This is the About Me page... still under construction!
Thanks for dropping by! These pages are currently under some MAJOR construction, so, please, pardon my mess and check back again soon to see what has changed!
Soon, on this site, you will be able to find information about ResQdog51, Search and Rescue Dogs (focusing on Disaster Search), the musical CATS, as well as all of ResQdog51's fiction, poetry, and other creative efforts. At this time, however, there are no active links! Hopefully that will be changed very soon.
Meanwhile, here is a sillyfic written for a challenge on a fic-list called Master Apprentice. You can find the fic list on egroups.
Title: Open Mic Night at the Starbucks at the End of the Universe
Author: Res (email@example.com)
Archive: M/A, I hope, and anywhere else if you like...tell me where it goes, though, ok?
Rating: NC-17...technically...I think...
Warnings: General sillyness and irreverence. If THIS bothers you, boy are YOU on the wrong list!
Summary: In response to Master Ruth's challenge...as the title states. Open Mic Night...anything can happen at the End of the Universe!
Disclaimer: I only own me (Res) and 'My Friend'. All the others, I just borrowed. Please don't sue me...I was only kidding!
Feedback: Sure! Love it! I promise not to bite...at least, not unless requested!
Notes: At the end, so as not to spoil some of the surprises...
THANKS: To Master Ruth for the challenge and great way to spend a sick day, and to Smitty for all her help and prompting of the inspriation well! Sorry, Master Ruth...it came out closer to 1500 words than 500, but I got everything else in!!
"Yeah, I'll have a double-shot white chocolate vanilla latte, non-fat, hold the foam..."
"And then, Chi-chi told Fuzzy --"
"Kin I have a single-shot Americano? No, better make it a hazelnut mochachinno, de-caf, whole, please...."
"Hey, VERN! You there, Vern? I'm on TV! Yanowhadameen?"
"One writer's chai, coming up!"
"Hey, Res, over here!"
I finished placing my money on the counter and looked around, trying to locate the familiar voice. The place was really teeming tonight. After scanning the crowd for a few moments, I finally spotted a waving arm attached to a friendly face, near the back of the coffee house. I grinned and waved back, then made my way through the crush to join my friend.
"I don't care if he is an ambassador, he'd better keep those...those...THINGS to himself or he's going to lose them! And it's still cheating if you pick them up with your penis!"
I dodged as a gentleman with an elaborate coat and a spiky hairdo stepped back from a table, his hands in the air and a hat box under his arm. He lisped an apology to me and bowed at the irate bald woman still sitting at the table before turning to rush away. Shaking my head, I continued toward the empty chair my friend was pulling up to her table and gesturing me into.
"Hey, Res! Long time no see!" She gave me a hug and sat down again, using her hip to shove the young man next to her deeper into the booth. He glanced up from the table, (where he was playing with an action figure in brown robes that looked REMARKABLY like him), a look of surprised indignation on his face. The older man in the other side of the booth looked amused, flipping his long hair over his shoulder as he smiled at me and moved his PlayJedi magazine over, making room for my drink.
I grinned, "No kidding, babe! Where ya been? Its been...geez...couple a years, at least!"
She shrugged and grinned, then nodded at her companions, "Hey, I'd like you to meet my co-workers...," pointing at the older man first, "That is Qui-Gon...and this," she poked the younger man next to her in the ribs, making him laugh, "this devil playing with his dolly is Obi. We just got off work...thought we'd head over here for the open mic night."
"We'd heard that there was quite a bit of amateur talent that shows up here," Qui-Gon interjected.
I nodded. "Oh yeah, if you like unusual poetry, this place is gre--"
A puff of perfume against the back of my chair, followed by a high-pitched, dainty voice saying, "This is mine!", interrupted me, quickly followed by a black clad arm reaching past me to squirt our table and booth. "And this is mine, and this is mine, and THIS --"
Qui-Gon yanked his magazine out of the way just in time and glared at the person behind me, growling, " -- is MINE." Obi looked up and frowned, adding his icy green glare to Qui-Gon's sizzling blue one.
"Ok, ok," I turned to see the cat behind me backing up, hands in the air, "That one is yours!" Then he grinned and darted in to squirt a pair of sensible-looking shoes in a bag next to Qui-Gon, before dancing away, squirting merrily and chanting, "This is mine! And this is mine! And THIS is mine!"
We watched for a moment as the lunatic bounced up to a man with red hair, an odd-looking beard, and dressed all in red leather. The cat didn't even pause as he reached out and squirted the chair the red man was sitting on, the table in front of him, and the ancient dead-and-dried rose in the vase on the table, chanting, "Mine, mine, and mine!"
The man ignored him, holding out his hands in front of him and shaking the fists up and down three times. The third time he opened both hands out flat, looked at them, sighed, and shook his fists again. This time, the third time he held out two fingers on each hand. With a deep sigh and a shake of his head, he tried again, again holding his hands out flat in front of him. The cat blinked at him then shook his head and reached to squirt the large sword leaning against the table. "Ooh...Mine!"
The red man snarled and was on his feet, batting the little squirt bottle across the room, and casually tossing the cat after it with hardly a grunt. Settling himself at his table again, he once more began shaking his fists in front of himself. A black-haired woman and a tall brown-haired man slipped past our table, followed closely by a bald woman with blue skin and a gray-skinned, white-haired girl; the man muttering, "I keep telling him...he'll tie every time! You have to have two players! But does he listen? No! Never listens!" A frog-looking creature floated by, trailing the four, an odd smile on its face as it listened to the man mutter. It paused to examine some tableware, eyeing the spoons with proprietary interest. "SPARKY!" The frog-thing floated a little faster.
"Ahem, where was I?" I turned back to our table, picking up my drink. "Oh yes, poetry." I glanced at the clock on the wall. "Should be starting any time now..."
An Unsubtle Plot Device lurched into a cleared space at one corner of the room, carefully hooking up a microphone and testing it, then stomping hard on the batch of Technical Difficulties that attempted to swarm the now-stage. The host of the evening, (a large rock that looked as if someone had dropped a pizza on it, wrong side up, then scrapped the crust off), rumbled up to the mic and announced the first poet of the evening.
Or rather, group of poets. A swarm of furry rabbit-looking things, several carrying a couch cushion, a sari, a several of bottles of nailpolish and what appeared to be a very bizarre-looking alien fetish statue artifact, mobbed the stage and began setting up.
"Oh cool!" a little black-haired kid in broken glasses said, from the table next to us, "The Mogwai are going first! They do the best performance poetry..."
"Now THERE's a Chosen One!" Qui-Gon suddenly burst out, behind me. I turned to see him gazing avidly at the boy, apparently enraptured by the lightning shaped scar on the kid's forehead. "Can't you just feel the Force in him? I need a blood sample..."
Obi just rolled his eyes and muttered, "Not AGAIN...," before reaching out to take Qui-Gon's hand. "No, Master. This is our night off, remember? We are here for Poetry, not Chosen Ones."
Qui-Gon sighed heavily, then resignedly turned his attention back to the swarming Mogwai, who now seemed to be painting each other colors with the nailpolish, sniffing it heavily, then climbing up the statue and launching themselves at the couch cushion in a waterfall of colors, giving an amazing impression of a sunset on a lonely beach somewhere in paradise.
"Err... are they doing what I think they are doing?" A few tables over, a woman with one eye and a six-limbed treecat on her shoulder leaned over towards the man next to her, a look of faint consternation on her face.
"I think so," the man replied, unwinding the obscenely long striped scarf from his neck and standing briefly to hang his overcoat on the back of the chair he was sitting in.
Behind the sunset, several of the Mogwai were twisting the sari into a series of colorful slings, grabbing random flying partners and stuffing them into the slings for a quick round of what appeared to be wild, uninhibited sex. The Mogwai were so small, and between the colors of the sari and the colors of the nailpolish-painted fur, it was kind of hard to tell. Especially with the sunset mutating into a rainbow in front of the orgy.
Suddenly a small group of creatures that looked like knitted pink aardvarks threw themselves into the mob of Mogwai, whistling madly as they grabbed partners for themselves. The disruption seemed signal the end of the performance piece and the mob of madly fucking furballs was quickly cleared from the stage in preparation for the next speaker.
The pizza-rock rumbled forward and said its bit, and the next poet swung onto the stage. The orangutan was holding a banana in one hand and a book in the other, and used them to gesture in emphasis as it recited, "Ook! Ook, ook ook, OOk! Ook, Ook, ook."
Obi actually had tears in his eyes, as did several of the other, more furry, patrons of the coffeehouse, as the orangutan fell awkwardly to his knees at the end of his poem. "Oook...ook ook...," he sobbed in finale. Several patrons sprang to their feet to clap enthusiastically.
Near the door, a large robot clapped stiffly and bent to its companions to remark, in a metallic voice, "Not bad for a monkey." The red sensor flashed, whish-whish, across the front of its face, audible in the sudden, deafening silence.
I gulped. "Ooh...shouldn't call him a monkey," I whispered, meeting the wide eyes of my friend and her companions. My friend nodded and Obi cuddled his action figure closer as he leaned against Qui-Gon.
There was a brief moment of pure stillness, then the orangutan slowly turned to face the robot. "Ook?"
"I said, that was a pretty good poem for a monk--" An orange hurricane erupted, whirling around the coffeehouse and centering on the robot.
Somehow I ended up holding the book, and the red man a couple tables over was left staring at the banana that magically appeared in his fist. I heard him ask the frog-thing, "Does this beat rock?"
When the orange fur stopped flying, the orangutan was handing a shiny new silver toaster to the barissta. The barissta shook his glowing blue lined head, flashing red for a moment as he said, "What am I supposed to do with a toaster? This is a coffeehouse, not a donutshop! My user would not be pleased."
The orangutan ooked thoughtfully for a moment, then went to work again. A few moments later, he was handing a brand-new espresso coffeemachine to the barissta, complete with an envelope of spare parts and instructions. The barissta smiled, the red lines on his body fading back into a cool blue. "Thanks... I can use this!" He turned to put the envelope on the door of his milk freezer, attaching it with a magnet in the shape of a dead firelizard.
The orangutan ooked happily, then came to retrieve his book and banana as the host announced the next performer and a man with long black lambchops on his cheeks stepped up to the mic. He was holding a towel and had a fish stuck in his ear.
My friend gasped. "Oh my god...I think that's Elvis!"
I just smiled...if she thought that was amazing, she should have been here last week.
Notes: In response to Master Ruth's Challenge for a 500 word NC-17 or R story that involved one (or more) of the following situations (an orgy, a poetry slam in an urban coffeehouse, a lonely beach somewhere in paradise), three (or more) of the following items (a towel, a magazine, an envelope, a hat box, an action figure, a dried rose, nailpolish, a sari, a bizarre alien artifact/fetish statue, a couch cushion, a pair of sensible shoes, a refridgerator magnet) and two (or more) of the following characters or type of characters (Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan [both of them], an original character you made up, a literary character, yourself, a dead historical character). Well... so its more than 500 words, but I thought I'd take the challenge a step further and just put them ALL in!
References from: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Great Golf Stories, Babylon 5, Star Wars, Red Dwarf, Farscape, Star Trek, Harry Potter, Gremlins, Honor Harrington, Dr. Who, The Clangers, Discworld, Battlestar Galactica, Tron
Special appearances by: Ernest P Worrhall, Ambassador Londo of the Centauri, Cat, D'Argo, Kritchon, Zhaan, Chiana, Rigel, Harry Potter, Honor Harrington, Nimitz, Dr. Who, The Clangers Clan, The Librarian, Tron, Elvis