…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.
…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.
…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
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.
…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.