CLIFF ROCK

CLIFF ROCK
by Jardonn Smith
 
I am in pain. I look through up and down metal bars, metal bars built into cutout of wood door. I look down to the man snoring in his cell. His undergarment white, some kind of fabric, the kind his people call shorts, cover him low on his waist stopping at the top part of his legs. His other clothes have been taken from him, and he sleeps because he has suffered many punishments for many hours. I am in pain because I watched him suffer. Worse, I helped them to make him suffer.

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FIREDOME

FIREDOME
by Jardonn Smith
based on Aquadude’s single-plate fantasy,
Greenpeace Activist and the Rainforests of Malaysia
 
Strange how life’s road can take you to places unexpected. It’s like an exit suddenly appears, tempting you to leave the main flow of traffic, and for some unknown reason you turn the steering wheel.
I joined Greenpeace to save orangutans, not trees. I suppose the destruction of one leads to destruction of the other, but still, if not for Jack Mattingly I never would have agreed to this risky operation. He’s the one who lured me here. I could not help myself. Once I met him, I had to work with him; had to become a member of his team; had to be near him and his heavenly eyes of cobalt blue, his masculine hair of black enhancing those cobalt eyes. He sensed me. And he played me for all he could get. Tempted me to go undercover for him, take that exit off the main highway into uncharted territory. Hope it pleased him.

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SNOWMAN

SNOWMAN
by Jardonn Smith
based on Aquadude’s single-plate fantasy, Dreams of a Young Viking
 
FOOLS!
So thought young Sigvid. Even he knew one Viking ship held too few men to overcome such greater numbers inside the Vergunthi village, but the elders commanded an attack regardless. Sigvid dared not speak in protest. This was his first voyage, first venture from his homeland, and whereas he’d looked forward to the wonders he might see, now he longed to return to his peaceful village, his comforting hut surrounded by those who loved him.
Instead, he now rested in the clutches of his enemies, inside their grand hut, the largest structure of the village where Vegunthi gathered to make law or mourn deaths or celebrate unions or, in this case, torment prisoners taken in battle.

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PURDY BOY

PURDY BOY
By Jardonn Smith
Based on Aquadude’s Single-Plate Fantasy,
THE FARMER and the COLLEGE JOCK
 
“Kick and squirm, you handsome young thang, you! You ain’t going nowheres, except round in circles… not ‘til I’m finished whipping on you. Then you can hang there by your sore-as-hell wrists and watch yourself bleed.”
Poor fella, only been strung up here for one week so far and already he’s tasted my bullwhip at least, well, let me cipher on it… two times per day times two dozen strokes per… that’s more than 300 times, I reckon.
“Don’t worry, blondie. We’s just getting started.

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JOHNNY, MY GOD OF THE SUN

 
JOHNNY, MY GOD OF THE SUN
Jardonn Smith
(Prompted by Aquadude’s single-plate fantasy:
Johnny in the Hands of Sheik Abdul’s Sadist Son)
 
Did you rest well, my blonde Adonis? It is best you do not speak to me, for I have interest only in your outer shell, its muscled skin shaven clean and readily accepting my healing salves. Yes, I have restored you. Your blue eyes once again attract my brown ones, and your flesh glows with brightness whiter than the boundless sands outside my tent. Do not express your gratitude to me for healing your wounds. You are merely a slate to be wiped clean so that I might redraw you with this day’s designs. Come, let us now leave the safety and shade. You will worship the sand; I will worship you.

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LIPS OF POISON

LIPS OF POISON
by Hamilton and Jardonn
 
Frank Cypert’s parts will be told by Hamilton; Jack Pendleton’s by Jardonn.
 
 
Part 1 — Wrong Place Right Time
 
Please be Chinese. What the hell are they doing down there? Not supposed to be any soldiers around for hundreds of miles. Please be Chinese… Chinese under Stilwell… please… they’ll recognize General Stilwell’s name when I say it… come on, be Chinese… Holy crap! Those uniforms are… are Japanese. Damn it to hell. So much for Army intelligence.
 
Well, Captain Francis Cypert, pray they start shooting. Come on, shoot me. I’m in range. Son of a bitch. They ain’t shooting. Means they got questions. Damn it to frickin’ hell. Well then by god, I’ll shoot at them. Maybe they’ll shoot back, if I can get to my… Geezus… I’m gonna clip that tree… gotta steer it…

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THE BUNKERVILLE WEEKLY SENTINEL

 
THE BUNKERVILLE WEEKLY SENTINEL
 
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
 
 
 
EARLY SYNOPSIS FOUND FOR FAMOUS FILM
 
from the desk of Jardonn Smith
 
 
Things got pretty exciting here two days ago when little Tommy Hiplicker plopped down a stack of papers on my desk. Seems Tommy’d been crawling around in the caves beneath Bunkerville and come upon a secret room. Inside were all kinds of ritualistic-looking wooden crosses, with chains and ropes and used condoms laying all around like somebody’d been having themselves a kinkily good time down there, but then Tommy stubbed his toe on a metal box that looked sort of like a briefcase, and when he opened it he found the very papers he brought for me to scrutinize.
 
Didn’t take me long to figure out it was a synopsis written for a film adaptation of the novel, The Planet of the Apes. Apparently, Twentieth Century Fox originally planned to make the film heavy on sex, hoping to have it finished and released before United Artist could distribute their Midnight Cowboy, which would become the first feature film ever to receive an X rating.
 
At the time Fox contracted for this synopsis to be written, 1965, under consideration for roles were Rod Taylor and Claude Akins as astronauts; Edward G. Robinson and Paul Lynde as apes. The studio didn’t plan on using the same title as the novel (my guess is they didn’t want to purchase rights to use the title or the story), so what we have here is a synopsis that just barely follows the story as written in the book, along with a loosely-connected title, and all of it a far cry from what ended up on the screen in 1968 as Planet of the Apes.

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