Ken Vs Ryu

grammar rules, okay?

Most writers believe they've arrived after they incorrectly master the semi-colon; fortunately, I am not like them.

frightful puns

Q: What do you get when someone throws a container of eye mascara at you?

A: Cosmetic damage.

Dig Out Your Soul

"All the songs are wrote, this record's gonna be fuckin' rockin'. There's no acoustic on it, man. We rehearsed about 10 tunes before coming in. Three are mine. Some are Noel's, some are Gem's, some are Andy's. We're there for a long time, so we just keep pickin' em off the tree, man. Some are sounding really fucking heavy, and then we're picking some out, and you go, 'Well that doesn't sit with that, right.' So we just keep moving about. We've got plenty of songs. We're not gonna go bored."

Bogma

Bog: "I know I've been slow at updating my journal this month. Unfortunately I have no profound reason to explain this phenomenon. At any rate, you better not get bogmatic about it."

Bog you very much

Bog: "I feel as if there's an incubus weighing down on me. I guess the feeling could be due to the steroids I've been on all week. Or maybe it's just emotional boggage. Who can say?"

an atoll in the sky

Bog: "Hello everyone. My heartiest wishes to one and all of you."

"I had a wonderful time these past two days. I was taken into the firmament, drifted over sheer precipice, and shown a bird's eye view of the land from an eyrie in the clouds. My legs careened forth in the strong breeze, which ruffled my hair and clothes and teased the air-device I was strapped to."

"So, you're probably curious what I did. Well, I dunno about you humans, but we bogs call it 'para-glading'."

down and out

Bog: "Yeah I've noticed as well. I haven't been able to keep up with my promised daily quota of writing. I've been totally swamped with work you see."

"But now I'm free once again."

"Free as a bog."

how to contact a bog

Bog: "I'd love to hear what you humans have to say about my thoughts and innermost desires that I reveal unto all on this page. So, if you have any feedback or comments to offer, you can wreck havoc on the 'comments' page or mail me at bog@bog.bog."

Bog-cula

I knew I must reach the body for the key, so I raised the lid, and laid it back against the wall. And then I saw something which filled my very soul with horror. There lay the Bog, but looking as if its youth had been half restored. For the white hair and moustache were changed to dark iron-grey. The cheeks were fuller, and the white skin seemed ruby-red underneath. The mouth was redder than ever, for on the lips were gouts of fresh blood, which trickled from the corners of the mouth and ran down over the chin and neck. Even the deep, burning eyes seemed set amongst swollen flesh, for the lids and pouches underneath were bloated. It seemed as if the whole awful creature were simply gorged with blood. It lay like a filthy leech, exhausted with its repletion.

I shuddered as I bent over to touch it, and every sense in me revolted at the contact, but I had to search, or I was lost. The coming night might see my own body a banquet in a similar way to those horrid three. I felt all over the body, but no sign could I find of the key. Then I stopped and looked at the Bog. There was a mocking smile on the bloated face which seemed to drive me mad. This was the being I was helping to transfer to London, where, perhaps, for centuries to come it might, amongst its teeming millions, satiate its lust for blood, and create a new and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the helpless.

The very thought drove me mad. A terrible desire came upon me to rid the world of such a monster. There was no lethal weapon at hand, but I seized a shovel which the workmen had been using to fill the cases, and lifting it high, struck, with the edge downward, at the hateful face. But as I did so the head turned, and the eyes fell upon me, with all their blaze of basilisk horror. The sight seemed to paralyze me, and the shovel turned in my hand and glanced from the face, merely making a deep gash above the forehead. The shovel fell from my hand across the box, and as I pulled it away the flange of the blade caught the edge of the lid which fell over again, and hid the horrid thing from my sight. The last glimpse I had was of the bloated face, blood-stained and fixed with a grin of malice which would have held its own in the nethermost hell.