Wrung Out To Dry.

June 5th, 2010. "My, God. It's full of jars." I gasped. I lowered my sunglasses, and turned to Darger. He was sniffing at the waxy paper from the package of cheese slices he had been carrying. Then he pulled back a short sleeve of his t-shirt, and sniffed at his armpit. 
    "It's Colby." he stammered.
    "No. It's moldy, you foul bastard!" I told him. "You smell moldy! Like a dead toad wrapped up in a wet towel! Jesus F. Christ!"
Then I fixated my attention back to the extensive, plexus of jars that Darger had burrowed into the ruddy, dirt embankment quietly nestled behind the overgrowth by the loading dock of the Food-4-All.
    "What in the hell is all this?" I demanded. Then I proposed, "Those are your clothes? In those jars? In those holes? You keep your clothes stuffed into jars that you stuff into holes that you dug into the dirt?!" 
    Darger nodded, then slowly reached out and pulled a mayonaise-sized, glass jar from it's singular, dusty, little hole-in-the-wall. He struggled to open it, but ultimately, I knocked it from his hands, and it proudly cracked open like the last rotten egg onto the hard, dry ground. I immediately recognized the damp, tightly-rolled, mass of smelly felt to be one of Darger's old, Traffic Town sweatshirts. 
    "Eeewww!" I choked. "That's dank! You're going to have to air that thing out! It's no wonder you smell like you just sat in a big, pile of mildew."
    Darger grinned. Then he wiped his armpits with the cheese wrapper and said, "It's Colby. I'm going to open a jar of pants, now."
L is for Fourme d'Ambert.

Pow-Wow

June 4th, 2010. On Friday night, under the illuminated bursts of the white phosphorous ordinance exploding over the war-ravaged terrain of Chavez Ravine, the Darger paramilitary troops beat back the streaking, brave, warriors from the Southeast. The Traffic Town army maintained an aggressive edge on the front lines, then rallied late behind an accurately placed Tomahawk missile strike from Number 7.
W is for Muskogee Confederacy

In-Action

June 3rd, 2010. On Thursday night, a tribe of braves, hot off the warpath, 2,200 miles from the sweltering, urban, sprawl of Atlanta, won the 1st of four planned battles here in Traffic Town. The Darger artillery was again stalled, putting a strain on the civil defense resources. Peacekeeping forces will be put to the test this weekend as the long war begins to stretch it's summer legs.
L is for Tonto.

PASSED TIME (No.24)

Glossolalia

June 2nd, 2010. In a cloudless, high-noon showdown, pitted against the same snake-eyed snipers that have been slithering around the dry grasslands of Chavez Ravine for the last two days, the Traffic Town reserves put together an astonishingly accurate recreation of the previous, tedious battle. So, the guns stayed quiet well into the late afternoon.
    The home reservists, with their ammo depot depleted, were unable to sequester an unsolicited advance from the cold-blooded, tail-chasing, reptile regiment, so the Darger regulars were called back into action. Notable exception should be taken of the new recruit, No.59, who was ultimately called on to lead the troops late in the scuffle; he finished off the Arizona enlistees with commanding diplomacy and patience.
    With the wide-eyed, straight-shooter fighting to keep the tiring Darger army on the heels of the foreign raiders, the war-storied veteran, No.9, finally deposited a well-timed mortar to secure another victory, sweeping the last snakes from the city.
W is for reptilia mortius triplicatus

PLAYER2: 1UP

June 1st, 2010. For the second day, the ongoing conflict between the transverse, desert armies turned heated, with neither side able to account for any amount of strategic headway. Both of the professional forces wrestled for control of the field with fluid and coordinated mobilization. The Darger Command ordered No.48, backed by a full regiment of career soldiers, to wreck havoc on the determined, diamondbacked insurgents .
    The young, go-getter matched battlefield bravado with his veteran  war adversary at every turn on Tuesday; not allowing a single enemy combatant to cross the 38th parallel. The ineffectiveness of the Darger cannons allowed the battle to extend beyond the usual timeline of contention, setting up yet another dramatic finish.
    The stage was set for the signature saving graces of the just recently re-deployed No.16, but the heroics belonged to Number 27 when he preemptively delivered a single, devastating cruise missile deep into the cold, coiled, heart of the Arizona defenses.
W is for Wario

The Artful Darger

May 31st, 2010. Through the thick, savory, smoke of Barbeque Hour, on a Memorial Day honoring the countless number of soldiers killed during the Nation's endless warring streak dating back to The War Between The States some 150 years ago, the Traffic Town food-for-powder were thrown right into the fire Monday, as Number 58 let his defenses down, and was ambushed by a hit-and-run Reptoid squad fresh from the hot, hot, borders of the Arizona sun city. 
    The hungry crowd that had gathered for the sun-setting showdown-  those who were not safe at home, basking in the mouth-watering rituals of Carne Asada- witnessed a wild, bamboozling, finish that was as medium-rare as it was daring! After No.99 had brought the Darger army within striking distance with an earlier bombshell over the slithering, picket-line of Arizona offenses, and some erroneous maneuvering by the slandering enemy, Number 23, bluffed a forward advance that hoodwinked the ill-hatted, enemy commander out of his snake hole. The old army game quite literally allowed No.23 to walk right through the enemy lines, and capture the victory, unhanded. 
W is for Booby Traps!