Part 2

There was a pause.
"But, sir?" said silver-backed dragon. "And I mean this with no disrespect whatsoever, but no spices? That's horrible idea!"
"Aye!" shouted a big black dragon, big and black like the sort of thing you'd hate to find tangled in your hair or floating in your soup. "Have you tasted the un-seasoned flesh of an English, Irish, French, Spanish, Italian, Portuguese, German, or Bavarian man lately? Rotten, through and through! Allow us the salt, at least!"
"No." said Bailey.
"The garlic?" queried a dragon with mauve scales that set off his eyes in much the same way a boulder rolling down a steep hill will set off your spectacles from your face if that boulder should come into contact with your face.
"No." said Bailey.
"The cayenne peppers?" asked the runt of the lot of dragons.
"You shut your dirty mouth, Jim-Bob!" said Bailey.
The dragons continued to murmur against Bailey's ruling, but soon set themselves down to the nightly task of taking their rest. A dragon takes his rest like you might take candy from a baby--easily, but with the nagging feeling that one should be doing some other thing.
The smoke from the dragons' nostrils mingled with the smoke of the campfire up above their heads, tickling the branches of the trees. As the trees giggled to themselves in their silent, woody way, a man stood up. He had been spying on the dragons. In order to escape their notice, he wore upon his person the blood of a tee-totaling Irishman, for there is very little that a dragon considers more uninteresting than a tee-totaling Irishman.
The man sneaked back to his camp, and the dragons dreamed of whatever thing about which dragons dream (this author will not undertake to describe the aforementioned thing, for there is little that pisseth a dragon off like being told the what thing to dream upon, and this author very much desires to remain in his current state, namely, a state in which his necessary organs are not traveling about a dragon's innards).

...to be continued...

Part 1

It was the end of the day, and the sun dropped to the horizon like a man falling from the battlements of a castle into the moat. Stars appeared in the sky slowly, cautiously--as a matter of fact, in similar fashion to the way donkeys round a corner in a mountain pass. Breathing the cool night air held much the same satisfaction as pouring, on a hot day, a tall glass of cool water down an ant hole. All told, it was a very pleasant night.
Around an excessive campfire in a clearing in a woods lay eighteen dragons. They were full of the nostalgia that's in sitting around such a fire after a long day's work, copious amounts of mead, and the flesh of, on average, 3.4 soldiers apiece. Firelight danced off their scales like minnows fleeing a boot-encased foot thrust into the sea. Bailey, the leader of this particular group of lounging lizards, cleared his throat.
"Dragons," said he, "You all deserve to be proud of yourselves. I know that I'm proud of myself!" Here, he paused to burp, a burp that smelled of alcohol and defeated men. "We've driven back King Henry-Richard-Louie-John-James-George-Reginald the Fourth's foul assault on our delightful woods. You may all rest easy tonight knowing that the King's filthy feet--for what human ever bathes properly?--will never trample our gorgeous ferns, nor rummage about in our beautiful dirt, nor dirty the waters of that wonderful little stream that runs down by the old stand of oak trees!"
At this there was a happy murmur. The dragons were all quite fond of that stream.
"But, my hearty dragons," Bailey continued, "I must speak to you as regards an important matter. We all know that human flesh, when seasoned well, is decadently yummy. But, I have noticed that our need to use the various herbs and spices upon manflesh has slowed us in battle. Therefore, as of tomorrow, you may not carry your spice-kit into battle. If you wish to eat your fallen opponents, that is of course your prerogative. You must, however, do it without taking time to season them. It simply takes too much time."

...to be continued...

Dear Guv'ner

Mitch Daniels, I don't know much about you other than you better light up them lights on the giant statue/monument thing in downtown Indy.

Orson Scott Card

The mood just hit me to read Ender's Game.

Which makes me wonder: Did anyone else have posters in their school library depicting Jake Lloyd reading the aforementioned novel?

Scourge of My Sunday Soir

Here I am, doing my weekend Sunday night (9-11) shift in the WC.
Down, deep down in the dungeon of the Academic Center.
But I've got Peanut M & M's, thanks to Katy.
I'm winning.

Provisions

Lord,

It's awfully silly of me to act/think like You're not ready to help me the moment I ask. I love you.

Ready, Oh So Ready

to move into Logan
to start classes
to be in a show at the Civic
to go on walks with Katy again
to live with four of the finest men I know
to learn more about theatre
to learn more about english
to dive back in