RIA: The novel - co-write

[Buck Turgidson]

The moon was especially bright that night. It was a supermoon. It cast a strong light on the landscape, dintinct shadows, and on a scale of dark to pitch black. The lone figure of a man sat in the darkest corner of the yard smoking a cigar, his eyes glinting from the glare of his tablet. As he worked on a topic for a message board, he reflected.

That summer, he realized that he believed that choice itself was earned, and not a God-given right. He wondered just what kind of an a$$hole that made him. He looked up at the moon. Upper altitude humidity gave the background sky artificial form. A jet contrail crossed over the moon at an angle, combining with light clouds to give form to a frowning eye. He could not reconcile himself with the fact that until recently he believed it was the other way around, and had spent most of his life stripping others of their power to choose.

He ashed his cigar, and then slowly balanced it on the lip of the ashtray. He placed his tablet on the foot rest, and stood up.

CON'T

[Fake from State Jarm]

Suddenly the horizon was flooded by gesticulating figures and leering eyes, vaguely profiled in the moonlight. A Horde of Japanese Clown Ninjas! The man stumbled backwards out of his lawnchair. Disoriented by his interrupted reverie, his composure from the previous moment was utterly lost. This is not unusual during a clown ninja horde attack.

A leader stepped out from among them. In the darkness, it was difficult to make out any distinctions on this masked and vaguely shaggy character. He shouted with a deranged twang. 'I am kabuki! These are my loyal altmen. We have heard of a man with the fighting prowess of 6 startled housecats and have come to see if the rumors were true! Due to time constraints, we have killed several people and animals without discussion in our search for this man. Waste no time on words, prepare yourself for mortal combat!'

With that, the one calling himself 'kabuki' stepped back among the masked hordes. They screamed in unison, somewhat unintelligibly, something along the lines of 'we are kabuki' as they stampeded. The lone figure before them wordlessly pulled a yellow mask out of his back pocket, and answered the charging hordes only with a few deft flicks of his wrist. Yellow crescent-shaped blades flew forth and silenced many of the screaming ninja clowns. Yet the man remained unmoved as his blades always returned to his hand.  He was the Batmanana, and his bananarangs were stained red that night.

[Buck Turgidson]

Fucking clown ninjas. You just can't help want to kill them. I mean WTF, what the hell has to be wrong with you to become a fucking clown ninja? He blinked and wondered whether he just imagined all that, or whether he had really just killed all of those ninjas. Even with the supermoon, it was too dark to go stumblimg around looking for bodies to confirm the matter like the last time. He listened carefully and thought he heard one of the dying ninjas make a blood-curdled last gasp, but it was just an unfamiliar sound in the local nature. It would have to wait for morning light.

When he sat back down, alone and in the dark corner of the yard, he picked up his tablet and surfed the web while he polished his bananarang. He always maintained a high degree of alertness to clown ninja attacks, and felt all victory came down to preparation. He polished his bananarang vigorously.