# [Fiction] Story #3 posted 1/11, "Glorg the Monster"



## Number47 (Dec 24, 2002)

Well, I just couldn't bring myself to hold out any longer, I have to join the Story Hour. Here is a piece of fiction that I wrote a while back. I would like to submit it for publication at some point in time, so don't tell nobody you read it here.

This one is "Television Man", scroll down for other stories as I post them.

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My television no longer worked. That is to say, of course nobody’s television truly worked anymore, but mine didn’t function whatsoever. As I sat watching it at night, I would miss the snowy screen, how it warmed me. I consoled myself, because after all, some people didn’t have real TV’s at all and had to make do with cardboard boxes. At least my TV was real.

I missed television, missed it a lot. I still watched every night. Who didn’t? But it wasn’t nearly the same without any programs. It was even worse now that I didn’t even get static. I always wondered why they called it static, it seemed to be so constantly in motion. I would pretend that they were ants swarming across the TV and that if they stopped for long enough, that there really might be a picture underneath. “Get off there, you ants,” I would say. “Can’t you see that you’re covering up Lucille Ball?” But I would do this quietly, even self-consciously. I wouldn’t want my neighbors to think I’m crazy. Even worse, some of them didn’t have TVs. I wouldn’t want to give them the idea to steal mine.

I admit I do watch TV a lot. Who doesn’t? But I’m not lazy. I have a job. Actually, I don’t think they let you keep your TV if you don’t have a job. I’m not really sure, I’ve always had both. I work at MultiErgonics, Inc. I’m not sure if the name means anything. I’ve asked my coworkers, but they don’t know either.

I don’t see my coworkers much. I have my own little room I work in, with nobody else. I only see others when I get a drink of water or have to use the bathroom. I used to see them more when I took lunch, but now I eat lunch in my workroom. I’ve found it more comforting to be in there since my TV broke because there’s a big TV-like screen there. It doesn’t do anything, show pictures or ants or even a blue screen, but it does hum so I know it still works. Maybe when the TV pictures come back, the screen will come back, too. When the pictures come back. If they do.

It was three years ago, I guess. I tend to forget about time, day or date because there’s no Good Morning America to help me along anymore. Everyone else says so, too. I remember the night perfectly. Who doesn’t? I was watching an old movie, The Bachelor and the Bobbysoxer. I remember they had started to show older and older things because they were running out of things people hadn’t seen before. It was maybe halfway through the movie when all of a sudden it was gone. There was only snow. At first I was impatient, certain that it was only a minor interruption like so many times before. After a while I became concerned, worried that maybe it was my television set. After a long time, I wandered into the street in a vague search for an answer. There were a lot of people milling around just like me. “Did your set go out?” “Yeah.” “Mine too.” Some were crying. I wanted to cry, too. I remember sitting down on the curb, gasping for breath, eyes welling up. A stranger came by and threw her arms around me and just said softly, “I know. I know.” I was grateful for her embrace, but it was not nearly as soft and warm as the glow from my TV had been.

I didn’t sleep that night. After realizing there was no comfort or elucidation in the streets, everyone wandered back to their homes one by one. I sat there all night, unblinking, trying to will my TV back to life. I pleaded with it mentally, told it I loved it, stayed with it well past dawn to show it my utter devotion, my belief that it would still make things better. It was a test, I told myself. If my faith in TV is strong, surely it won’t forsake me. Only a test, I said. My hopes, slowly over the months, rotted down to a dull, aching emptiness.

Still, I’m lucky I have a job I like. It’s not difficult to do, but took a lot of training. I wait in the dim room of buttons, the room where I work alone. If the red button flashes, I have to press the pink button. If the green button flashes, I press the blue one. Now if the orange button flashes, I have to either press the green or the magenta button depending on what was the last button to flash. But I won’t bore you with shop talk.

My favorite part is my scheduled water break. I get to stand by the water cooler and talk with my work friends for ten minutes. It was really difficult for a while after the TV stopped. We had nothing to talk about. We just stood there and someone would say, “Last night would’ve been Movie of the Week.” Someone else would say, “Yep, every Monday. Sure miss it.” Then we would all get quiet again. Sometimes we talked about shows we had watched a long time ago, back when there was TV, but we would have to stop before we got all choked up. We are at work, after all. Eventually somebody, I think it was Fred, started telling us about what he was watching on TV. He was pretty shy about it at first, embarrassed I guess, but we encouraged him. He told us that he watched the static and imagined that he was really watching a documentary about snow. He would turn the volume up and it would sound like snow, too. Then he imagined what would the commentators be saying if we could hear them over the storm? It really got us all thinking. After all, why not talk about what we were watching on TV? We all still watched TV, even though it didn’t really come on anymore. Who didn’t? A couple days later, I told them about the ants I saw on the screen. They all laughed and said, “Yep, they sure do seem like ants. Don’t we all wish we could just up and brush them off?”

Tim had one of those TVs that just showed a blue screen when there wasn’t a signal. He imagined that it was water. Bright blue glowing water, like it was irradiated or from another planet, maybe. He said he liked to sit back and watch the alien water and wait to see if he could glimpse an alien. Sometimes he would put his ear right up to the glass and listen for them. He says that he thinks that he can almost hear voices. Beautiful, blue, liquid voices. I like it when it’s his turn to talk about what he watches on TV. It makes me kind of float away.

I get embarassed when they ask me. I tried lying for a little while, recalling to them about the ants. They would just say, “That again?” I eventually told them that my TV stopped working, but I still watched it. I usually liked to pretend that I was looking at space. Like I was an astronaut traveling so far in deep space that the only thing outside was black.

We talked about our odds of ever having TV again. Real TV, that is. I just started figuring that if TV miraculously came back, well why shouldn’t my TV start working again, too? As long as I came home from work every day and pulled the knob and sat in front of it, surely I would be rewarded with working TV when it all came back. If it came back.

I think the loneliest part of my day is when I pull the knob on the TV. Nothing happens. Not even the warm hum to greet me. I still make sure to pull the knob, though, and push it in when I go to bed. It wouldn’t feel like TV watching if I didn’t. If I didn’t, it would seem somehow…dirty.

I have bad thoughts sometimes. Sometimes I think briefly, maybe I shouldn’t sit here in front of my dead TV, maybe I should just take a walk instead. I resist these thoughts, try to remain strong. It will all be better again when TV comes back.

If it comes back.


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## Number47 (Dec 26, 2002)

If anyone would care to comment, that would be great


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## drs (Dec 27, 2002)

I'm not really a wordy person, so I can't comment on the writing style and stuff like that. Though I can say; after reading it, I wanted to go hug my TV.


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## EvilMountainDew (Dec 30, 2002)

When I was done there was only one thing that came to my mind. What was your inspiration?

I have never thought of the things the workers did, I always knew what it was, knew what it would look like again, and again, but what time frame is it in?

One more word,

DAMN



PS. not sure if i can say damn, but i did.. twice


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## Number47 (Jan 1, 2003)

MDaddict said:
			
		

> *When I was done there was only one thing that came to my mind. What was your inspiration?
> 
> I have never thought of the things the workers did, I always knew what it was, knew what it would look like again, and again, but what time frame is it in?*




Well, I originally wrote this one about ten years ago. I hadn't been divorced long from my first wife and I was smoking pot every day and generally going through a rough time. When I got high, I would look out the sliding glass door of my apartment into the black night and fantasize that the rest of the world was gone, that outside of the room I was in, there was only empty space. That became the "empty space" fantasy. About the time that I realized I smoked too much pot, but before I had actually quit, I came to realize that I would watch anything on TV. Didn't matter, so long as it kept me from thinking. I rather figured everyone else did, too, or why would these god-awful shows still be on? That got me to wondering what people would do if there simply was no TV. That was the seed of the story. The setting is "vaguely futuristic". I can't answer better than that. There is no bonus background material, if you've read the story, you know as much as I do.

P.S. The good news is that I'm much better now. Clean, happy, good marriage and kid. But I still like to write stuff like this.


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## kenjib (Jan 2, 2003)

Hi there.  I like it.  Here are a few things that I noticed that you might want to look into before submitting it somewhere.  I think you should go for it.  Good luck!



> I’m not really sure, I’ve always had both.




I believe that this is a run on sentence.



> I have my own little room I work in, with nobody else.




This sentence doesn't seem right.  I don't think the comma belongs, and "with nobody else" sounds awkward to me for some reason.  I think you also need a "to" in the sentence.  Perhaps something like:  "I have my own little room to work in by myself."



> It doesn’t do anything, show pictures or ants or even a blue screen, but it does hum so I know it still works.




Everything after the first element in this list is a subset of "do anything," so why are they presented in the same list?  It's like saying, "I have seen every kind of animal and a cat too."  In addition, after you say that it doesn't do anything you say that it hums...



> Then he imagined what would the commentators be saying if we could hear them over the storm?




Then he imagined what the commentators *would* be...

or

Then he imagined, "What would the commentators be..."



> He imagined that it was water. Bright blue glowing water, like it was irradiated or from another planet, maybe.




The subject of "like" is "water", but in your simile you are referring to the way it glows, not the water.  Perhaps a more correct wording would be something like this:  "Bright blue water, glowing like it was..."



> I tried lying for a little while, recalling to them about the ants.




Is "recalling to them about" correct usage?



> Sometimes I think briefly, maybe I shouldn’t sit here in front of my dead TV, maybe I should just take a walk instead.




Perhaps:

...I think briefly that maybe...dead TV, that maybe...

or

...I think briefly, "Maybe...



> He imagined that it was water. Bright blue glowing water, like it was irradiated or from another planet, maybe.






> Maybe when the TV pictures come back, the screen will come back, too. When the pictures come back. If they do.






> He says that he thinks that he can almost hear voices. Beautiful, blue, liquid voices.






> We talked about our odds of ever having TV again. Real TV, that is.




There are lots of sentence fragments in your story.  Above are only a few examples.  There are many more.  It's a stylistic thing for you, correct?  If so, perhaps make sure that you are doing this self consciously to achieve a specific effect (I'm not saying that you aren't already).  Where is this device used?  I can see how a repetition effect is achieved with, "When the pictures come back. If they do," as it repeats at the end.  Do all the additional sentence fragments peppered throughout the piece support the pacing of the story or do they detract from this one "refrain" that you want to emphasize?

Also, with regards to some of the errors I've pointed out, they are for the most part common in colloquial usage, so I suppose one could argue that such grammar (as opposed to more literary grammar) somehow fits with the "TV junkie" theme of the piece.  I dunno though.  Without anything to contrast with it's hard to tell when it is on purpose and when it is simply done in error.

I'm neither an editor nor a professional writer, so I could be wrong about any and all points above.  I'm just trying to be helpful and point you toward some things I noticed.  Perhaps someone better qualified can chime in...


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## Number47 (Jan 2, 2003)

Thank you for your analysis! To answer, I wrote the piece is "dialogue", following a much looser form of grammar. However, you have pointed out some out-and-out mistakes, also. It's funny, you pointed out some of the same things that were already bothering me. I will change before submitting, then update it here.


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## Number47 (Jan 5, 2003)

*[story 2] End*

Okay, here is story number 2. I just wrote it a couple days ago, it hasn't been proofread. Minor spelling or grammar corrections are appreciated. In-depth criticism is appreciated, too.

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When John woke up that morning, he knew the world was going to end. It was a winter Saturday, otherwise ordinary. Although it was the weekend, John was up at the crack of dawn. He had always been an early riser. The best part of the day to enjoy the paper and coffee. On that morning, the last morning, he brought in the paper before he put the pot on, even though he had always done it the other way around. He was very curious to see if the news, that the world was going to end before midnight, had made the headlines.

Unfortunately, the paper wasn’t there. John supposed that the paperboy might not have deemed it important to deliver, what with the world ending and everything. Just as John knew the world was ending, so did he know that everyone knew it. You didn’t have to ask how he knew, or how he knew that everyone knew. That’s like asking how he knew how to see or hear. You just did. Might as well have a cup and see if the paper won’t arrive anyway. John still was curious to find out how his football team did, even though there was obviously no hope for the Superbowl now.

Morning television wasn’t something that interested John much. He preferred to get his news from the paper, where he could pore over it and re-read what needed re-reading. Besides, it sometimes woke up Nan. Well, just this once maybe give the boob tube a turn. He flicked it on and put some water on the stove. Nancy preferred tea in the morning. The Early Show was just opening.

“Good morning, everyone! My name is Roger Stotski, and I’m filling in today. All of our regular reporters have decided to spend this last day at home, and who could blame them on such a beautiful day? It’s bright and sunny today, an unseasonal forty already and it just promises to get warmer on this beautiful Saturday here in New York,” John hated when the television assumed that all the watchers lived in the big city. John lived in the suburbs of New York city all his life and made it a point to avoid the huge city as much as possible. “I’ll get the weather to you as soon as possible, if our weatherman shows up. Joining me on the set right now is the office secretary, Amanda Kyle. She has graciously offered to step up and help me host this final showing. For those of you just tuning in, I am Roger Stotski, this is my first and last day on the air, and this is Amanda Kyle, good friend of mine with whom I have been having an affair for the last several months.”

“Thank you, Roger,” Amanda sat down, fussing with the little microphone attached to her shirt. Amanda wasn’t a real looker, but she had a certain charm. “Thank you for asking me to be your co-host and thank you for the wonderful relationship. No point in keeping it secret now, is there?” The hosts shared a almost-genuine television laugh.

“Top story today,” continued Roger, “is that the world is ending...”

Amanda interrupted, “More like lack of a story, Roger.”

“I guess you’re right, Amanda. Not much story to it, as if you’re watching this, you already know. The world is ending by midnight local time tonight. For those of you wondering, it will be ending for each locale on Earth at midnight on their local time. So if you have relatives or loved ones that live to the east of you, please remember to call early.”

“Roger, when and where will the world starting ending?”

“I don’t follow you, Amanda.”

“What I mean is that it is midnight somewhere in the world all the time. Are we measuring from the international dateline, or Greenwich time?”

“That’s a good question. Why don’t we see if we can get confirmation while we take this little commercial break?”

John flicked the television off as Nancy came downstairs. Nothing worth knowing there, and those two hosts were to amateur to bother watching. Nan yawned and stretched as she hit the bottom step. “Good morning, love of my life,” John called to her.

“Well,” she remarked, “what makes you so chipper today? I assume it’s because you won’t have to fix the washer for me now?” Nancy seemed pretty cheery, herself. Normally, she was grumpy as a bear getting up.

“Won’t I?”

She laughed. “Doesn’t seem worth it now, does it? I mean, I certainly have no plans on doing any washing today. Unless you think you need more than four pair of underpants today?” She laughed as she poured water in her mug.

“Of course, dear. Where was my mind?” He sipped his coffee thoughtfully. “Do we have any plans today, hon?” For years now, he had given up keeping track of anything. If he needed to go anywhere or do anything, she’d tell him.

“Well...not much. I was going to go to the grocery. We probably don’t have to do that, unless you want eggs. Sarah had asked us by for dinner tonight. We don’t have to go if you don’t like. There was some football game you had wanted to see. When was that?”

“Don’t expect they’ll play, do you?”

“Wouldn’t they? I would have thought it fun to get one more game in.”

“The one today? That’s just a college game. I won’t miss seeing it, and those boys would probably rather spend time with their girls or mothers then play some silly game. Well, I half suspect that it isn’t a game for these guys anymore. Who wants to work on a Saturday, anyways.” The things coming out of his mouth surprised him a little. For years he had been watching football with an intense passion. It was never just a game to him before. Just didn’t seem important now. Then, when he thought of those kids seeing their mothers. His own mother had lain in the grave for nearly ten years now. Maybe he could see her again, after today.  “No chance of the Superbowl now,” he said with a tinge of regret, thinking of game that should have been tomorrow.

“They weren’t exactly having a good season anyways, dear.”

“Well, if they won the rest of the season...” he trailed off. It was an old argument. In fact, he said the same thing every single year, eventually. “Let’s just spend the day together. Just you and I.”

So the whiled away the day together. John even fixed the washer and Nancy even tidied and vacuumed. It just seemed...right. They smiled and laughed with each other. They dug up the old Scrabble box and played a couple games, not even keeping score. Even Meatball, their cat, seemed to be having a good day. Everyone had a good day, everywhere. It was a day without war or fighting or hurtful words. There was no crying or despair. Some people carried on with their jobs, because it just seemed sensible and things should be completed. Some people dropped all responsibility, because to them that seemed responsible. When John and Nancy went to the supermarket, because John did want eggs after all, the clerk rang up every item and bagged it, but refused to take the money. When John asked him why he had bothered to scan the items, or even to come to work, the kid just shrugged and said, “that’s my job.”

At nine o’clock that night, John was flipping through the stations on the television in their bedroom. “Nothing good on,” he grumbled to Nancy.

“There’s never anything good on. You say the same thing every night,” she looked at him from over her crossword puzzle with the same bemused expression that all women who fall in love with curmudgeons have. “It’s going on nine, why don’t you turn that thing off?”

John flicked the thing off and dropped the remote carelessly on the floor. He fingered the frilly pattern on the bedspread. He didn’t like it. In fact, he had never liked this bedroom. Nancy had insisted it be done up all frilly. Well, that wasn’t actually true. Nancy had asked him what he would like and he had just said ‘I don’t care’. Maybe he should’ve said something when he had the chance. “Nancy?”

“Hmm?” She was busy at the crossword.

John wasn’t sure if he should say anything. Did he even have her attention? “Do you ever regret marrying me?”

She laid the book aside. “There have been some moments, dear, but I always come back to the fact that I have been happier with you than at any other time of my life.” She took his hand and kissed it sweetly.

“Do you think we’re supposed to do anything? Should we make love one last time?”

“Dear, you know just as well as I do that we are not required to do anything by anybody. It’s been a good day and a good night and that’s all you can hope for, isn’t it? Now, I can tell you’re tired, so why don’t you go take your pills?”

“You’re a good woman. I love you,” he kissed her.

By the time John had gone through his usual nightly ritual, Nancy had finished the puzzle and settle into bed. He kissed her again after turning out the light. He wondered if the impending end of everything would keep him from falling asleep or if it would wake him when it happened. It didn’t.


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## Number47 (Jan 8, 2003)

Is nobody reading these?


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## blargney (Jan 11, 2003)

These are really good reading, 47!

I stopped watching television about 6 years ago, so the first one is a haha-aren't-other-people-silly story for me.  I'm base enough to enjoy a good short story that slags things that I don't like! 

The semi-articulate dialogue style works very well for a story narrated by a TV addict, and any grammatical faults just add depth (shallowness!) to the character!

The second story is very enjoyable!  Most people's priorities are in all the wrong places, and reminders like that are never out of place.

Thank you for sharing your stories!
-blarg

ps - If cleaning up your life helped you write (and more importantly *post*) those shorts, thank you for putting yourself in order!


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## Tisvon (Jan 11, 2003)

Well, I jus† read both of em'


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## Number47 (Jan 11, 2003)

*Glorg the Monster*

I was so pleased to see the post count rise a little and get a couple responses, it inspired me to write a new story. I just finished it two minutes ago.

_______________________


Timmy cowered on his bed. The lights were out. It was bedtime, really for real bedtime no more asking for water or waking up daddy for any reason bedtime. The door was closed. It was supposed to be open, there was supposed to be the hall light on. Mommy was away visiting grandma who was old and sick, though, and Timmy couldn’t wake up daddy again to tell him. He also couldn’t get out of bed, because there might be something under it.

There was a nightlight. It helped. It wasn’t really working too good, though, and that scared Timmy. It was the kind that was supposed to know if it was dark or light, but it kept flickering like it wasn’t really sure. Timmy curled up under the covers, afraid to close his eyes because that made the room darker. His Power Ranger pajamas were in a twist and slightly damp from perspired fear, but he couldn’t straighten them. If he made any motion, it might bring the monster out, or wake up daddy. He wasn’t sure which was more feared.

Then, as his eyes were so heavy he was nearly asleep, there was a faint ‘tick’ noise. Timmy opened his eyes wide in fear, especially because he hadn’t realized they had been closed. The nightlight was out. The room was only lit by what little light made it from the streetlamp two houses up through the tangled bones of the tree outside his window. There was definitely something moving, something breathing. Timmy made a noiseless scream and covered himself head to foot with the blanket, even though it made the air hot and stale.

Something moved. Something creaked. Timmy breathed hotly, loud in the closed confine of his blanket coffin. That noise was surely something moving under the bed. That noise sounded like something moving around on the floor. THAT noise sounded like a big, hairy beast with long sharp claws and drooling fangs and eyes the size of dinner plates leaning right over his bed and looking at him!

“Hey, kid,” a soft and low voice said next to the bed. It was the kind of voice that wanted to tell you a secret.

Timmy only managed an ‘ulp’ noise and barely held onto his bladder.

“Nice room you got here, kid,” the voice said.

“Are you a monster?” Timmy quietly whispered.

“Yeah, that’s right, kid. Everybody calls me a monster, even without getting to know me. I was under your bed until the freaking light finally went out. You know how long I been under there? You sure must not like the dark.” There was a sound of fumbling, then a grunt. “Feels good to finally stretch the old protoplasm, if you know what I mean. Eh, of course you don’t. You’re just a kid, after all.”

“Are you going to eat me?”

“You know, kid, that really ticks me off. Oh, Glorg lives under a bed and can’t come out into the light, he must be a monster,” the monster said in a bitterly sarcastic voice. “Glorg is a monster, he must eat children. You know kid, you didn’t even bother to ask my name before you started making assumptions about my basic nature. Hell, you haven’t even bother to look at me. Maybe I don’t even look like a monster, ay?”

Timmy kept the thin little blanket up over him, for what little protection that offered. “Do you have claws and fangs?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Then you’re a monster.”

“Okay, kid. Point. But that doesn’t have to mean I’m bad, does it? You don’t have to hate me, you know. I got it tough enough as it is without anybody hating me. I mean, look at my life. I live under a kid’s bed. Not a very tidy kid, either, if you know what I mean. You know what I eat for dinner every night? Spiders, that’s what! And no, they aren’t a tasty treat for monsters. You should be grateful, you hate spiders. I heard you caterwauling for your mommy plenty of times when you thought you saw one. So maybe you could go a little easier on me, hey?”

“Sorry,” Timmy muttered fearfully.

“Hey, that’s better. Just you wait, old Glorg is gonna show you what kind of guy he is. I can be really nice. Really, I can be. Hey, why don’t you come out from under there and we can get acquainted like civilized people?”

“I...” Timmy felt scared, but embarrassed about it. “I don’t think I want to.”

“Hey, Timmy, you realize that it’s only a blanket you’ve got there, right? I mean, do you really think that tiny scrap of fabric is somehow holding me back? Come on kid. Get real. Just show me your face, so I know who I’m talking to. Maybe we can be pals.”

Timmy thought maybe the monster was right. What good was the blanket, after all, if he was a vicious monster. “Okay, Glorg. Just don’t do anything scary.”

“Hey, kid. Trust me, okay?”

Timmy lowered the blanket down to get a glimpse of Glorg. Having waited for just that moment, Glorg quickly seized Timmy’s head in his huge, taloned paw and yanked Timmy out of bed, holding him before his fanged snout and inspecting him with dinner plate sized eyes.

“You said you were nice! You said you wouldn’t hurt me!”

“Actually, kid. I never said I was nice or wouldn’t hurt you. I merely accused you of thinking that I wasn’t. You shouldn’t have let down the blanket, kid. Tough luck, so long.” With that, Glorg tossed Timmy up and swallowed him in one gulp. Sweeping up a couple of spiders to take along, he crept back under the bed, back into the dark world, and waited for another child’s bed to open up to him, humming to himself.


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## blargney (Jan 12, 2003)

*Re: Glorg the Monster*



			
				Number47 said:
			
		

> *“Actually, kid. I never said I was nice or wouldn’t hurt you. I merely accused you of thinking that I wasn’t. You shouldn’t have let down the blanket, kid. Tough luck, so long.” With that, Glorg tossed Timmy up and swallowed him in one gulp.*




Who'da thunk it?  Rules lawyers are actually evil monsters.

That was really fun 47!  Thanks
-blarg


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## Victim (Jan 16, 2003)

So how come the monster couldn't get past the blanket?  Is it like a circle of protection or something?


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## seasong (Mar 6, 2003)

Same reason a vampire has to be invited into your home, and holding a holy symbol is necessary for a cleric - we like to think our belief in something makes it so, and so in our fairy tales, it is! That is to say, it's not the blanket, it's the belief in the blanket.

For that matter, the TV Man has the same problem, except that his belief _isn't_ making it so.

Number47, nice short-shorts!


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