Mass Effect – Open Auditions

explorerswanted

 

Fellow Mass Effect / Sci-Fi / video game fans!  BioWare is holding auditions for a couple small rolls in their upcoming game, Mass Effect: Andromeda.  Feeling adventurous enough to try out?  Check out the details on their ‘blog.

If you need a little encouragement, you can watch me make a fool of myself and throw my own hat into the ring below.

 

 

Bene scribete.

That’s a Lot of Cake

megacake

 

Costco sells a seven-pound chocolate cake, and I’m always eyeing it.

I don’t have a reason to get a seven-pound chocolate cake, but I’d like a reason to get a seven-pound chocolate cake.

I just need an occasion to get enough people together to eat a seven-pound chocolate cake.

A cake party?

People have cake parties, right?

That’s not just a horribly gluttonous thing I made up, is it?

IS IT!?

Cake party.

 

Bene edite.

Nature’s Intent

ChocoPina.jpg

 

Nature’s intent, it says.  Did nature truly intend for pineapples to be covered in chocolate?  A question for the ages.

One which I believed I had the answer to.

In order to test my theory, I ingested a piece of pineapple covered in chocolate.  Indeed, my hypothesis was confirmed.

The answer is no, in case you were wondering.  Nature did not intend for pineapples to be covered in chocolate.

Because it’s gross.

Stop it, nature.

 

Bene edite.

Dincton Flatt and the Very Grey Suit

Uh-oh, another one.


 

greysuit

 

“This suit,” Flatt muttered, half turning to the left, then right, as he admired himself in the mirror, “is rather grey.  Extremely grey, one might say.  But is it…”  He ran his hands over the coat.  “…too grey?”

“I shouldn’t think so, sir,” his robot coyote responded with a tilt of his head.

The tailor started, falling back onto his bum and dropping his tape.  “Heavens!  It can talk?”

“Featherby can extremely talk,” Flatt sighed, waving a hand in dismissal of the obvious.  “For him not to speak would be the proper marvel.”

The tailor frowned, but went back to work.

Flatt’s gaze returned to the mirror, but truthfully, had never left it.  “Perhaps you’re right, Featherby.  One can never have too grey a suit, can he?”

“Not when made by the finest tailor in Danesbury, sir.”

“Oh, well,” the tailor sputtered, distracted but obviously chuffed, “th-thank you, yes.  You’re a–a fine thing, I suppose.”

Featherby nodded curtly, and Flatt shook his head, summoning an appropriate reply to his tongue, but before it could bust snappily and handsomely through his lips, the shop’s door swung open and a man in a lavender suit twirled in.

“What on Earth…?”  Flatt only saw him through the mirror, and still didn’t feel like turning around.

“I require a tune-up for my vestments,” the entrant announced, voice lilting all over the place.  His short hair and mustache were blue, which they had no business being, if Flatt were to be consulted on the matter.

“Mr. Gabbery is quite occupied at the moment, I’m afraid,” Flatt said, ensuring his tone suggested his own importance without necessarily rubbing it in the strange man’s face.

“Yet I am an immediate man,” the newcomer assured, holding his arms out and strutting fancily over to the others.

Featherby piped up, “And who are you, precisely, if you do not mind my asking?”  There may have been a bite to his words.  Good for Featherby.

The man turned to the coyote and set his fingertips upon his breast.  “Dabither Fudgebegotten, naturally.”  He swooped down and held out a hand, to which Featherby tentatively offered a paw, and they shook.  He then straightened up and faced the tailor once more, gesturing over himself.  “Now present me that I am presentable.”

“Of–of course, just as soon as I finish–” Mr. Gabbery began, but Fudgebegotten overrode him:

“Cannot be borne, I regret to say.  I have many preparations to make.”

Flatt finally deigned to turn his head, raising an eyebrow.  “Surely, my good man, you cannot mean to interrupt my fitting?”

“I haven’t the time to wait on questionably grey suits, I fear. I’m certain you understand.”

“Nonsense,” Flatt grumbled.  “Its greyness is precise…”

“Nevertheless,” Fudgebegotten intoned, addressing the tailor, “my needs are a priority.”  He smiled, and his mustache twiggled.  “I promise.”

The tailor furrowed his brow, but nodded.  “Very well, then.”  He gestured headwise for Flatt to step down from the pedestal.

Flatt eyed him.  “Truthfully, Mr. Gabbery?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Flatt.  He did promise.”

Flatt groaned but complied.  “Come, then, Featherby.  Let us quit the scene of this indignity.”  He marched toward the exit, coyote in tow, but stopped as he reached the door, glowering back at the lavender-suited tailor usurper.  “Mr. Fudgebegotten – you wouldn’t happen to have been wearing a hat earlier, by any chance?”

Maaaybe,” Fudgebegotten practically sang, lips pursed joyfully and eyebrows waggling for a needlessly extended period.

Flatt’s face darkened, and he flung his way out through the shop’s threshold.

“You know, sir,” Featherby mused as they walked down the street, “now that I see it in the daylight, I wonder if it could be said that your suit is, perhaps, after all, just a touch too much on the grey side.”

The frown on Flatt’s face might have dislocated his jaw.  “Oh, Featherby, why did I build you?”

“For good times, sir.”


 

Bene scribete.

SPACE WINNER

SpaceWinner.jpg

 

SPACE WINNER!

YEEEEEAAAAAAAHHH!!!

Do you–do you want to win?  DO YOU?

Don’t just win the land and the sea and the sky THAT’S FOR BABIES.

DON’T BE A BABIES.

You need to–need to win at SPACE.

Stars and lasers and synth music everywhere!

Win it!  Win the space!  Win 68cm x 38cm x 85cm of OUTER SPACE!

You can do it!

DISCOVER A F%$#ING PLANET.

You can be–

BE A SPACE WINNER!!!

YEEEEEEEAAAAAAHHH!!!

BODENSCHRANK!

 

Bene vīvite.

SIP CHUG!

SipChug

 

Do you want to do your part to cut down on resource consumption, but still want to look like you take your beverages from disposable aluminum containers that you could, at any moment, crush against your skull and toss onto the sidewalk as you walk by with a satisfied belch?

Do you want to drink from a reusable metal mock-pull-tab can?

Why?

I mean, you can – look at the picture – you can, but why?  Why, though?

Why do you want to do that?

Do you want to put your drink into a metal soda/beer can, but then use a straw anyway?

Even more why?

Is this–is this a good idea?

Why does one of the straws have a gasket on it?

 

Bene scribete.

A Long Way From Home

Fish Notes

 

Whew. This piece wasn’t easy to get right. Glad I stuck with it, though, since I like how it turned out.

Not sure what it’s for – just a synth and orchestral blend that wormed its way into my head and rattled around until I could put it together.

 

 

As is typical for wide-range pieces, SoundCloud’s compression crushed the audio, but feel free to download for higher quality.

 

Bene scribete.