Grazer: A Ghostbusters Parody

The things I do to avoid editingThe following is a parody of the first Ghostbusters movie.

When there’s something bland in the neighborhood, who’re gonna call?

Food Fighters!

***

EXT: Apartment roof, Night

A giant tomato, Grazer, growls at the team of Food Fighters. 

Grilled Cheese Warrior: I thought Grazer was a giant broccoli!

Rocket Ravioli: It can be whatever it wants.

Grilled Cheese Warrior: What do we do?

Captain Heartburn: I have an idea. Go get it, PP.

Pasta Patroller gulps then approaches the sentient tomato.

Pasta Patroller: As a representative of the Newton School for Culinary Arts, I demand you halt this invasion and return to your dimension of origin.

Grazer: Are you a chef?

Pasta Patroller: No.

Grazer: Then BROIL!

The team is hit by high-energy beams and knocked back.

***

Grazer: Choose the form of the Destructor.

Pasta Patroller: We don’t understand.

Captain Heartburn: I get it. Whatever we think of, it’ll appear and destroy us. If we think of Gordon Ramsay then Gordon Ramsay will appear and destroy us.

The team takes a moment to shake off that nightmarish thought.

Captain Heartburn: Empty your minds.

Grazer: The choice has been made.

Captain Heartburn: We didn’t choose anything. I didn’t choose anything. (He addresses the rest of the team) Did you choose anything?

The team turns to the guilty-looking Pasta Patroller. 

Captain Heartburn: PP, what did you do?

Pasta Patroller: I didn’t mean to. It just popped in there. I tried to pick something that would never hurt us.

Off screen: A loud roar reverberates.

Pasta Patroller: It’s the mascot for Lovely’s Chicken Farm. It’s Sam N. Ella.

(Captain Heartburn smacks Pasta Patroller on the back of the head): You thought something called salmonella would be safe?

Pasta Patroller: Ohhh! I see it now. Yeah.

***

Rocket Ravioli: We only have one option to stop Grazer. We have to cross contaminate.

Captain Heartburn: But, Rocket, you said cross contamination is a bad thing.

Pasta Patroller: Cross contamination? Of course! A full spoilage reversal!

The team sets their microwave blasters to 425 degrees and fires at the killer tomato. They slowly move the beams closer together until they touch. The beams cause Grazer and the mega-giant chicken farm mascot to explode spraying the team with bits of food.

Rocket Ravioli: Is everyone OK?

(Captain Heartburn wiping off the tomato innards the best he can): I’ve been juiced.

END.

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Until the next wormhole…thanks for reading!

Pretend Comic-Con Post But With Real Writing Updates

Since Comic-Con is happening and all these creative people are showcasing upcoming events, I figured I’d give you a preview/update of events. Many of these stories are still in the brainstorming stage so they may or may not actually bear fruit.

I am still working on The Capstone Saga where the capstone from the Great Pyramid returns to destroy the world. A few of the episodes have been published on Amazon.

I’m also working on a story series based on the #vss365 prompts on Twitter. The story is about Blue Light Technologies (BLT) ordering everyone to take a vacation thus leaving the Creation Orb unattended. With the Orb unattended, it produces “wild magic.” I’m working on a way to compile the posts into a story. You should be able to search for it through #TheCatsAway and #DogboyChronicles. The first post should be here.

Other potential stories include:

Wolfborne: While on a mission, the hero is captured and brainwashed into believing he is part of a cult.

The Doomsday Clock: Time is running out for the world. Midnight has struck.

The Supers vs. The Machines: Rouge Muses decide to create a Metaverse by turning creatives and characters into machines.

Until the next wormhole…have a fun Comic-Con (however you’re celebrating) and thanks for reading!

Kitty on the Prowl

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said the host of the Back Alley Club, “Miss Sasha La Purr!”

The cats clapped their paws; the dogs howled; and the birds whistled while the host left the stage. A spotlight appeared at stage left. A leg with white fur and long-heeled shoes peeked out from the exit/entrance. The crowd hollered louder. Miss La Purr, a white cat with some black stripes along the face, slowly entered the stage. She walked slowly to the microphone letting each new howl and whistle wash over her. She gripped the microphone. Finally, the crowd faded into silence. She nodded softly to the band of mice. The saxophone player began with a soft, slow tune. Soon the others joined in creating a playfully romantic song.

“You think I’m cute. But, honey, I’ve got claws and teeth to boot.

Don’t be fooled when I’m on the prowl…boys.

A sway of my hips, and a bat of my eyes, 

my attacks are neigh when the moon is high.

Perfume in the air beckons you to come near. Ruby red lips that hold your gaze.

You’ll never see it coming when I’m on the prowl.

Your soul I’ll steal with a ‘purr’ and a “hmm.’

A tail around your throat, and a gentle squeeze.

When I’m on the prowl, I always win.

Slashes and yowls are fine for some, but 

there are other ways to skin a cat.”

The audience whistled as Miss La Purr slinked off the stage; she winked at a patron sitting by himself.


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Cold Debt

Normally the ancient demigod, the Sandman, doesn’t interfere with crimes, but the cold case from 19ZX has left Detective Swayz and the victims’ family with 30 years of sleepless nights. While the family and detective pace wearily, the murderer, Sizzle Stacks, rests peacefully in a warm bed. Stacks’s, with no remorse for the murder of the high school cheerleader and her boyfriend, dreams of happy days and famous nights where he is adored. 

“Stacks has taken sleep from his victims,” said the Sandman. “The sleepless family does not dream; and without dreams, the multiverse starves. His debt must be paid.”

In a flash of sand and light, the balance of sleep was restored. Now, Swayz and the family rest peacefully while Stacks spends 30 years in the Nightmare Realm.


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Doctors of Devious Schemes

Today, Dr. Daphne Spelling, a veterinarian witch, and I came across the DDS. Daphne, through some clerical error, was invited to Doc Con. It was not a con as in convention; instead, it was a con as in confidence scheme. The convention center was filled with the DDS, or Doctors of Devious Schemes. These doctors got together to discuss—

“Ahem,” said one of the doctors. “Technically, I’m a DMD, Doctor of Malicious Deeds.”

Whatever.

These doctors were sharing tales of all their dirty deeds. However once Daphne and I entered, the party ended. Daphne arrived in her superhero uniform, as did I.

“I told you we shouldn’t have come in costume,” Daphne said through the side of her mouth.

“The invitation said ‘super attire,’” I whispered back.

“Kill them,” said the host.

The host of diabolical doctors came at us with acid mouthwash spray, cavity drills, and laughing gas. Fortunately, we had magic and super-psychic powers on our side.

Once the fight was over and the police were cleaning up, the host turned to his assistant, “I told you to send the invite to Deadlock Sister. You are so fired.”


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Broken by Dawn

During a recent visit with my grandparents in Florida at the Hope Springs Retirement Community, I learned two things. The first was that long ago some non-transbeings grew jealous (some were scared) of transbeings; they attempted to make up for their “powerless” nature by augmenting themselves with ancient cybernetics and some magic. Eventually, a battle between transbeings and these augmented people started. The transbeings won (for the most part) and the augmented people were defeated…mostly killed. Second, I learned that the retirement community is built upon one of the burial grounds for the augmented people…and also the fountain of youth.

“That explains why everyone here is…lively,” I said.

It also explained why every couple years the augmented people semi-return from the grave. They attack the retirement community so they can use the fountain to fully restore themselves.

“They’re zom-bots?” said Sally.

“Or the unrusted,” I said smiling. Everyone glared at me. “Get it? Rust? Cyborgs?” I sighed. “Fine, we’ll go with zom-bots. So, how do we fight them?”

“The same way we do every time,” said Grandpa, “hold them off until they run out of fountain fluids and return to the grave.”

And that’s what we did. I used my gifts and gadgets while The Pack used their gadgets. As for the rest of the retirement community, they used everything from rolling pins to golf carts to the kitchen sink to battle the zom-bots.

Grandpa smacked one off me that was either trying to eat my brains or just claw my face.

“And you guys wonder why family doesn’t visit often,” I said before bashing a group with a nearby trash dumpster.

Grandma hit one with a baseball bat. “They certainly neglected to mention the recurring invading horde of ancient undead warriors in the brochure.”

Finally, the zom-bots time was up. They either fell where they stood (later cleaned up by the gardeners) or shambled back to wherever they rested until their next attempt.

“OK!” said the activities director. “Now that the survival part of this evening’s activities is complete, let’s all head into the main hall for cake and ice cream.”


Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Adventure. What More Could You Want?

The name is Joe Rover. Gamer. Writer. Superhero. With the help of my friends, I protect Megaton City from all sorts of villains whose only desire is chaos & destruction. 

School Rats

A rash of thefts at the high school caused it to be closed…that is when The Pack and I sprang into action. We surveilled the school and spotted the rats responsible, and I do means rats.

Hundreds of rats filled the halls squeaking and chewing. They worked together to move equipment and disable security systems. As we followed the rats, we soon learned the mastermind behind the raid was the Pied Piper, or someone pretending to be said piper. They used a flute to control the rats; the Piper was here to get his back pay. The school promised him the open music teacher position then went back on it.

“They never learn do they?” I said shaking my head. “At least he’s only stealing equipment and not drowning students,” I said.

The piper who wore a more…brightly colored outfit than Danny claimed he was a descendent of the legendary Pied Piper. He said the flute was passed down through his family. Either way, I ended his musical villain career by breaking his flute. The rats scurried away but the Piper did not.

The Pied Piper of Hamelin by Robert Browning falls under public domain.


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Whatever Happened to the Monkey

My friends and I were tasked with retrieving the Monkey’s Paw—the same one that grants wishes but at a high cost. My cousin told us my family had it, saying that my family came from treasure protectors—at least one side of my family. We checked in the crawl space under the stairs and soon found ourselves in a cave. Once we emerged from the cave, we were in a city that looked Middle Eastern. Soon we ran into a young Chinese male, who was a modern-ish version of Aladdin. Apparently, we were related. “Only family members could access the cave vault,” he said.

We soon learned that the Monkey’s Paw, which was kept in the palace vault, was the severed hand of Sun Tukong, a sibling to the Monkey King. Sun Tukong was so evil, they cut off his hand, thus removing his powers, and placed the paw in a jade box then buried the box.

Aladdin and his genie informed us that we would have to the steal the paw from the vault. “Only the cave vault can keep it safe,” he said.

The Pack and I succeeded in stealing the paw only to learn that Aladdin and the genie were really Sun Tukong and Wishmaker in disguise. Sun Tukong found Wishmaker’s lamp and “forced” him to help—it didn’t take much convincing.

Fortunately, the real Aladdin and genie arrived to help us. Sun Tukong was captured. Wishmaker was forced back into his lamp. The paw was added to the collection of dangerous relics within the cave.

Aladdin and similar characters fall within public domain.


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The DMV vs Loki

The man wearing the high-end, designer-made causal clothes entered Hunter’s office at Crookman, Chaser, and Faust with the flair that screamed VIP.

Hunter choked on his drink. “Loki?!”

The reincarnation of the Norse god of mischief gave the corner office, including the view that looked over the city like some god with a yet-to-be-decided attitude, a once-over. “I see you’ve done well for yourself.”

“What do you want?” my brother said with the bitterness gained from knowing a troublemaker friend.

“I happen to be in need of a lawyer.”

“When are you not?”

Loki “ignored” his comment with a small noise. “I am being sued by the DMV, the Department of Meme Violations.”

Hunter cocked an eyebrow. “Meme violations? What’d you do? Make too many Marcus Easter jokes?”

Loki sighed with a mischievous grin. “If only it were that simple. I need you and your marvelous silver-tongue. You remember all the fun we used to get into.”

Hunter turned his head to his paperwork. “I don’t do that anymore.”

It was Loki’s turn to cock an eyebrow. “Oh really? And I suppose getting the number of that hot little number at the coffee shop was all because of your ‘smooth moves.’”

Loki put his hands on the desk and leaned forward. Hunter continued to keep his eyes glued to his desk. “Admit it. You miss the thrill of talking people into doing what you want.”

“I don’t.”

Loki sighed as he leaned back into a straight posture. “We were gods once. Giants among men. Now we’re business owners and social media influencers. Thor ruled the lightning and thunder; now, he owns a power company. And I was master of mischievous pranks; now, I create memes. These mortals control us, and we let them.”

“It’s veiled threats like that that make me less interested in helping you.”

“Do it for me.”

“Hard pass.”

“Come on.”

“No.”

“For old times’ sake.”

“Not a chance.”

Loki’s voice took on a deeper and booming tone. “How about I unleash a plague of frogs upon this firm?”

Hunter finally looked up from his paperwork. “That’s a bit more convincing.”

Copyright Joe Rover. 2022. All rights reserved.


Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Adventure. What More Could You Want?

The name is Joe Rover. Gamer. Writer. Superhero. With the help of my friends, I protect Megaton City from all sorts of villains whose only desire is chaos & destruction. 

The Moon vs. The Aliens

My friends from the moon, Number One and Number Two, contacted me. Aliens invaded the moon claiming it as their own. Their plan for the moon: turn it into a giant factory that makes different kinds of cheeses. The aliens planned to sell the cheeses on Galaxy Buy (or gBuy). 

“You don’t need a superhero,” I said. “You need a lawyer.”

Fortunately, my brother, Hunter, is a lawyer. He agreed to represent the two. Thankfully, the aliens decided to settle instead of going through a costly court battle. Earth, Number One, and Number Two retained “ownership” of the moon.

One of the aliens sighed. “I guess we’ll have to go back to harvesting humans for money.”

“Say wha?” I said.

“Humans are a delicacy, much like caviar,” said the second alien. “Humans and cheese. Everyone loves them. If we can’t sell cheese, we’ll have to sell humans.”

“Hmm,” said Hunter. “I think I have a plan that might satisfy everyone.”

The plan was to start up a small factory on the moon. The moon colonists would help run the factory for a share of the profits. In exchange, no human harvesting.

One of the aliens sighed heavily. “But that’ll cut into our profits! A smaller factory means less production.” I bared my canine teeth and growled at him. He swallowed. “Then again, we can work it out.”


Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Adventure. What More Could You Want?

The name is Joe Rover. Gamer. Writer. Superhero. With the help of my friends, I protect Megaton City from all sorts of villains whose only desire is chaos & destruction.