Crooner or Later

"greetings, everyone!" gavin cardigan...um...greeted everyone as he entered the Pub.

"howdy, gavin," danny blake...um...howdied in reply as he poured a Guinness.

"what're we eating tonight, danny boy?" cardigan inquired inquiringly.

"Putain de Pâtes aux Truffes et de Fromage, huh huh huh," danny croaked out froggily in his best french, which was terrible, to be quite frank.

"huh?" cardigan huh'ed with a puzzled look on his face. "and burkie, cut that out!"

"it means the truffle ho's mac & cheese. it has several kinds of cheese and several forms of truffles," danny explained. "except for actual truffles."

"fancy. but i thought you were making chicken enchiladas?"

danny shrugged. "i was going to, but 20 percent of burkie's readership complained about his teasing them with my frito pie last time, so he had me make something a little less inclined to make texans feel homesick."

cardigan nodded knowingly. "gotcha."

he walked over to join his regulars, who were all busy inhaling the truffley fumes of their dinner.

"this stuff smells heavenly," sierra charles cooed.

"i did not coo!" sierra objected.

marian elfman snickered. "they guy who wooed you last night probably cooed."

cardigan grinned. "you go on another date last night, charles? woo-hoo!"

sierra shuddered. "i don't want to talk about it."

Mysterious Lurker chided her. "you have to talk about it. we wouldn't be here otherwise."

"but why is it always me? i don't even want a date!" she fumed. "why can't cardigan go out with somebody? he wants to."

"true," cardigan admitted. "but not if they turn out like yours."

"so who hooked you up this time, sierra?" danny asked as he delivered a plateful of mac & cheese to cardigan.

sierra glared over at linda nulo, who was studying the fantasy football standings with more concentration than they deserved.

"linda and tucker invited me to a concert last night, and tucker's old roommate was there."

"he's a nice guy," tucker said, defensively. "and a great musician. he has a beautiful voice."

"he didn't have to sing to me. every song!"

"sing to you?"

the Lurker grinned. "he apparently sang along to every song at the concert, gazing lovingly into sierra's eyes the whole time."

marian snickered again. "and there were a lot of love songs."

"and he kept telling her that she was super cute between songs," taylor added.

"he's honest with his feelings," tucked protested. "i thought women liked that!"

"we just met, and he crooned all night about how much he loved me. creepy!"

"they were just songs."

"still creepy!"

"he doesn't sound that bad, charles," cardigan put in. "you should give him another chance."

"no! plus, he's only 22 years old. AND he has googly eyes."

"oh. well, i guess that could be a little disconcerting. especially if he's crooning at you."

"he's a cooer and a crooner!" marian pointed out.

"and sierra is a cougar," taylor grinned. "we'll have to compare fangs."

"i am not a cougar! hmph!"

tucker strummed a minor chord on his guitar, causing sierra to bristle.

"just like a cougar," taylor noted.

"i did not bristle! tucker, no cougar songs!"

CYA: The Judge & The ChronoGuard Stay On Course

NOTE: if you did not jump to this chapter as a result of the Choose Your Adventure story, please go here before reading any further!



"are you going to answer it?" the judge asked.

ChronoGuard Ben shook his head. "no. i doubt it could be a bigger emergency than saving me. let's go!"

he closed his eyes and they faded away, only to reappear inside a building in boston university in 1876.

the judge looked around. "that's it? no lights, sounds, or vomit involved?"

"no, your honor. nothing that dramatic--ungh!"

the judge watched in astonishment as ChronoGuard Ben's face froze and he fell forward onto his face, a black dart sticking up from the back of his neck.

"oh, no." he looked up to see the black darter lowering the blow gun from his face.



Go here for the rest

You Say Reality, I Say Frito Pie

gavin cardigan shivered as he entered the Pub. "it's getting chilly out there."

"i've got just the thing for you: frito pie," danny blake told him from behind the bar, where he was pouring a Guinness.

"frito pie?" cardigan accepted the Guinness with thanks.

"trust me, my friend. you'll love it."

"i always trust you, danny boy. that's why i come here every night." cardigan walked over to join the other regulars.

"you come here every night?" sierra charles asked him as he joined her and the others at the table.

"yes, just like you," cardigan gave her a puzzled look. "right?"

"oh. well, i don't really know. i mean, burkie doesn't write about us every day. do we still come here on the nights he doesn't write?" sierra scraped her spoon around her empty bowl in frustration.

marian elfman scrunched her face in concern. "i never thought about that! i just assumed that whatever we were doing wasn't worth writing about. what if we're dead when he doesn't write about us?"

"i'm undead when he writes about us," taylor young noted, flashing his fangs. "does that mean i'm alive when he doesn't?"

"actually," danny said as he delivered cardigan's frito pie, "i think he types about us, not writes."

"i hate these conversations," cardigan muttered as he spooned up a gooey, smoking glob of chili, cheese, onions, and fritos.

"i think our world is an alternate universe," the green-haired Mysterious Lurker theorized. "our days and nights don't match the real world's days and nights exactly. burkie doesn't write about us every day in his world, but it winds up being every day in our world. see?"

"but who says burkie's world is the real world? maybe our world is the real world, and burkie is in purgatory or something," caridgan mused. "maybe he's the one who's really undead, and is living through us vicariously."

"if burkie's in purgatory, i'm sure he has more important things to do than to write or type about my going out on a date with muppet guy," sierra noted sourly.

marian snickered. "i forgot about him. burkie needs to send you out on another date!"

"i can find my own dates, thank you very much," sierra hmph'd.

"don't you have to actually say 'hmph' when you use 'hmph' as a verb?"

"it was implied," sierra replied, huffily. "and you just split an infinitive. hmph!"

"hmph!"

tucker, their resident shaggy-haired guitar player, strummed a chord.

he poured another shot of rye and
read her note once more
typed in black Verdana font
size 18, underscored
he took a swig then wiped his mouth
and rubbed his weary head
the note was simple and direct--
"hmph!" was all it said

"i can't believe that burkie can waste so many words on the word 'hmph,'" taylor observed.

a chorus of voices rang out, "i can."

as an elizabethan man came to clear up their dirty dishes, cadigan asked, "what do you think, shakespeare? is our world the real world, or is burkie's? you seem to be part of both worlds."

the great english dramatist shrugged. "does it really matter?"

"well, of course it matters!" caridgan argued. "wouldn't you rather be part of the real world than a fake world?"

"i hold the world but as the world, friend cardigan; a stage where every man must play a part," shakespeare quoted himself as he left them for the dishwasher in the back room.

"hmph."