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<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><rss xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/" xmlns:blogger="http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" version="2.0"><channel><atom:id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053</atom:id><lastBuildDate>Wed, 15 Nov 2023 14:13:12 +0000</lastBuildDate><category>shorts</category><category>horror</category><category>sf</category><category>fantasy</category><category>interlude</category><title>Nasty, Brutish and Short</title><description>Tiny tales of 140 words.</description><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/search/label/shorts</link><managingEditor>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</managingEditor><generator>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>54</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-5285236837151839136</guid><pubDate>Fri, 05 Nov 2010 21:59:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-11-05T21:59:25.940+00:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">horror</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>Cold Case</title><atom:summary type="text">"Hey, guy, any cold sodas?" The kid exuded youthful disdain, hands thrust deep in dark pockets, eyes hard. Adams observed the swagger. Shoplifter? he thought Stick up guy? &nbsp;"Sure," he said. "Big cooler in back of aisle three." You could get there from two but the convex mirror had a better view of three. Adams watched, drumming the cash box with the pistol kept inside. Serving other </atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/11/cold-case.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-6170488950093010116</guid><pubDate>Mon, 01 Nov 2010 22:20:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-11-01T22:20:47.441+00:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>On the importance of good oral hygiene</title><atom:summary type="text">The motionless figure lay raggedly on the floor, an expression of horror contorting his face.&nbsp; Holmes knelt at the body, the fourth found in as many days since the full moon. He reached inside the coat pocket, tossing me what he found there.&nbsp; "One M. Garou you'll find," Holmes pronounced. "Where has this one been bitten?" I inquired. &nbsp;"Watson, look at his teeth." </atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/11/on-importance-of-good-oral-hygiene.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-3615751609349330577</guid><pubDate>Sun, 31 Oct 2010 23:11:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-31T23:11:39.126+00:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">horror</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>Living Colour</title><atom:summary type="text">As the museum burned the police watched Hobbs and his statuary carefully. As wax dripped and ran, twisting and warping into esoteric and erotic poses, steel and aluminium wire was laid bare. "Using human beings as armatures?" Hobbs laughed. "God how beastly. Not to mention graceless and impractical." Lighting a tallow candle he gazed lovingly around his room. "Painting has always been my love,</atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/living-colour.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-7008918911110014786</guid><pubDate>Sun, 31 Oct 2010 23:08:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-31T23:08:28.412+00:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">horror</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>Prisoner's Cinema</title><atom:summary type="text">Probing in darkness with his tongue, Holbeck was pretty sure his gums were shrinking. Pulled back into light, he watched with a grim, detached fascination as old scars ran wet, opening again like painful memories. Barlow, the warden, rolled an orange around one broad, thick hand. "This all can stop, " he said, "you know what we want." He thrust his hand forward. Sharp citrus scent filled </atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/prisoners-cinema.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-9046424600881511663</guid><pubDate>Thu, 28 Oct 2010 21:58:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-30T14:40:48.961+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">horror</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>Infected</title><atom:summary type="text">Scott watched the city from what he laughingly called his Penthouse. They were there as always, the shuffling infected, clogging the streets like a putrid cholesterol. Safe behind his barricade Scott spooned beans into a battered pan. Three hours till night fell, the crowds thinned out and he could make another supply run. Later, crossing the plaza, Scott saw them. One fed, </atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/infected.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-7039245139534468707</guid><pubDate>Wed, 27 Oct 2010 23:48:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-30T14:40:48.962+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">horror</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>Soap</title><atom:summary type="text">"Who did you say you represented?" "Interested parties." The man smiled, his tongue flickering. "Parties who, I may remind you, have significant resources at their disposal." Harry wondered why the offer of money sounded so much like a threat. The buyer leaned in, steepling his gloved fingers. The object on the table between them was greenish stone striated with black. Frankly, it creeped </atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/soap.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-4726753512884249863</guid><pubDate>Tue, 26 Oct 2010 21:55:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-26T22:55:08.915+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>The Travelling Salesman Problem</title><atom:summary type="text">A truck departs at 5.30am, travelling east at 55 mph. Jack leaves home at 5.39am. Travelling&nbsp;430 miles&nbsp;within his territory, and visiting five towns. Each town takes about an hour to travel between, and each meeting Jack has takes approximately 25 minutes. Jack has three assignations en route that will take around 30 minutes each. Which rep is going to receive a truncated </atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/travelling-salesman-problem.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-5707941195567817255</guid><pubDate>Mon, 25 Oct 2010 22:58:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-30T14:40:48.962+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">horror</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>Festival</title><atom:summary type="text">The church was bedecked with garlands of late flowers. Naïve fabric appliqués of vegetables and grain adorned the banners that lined the walls. The children dutifully shuffled in, two by two. Filing into the nave they ambled forward, pressing aimlessly. The adults barely noticed as they were shepherded to the back. The children gathered. At the door a little boy turned a key in the lock and </atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/festival.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-1916299252168225960</guid><pubDate>Mon, 25 Oct 2010 20:09:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-25T21:10:22.835+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>Second to last straw</title><atom:summary type="text">Water had got into the instant coffee tin. Mike sat against the door watching Jared chip a spoon against encrustations like a jilted lover wielding an icepick. "It's shit like that puts me about two steps away from a rampage," said Mike. Jared laughed, putting the carbuncled tin aside. They sat instead with cups of tea, eked thinly from the last bag. "Dwindling supplies," said Jared, "are </atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/second-to-last-straw.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-906757853351979395</guid><pubDate>Sun, 24 Oct 2010 20:26:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-30T14:59:53.641+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">fantasy</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>The trinity of afternoon tea</title><atom:summary type="text">High ceilings echoed with the clink of Wedgwood syncopated with the metronomic tick of knitting needles. The Nyxon sisters worked surrounded by a mountainous cloth expanse. Rills, peaks and gullies draped every surface except for an Arts and Crafts occasional table piled precariously with delicate tea things. Nona leant forward teasing wool from a large skein. "Surely it's time to cast off now</atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/trinity-of-afternoon-tea.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-7346933358605378418</guid><pubDate>Thu, 21 Oct 2010 23:44:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-30T14:40:48.962+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">horror</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>Closet</title><atom:summary type="text">Steve had followed all the instructions and still had pieces over. Always the same with this flat pack furniture, he thought. Obtuse instructions, arcane pictograms, like some carpenter's strange invocation. "The power of joinery bids you arise!" He dropped his hands, laughing uneasily. Steve'd always had this thing about wardrobes; it had taken some courage to buy the damn thing. You should</atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/closet.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-5914331181046541733</guid><pubDate>Thu, 21 Oct 2010 22:34:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-30T14:41:34.605+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">horror</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>Cryptid</title><atom:summary type="text">Bocharkov entered the dimly lit signal room, coffee in hand, wafting his way through a dense cloud of smoke. Vasiliy Kropotkin lit another cigarette. His fifth since he came on shift. "Dimitri, listen to this," said Kropotkin. They'd been pulling double shifts since the escape; monitoring chatter, sigint intercepts, movements of Cellar operatives. The FSB had always maintained a cordial </atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/cryptid.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-2118088160908360627</guid><pubDate>Tue, 19 Oct 2010 21:13:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-21T23:32:30.626+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>A problem shared.</title><atom:summary type="text">Tom's eye was drawn by a laughing group of girls in the corner. "Cheer up you bell-end." Charlie grinned at Tom, placing fresh pints in front of them.&nbsp;He extricated two packs of crisps from his pocket.&nbsp; "Head's up!" he called, throwing one squarely at Tom's head. Tom sighed. "Do you think that she's, y'know?" "Dude, she's single. She has a pulse and </atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/problem-shared.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-8970080951259504287</guid><pubDate>Mon, 18 Oct 2010 22:20:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-30T14:42:05.249+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">sf</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>The Whole Truth</title><atom:summary type="text">It started one day in July. At first the scientists claimed it was a virus, eventually admitting they didn't have a clue. The usual crackpots spewed forth theories and politicians summarily rejected them. And then of course, everyone admitted everything and things became unbearable. Truth is a piercing arrow. Tertullian was right about the first reaction being hatred. Within days there </atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/whole-truth.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-255652283176091930</guid><pubDate>Mon, 18 Oct 2010 22:17:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-30T14:42:22.691+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">sf</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>R&R</title><atom:summary type="text">Quinn swam in fire, his body contorting as searing flames blackened, crisped with an indescribable pain . His skin was slick, heat-stretched and taut as he fought his way upward, kicking against liquid pain, searching for the cool surface. He broke, gasping, agony rolling over him in incandescent waves. Slowly the lapping subsided leaving him sweat soaked and shaking. His eyes flickered in the</atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/r.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-195136310885036781</guid><pubDate>Mon, 18 Oct 2010 22:15:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-30T14:42:32.749+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">horror</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>What I did on my summer vacation</title><atom:summary type="text">It was a good beach. First day I found lots of shells on the black sand. My dad said they were baloney shells. We talked mom into camping up the King Range. It was hot and steep, but my dad carried me sometimes on his shoulders. I said he should carry mom too, she laughed. When it got dark we set up camp in the trees. It was cooler. I saw a big dog, but my dad said there weren't any dogs up on </atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/what-i-did-on-my-summer-vacation.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-5863414591707318991</guid><pubDate>Sat, 16 Oct 2010 09:39:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-30T14:59:53.641+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">fantasy</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>True Love's Kiss</title><atom:summary type="text">One day a young princess dropped her golden ball into the river at the very bottom of the palace gardens. Almost at once a small green frog swam to the surface. "I'll fetch it," he croaked. "If you will but let me eat from your plate and sleep in your bed." The princess stared. "You are joking, right?" She said. "My dad, the king, right, he can just buy me another ball." And off she flounced</atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/true-loves-kiss.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-7084379159338786793</guid><pubDate>Thu, 14 Oct 2010 23:11:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-30T14:44:10.216+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">horror</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>Sharashka</title><atom:summary type="text">The alarm was silent, a red light flashing insistently. Demikhov knew what it meant. And where. With great reluctance he pressed the button that would summon Director Simonov. Even in the near darkness, the cell gleamed wetly. "Is this his blood?" said Simonov. "We don't know sir, we're doing a sweep now." The guard studiously avoided looking into the cell, &nbsp;"But, you know what he was."</atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/sharashka.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-9079566936223701181</guid><pubDate>Wed, 13 Oct 2010 21:41:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-30T14:44:22.786+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">sf</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>Living by the river</title><atom:summary type="text">The field-dampers did a good job of suppressing the mildly telepathic effects of the nyarlothol-rich atmosphere on Reno. Meant no one knew I'd flopped the nut: two aces, an eight, with an ace in the hole. I went all in. The three-eyed dealer whirred and clicked dealing the turn. Another ace - man, the poon I was gonna buy. The hard-faced prospector on my left folded. Just me and big guy </atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/living-by-river.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-890204238174071434</guid><pubDate>Tue, 12 Oct 2010 23:14:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-30T14:43:42.699+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">sf</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>Wherever you go...</title><atom:summary type="text">Smiling broadly, Donaldson walked back to the transmitter looking at his stopwatch. It had taken five minutes to cross a distance he covered in four strides, but by his calculations it'd take five minutes no matter how far apart the base stations were placed. The delay was packing and unpacking the Bekenbytes of data and the up-port time to the spintronic cloud server. After the initial </atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/wherever-you-go.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-5967838118739557201</guid><pubDate>Mon, 11 Oct 2010 22:42:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-11T23:42:06.771+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>Autumn</title><atom:summary type="text">The smell of burning leaves brought back odd, jumbled memories of Autumn. No one blamed me of course. You're lucky to be alive, they told me. But I was ashamed by the insensate workings of random chance. I've heard it said that losing a loved one is like losing a limb. It isn't. It took less than a second for the truck to shear off the front of the car. Over an hour to cut us from the </atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/autumn.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-690417102807206277</guid><pubDate>Sun, 10 Oct 2010 22:58:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-30T14:59:53.641+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">fantasy</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>Zeitgeist</title><atom:summary type="text">Five o'clock, a cold morning in early March. Dawn trembled below the horizon, a scintillating arc throwing daggers of light at the silent stars. A shiver of ghosts sat, inasmuch as they can, round a stone circle at the centre of the graveyard. Haggard, misty, a Cavalier and a Duke talked of hauntings past. An ephemeral cut-purse bemoaned local gentrification. He now haunted luxury apartments </atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/zeitgeist.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-7537646476235873344</guid><pubDate>Sat, 09 Oct 2010 20:26:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-30T14:44:46.568+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">horror</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>Good Morning</title><atom:summary type="text">Esther Gray enjoyed her retirement far less than her old team. Flicking channels, watching stock tickers with growing annoyance, she silently cursed her decaf and her oncologist. The only tough calls she made nowadays was how far she could be from a bathroom. Two stuporous flies bumbled in with the chill morning air as she opened the door out to the deck. She snarled, swatting at them with her</atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/good-morning.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-7827215566339251269</guid><pubDate>Fri, 08 Oct 2010 20:53:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-30T14:59:53.642+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">fantasy</category><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>The First Winter</title><atom:summary type="text">Autumn coughed itself out in a flurry of leaves, winding down like a dray horse spent at harvest end. As the first chill of winter rode the wind, Geir sat warming himself by the forge and watched as a wasp buzzed angrily through the smoke and, buffeted by the heat, spiralled toward Gideon. Lifting his round face to the noise Gideon followed the path of the wasp and, reaching out a pudgy hand, </atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/first-winter.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink="false">tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5989100507269405053.post-5676604782415807767</guid><pubDate>Thu, 07 Oct 2010 20:38:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2010-10-07T21:38:45.792+01:00</atom:updated><category domain="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#">shorts</category><title>Misfits</title><atom:summary type="text">The pub was quiet, a corner of the bar girded by a set of chairs. A polite looking man sat with a little handwritten sign, Communicating Socially. I looked on as some mongs and a couple of retards signed in and were given name badges. I called the barman over. "What on earth are they doing?" I asked him. And he told me. Their stumbling, stilted efforts to learn social niceties had all the </atom:summary><link>http://nastybrutishshorts.blogspot.com/2010/10/misfits.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Raymonkey)</author><thr:total>0</thr:total></item></channel></rss>If you would like to create a banner that links to this page (i.e. this validation result), do the following:
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