Weekend Disaster Post - Shellfish!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Welcome, one and all, to Iron Wyvern! Enjoy this short Weekend Disaster Post. More Draconian Letters will be coming soon as we get ready to wrap up Book Two.

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Just a day ago, the shores of the entire world were flooded with a sudden torrent of clams, oysters, crabs, lobsters, and other assorted shellfish. No one knows why or how they managed such a feat, but it appears that the entire ocean has heaved its shellfish onto land.

Viewers gathered through the hours of the day, staring in awe at the great tide of shellfish washing ashore.

The lobsters seemed to be organizing the rest into orderly ranks, handing out protest signs and watterbottles to anyone who requested them. We still have no clue what they're protesting, because as soon as they got the protest signs, the shellfish all turned the other way. It is impossible to get past their ranks and out to the ocean to see what in the world the signs are saying, but it appears that they are protesting against the rest of the sealife for casting them out of the ocean.

A group of reporters tried to get close just an hour ago, but the crabs appear to be acting as bouncers to unwanted guests. A group of the biggest, meanest ones started chasing sideways after them, snapping their claws, and even got a journalist on the buttocks.

The governments of the world have issued several warnings not to approach the strange newcomers and their protest signs. Trade has completely stopped worldwide; harbors are blockaded. All normally seafaring countries or islands are now landlocked.

More updates as we get them,

The Post

Weekend Disaster Post

We interrupt the Week of the Ogre slightly today by posting an update on the well known criminal mastermind The Hooded Huddleglum.

NOTICE: Tomorrow the Finale of the Riddle Ogre short story will be posted, so put your votes in for what happens at the end of the last installment!
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Hooded Huddleglum in Custody: Early this morning, in the capital city of Wenidoogoo; the widely renowned felon under the name ‘The Hooded Huddleglum’ was captured while playing blackjacks on the roof of city hall with several Ogres.

            Mr. Huddleglum refused to reveal the reason for his actions atop the capital’s building, and was charged with multiple felonies, including loitering with intent to TP, ambushing government employees, and the attempt at passing a law banning maple syrup.

            His maple syrup prejudices notwithstanding, Mr. Huddleglum was taken in an armored truck to his temporary holding cell in the grottoes underneath the Dynamite and Molasses Factory Firm. His arresting officers obviously a few chips short of a crisp bag, locked him in a minimum security cave; with a rusty lock…and shuttered windows…close to an access shaft.

            Soon after his imprisonment, witnesses heard an elephant playing the musical saw close by their charges cell, at least they thought that was what it was, and immediately ran to the cell, to see no musical pachyderm, but an exploded cell door; and a note stuck to the wall with a wad of gum saying:

I’Ve Es Caped I uSeD Ur MagaZ InES TWO WritE ThiS

            

 Fuming with anger at the theft of their Hunting Quarterly’s, the police guard attempted to recapture the fugitive, but found that he had scarpered up the access shaft.

Aboveground, a hoard of Marshwiggle radicals had overpowered the factory patrollers, and, joined soon after by their paper clipping spattered hero, they set to work inside the factory, witnessed by several hidden factory security guards.

            Several minutes after their entrance into the factory, the crowds of depressed creatures exited, following The Hooded Huddleglum to the Wenidoogoo capital; carrying several tons of dynamite and several oceans worth of molasses.

            At roughly one-o’clock in the afternoon, the city capital was buried in a wash of molasses, and promptly sank out of sight, its foundation having been exploded by a thousand packs of cheep explosives.

            The police have continued their hunt for the fugitive Marshwiggle, but as every officer is found strapped right side down on a lamp post covered with grocery advertisements, it seems Mr. Huddleglum shall be left alone for the time being.

            As far as we have gleaned, the Marshwiggle leader has since sold several tons of protest signs, a leer jet, and three of his cotton socks on Craigslist. Why? We shall certainly never know. How? Magic.

            Written by Mister Byuninch

Weekend Disaster Post - Carnivorous Postmen Take Violent Day Off

Hello there, this is JTZ Baner bringing you yet another update of disaster and destruction! I wonder why that's happened so often since we got online...hmmm, anyway...

In the small town of Ostarient, high in the Mountains of Grood, between the plains of Derronai'z and the Marshes of Bluur, in the great nation of Antislakia that lies in the west, there has been a massive strike of the postal service. They have reportedly eaten their bosses and shapeshifted into pterodactyls. They are currently swooping over the town and diving down to eat any unfortunate passersby--GOTTA RUN! THEY'RE ONTO MEEEEE!!!!!!!

...

Okay, I'm back and safely indoors now. As one might expect, there has been a massive flood of reporters to this town, providing even more for the postal pterodactyls to eat. I hate to say it, but it appears they've gone, hehe, postal. Bad pun...

Anyway, it appears that things have been developing in this strange situation. The pterodactyls have written out a ransom letter to the town elders, demanding five wagons full of Swiss cheese, thirty barrels of monkeys, seventy-two pounds of essence of llama, the bones of several hamsters, blessed by Buddhist monks, and lastly but not least, a kazoo.

I looked up these strange items, and it appears that they are part of a summoning spell. To summon what?

A bouncy house.

The pterodactyls are trying to summon a bouncy house. Or maybe just Hades, but then they'd need five red balls instead of the essence of llama. Maybe they've got the wrong recipe book?

Anyway, it appears that national troops are being deployed from the nearby mountain ranges to stop the pterodactyl menace. The disaster will probably soon be cleared up...WHAT IN THE WORLD?! THEY'RE HAVING A COOKOUT IN THE TOWN SQUARE?!

Signing off,

The Post

Weekend Disaster Post - The Conundrum Involving Two Griffins, a Baseball Bat, Etc.

Welcome, readers of the Post! This week's edition of the Post involves a rather perplexing story involving two griffins, a baseball bat, and three fire-breathing dwarves from the kingdom of Quetzackortipakifarkle.

This past weekend a raging fire swept through several counties, devastating miles upon miles of precious property. Luckily, no one was hurt, except for little Tommy "Get-a-life" Whiner, who purportedly received a papercut during the evacuation. The fire devastated the land, however, leaving behind the question of whether this disaster occurred naturally or more unnaturally.

Says Fire Marshall Nick Colossus, "WE HAD SOME SUSPICIONS ABOUT SOME PEOPLE [in those counties] WHO HAD REPORTEDLY BEEN PLAYING WITH MATCHES AND WHATNOT, BUT THAT WASN'T REALLY MY GLASS OF EGGNOG, SO I GAVE THE INVESTIGATION TO FIREMAN SAM, MY DEPUTY."

Twelfth Riddling Derby Results

Greetings once more, Followed and friends! I come not to glorify the Derby, but to bury it. You came, you saw, you solved the riddles.
 And now, i give out the prize to the winner of the Twelfth Riddling Derby!!!
IT....IS.....
JULIET LAUSER!!!!!!!!!
Congratulations, Juliet! Incredible solving! You get the blog's highest award for genius....unfortunately, due to inflation, the invisible wreath of victory iis now the immaterial wreath of victory! But you remain the champion, and new coming hero to the Riddling Derby!
lets run through the answers before we go, just to even them up.

Riddle I: What has been around for millions of years, but is only ever a month old? The moon. [As answered by Juliet Lauser]

Riddle II: I cover what is real and hide what is true, but sometime I bring out the courage in you. What am I? Makeup. [No one answered this but personally I don't blame them, I didn't really understand the truth in it.]

Riddle III: What has a tongue that can't taste, a throat that can't swallow, eyes that can't see, and a soul that will never die? A shoe. [As answered by Angrod Carnesir]

Riddle IV:  I am tall when I'm young, and short when I'm old. What am I? A candle. [As answered by Juliet Lauser]

There we are! All written up! Now congratualtions again to Juliet Lauser! Thank you all for participating and I hope to see you in the next post!
Oh, and don't forget to comment on what creature you want in the Weekend Disaster Post!
-Z Baner

Weekend Disaster Post - The Phoenix Games

The Phoenix Games on Saturday, much anticipated by many, ended up in complete disaster! (What a surprise.) These games, thought by many influential thinkers such as Sockcrates of Grease and Sissy-Rowboat of Pizzaville to be the key to unlocking life's greatest mysteries, were delayed back in March because of a serious scandal involving flame-retardant liquid and the possible use of hippo jugglers. Investigations on this matter (see the article Mr. Big-Hippo-Juggler and the Pachyderm Pact) are still ongoing, but the games have been allowed to continue uninhibited.

There was much anxiety among referee officials. Says one official who wishes to remain anonymous, "Our contestants this year seem to be very motivated, and that motivation might cause certain members of the competition, [particularly] aging athletes, to use outlawed measures."

Weekend Disaster Post

Muffin Man Rampage:  Early this morning in the town involving the well-known lane named Drury disaster struck, as it is prone to do in one literary installment named as such. 

 The Muffin Man, historically known as the intrepid inventor capable of creating living matter from high calorie cookie dough showed his true colors.

His first offense came when he covered the whole lane in a whole wheat barrage of cookie batter cannon balls capable of breaking through strengthened glass and creating abscessed teeth.

Upon his conquest of Drury Lane, he went on to attack the next few streets, with the help of an army of Gingerbread Men minions who while conquering with vigor shouted out quite frequently loud similes mainly involving words such as "the ketchup was framed!", "we need the dough" and "Excess frosting! excess Frosting!".

Using his superior strategic abilities, several ready-set booby  traps and his hoards of poetry-prone acolytes The Muffin man soon conquered two-thirds of the town, and the surviving numbers attempted to barricade themselves in an eating house.

they would have surely not prevailed more than a few minutes had not the brave and well-payed Myth Police arrived to stop the debacle.

they managed to beat back the Muffin Man's forces using several natural food derived acids that instantly vaporized any unhealthy substance it came into contact with, and they soon had institutionalized the remaining Gingerbread Men  in several psych wards and had safely incarcerated the Muffin Man in prison.

All's swell that and swell!

Until the next concoctions of reasonable literary accuracy!

-Z Third personality of Baner 

Weekend Disaster Post

Sincere salutations from all of the Personality De Baner; granted we have been a half hair behind in the posting of this particular brand of post. Indeed our weekend disaster post have since become the monthly disaster post, and it soon would have spiraled further into the land of skimpy blog posts with annual and centurial disaster posts.

                But fear not, this exalted section of the blogosphere shall not fall now. It shall prevail, however many people throw eggs at us! We shall survive, even with people parallel parking tanks outside our bungalows. We shall! Though the acidic geese dropping was going a little far.

                Anyway, on to the reason I’ve put time into this post. Today we shall we undergoing the latest Weekend Disaster Post, which in fact, if any advocate of this blog recalls, was the first accessory that the blog founded. Nostalgia much?! Well, let’s get started.

Weekend Disaster Post

Gorgon Paparazzi: Over the last few weeks, the authorities in the relatively quiet though largely populated town of Pabdon have been growing suspicious of the unusual new arrivals at their town. Their names were Medley Uusa, Georgette Uusa, and Ugel L.Y Uusa, and they had trouble painted on them the moment they arrived with their strangely talkative hair nets askew.

                Barely after they had settled in they began a photography store just east of Main and down the road past Freak Town Boulevard and Extemporaneous Possum Way, and right beside it, an antic lawn ornament shop. The prior mentioned law enforcement officers had their suspicions aroused when the uptake in large and very lifelike stone ornaments came to their notice as well as the frequent disappearances going on within the town’s boundaries.

                And, after their weekly bingo game, the slightly drunk officers weaved their way to the new sources of grossly overpriced propaganda to investigate. They had in fact cone right on time, for as they peeked through the windows they saw Medley Uusa herself taking off her hair net and becoming Medusa and immediately transfixing a customer and turning him into a perfectly carved piece of obtainable material.

                Fifty percent of the policeman fainted dead away at the sight but the other percentage ran in gesticulating at the top of their lungs about it not being in the laws of the state to turn said persons to rock, and that she would pay for her past sins, and that someone must have crawled into a lampshade and barfed and then died in its phlegm because it stank in there.

                But though they fought bravely, the Gorgon turned them all to stone, save for one, who called for reinforcements, and minutes later several helicopters overflowing with eager goblin recruits came over the hills and then landed, and the goblins poured into the stores with howls of unsuppressed joy and several not-here-mentioned curses in Yiddish.

                And though it took many hours, casualties, and a fierce spatula duel, the three gorgons were finally restrained and immediately transferred to the county jail where they remain until further notice.

                And so, all’s well that ends well, except…the part where the gorgons were actually robot test subjects for an Armageddon fleet of highly advanced battleships who happened to control a nifty black-hole machine that….Yes, but that’s another post entirely.

                Until the next post

-The person who lives on Emaciated Dust-bunny Lane.

Weekend Disaster Post

Fairy Raid on Dick’s Sporting Goods: lately, at one of New York’s many strip malls an unsightly, bordering on freakish occurrence …occurred…in the spacious and thankfully enclosed main room of Dick’s Sporting Goods, the local tennis racket, basket ball, and duct tape distributor, to name but a few of its assets.

     The problem started when the store’s clerk, who appeared to have a death wish/lack of a human’s basest survival instincts, took it upon himself to place a sign in the entrance stating that any magical creature nursing cash should not hesitate to come a-calling to the store.

     In the ensuing stampede the clerk was given to gift of three missing teeth, a tailoring bill that would probably have to be spiral bound, and a hair-do that can be traced back to a similar job in a Hindu sacrificial service.

     The first crazed individual to enter the store was, in fact; a rather unhinged hunk of a griffin with exactly sixteen bucks shoved down his down.

     As a horde of mixed magical creatures followed the Griffin (whose name was Jughead) into the store, Jughead proceeded to leap onto the checkout registers and neatly ransack register 1 through 9, looting the cash registers along the way, leaving the wreckage and several employees who would later undergo intense psycho-therapy.

     The next major disaster to take a bite out of prophets was when the Cyclops found the Pitching Machine. After he found it he went completely shoot happy and nearly made Little Bo Peep swallow her sheep with a well-timed fastball.

     Many other disaster happened that day, including the legendary wrap-up when the pixie tribe found the duct tape section, and Cerberus and some Hellhounds chewing up a record breaking fifty-thousand basket balls, soccer balls, and other balls until it was broken up when they were beaned into unconsciousness with several curve balls.

     To say the least, the clerk got fired, and moved to a Hindu monastery some months later for unknown reasons, and the store was compelled to take down the sign he’d put up, at least the ones not in comas and/or body casts.

      The place is closing down for approximately six years while repairs are undergone sufficiently for customers not to walk in the doors then fall out them three seconds later with a face full of duct tape, baseball bats, and organically farmed cotton underwear. Do they even sell that stuff there?

     Until the next post; see you down the road.

Post written, edited and cussed a blue streak over by Sye “Fastball” Clops 

Weekend Disaster Post: Dandy Arrest

Article by Rip Van Wheelzoff

Yesterday afternoon, a suspicious character by the name of Yankee Doodle rode into town on a donkey, heralding the beginning of a day of carnage for the inhabitants of the city into which he rode on a donkey as a herald of chaos to the law-abiding citizens of the area who saw him enter the area on a donkey with a shifty look that marked him as bad news.

         Dandy proceeded to enter the nearest pet-store and buy several dozen large birds, paying up front in cash. He then plucked every one of these birds, placed the feathers one at a time in his hat and transformed them into small, vicious monkeys.

         There followed the heralded day of carnage as Doodle led the legion of monkeys (who were subject to his every whim by telepathic connection) to bleed the town dry of all valuables. The primate thugs ransacked the town led by the malicious dictatorship of Dandy who urged them on to greater mischief which included but was not limited to burgling every house, office building, hotel and gas station for miles, robbing the town’s only bank and holding the patrons hostage in the vaults.

         This done, they moved on to demolish several blocks of buildings to make room for a palace for their king, Dandy.

         Fortunately, the authorities managed to lure the dictator’s donkey steed into a trap with several bushels of thistles and wheat and by doing so, captured its rider. Dandy was forced to call off his army’s attack on the town and was led into the police office with his monkey minions shackled in a mile long line behind him, singing “Swing low, Sweet Chariot” to anyone who would listen.

         In answer to an agent of the press’s question of why he had made this attack on the townsfolk, Dandy replied, “well, what would you have done in my position? I have the power to turn feathers into monkeys that do whatever I tell them! I wasn’t going to waste it on helping people for crying out loud.”

The police have since gone over criminal records kept by neighboring towns and found that Dandy has attacked several other settlements in similar manners, building up a sizable fortune in stolen cash. He had not built a palace for himself in any of these towns, them being too small, but had overthrown all forms of government and justice in them with the help of his Simian horde.

Now that the overlord is captured, it is safe for repairs to be made to these demolished towns and they are being carried out even now.

Three days after his arrest, the man known as Yankee Doodle Dandy was tried in the county courthouse and convicted on several counts, robbery, destruction of property, littering etc. He was sentenced to life in prison until further notice.

The Post

Weekend Disaster Post

Pixie/Gnome Trench War: Several hundred human lawns have been emptied of all their seemingly inanimate garden gnomes; pixie-hollows and devotee frequented shrines have emptied of the thousands of Faery Folk. Some would explain this as “Vacation” or “urgent family business”. Poppycock I say, from a live video feed that has reached the post we now know that a Pixie/Gnome Trench War has begun in the Valley of the Noxious Winds. More information on Page 2:

The Fabled Page 2:

“From my vantage point on the valley’s cliff I have a perfect view of the proceedings. They are remarkably dishonorable. I see several cases of pinching, hair pulling and judiciously placed elbows to the stomach, navel and other painful body parts.”

“Well, it looks like the Pixies are on a winning role currently, Zig Zagh Quank, the pixie general has Barto Burztbelt in a headlock and playing “Got your conk” over and over again (I love that game), and the pixie tide certainly appears to be overwhelming the burly Gnome defenses, which currently consist of two collapsing towers and a burning fence.”

“But, on the other hand, the Gnomes’ catapult is beginning the wreak havoc in the fragile ranks of bloodthirsty pixies, sending a series of flaming sod squares, boulders and boxer-wrapped teapots (They ran out of oily rags you see).”

“And Burztbelt has rallied his forces, he’s hiking up his snapped belt and sending ranks of Gnomes…Up HERE? What the?! Run for your life Sam, they’ve got crayons!”

Here ends the live feed, Jon and Sam were found the next day bound and gagged with broken crayons surrounding them and several rude proclamations scrawled on their clothes and bonds.

According to them, the Gnomes managed to escape and the pixies burned the defenses completely and took control of the Valley of the Noxious Winds. No loss there.

Sleep well,

The Post