Thanks to Brenton Harper-Murray of Poor Brenton’s Notebook for this guest Moral!

Troy wanted to stay in that Friday night, like he did every night, but his roommates were dead set on making that impossible. He had just gotten home from work, stretched the kinks in his back that he got from hunching over a keyboard coding at work all day. He made a bowl of ramen and sat at his computer for a relaxing night of Internet. He had just found a juicy thread on a message board when his roommates, Bierce and Lox burst in through the door with straining bags from Cut-Rite Liquors in their hands and gin on their breath.

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“So, overall, it’s not that bad living in a dragon’s stomach. Except for Nicholas. He’s been acting a bit dodgy lately.”

Aaron signed the piece of vellum, rolled it up, stuffed it into a bottle, and threw it into the puddle at the other end of the dragon’s stomach. From there, he knew, it would see the light of day. Then he walked back towards the small living room that he had set up with Nicholas and plopped onto the couch.

“When do you think he swallowed that, then?” Nicholas said. He was drinking a beer. Probably the beer that Aaron had snatched from its inevitable march towards the rectum. It was his beer. How dare Nicholas help himself.

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“I can’t believe we did it,” Shirley said, then she poured a measure of champagne out of an Erlenmeyer flask and into her throat. “I really think that we’ve changed the course of history.”

“We did. Believe it,” Clint said. He leaned on the laboratory table to steady himself.

“I can’t! We’ll go down in the history books! We’re like Pasteur! Salk! Crick, Watson and Franklin! God, we may even be listed next to them in the textbooks of the future. We’ve done no less than any of them. We’ve created the first therapeutic treatment for aging!”

“Thank god for the common cold. A minor case of the sniffles once every ten years for everlasting life.”

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“Milady, please lend me your ear!” The young knight Horatio stood outside of Princess Karoline’s tower and held his face upward towards the darkened window. The moon shone high over head. In one hand, he held a rose. In the other, he throttled a lute.

The window filled with flickering candlelight, followed by the cross face of Princess Karoline.

“It is the middle of the night! What do you want?”

“To hear the fine, lilting swetness of your voice caress my ears! I could not wait for dawn!”

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Ensign Richter crept around the corner of the spaceship and ran face-first into the shining metal sternum of a robot soldier.

“Don’t kill me!” Ensign Richter yelled.

The pistons in the robot soldier’s hydraulic muscles pinged off of the ends of the cylinders as it punched Ensign Richter in the face. The blow would have pulverized the skull of a normal human. Luckily for Ensign Richter, he was not a normal human.

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“Good afternoon, Ambassador Li Hao,” President Tim said. “Have a seat.”

“Please, just Li Hao.” He took a seat.

“So please let me begin by saying that the United States has no desire to go to war with the PRC, but we will not hesitate to defend ourselves and American interests by any means necessary.”

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