My Life Among The Dice Rolling Geeks

…and how it grew

The Doclopedia #1,375

When Harry Met…: Sasha

Date: June 13th, 1943

Place: First floor girls lavatory, Hogwarts

Tom Riddle walked into the girls lavatory about two minutes after he saw Myrtle Warren run in, sobbing like the blubbering mudblood cow she was. He had a confident smile on his face because he knew that very soon, he would have his first horcrux. Finding the proper spell had been time consuming and expensive, but he had done it.

Finding the Chamber of Secrets had been done without expense, but had taken almost as long. Now, as the rightful heir to Salazar Slytherin, he had the basilisk to command and soon it would kill that worthless girl and help him create the first of several horcruxes, each holding part of his soul and granting him immortality.

Walking over to the sink while ignoring the sobbing coming from the nearby stall, he spoke in Parseltongue and watched as the entrance to the Chamber opened. He spoke again and heard his pet approaching. In a few seconds, it came into the room.

Only to suddenly fall over, dead. Tom whirled around, looking for whatever had done the killing. He had just enough time to feel a sharp sting in his neck before he was wracked with pain and fell to the floor dead.

Sasha Jane Cross walked over and sniffed the bodies. The were dead, no doubt about it.

“Concentrated cone shell venom. Get’s ’em every time.”

She then went over and removed the sound dampener from Myrtle’s stall. Now, that the poor girl could hear what was going on, Sasha spoke to her.

“Hey, Myrtle, come on out. We need to talk.”

The door opened and Myrtle had just enough time to say “You have an American accent!” before Sasha sprayed her with Dream Gas.

Now addressing a totally zonked out girl, Sasha said, “Okay, Myrtle, listen up. You are going to go back to your room and forget ever coming in here. You are also going to find new strength of will and confidence. If anyone teases you, you are going to get right up in their face and tell them to bugger off before you kick their ass. Now run along.”

The human left as ordered and Sasha put up a large sign that read “Goodbye, Heir of Slytherin!” It was very colorful and cheery.

Then she put envelope addressed to Albus Dumbledore and the current headmaster on Tom Riddle’s body before removing the dart from his neck and the much larger one from the basilisk’s midsection. Finished with that, she stepped back and said, “Let’s get outta here, Sweetie.”

A moment later a 1962 Volkswagen Beetle materialized next to her and Sasha climbed it. Then it faded away accompanied by the tinkling of wind chimes.

It was less than 15 minutes later that three fourth year girls walked into the lavatory, saw the bodies and left screaming. Over the next several days, a very thorough investigation took place and it was established that Tom Riddle had indeed found the Chamber of Secrets and was going to attempt a horrific spell. He was deemed to have been killed by persons unknown, the entrance to the Chamber was closed and sealed, the lavatory was completely remodeled and by the start of the next term things were back to normal.

The biggest mystery, however, was never solved: where did all those dog pawprints come from?

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The Only A Couple Of Days Late, But Still Pretty Darned Exciting, Story Of Mostly Purple Patty And The Expired Jar Of Gefilte Fish

…c0-starring her good buddy, Eddie Smulwich

 

Sasha's Bad Day, Part 5 
 

I crawl along the face of the cliff at a pretty good friendly neighborhood Spider-Man clip, which is easy when you have four tentacles and four short little basset hound legs. In no time, I’m a couple of miles away and I see a little mesa with really steep sides off in the distance. Looks like a good place to spend the night.

Now I’m swinging through the trees, well above the reach of any dinosaur. Unfortunately, the forest gives way to about a quarter mile of meadow before I can even start up the sides of the mesa. Not good, because clearings are prime hunting grounds. The ceratopsins and other grazers down below don’t seem to care, but I’m not heavily armored, fast on my feet or part of a herd. I’m gonna need to haul some serious ass and hope my strange appearance confuses any predators.

After a couple of deep breaths, I’m down from the tree and running toward the mesa.



 

 

 

The Way Too Damned Late, But Still Touchingly Sweet, Story Of Mostly Purple Patty And The Lazy Blogger

…co-starring her pet slug, Booger

Sasha's Bad Day, Part 4

It only takes me a couple of minutes to find a nice little 
ledge to sit on while I consider my situation. I got tossed 
into this world when a plasma state circuit on our 
dimensional flux stabilizer shorted out. Bang, a trans-quantum 
tear opened, I got sucked through and next think you know I'm 
trying not to be part of the carnosaur buffet. The question 
now is what to do until help arrives.

See, like everyone in my family, I have a locator beacon inside my brain. It’s about the size of a pea and will allow the Magic Bus find us if this sort of thing happens. The problem is, the multiverse is humongous and the bus has to search through a bunch of realities just to find me. So I could be here awhile. A couple of days, maybe. I’m thinking I need to find a good dinosaur proof shelter, then build a fire. After that, I’ll need food, because all that running has stirred up my appetite.

Demon With A Glass Ham

…that doesn’t seem right

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Sasha's Bad Day, Part 3


After about 15 minutes of thinking nice thoughts about working in my lab or garage back 
home, Otto, my symbiotic ottopus, wakes up enough so that my brain can link with his and 
I can use his four free tentacles as my manipulative limbs. The raptors are still prowling 
around outside, so my only safe way out of this tunnel seems to be a cliffside crawl. 
Fortunately, my tentacles end in 6 smaller tentacle “fingers”, so climbing is very easy on 
anything short of smooth glass.

A quick look shows me that the cliff is rough enough for easy climbing, so I'm out the hole 
and 30 feet down the cliff before the raptors realize I'm gone. Now I just need to find a 
relatively safe place to stop and think.



The Doclopedia #1,338

Interesting Fish: The Giant Flying Fish


The Giant Flying Fish is a magically created version of the common member of the family 
Exocoetidae. Unlike it's smaller cousins, who average about 18 inches long and 2 pounds,  
the giant version can be up to 6 feet long and weigh 20 pounds. They can glide above the 
surface of the ocean for an average of 300 meters, but if the wind is right they may go twice 
that far.

The Giant Flying Fish cannot steer his gliding like the smaller versions do, so the glide path 
is always a straight line at speeds up to 20 miles an hour. Fishermen have been seriously 
injured by collisions with Giant Flying Fish.

Nobody knows why some wizard made these fish so huge, but the fact that they are delicious 
might have something to do with it.





Big Turtles

…like, house sized big

Sorry for not posting anything sooner, but I’ve had distractions and been sick. Not a huge post today, but it is the first part of a story about my Mad Scientist dog, Sasha. I’m writing each part in exactly 5 minutes and will post a new piece every couple of days or so.

PS: Once I completely beat this cold, I’ll resume posting Doclopedia entries.

Sasha’s Bad Day

My name is Sasha Jane Cross and I’m a dog. A basset hound, to be exact. I’m 8 years old, in excellent physical shape and I’m the most intelligent sentient being on the planet Earth. No, really, I am, because I’m STUCK IN THE GODDAMN EARLY CRETACEOUS PERIOD!

For those of you who are not scientists, that means I’m 130 million years in the past from 2017. It also means I’m running like my ass is on fire with an unconscious octopus symbiont on my back, trying not to get eaten by pursuing dinosaurs.

My day has utterly gone to shit.

The Terrible Oyster Gun

…WTF?

 

Sasha Explains It All

News Of My Death Will Be Greatly Exaggerated

Death. It happens to all of us. Happens to ecosystems, both local and global. Happens to planets, stars, galaxies and some folks believe, the universe itself.

You are gonna die. Everybody you know is gonna die. We are ALL going to die.

The trick, of course, is putting it off as long as you possibly can. Now, we’ll limit this discussion to we Terran lifeforms, because that’s who you folks know and besides, once you get into other lifeforms on other worlds, life and death become kind of subjective.

So anyway, this rant is about me dying. No, I’m okay. Healthy as a bitch can be, in fact. I am, however, almost 8 years old and that could well be half or more of my lifespan, so my thoughts do turn toward eventual old age and shuffling off this mortal coil. It’s a common thing among true sentients.

So, for all of you who just thought “Well, Sasha old girl, you’ve still got lots of years left before your turn in the checkout line”, I say “Yo, motherfuckers, I’d be a pretty piss poor Mad Scientist if I couldn’t conquer death, now wouldn’t I?”

I mean, dude, I put my dying sister’s katra (well, OK, about 80% of it) into a fucking indestructible robotic body and now she’s running all over the galaxy in CatEarth 6 and, barring some really gynormous all out assault by a couple of really up on their destructive shit space fleets or maybe a run in with a supermassive black hole, Lulu will be raising hell for a minimum of 7,500 years.

And then there was the time that I created a living man out of dead body parts using old school 1818 mad science straight out of Victor Frankenstein’s own book! Mr. Perkins is doing just fine, thank you very much, and his scars have all faded. He’ll be driving that RV of his around for another hundred years or more.

Let’s not forget that I have also built android bodies for my sibs and non-human friends to use. Okay, so those bodies were kits, but still, I tricked ’em out in my shop.

And finally, you are talking to the Queen Mad Scientist Bitch when it comes to genetic manipulation. If you don’t believe me, just ask my ottopus…or my flying monkeys…or my assorted dinosaurs…or my altered pig lab assistants.

So no, despite the fact that one day Mom & Dad and whatever siblings I have will lay my lifeless body to rest somewhere, I will not be dead. Body dead? Yes. Sasha Jane Cross, PhD (X3) dead? Nope.

I’ll be in a cloned dog body or an android body or maybe some other species or, more likely, I’ll be walking around in a human body with a few genetic upgrades. But I will go on. And on. And on.

Will I want to live a million years? Doubtful. Will I live a few centuries? Count on it.

So when the day comes that Daddy & Mom announce my death, feel free to cry over the passing of the sweetest and smartest and most lovable dog you ever knew. But don’t EVEN think the world has seen the last of me.

Jollyfish

…MUCH happier than Jellyfish

It is that time of year again, folks…

DogCon 9

Day Zero: In which I once again set things up for the actual con report.

Greetings once again from the Magic Bus, currently parked in the driveway of the D&G Cross Home For Not At All Normal Basset Hounds. It is just past 10:30 at night and with the exception of myself and Sasha (Sasha: Had to pee, then eat a snack.), everyone else is asleep after a busy day of hanging out at the Meadow Room, Slide Room, Warehouse, Living Room and then eating too much barbecue for dinner.

Our con going contingent this year consists of myself, Grace, The Girls (Silky, Sasha & Daisy), our friend Avis (the original, this year. Her double from Earth 2 will be staying at her house running errands and reading books) and her cat Leon, our friend Ginie and her cat Roxy & Spike & Mary Jones. We will meet up with other old friends when we get to the con.

Our route this year is, from a driving standpoint, pretty straightforward: head south until we almost reach Mexico, then hang a left and head to central Texas. On the other hand, from a temporal standpoint, the route gets much stranger. Just as we leave home, we will time travel to 1954 (the year of my, Avis and Ginie’s birth) and do our first day’s driving then. The second day, we’ll be in 1968. Third day, 1975. Fourth and final day, 1986. On Monday morning, when we awaken about 45 minutes outside Critter City, we’ll be back in 2016. I’m quite sure everything will go smoothly.

(Sasha: Ha! We can’t change the past, but I reckon we’ll be spinning off alternate realities the way a cat sheds fur.)

Anyway, Sasha and I are heading off to bed, so I’ll continue this report tomorrow. Tune in then!