybody who fucking stands by him. Falling asleep in office is by far the LEAST problematic thing he's done.
November 9, 2025 at 7:32 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
As someone who's almost NEVER put a lollipop (or any sucking candy, including cough drops) in my mouth and NOT bitten, chewed, and swallowed it in ten seconds max, I am amazed and bewildered by my 3yo son's skill and patience.

(Left: halfway through; right: about half an hour later. Licking only!)
A lollipop that was, formerly, spherical with a "band" around the center from "north pole" to "south pole" (where the stick is), now missing an entire hemisphere, and almost perfectly flat on that side. Same lollipop from before, which was originally spherical with a "band" around the center from "north pole" to "south pole" (where the stick is), and in the previous picture was missing an entire hemisphere and almost perfectly flat on that side, only now it's missing BOTH hemispheres and is nearly a perfect little "disc" lollipop (only the central band remains).
November 7, 2025 at 7:00 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
They're totally on it.
[The Official Bluesky moderation service page in advanced settings, but, um, slightly reworded for comedic effect:] • Your actual interests: Posts about stuff you explicitly talk about all the time. (Configured in moderation settings.) HIDE • Newsworthy: News relevant to your geographical location and political inclinations. (Configured in moderation settings.) HIDE • Follows: Stuff that the people you specifically chose to follow post. (Configured in moderation settings.) HIDE
November 7, 2025 at 6:47 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
Ditto. 😁
November 5, 2025 at 4:01 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "steel"

In Chapter 1 of "David Earth," the sinister Galactic Overlord reluctantly visits the wise Oracles of Delphi Minor Delta. (Only because his semi-sister convinces him.) It ends just about as well as you might expect.

#DavidEarth🌎🚀

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 1 of "David Earth" (by me):] Megavorx glared at the Oracle. “I want to know how to save my Empire.” Nagubula gazed levelly at the Overlord. “First you must learn from whom you need to save your Empire.” “And that would be?” Megavorx demanded. “I don’t think you’ll like the answer,” Nagubula admitted. Megavorx grunted. He fixed Nagubula with six cynical eyes. With a great, heaving sigh, he said, “This had better not be some silly poetry about how my greatest enemy is myself, or some such.” Nagubula said nothing. “Well, is that what you were going to say?” Megavorx asked her. Nagubula shrugged an interesting little shrug that cascaded through all of her many legs, one at a time. “It might have been,” she hedged, averting her eyestalks. “Then skip that,” said Megavorx, “and tell me what I actually want to know.” “Who your greatest enemy is?” asked Nagubula. “Yes.” “And I can’t answer that it’s...you?” she elaborated. “Exactly.” Nagubula the Chief Oracle hummed to herself for a moment, swishing her submerged eyestalks around in the strange greenish liquid. Overlord Megavorx leaned heavily on two legs, tapping the steel-toed boot on the third impatiently. “Okay,” Nagubula said finally. “There is a threat to your rule, a force that will overcome you and replace your Empire with one far more powerful.” “A person? An army? What is it?” asked Megavorx warily. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 1 of "David Earth" (by me):] “It is difficult to say. It is almost as if...an entire planet opposes you personally.” Nagubula’s eyestalks trembled and splashed in their liquid-filled bowls. Megavorx tapped at his vicious teeth thoughtfully with one long finger. “Oracle, answer me this,” he said. “Will I prevail? Will I come to rule this entire Galaxy?” The Oracle clucked her mandibles. “It is not your destiny to rule this Galaxy, Overlord Megavorx.” Megavorx was incensed. “And do you know whose destiny it is to rule this Galaxy?” “It is the destiny of the Planet Snark to rule this Galaxy,” said Nagubula. “Snark?” Megavorx thought hard. “Never heard of it.” “It is a small planet, far from the center of the Galactic Disc. It is the only habitable planet orbiting the small yellow star we know as Snark.” “And these...Snarklings are building an army? They’re coming to conquer my Empire?” Nagubula twisted her eyestalks together and shook them slowly. “No, there is no army, Overlord Megavorx. They do not even have one interstellar starship among them. Yet it is their destiny to rule the Galaxy.” Megavorx laughed sharply. “I doubt that. I will bring my entire fleet to Snark, and destroy the planet and all who live on it. There will be no survivors! Do you still think they’ll rule my Galaxy?” He clapped his claws together, gleefully envisioning the carnage. [Continued excerpt from Chapter 1 of "David Earth" (by me):] The Oracle sighed through the breathing vents on her legs, shaking her eyestalks ruefully. “Overlord Megavorx, if I might be so bold...?” Megavorx rolled his eyes. “What is it, Oracle?” “This is a prophecy,” said Nagubula. Megavorx spread his arms. “So?” “It is an...admittedly vague...foretelling of the future,” Nagubula continued, trying to connect the dots for the Overlord. “So?” Megavorx repeated. “It is not a future that *might* be, Overlord,” Nagubula explained. “It is a future that *will* be. Otherwise, I would not be able to see it. That’s how prophecies work.” “Not following you,” said Megavorx, annoyed. Nagubula sighed again. “Many have attempted to beat prophecies in the past, Overlord. All have failed. A prophecy is not a thing you can fight. It is a story of the future. A *true* story of the future,” she added carefully. “Only those future stories that *must* come to pass ever become prophecies, and are ever seen in the Oracle’s visions. If a future story were not *unavoidable*, then it would not be a prophecy.” Megavorx nodded slowly and thought hard, narrowing his six tiny red eyes. “So what you’re saying,” he rumbled, “is that it’s...going to be a very *hard* fight?” “Pretty hard,” said Nagubula. “Actually impossible, in fact.” “Then I’ll need an even *larger* fleet!” Megavorx declared triumphantly. “Where is this...Planet Snark?” Nagubula stared at Megavorx for just a moment. Then she shrugged and pulled a data pad from a nearby shelf. “I’ll draw you a map,” she said.
November 4, 2025 at 10:18 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "steel"

Lu Volasko doesn't know WHY her newest prospective client is important, only that she IS, and that she can't afford Lu. In Chapter 6 of "My Electromagnetic Romance," she tries to find a compromise.

#MyElectromagneticRomance🧲💕

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[Excerpt from Chapter 6 of "My Electromagnetic Romance" (by me):] “Maybe we could work out a trade,” explained Lu. “I don’t have anybody helping me out—my father had a...a secretary. But she was close to retirement when he died, even if I could’ve afforded to keep her on. If you want to trade—barter services? You could work for me, I could work your case.” Pen Duffy looked like somebody had dropped a snail in her corn flakes. “I don’t do office shit.” “Well,” Lu looked for a way in, “is there anything you *can* do? You know, like...” She didn’t have any helpful examples in reach. She didn’t really need somebody who could type—she took care of what little paperwork she had with a couple of automated spreadsheet templates and a mail merge she’d set up in her word processor so long ago that she’d completely forgotten how she did it. “I could be your muscle,” Duffy suggested. After Lu stared silently for four full seconds, the girl specified: “You know, like your bodyguard?” Lu did an astounding job of not laughing out loud. Even so, her cheeks got sore clamping her jaw shut on involuntary giggles. “That’s...” She looked for a diplomatic response. “That’s one idea, yeah.” [Continued excerpt from Chapter 6 of "My Electromagnetic Romance" (by me):] “Maybe we could work out a trade,” explained Lu. “I don’t have anybody helping me out—my father had a...a secretary. But she was close to retirement when he died, even if I could’ve afforded to keep her on. If you want to trade—barter services? You could work for me, I could work your case.” Pen Duffy looked like somebody had dropped a snail in her corn flakes. “I don’t do office shit.” “Well,” Lu looked for a way in, “is there anything you *can* do? You know, like...” She didn’t have any helpful examples in reach. She didn’t really need somebody who could type—she took care of what little paperwork she had with a couple of automated spreadsheet templates and a mail merge she’d set up in her word processor so long ago that she’d completely forgotten how she did it. “I could be your muscle,” Duffy suggested. After Lu stared silently for four full seconds, the girl specified: “You know, like your bodyguard?” Lu did an astounding job of not laughing out loud. Even so, her cheeks got sore clamping her jaw shut on involuntary giggles. “That’s...” She looked for a diplomatic response. “That’s one idea, yeah.” [Excerpt from Chapter 6 of "My Electromagnetic Romance" (by me):] “I’m tougher than I look,” Duffy said, like some kid in a sandlot declaring he could hit one out of Yankee Stadium with his makeshift broom-handle bat. “You look pretty tough already, Pen,” Lu said, only half patronizing her—the girl *did* have a spark of steel behind her stony blue eyes. What she lacked in actual power she probably made up for in sheer tenacity, like a loyal pit bull puppy clamped to a cat burglar’s ankle, not necessarily preventing a theft or escape, but surely making both a hell of a lot more inconvenient. She’d been through some fire already, that much was clear, and it looked like she was ready to see this thing through to the end with or without Lu Volasko. An idea struck the blonde detective. …
November 4, 2025 at 10:15 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
#WIPsnips "steel"

As Chapter 2 of "The Demon's Pawn" opens, we're introduced to Andy Trout's collection of knives. Like any sociopathic homicidal maniac, he's got a lot of love for them…but that might come in handy in THIS story.

#TheDemonsPawn🔪🩸

#WritingCommunity #Writers #Authors #Writesky #WIP
[The opening of Chapter 2 of "The Demon's Pawn" (by me):[ Macheath was the star of the team, an eleven-inch chef’s knife, carbon steel (with just a soupçon of vanadium in the alloy), a full tang in a rich walnut handle with three plain brass rivets. The bolster was a bit wider than necessary, which suited Andy fine, as he liked using his index finger to guide Macheath through a careful slice or help throw the blade into a forceful chop. Macheath bore the German-style curve to a nasty point, and had a unique hook hole just three inches before the tip, a mere quarter inch from the spine. Andy kept the greater length of the flat ground blade extremely sharp, preferring speed and precision to power; but the rear inch or two, he left thicker, to break through tougher spots (or even bone) as needed with short, powerful hammer strikes. Macheath wasn’t as expensive as Sulu, Andy’s specially imported santoku, and it wasn’t as fancy as La Salle, the engraved cleaver; Thompson, the high carbon stainless steel carving knife, was obviously a lot less maintenance, and Andy’s paring knife, Worthington, was better for a lot of the detail work. But Macheath was special. Macheath was a kind of superhero among knives. Andy took special care of it, cleaning and lubing it after every use, letting the knife get some rest between big jobs. Over the years, Macheath had taken on a special sheen, a dark patina that made the carbon steel seem to glow blood red beneath the dim film, under the yellow lights of the Vault. Macheath was smooth, cool, a charming knife. Macheath knew what needed to be done, and never made excuses. The knife wasn’t just art; it was an artist.
November 4, 2025 at 10:15 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
(N.B.: You gotta check out the shitty website, too. The typos alone are glorious, and then you get to the poorly responsive layout which conceals the actual site MENU *AND* the company's small NAME/LOGO with the giant tagline, and it's just… 👨‍🍳💋👌)
[Screenshot of the website linked from the "ad" in the previous post. On a plain off-white background, with no margins or padding, the home page has small black text at the very top:] Best Quality Products [Followed by much larger black text going across the whole page:] Wholesale Delivery of products on demand [Which is literally overlapped by their tiny red logo:] LandingStream [...as well as the ACTUAL SITE MENU, in thin black text, which is barely visible at all thanks to the overlapping:] Home All Products WHOLESALE INFO Request a Product BLOG [Then, the "body" (such as it is) of the page has tiny, tiny non-bold black text that says, verbatim, typos and all:] We cooaperate with facotries in China and Honkong specializing in producing quality products for you. [Followed by a giant red button with a bold black arrow, which has tiny, thin white text on it, again verbatim with the typo:] WHOELSALE INFO [It's all fucking amazing.]
November 4, 2025 at 2:51 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
Your kids will have HOURS of fun practicing for the dystopian future where they disguise themselves as cats while Apple-industrial-design-influenced robots hunt them down for the amusement of their corrupt depraved quadrillionaire overlords!
[Screenshot of a post by landingstream dot bsky dot social on November 4, 2025 at 7:19 AM ET] Unleash endless fun with The Hide’n’Seek-A-Tron! 🤖✨ This smart hide-and-seek robot keeps kids entertained for hours with lights, sounds, and interactive play.🎮🕹️ #HideNSeekATron #InteractiveToy #SmartToy #FunForKids #STEMToys #EducationalToys #KidsEntertainment #RobotToy [The text is followed by a marketing image of a little dome-headed disc-shaped robot with a brush sticking out the front, following along a weird little mini "road" (complete with dashed line down the center), while one of those tortoise-patterend little golden housecats crouches off to the side of the rode, eyes wide as it stares at the robot passing by that it's ready to pounce on.]
November 4, 2025 at 2:51 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
Watching (and being awfully entertained by) the "Spidey" cartoon with my son (it's one of his favorites), it struck me that the "eyes-to-head surface area ratio" on this deliberately adorable kid cartoon Spider-Man still doesn't quite hit Todd McFarlane's preferred "eyes-to-head surface area ratio."
Split-screen. On the left: the character "Spidey" on the Disney Jr show "Spidey his Amazing Friends." He's adorable, brightly colored in his classic red and blue costume, with a cartoonish large head and little kid body, and enormous black-rimmed white "eyes" on his Spider-Man mask. Split-screen. On the right: the character "Spider-Man" on the cover of Todd McFarlane's famous "Spider-Man" #1 comic book (1991). He's gritty and edgy, the colors in his classic red and blue costume muted and frequently covered in black ink, with his head is projecting forward from his spidery-posed body, and ABSOLUTELY FUCKING ENORMOUS black-rimmed white "eyes" on his Spider-Man mask.
November 3, 2025 at 6:47 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
Look, I don't know exactly what happened, but I *do* know that the zookeepers got played on *multiple* levels here.
Photo: close-up of a fence at the zoo. A sign fastened to the fence reads: "CAUTION: HORSE MAY BITE." In the grassy enclosure behind the fence, the ONLY animals there are three white geese. (Embden, I think?) The three of them are posing like gang members just behind the fence and giving the camera serious stinkeye.
November 3, 2025 at 4:45 AM
semperbufo.bsky.social
You no longer take "the simple fact of free and fair politics" *for granted*, Klein?

'Sfunny. *I* no longer take it *as a given*.
I see the simple fact of a free and fair politics as more of an achievement today than I did 20 years ago. I no longer take it, or the habits of citizenship or politics that preserve it, for granted.
November 2, 2025 at 4:32 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
Wow, good battery life and solid video capabilities in a fashionable package, you say…? What are the negatives?

…oh.

(Not sure how they rate a 7/10 with this balance of good and bad. Anubis himself would be checking and rechecking the calibration of THAT scale.)
[Screen shot from the article posted, showing the "pros" and "cons" of the Meta glasses:] WIRED 8-hour battery life. Upgraded camera shoots 3K photos and slow-motion video. Ray-Bans sure do look slick. TIRED Pricier than predecessor. App forces you to interact with Meta's most annoying AI. Insert every single concern about the proliferation of cameras in public, privacy, and surveillance tech here.
November 2, 2025 at 12:54 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
Mission accomplished!

(I don't post a lot of pics of my son, but that *is* part of him in his Spidey costume, which is why the dog was Doc Ock this year.)
Photo of our black Lab mix wearing his leg brace, his light-up collar, and his harness; on the back of the harness I've mounted his costume, which is all cardboard and paint and foil and pipe cleaners and zip-ties. It's Doc Ock's tentacles (Doctor Octopus from Marvel Comics), all four of them, with the tri-fold claws at the end. He matches our son, who was "Peter Parker Spider-Man" (with three layers of Spidey since it was pretty cold). I was assigned (by our son) to be Miles Morales Spider-Man, and my wife was assigned Spider-Gwen. Good Halloween this year!
November 1, 2025 at 4:51 PM
semperbufo.bsky.social
Look, I've never been a *professional* prop-maker but I'm the goddamn MacGyver of last-minute Halloween costumes.

My son is going as "Peter Parker Spider-Man" so I've been assigned Miles Morales and my wife is Spider-Gwen.

Which means the dog gets to be Doc Ock. 😁🐙

All made on the fly, in hours.
Doctor Octopus "mechanical" tentacles put together in literally a couple hours, using cardboard paper towel tubes cut into segments, silver spraypaint, foil on cardboard "claws," lots of pipe cleaners and zip-ties for fastening, all mounted on a flat "box" that I can slide onto the dog's harness when we go trick-or-treating tonight. All made ON THE FLY, using stuff I had. No plan, no blueprints, no backup. ;) Another angle, same thing: Doctor Octopus "mechanical" tentacles put together in literally a couple hours, using cardboard paper towel tubes cut into segments, silver spraypaint, foil on cardboard "claws," lots of pipe cleaners and zip-ties for fastening, all mounted on a flat "box" that I can slide onto the dog's harness when we go trick-or-treating tonight. All made ON THE FLY, using stuff I had. No plan, no blueprints, no backup. ;)
October 31, 2025 at 6:01 PM