Long


"There is a rather large difference between Old Nick and Saint Nick."
Old Nick? Saint Nick? What are you talking about?"
Malcolm grinned at Kit. The scout's lips quirked. Then his eyes crinkled and he couldn't contain it any longer. He started to laugh. Malcolm grinned. Margo, clad in nothing but an Irish alley-caat and a too-loose sixteenth century shirt, glared back and forth between them as though they'd lost their collective wits.
"What's so funny?" she demanded.
Kit lay back and roared.
Malcolm wiped his eyes. "You called down the wrath of Santa Clause..."
Margo opened her lips over air. "Then she started to chuckle. "I did?"
Malcolm was still wiping away tears. "It was priceless. I had visions of the heavens splitting open and a vengeful team of reindeer screaming down at Mach eight while the jolly old elf threw Christmas boxes like grenades...."
-Robert Asprin (Time Scout)
"But a new love interest will soon take the tage."
"Scant chance of that," I said.
Merc glanced the way Solana had gone. "I thought...."
"Well, obviously Soloana is my new female lead, but I'm not supposed to realize that yet. Officially, I'm still mooning over the twins."
"Oh, right. You'll need cheering up, then. A few words of wisdom from a friend to help you put things in perspective."
"That would be helpful."
Merc leared his throat and put his arm around my shoulder companionably. "You're a fantasy hero in a fantasy world, Jason. You know the traditions. Along with the high adventure comes an endless succession of heated romances and passionate flings. A few of the women you will meet will be extremely beautiful, others very beautiful, the rest only mildly beautiful, but you can be sure they'll all have flawless complexionns and shave their legs regularaly. Some will fight beside you, others against you. Many will die tragic deaths at the hands of your foes. Others will use you, betray you, walk out on you, only to turn up unexpectedly later. It's the way this business goes."
-Dirty Work
Death sat at a writing table, quill in hand. He was a fat, bald little man wearing a red dressing gown and bunny slippers. He turned and smiled and gestured for me to sit. My hackles went halfway down.
"Peppermint?" he asked jovially, holding out a bowl of candies.
"Thank you, no. Are you Death?"
"No, my hearing is quite good." He laughed at my bewildered expression. "Not what you expected?"
"I thought Death was tall and grim and skeletal."
"And with a sould-chilling voice?" he asked in a soul-chilling voice. He laughed. "That's just on formal occasions. I'm actually a jolly chap."
-Dirty Work
"Do you mock me?"
"Me? Mock a megalomania pirate who thinks he's going to restore the Evil Empire with a sword named after a mixed drink? Perish the thought!"
-Dirty Work
"Please evacuate the building," said a calm but urgent feminine voice coming over hidden spellcom speakers. "This is an emergency. This is not a drill. Please remaing calm. Please proceed quickly and safely to the nearest exit." The building shook again. "I really think you people ought to get moving. The building has become unsafe. Please proceed in a safe and orderly manner to the nearest exit. Please avoid levitation disks. Please use the stairs.... Hurry up, evacuate," said the spellcom voice. "This really is an emergency, not a drill. I wouldn't kid you. You must leave the building. Do not panic. Proceed in a calm and orderly fashion to the nearest exit. Do not panic. Do not push and shove. Proceed in an orderly fashion, one at a time. Wait your turn so that all may exit safely. Did you hear me? I said wait your turn so that-" The spellcom broke off after a particularly loud explosionn upstairs followed by seven or eight thunderous secondary explosions. "Get the hell out of here!" screamed the hysterical spellcom when it came back on. "The whole place is coming down right on top of your heads! Run! Run! Run! It's everyone for himself! Or herself! The rubble take the hindmost! Get out of here you bloody fools! Get out while there's still time! Too late!"wailed the spellcom, once the rumbling disintegration of the upper levels ended. "Oh, why didn't you all get out when you had the chance? If only you had listened to me! If only you had lined up, taken turns, and proceeded in na safe, orderly manner, you might have escaped! Now you're all entombed alive! It's horrible! Horrible! Everything is falling and even if you're not crushed, it might be days before they dig you out. You'll suffocate! You'll starve! Oh, how horrible."
"Can we shut that thing up?"
"No."
An hysterical maid laughed maniacally. "We're all going to die! We're all going to die!"
"Stop that! We are not going to die!"
"You're all going to die! You're all going to die! You're all-fzzrrk!"
Solana blasted the hidden speaker with a jet of fire.
-Dirty Work
"You have there a sword no mortal weapaon can stand against. But my blade is also one of great power. Its runes were inscribed by the Demon Lord Asmodraxas aeons ago. With it an Emperor of Fear slew ten thousand fores. For an age it lay lost to memory, thirsting for what it needs most."
"Blood? Souls?"
"Banana daiquiris."
"Banana daiquiris?"
"The only way to sate this sword is to soak it in banana daiquiris. When it is not so fed, it grows angry, and when it is angry, it tends to absorb, chop, grate, mix, whip, stir, and puree souls. I haven't fed it in a while. Behold Daiquirimaker, Blender of Souls!" An evil, eager whirring sound emanated from the black sword, and its unholy dark radiance gained intensity and shifted to red.
-Dirty Work
The superwand. The ultimate implement of power. A slender little stick that could bend space, twist time, warp reality, and amend, if not repeal, the laws of nature. With it you could do just about anything you damned well pleased. Gravity got you down? Reverse it. Not enough hours in the day? Add a few. Want to divide by zero? No problem. And it made cheating at dice a snap.
Even The Gods feared the superwand. You might think they'd have better sense than allow the making of such a dangerous device. But The Gods had no say in the matter. The Superwand was the creation of the infinitely omnipitentBunnies from Beyond, a race of paradimensional pink Cosmic Rabbits far older and wiser than mere gods. As the Sacred Scrolls of Synapbuluum tell it, the wand was forged several hour before the Dawn of Time in the cosmic fires of an exploding galaxy. It was imbued with the awesome energies of a million quasars, shaped by the intersecting gravitation fields of a thousand cleverly manipulated neutron stars, tempered by the scalding rays of incredible matter-antimatter collisions, and buffed to a high shine with a bottle of Dr. Pembroke's Handy All-Purpose Soapgloss Powder.
It was then used to light a multidimensional superstring cigar and casually tossed down a gravity well. The Superwand was, for all its power, only a matchstick to the Cosmic Rabbits.
-Dirty Work
Mrs. Deirdre Young is given birth in Delivery Room Three. She is having a golden-haired male baby we will call Baby A.
The wife of the American Cultural Attache, Mrs. Harriet Dowling, is giving birth in Delivery Room Four. She is having a golden-haired male baby we will call Baby B.
Sister Mary Loquacious has been a devout Satanist since bgirth. She went to Sabbat School as a child and won black stars for handwriting and liver. When she was told to join the Chattering Order she went obediently, having a natural talent in that direction and, in any case,, knowing that she would be among friend.s. She would be quite bright if she was ever put in a position to find out, but long ago found that being a scatterbrain, as she'd put it, gave you an easier journey through life. Currently she is being handed a golden-haired male baby we will call the Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottemless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness.
-Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman
"I mean, you're right about the fire and war, all that. But the Rapture stuff-well, if you could see them all in Heaven-serried ranks of them as far as the mind can follow and beyond, league after league of us, flaming swords, all that, well, what I'm trying to say is who has time to go round picking people out and popping them up in the air to sneer at the poepl dying of radiation sickness on the parched and burning earth below them? If that's your idea of morally acceptable time, I might add.
"And as for that stuff about Heaven inevitably winning ... Well, to be honest, if it were that cut and dried, there wouldn't be a Celestial War in the first place, would there? It's propaganda. Pure and simple. We've got no more than a fifty percent chance of coming out on top. You might just as well send money to a Satanist hotline to cover your bets, although to be frank wehn the efire falls and the seas of blood rise you lot are all goign to be civilian casualtieseither way. Between our war and your war, they're going to kill everyone and let God sort it out- right?
"Anyway, sorry to stand here wittering. I've just a quick question- Where am I?"
"It's the devil! Lord protect me! The devil is speakin' through me!" he erupted, and interrupted himself, "Oh no, quite the opposite in fact. I'm an angel. Ah. This has to be America doesn't it.? So sorry, can't stay ..." There was a pause. Marvin tried to open his mouth, but nothing happened. Whateer was in his head looked around. He looked at the studio crew, those who weren't phoning the police or sobbing in corners. He looked at the gray-faced cameramen. "Gosh, am I on television?"
Terry Pratchett & Neil Gaiman

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