“Mr. Rockjaw,” said Regina Riasonovski, “your insertion point will be here.” She indicated the top of a mountain in a zoomed-in view above the Swiss Alps.

Hank stopped staring at Regina’s curves and squinted at the image projected on the screen. “Won’t the Nazis suspect something when a helicopter drops me into their backyard?”

“Many skiers and thrill-seekers are helicoptered to a dozen or so peaks in this area, which is fortuitous for us that the Nazis chose to build their secret base there. Nobody will realize what is going on until we strike!” Regina said, grabbing the air in front of her as if seizing a floating snake, and clenching her fist as if to choke it.

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“Watch out, kid!” Hank Rockjaw yelled. He plucked the child from the passenger seat and threw him into a web of lianas hanging from flora in the jungle.

The tires of the jeep hit a long, angled stone jutting out of the ground like a stray tooth and the vehicle went airborne. Hank tucked and rolled out of the side while it arced through the air like a snub-nosed ballistic missile and collided with an enormous tank of explosives. The entire Nazi military base exploded in a black, greasy cloud.

Hank plucked the child out of the lianas.

“You okay, kid?” he asked.

“Yes, Mr. Hank!” the kid said.

“I don’t think that those Nazis will be kidnapping any more children,” Hank said.

Amidst the gentle crackling of a ruined military base in flames and the ever-present howl of fauna in the jungle, Hank’s satellite phone rang.

“Hello? No, Sonia, I haven’t forgotten about your party for the ambassador tonight. I’ll be on the next plane out of the Amazon.”

The Moral: Don’t throw a child from your vehicle into a stand of conifers, because that’s just mean.

Continued here!

Alexander stood off to the side of the bar’s stage, waiting for his band’s turn in lights while a screamcore band named “Cellars and Chains” mangled its way through another song. Cellars and Chains gradually disbanded as they worked through their three-song set. The guitarist quit after the singer bounced on her toes too many times, the bassist had the head of his instrument knocked off after the singer body-slammed him into an amp, and the drummer only kept his equipment intact by ending rolls on the singer’s face.

“BUT YOU KNOW WHAT’S CHEAPEST OF ALL? JUST ONE LITTLE BULLET TO PUT IN YOUR HEAAADDDD!” the singer screamed, then jumped at the drummer and ricocheted off of his enormous chest. After the bouncers finished booting what was left of the singer out of the club, the MC of the battle of the bands took the stage.

Alexander’s hands sweated. He flashed a moist thumbs-up at his bandmates, Carolyn and Tommy.

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Listen up, you kumquats, the Web Fiction Guide has posted a link to and review of the Guide to Moral Living in Examples. Go check out the WFG and most importantly, vote for the Guide because I’m your favorite author and I make every other piece of prose written in English look like a gummy bear stuck to a turd drying in the wicked light of an uncaring Sun.

A pineapple gummy bear. Ick.

“Come one, come all, to a shocking event of electricizastic deals at Lucas Cars! This Thursday will become known as Refersday! Refer a friend to our dealership and you’ll both, that’s right, you’ll both receive a fantasmagratic gift!” screamed Lucas, owner of Lucas cars, on Jack’s little television. Jack turned to his friend Jill.

“Didn’t you just buy a car from them?” Jack asked.

“Yeah,” Jill said. “They’re super helpful.”

“Maybe we should see what this gift is. I’ve been meaning to get a new car since my last one was stolen. I got some fat insurance money burning a hole in my bank account.”

Jill drove Jack over to Lucas Cars. Jack found a cheap Jupiter brand car, a late-model Grand Earl and negotiated a great price with Lucas himself. Over the course of the morning he forgot all about the Refersday prize, until Lucas returned from filing the loan papers with two jewelry boxes.

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The dinosaurs watched the dim skies overhead as they waited in line to be admitted to the hall for the upcoming debate. The overcast sky was the yellow, sickly color of a dead pond. Each wore an electric pump attached to hoses and a mask, which cleaned the air. It was recommended by doctors across the land to reduce the levels of respiratory cancer, even during the few days when dinosaurs could go outside without the threat of acid rain.

As each dinosaur was admitted to the hall, they checked their electric breathing apparatus and shuffled into the dimmed auditorium, where the opponents had taken the stage. Vrex, the spokesdinosaur for United Coal, was responding to a challenge by Mulondis, an activist who proposed that United Coal’s massive power plants be shut down in favor of cleaner nuclear power.

“The powerful beams of the Sun have encountered a more powerful force – the great clouds of smog produced by United Coal! No longer are we warmed by its light, and what does strike the surface scarcely inspires photosynthesis in all but the hardiest plants! Our ferns and cycads and flowers wither beneath the choking yellow blanket!” Mulondis yelled.

“The Sun is a fickle mistress,” Vrex said, “and we often face cloudy days. If the Sun cannot fill our needs, then so be it! We will grow our food beneath lamps, powered by the very coal power plants that you so decry!”

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