<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064233679372256517</id><updated>2012-02-16T17:30:49.709-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stories Better Left Untold</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Skäggapan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00707248125904053837</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LIltNThYgdU/SofnpgxYsVI/AAAAAAAAAdA/Q713jPzWyKQ/S220/Tremblant+slush.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>15</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064233679372256517.post-2324150327237811510</id><published>2010-01-28T10:32:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-28T11:02:49.426-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Chapter Twenty.</title><content type='html'>Withering in agony, I struggle to open my eyes as they adjust to the harsh brightness of the cabin. My pupils dart back and forth around the room to locate the source of the voice as well as the cushiony goodness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Behind you.' says the voice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Staggering, I manage to pull myself up and straighten my damp clothes. I turn around and see the back of a grand chair facing a roaring fireplace. A faint trail of cigarette smoke emanating from the other side of the chair. Tired of being kept in the dark throughout my journey (both figuratively and literally), I storm towards the seat and its mysterious occupant. 'Look, I don't take too kindly to being bashed in the grapefruits.' I growl as I grab the back of the chair and swing it around.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My jaw fell open. Chuck Norris!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Expecting someone else?' he asks as he flicks his cigarette into the fire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speechless, I glance down at his hands as he rises out of the chair and approaches me. He's holding a copy of the ancient text I was told to find. I stumble backwards, tripping over a night table and accidentally knock over a lantern which quickly ignites the carpet and begins to quickly spread throughout the cabin. 'Looking for this?' he says as he holds up the book. 'How about this, then?' he holds up a blue orchid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Listen to me.' I begin. 'I only came here to see an old woman-' 'You mean her?' he cuts me off and points to a nearby room closet. Blood pooling from under the door crack. 'You see Mr.Kingsbury, you've been going on for quite some time about being "awesome". Quite frankly, I cannot permit you to continue with this nonsense. This book and orchid holds the key to truly understand how to overpower me.' I watch in horror as he tosses both items into the fire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Oh, yes, I know all about your little trip here. The zamboni, the Dane, the squirrels, everything. Who do you think conveniently left a truck for you? A zamboni? The potato head. They all work for me. It was I who trained that squad of ninja hamsters to clear out this town 2 years ago in preparation for your arrival. It's amazing what animal Russian ex-cons will do for a simple Etch-a-sketch.' A slick, Texas Ranger grin grows along his face. Trembling, I bolt for the door knowing full well no man can take on a fully charged Chuck Norris.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'You can't escape, Mr.Kingsbury! I own this town! I own this fucking country! Nobody will believe you!' he bellows from beyond the flaming cabin. I run off the dock and dive into the bayou. The cool water brings me back to my senses. I swim for as long as I can. I surface a good 20 minutes later and see several boats beside the flaming cabin. I make out Norris and his renegade rangers pointing in my direction. It's then that I notice that I'm inadvertently leaving a trail of algea as I swim, leading them straight back to me. 'Shit!' I think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In full panic mode, I go as fast as I can towards the darkened shore a mile away. I grow tired... muscles ache... can't breathe no more... fainting... I begin to slip deeper beneath the waves... I hear the voices of Norris' goons and their boats in the distance. I slip under the water for what seems to be the last time. Then a hand comes crushing through the surface, grabs my weak hand, and pulls me onto a seadoo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Stay quiet and do exactly as I say.' orders the stranger. He punches the engine and the craft roars to life. We floor it across the lake to the other side of the bayou, far from Norris. In the blue glow of the illuminated display, I make out a face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sean Connery.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8064233679372256517-2324150327237811510?l=betterleftuntold.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/feeds/2324150327237811510/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2010/01/chapter-twenty.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/2324150327237811510'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/2324150327237811510'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2010/01/chapter-twenty.html' title='Chapter Twenty.'/><author><name>Skäggapan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00707248125904053837</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LIltNThYgdU/SofnpgxYsVI/AAAAAAAAAdA/Q713jPzWyKQ/S220/Tremblant+slush.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064233679372256517.post-7786543394492920087</id><published>2010-01-26T09:41:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-26T09:49:41.650-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Chapter Nineteen.</title><content type='html'>You feel something crawling up your right leg and you welcome the sensation, just hoping it will be gentle when it reaches higher grounds. To your disappointment the crawling stops and fades away like a distant memory. Your eyes tries to get used to the darkness but somehow they do not manage to do that.&lt;br /&gt;'Don't try to see where you are, my spells have made it impossible to actually see anything in here.'&lt;br /&gt;Unable to see, you decide to use your other senses and swing your hands in front of you and in true anime fashion you grab on to the two big cushiony thingies in front of you.&lt;br /&gt;'Please don't do that' the voice disgruntedly murmurs, as you feel a steel capped boot redecorating your family jewels.&lt;br /&gt;In true pain you fall to the floor, hitting your knees on something spiky and landing forehead first into something that does not feel completely different from moose porridge.&lt;br /&gt;'I understand now that you are no friend of darkness.'&lt;br /&gt;With a loud POOF the inside of the cabin lights up like a dirty old store santa the weeks before christmas...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8064233679372256517-7786543394492920087?l=betterleftuntold.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/feeds/7786543394492920087/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2010/01/chapter-nineteen.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/7786543394492920087'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/7786543394492920087'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2010/01/chapter-nineteen.html' title='Chapter Nineteen.'/><author><name>Skäggapan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00707248125904053837</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LIltNThYgdU/SofnpgxYsVI/AAAAAAAAAdA/Q713jPzWyKQ/S220/Tremblant+slush.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064233679372256517.post-2565804814704729727</id><published>2010-01-24T12:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-24T12:44:17.288-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Chapter Eighteen.</title><content type='html'>I watch with great intensity as the ninja hamster scribbles away. He then shows me the Etch-a-sketch, which now shows map directions to the old woman's house by the bayou. Apparently this little bugger had taken an oath of silence and has to resort to other means of communication. When I asked him why he murdered his comrade, he quickly draws me a picture of a camel being pounded in the ass with a banana by Goofy on a sailboat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways... I take the map and proceed down to the bayou. And just as was explained to me, there it was. A small log cabin in the bayou. In the middle of the bayou. So now I need a boat. After searching along the shore line I come across and empty unchained canoe. I jump in an start paddling towards the cabin. As I get closer to the cabin, it becomes clear to me why the canoe was unchained on the shore; there are several tears under the seams causing it to sink. I try not to panic despite going down faster than MJ on a 10 year-old. I paddle faster, but it becomes obvious that I'm going to sink before I reach the cabin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I swim out into the dark green, murky bayou and the canoe silently slips beneath the surface. I reach the cabin and climb up the posts and onto the dock. Then I realize that I left the goddamn Etch-a-sketch on the canoe. Add to that, the shore is far too long for me to swim back. I'm stranded. Frustrated, I knock on the cabin door. No reply. I knock harder. Still all quiet. I raise my foot to kick it in, only to have the door swing open by itself. I walk into the darkness of the cabin. The door of course closes behind me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'I've been expecting you.' whispers a voice.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8064233679372256517-2565804814704729727?l=betterleftuntold.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/feeds/2565804814704729727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2010/01/chapter-eighteen.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/2565804814704729727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/2565804814704729727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2010/01/chapter-eighteen.html' title='Chapter Eighteen.'/><author><name>Skäggapan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00707248125904053837</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LIltNThYgdU/SofnpgxYsVI/AAAAAAAAAdA/Q713jPzWyKQ/S220/Tremblant+slush.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064233679372256517.post-3198352991769053422</id><published>2010-01-21T15:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-21T15:58:40.339-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Chapter Seventeen.</title><content type='html'>Since Russian Hamster Ninjas are sworn to silence and deadliness, they start charading their inquiry. Tip toeing on their little ninja feet, flailing wildly with their katanas and throwing shurikens into the air among other erratic and stupendous movements and poses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When they are done they all completely halt and look at you. One Russian Ninja Hamster falls to the ground, then another and then a third... until there are only two Russian Ninja Hamsters left standing. It turns out the flailing of katanas and throwing of shurikens was not a very well thought out plan since it ended in almost total Russian Ninja Hamster extinction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The tubbier of the two hamsters walks up to you and whispers into your ear.&lt;br /&gt;- Hermionemma is waiting for you... you must prepare yourself. And we can help you. Watch out for the old lady by the bayou, bring the texts to us and we will...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rest of the tubby Russian Hamster Ninja's words is muffled by the blood that he drools into your ear. You notice the meat-cleaver lodged into the neck of the Russian Hamster Ninja, and the Russian Hamster Ninja behind it (which is taller, and have the same pattern as a milk cow)  shuts an imaginary zipper over his two kind of slanted front teeth while looking rather menacing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He then takes out an Etch-a-Sketch and starts drawing something...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8064233679372256517-3198352991769053422?l=betterleftuntold.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/feeds/3198352991769053422/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2010/01/chapter-seventeen.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/3198352991769053422'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/3198352991769053422'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2010/01/chapter-seventeen.html' title='Chapter Seventeen.'/><author><name>Skäggapan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00707248125904053837</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LIltNThYgdU/SofnpgxYsVI/AAAAAAAAAdA/Q713jPzWyKQ/S220/Tremblant+slush.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064233679372256517.post-1193985967621392043</id><published>2010-01-19T13:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-19T14:23:21.877-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Chapter Sixteen.</title><content type='html'>Ignoring the radio, I pop in an ABBA cd I found on the floor of the truck. While jamming, the fox informs me that he needs to be dropped off by the abandoned-looking post office. By the looks of it, the place has been empty for quite some time. The most recent newspaper I see on the sidewalk dates 2 years ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Without uttering another word, the fox dashes off into the building. I follow down the main street and park the truck in front of a St.Hubert restaurant. Oddly enough... the coleslaw is still good. After rummaging through the kitchen, I run into a fully sentient Mr.Potato Head. He's badly malnourished and slightly insane. Clearly whatever has happened in this town took a real toll on him. In-between his hysterical ramblings, he mentions an ancient text and something about needing to find a blue orchid. When I tell him that I just don't understand him, he exclaims 'Tabernack!' and throws himself into the nearby deep fryer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perplexed, I leave the restaurant and make my way down the street. All of the sudden I feel extremely drowsy and begin losing my balance and orientation. I fall to the ground out cold. That's when I realize that the skittles the Dane gave me were laced with a date rape drug! When I open my eyes, the harry potter girl is sitting beside me. I immediately tear off my pants and lunge at her, but she stops me, saying that she is just a figment of my imagination and that I'm still unconscious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still ignoring her, I pin her to the ground. That's when she utters a spell which freezes me so I have little choice but to listen. She tells me that there is and old woman living by the bayou who has a text I must locate. She tries telling me something else, but then I'm awakened by a bucket of ice water splashing on me. When I sit up, I'm surrounded by a group of Russian hamster ninjas holding my gun and car keys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They have questions...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8064233679372256517-1193985967621392043?l=betterleftuntold.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/feeds/1193985967621392043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2010/01/chapter-sixteen.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/1193985967621392043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/1193985967621392043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2010/01/chapter-sixteen.html' title='Chapter Sixteen.'/><author><name>Skäggapan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00707248125904053837</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LIltNThYgdU/SofnpgxYsVI/AAAAAAAAAdA/Q713jPzWyKQ/S220/Tremblant+slush.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064233679372256517.post-1837674741084829481</id><published>2009-08-31T10:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-31T10:32:18.377-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Chapter Fourteen and Fifteen.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Chapter Fourteen.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I quickly spin around and see a Dane wearing layers of squirrel-skin pelts holding a bag of skittles and -saying nothing- holds the bag out to me as an offering. I grab a handful of the sugery pellets and down them in a single gulp. The Dane looks quite pleased and lumbers off into the woods and disappears from sight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then proceed back to the stalled car and take inventory of it's contents. There is a mickey mouse watch and a DS with no cartridge lying on the dashboard. I take these and get back in my truck. I go around the car and continue along my way. It's not long until I come across an anthropic fox wearing a Superman costume. It kindly asks me to take him into town, which I agree to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About 40 minutes later we pass by a city limit sign reading 'Welcome to Rolland Falls! Home of the flying pancakes! Population: 5000'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Chapter Fifteen.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;The streets of Rolland falls is ominously empty, apart from a tumbling tumbleweed and a stray cat licking it's crotch with great intensity. The radio of the truck suddenly turns on by itself. Among the white noise you can hear something talking, that sounds like a pancake in great pain and distress.&lt;br /&gt;"Turn around while you still can... the great *CRACK* *SCRAMBLE* spares noone... turn around if your rear is dear to you"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be continued...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8064233679372256517-1837674741084829481?l=betterleftuntold.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/feeds/1837674741084829481/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2009/08/chapter-fourteen-and-fifteen.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/1837674741084829481'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/1837674741084829481'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2009/08/chapter-fourteen-and-fifteen.html' title='Chapter Fourteen and Fifteen.'/><author><name>Skäggapan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00707248125904053837</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LIltNThYgdU/SofnpgxYsVI/AAAAAAAAAdA/Q713jPzWyKQ/S220/Tremblant+slush.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064233679372256517.post-3558420874360736507</id><published>2009-08-27T08:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-27T08:43:18.876-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Chapter Thirteen.</title><content type='html'>The hood of the car is opened and there is thick yellow smoke rising to the sky, originating from the engine. As you approach the driver seat's side window you notice that the two characters in the car are nothing but jointed mannequins, much like human sized he-man figures. The one in the driver seat even has the blond eighties hair and is wearing a fur thong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The second mannequin suddenly starts speaking in a strange, ancient language that you after a while realize is nothing but quebecois. With your limited knowledge of this "language" you decipher the meaning of the words but are still none the wiser of the context.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Turtles and ham, pandas and spam, give me a dollar and I will bathe in yam"&lt;br /&gt;You then marvel over the fact that you managed to make the translation rhyme while the original ramblings did not at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The both mannequins heads turns to face you with their red eyes, and somewhere in the distance... you hear a bag of skittles...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8064233679372256517-3558420874360736507?l=betterleftuntold.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/feeds/3558420874360736507/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2009/08/chapter-thirteen.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/3558420874360736507'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/3558420874360736507'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2009/08/chapter-thirteen.html' title='Chapter Thirteen.'/><author><name>Skäggapan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00707248125904053837</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LIltNThYgdU/SofnpgxYsVI/AAAAAAAAAdA/Q713jPzWyKQ/S220/Tremblant+slush.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064233679372256517.post-7072511868711165743</id><published>2009-08-25T14:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T14:13:10.705-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Chapter Twelve.</title><content type='html'>I stand momentarily at the fork in the road, remembering the age-old adage that only the just follow the right hand of God. So of course I take the left road. I watch as the last few man-squirrels and naked Dane disappear over the hills behind me and I continue on my way. After roughly two hours of walking, I come across a pickup truck with the keys in it on the shoulder of the road. I immediately take possesion of the vehicle, as there is nobody for miles. As I drive along, about 20 minutes down the road it starts to get dark and the road goes deeper into the forest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is here that I come across a giant panda in glasses on the side of the road selling lemonade. I ask the creature where this road leads. He introduces himself as the Cheshire Panda, and the road I am on leads everywhere. He tells me a cryptic messagge: 'Inside outside, near and far, to go forth is to be a star'. He then pulls out a Glock 9mm and blows his brains out. After a moment of shock, I quickly drink up his lemonade and continue down the road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then come across what appears to be a stalled car ahead of me with two occupants still in it...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8064233679372256517-7072511868711165743?l=betterleftuntold.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/feeds/7072511868711165743/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2009/08/chapter-twelve.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/7072511868711165743'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/7072511868711165743'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2009/08/chapter-twelve.html' title='Chapter Twelve.'/><author><name>Skäggapan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00707248125904053837</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LIltNThYgdU/SofnpgxYsVI/AAAAAAAAAdA/Q713jPzWyKQ/S220/Tremblant+slush.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064233679372256517.post-8839882118807323546</id><published>2009-08-16T04:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-16T04:17:18.824-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Chapter Ten and Eleven.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Chapter Ten.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I immediately pick up the bag of skittles and throw it back in the direction it came from. I then climb into the zamboni and try to hold my breath. I floor it at 35km/hr towards the 5 foot squirrel while tossing the naked Dane into the back of the zamboni as we make our escape..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Chapter Eleven.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All the ice in what apparently was an ice hockey rink all along makes the Zamboni difficult to handle (Who could have guessed?) and the squirrel has no problem jumping out of the way while you, the zamboni and the naked dane crash through the nearest wall.&lt;br /&gt;After what feels like a 30 foot drop you find yourself on a highway bridge. Strangely enough there are no other vehicles but a crowd of man sized squirrels are running in the opposite direction in chaotic terror, it is like they are fleeing from something located where you are headed. You finally get off the bridge and come up to a fork in the road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be continued...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8064233679372256517-8839882118807323546?l=betterleftuntold.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/feeds/8839882118807323546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2009/08/chapter-ten-and-eleven.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/8839882118807323546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/8839882118807323546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2009/08/chapter-ten-and-eleven.html' title='Chapter Ten and Eleven.'/><author><name>Skäggapan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00707248125904053837</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LIltNThYgdU/SofnpgxYsVI/AAAAAAAAAdA/Q713jPzWyKQ/S220/Tremblant+slush.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064233679372256517.post-6472418257811945636</id><published>2009-08-14T14:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-14T14:56:33.491-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Chapter Seven, Eight and Nine.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Chapter Seven.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And somewhere, a jumbotron is booting up...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fight is ferocious and very drawn out, You estimate that it must have cost the FX department at least a few million canadian dollars.&lt;br /&gt;When it is all over and the last little squirrel head hits the ground, the rain starts pouring. It's just you, your dinner, a remote and a Segway...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Chapter Eight.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I throw my dinner on the Segway and floor it towards the jumbotron. Toss her on stage and press the firey red button on the remote, which causes it to morph like a transformer into an acoustic guitar. I then proceed to rock out as hard as I can while the rain floods the moshpit of squirrels away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Chapter Nine.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Left to observe you rocking out is a newly arrived five foot squirrel in a bathrobe and a naked Dane. They look very affectionate.&lt;br /&gt;Next to you is a zamboni with the motor running. The air smells of navel lint bread.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly something hits you in the back of your head... somebody have thrown a bag of skittles at you, but you fail to see the thrower anywhere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be continued...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8064233679372256517-6472418257811945636?l=betterleftuntold.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/feeds/6472418257811945636/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2009/08/chapter-seven-eight-and-nine.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/6472418257811945636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/6472418257811945636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2009/08/chapter-seven-eight-and-nine.html' title='Chapter Seven, Eight and Nine.'/><author><name>Skäggapan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00707248125904053837</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LIltNThYgdU/SofnpgxYsVI/AAAAAAAAAdA/Q713jPzWyKQ/S220/Tremblant+slush.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064233679372256517.post-8679721860763082937</id><published>2009-07-31T22:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-31T22:31:54.271-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Chapter Six.</title><content type='html'>I toss the shitting squirrel at the crowd of other squirrels and quickly put on the trench coat and top hat. I push the green button on the remote and time slows down. I put it in the coat pocket and engage the crowd of squirrels in a massive brawl a la Matrix Reloaded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be continued...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8064233679372256517-8679721860763082937?l=betterleftuntold.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/feeds/8679721860763082937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2009/07/chapter-six.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/8679721860763082937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/8679721860763082937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2009/07/chapter-six.html' title='Chapter Six.'/><author><name>Skäggapan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00707248125904053837</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LIltNThYgdU/SofnpgxYsVI/AAAAAAAAAdA/Q713jPzWyKQ/S220/Tremblant+slush.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064233679372256517.post-434626719556987714</id><published>2009-07-31T14:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-31T14:55:54.146-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Chapter  Five.</title><content type='html'>Out of pure terror, the small squirrel craps on your head. The other squirrels find this very amusing. They then start to rub their paws and lick their lips. They are getting closer. You have a soiled squirrel, a remote control and the mysterious stranger ends up to be nothing but a top hat and a trench coat on a coat rack.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be continued...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8064233679372256517-434626719556987714?l=betterleftuntold.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/feeds/434626719556987714/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2009/07/chapter-five.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/434626719556987714'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/434626719556987714'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2009/07/chapter-five.html' title='Chapter  Five.'/><author><name>Skäggapan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00707248125904053837</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LIltNThYgdU/SofnpgxYsVI/AAAAAAAAAdA/Q713jPzWyKQ/S220/Tremblant+slush.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064233679372256517.post-5744450114902344451</id><published>2009-07-29T22:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-29T22:42:10.019-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Chapter Four.</title><content type='html'>I immediately zip up and remind my dinner not to tell her parents or else, then make a lunge for the remote. I keep it firmly held in my left hand while my right hand grabs one of the smaller squirrels. I then immediately hold the squirrel above my head and point the remote at its head and tell the other buggers that if any of them so much as snickers at me, their lil' buddy will get it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then make a run at the mysterious stranger...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8064233679372256517-5744450114902344451?l=betterleftuntold.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/feeds/5744450114902344451/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2009/07/chapter-four.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/5744450114902344451'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/5744450114902344451'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2009/07/chapter-four.html' title='Chapter Four.'/><author><name>Skäggapan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00707248125904053837</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LIltNThYgdU/SofnpgxYsVI/AAAAAAAAAdA/Q713jPzWyKQ/S220/Tremblant+slush.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064233679372256517.post-3306856107159907751</id><published>2009-07-29T08:13:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-29T08:17:30.847-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Chapter Two and Three.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Chapter Two.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I run to the nearest schoolyard playground and eat like its an ice buffet going outta business and they're givin' away free samples!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Chapter Three.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You eat until you puke and then eat some more.... when you get yourself together after the feeding frenzy you notice that someone is watching you.&lt;br /&gt;You are surrounded by squirrels, hundreds of them, ranging in size from an inch to that of a '97 Ford Crown Victoria.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next to you lies an unidentifyable remote control.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be continued...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8064233679372256517-3306856107159907751?l=betterleftuntold.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/feeds/3306856107159907751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2009/07/chapter-two-and-three.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/3306856107159907751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/3306856107159907751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2009/07/chapter-two-and-three.html' title='Chapter Two and Three.'/><author><name>Skäggapan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00707248125904053837</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LIltNThYgdU/SofnpgxYsVI/AAAAAAAAAdA/Q713jPzWyKQ/S220/Tremblant+slush.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8064233679372256517.post-2382741476767598038</id><published>2009-07-28T16:21:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-28T16:31:16.198-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Prologue and Chapter One.</title><content type='html'>Before we begin I would like to issue a warning. This story is NOT for everyone. If you feel that you are easily offended by less then moral behavior and phenomenons you have no real business following this story as it unfolds. Any person depicted in this story is there because of admiration, popularity and/or just for the fun of it, and I can safely say that anything happening to any celebrities or other people in this story is totally fictitious and is in no way stated as facts. If someone or something (?) still takes offense, the person/animal/thing is actually a lifeless clone, so please stop bitching about it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This story has a somewhat strange narrative since it is a collaboration between two anonymous authors and the chapters will therefor shift from second person to first person perspective. Any misspellings are intentional and according to the original script. Each update will contain one chapter, and the frequency of updates might wary greatly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, when we have everything covered (I hope) let us begin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Chapter One.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You wake up... You have no recollection of who or where you are. The room is small with only a naked bulb hanging from the ceiling for light.&lt;br /&gt;You look around and see:&lt;br /&gt;One matress, you are lying on it&lt;br /&gt;On red door&lt;br /&gt;One yellow door&lt;br /&gt;In front of the door stands a 4 feet tall squirrel, observing you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You wear nothing but a bathrobe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To be continued...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8064233679372256517-2382741476767598038?l=betterleftuntold.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/feeds/2382741476767598038/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2009/07/prologue-and-chapter-one.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/2382741476767598038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8064233679372256517/posts/default/2382741476767598038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://betterleftuntold.blogspot.com/2009/07/prologue-and-chapter-one.html' title='Prologue and Chapter One.'/><author><name>Skäggapan</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00707248125904053837</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_LIltNThYgdU/SofnpgxYsVI/AAAAAAAAAdA/Q713jPzWyKQ/S220/Tremblant+slush.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
