She Lives!

Having successfully, mostly brought my computer back from the dead, I bring you this, exciting new annoucement.
That was an amazing run-on.
But! That was not my announcement.
There is a fourth story in the works!
So to recap the second and third: since I haven't posted them and my copies crashed and burned with my hardrive, I give you the synopsis.

The Sequel:
DFL discovers a powerful ancient artifact, and SS must take it back in order to save the world. In this story we meet the Old Crone of Knowlege, (OCOK) Whitney. She is SS's wise, advice-giving, mentor type person.
We also meet the Don Of Decision (DOD) a henchman of DFL who is genetically incapable of making a choice.
The second story also featured the infamous rubber chicken and several lovely dance numbers.

Part the Third:
DFL attempts to takeover the world by fooling around with time. The OCOK sends SS back to ancient Rome, where SS is trapped and captured (gasp) by DFL. SS is handed over to the Borg Barbie, who put her through a grueling spa treatement and seaweed rap, in order to bring out her full, foxy potential. Now that SS has joined the foxy elite, only the OCOK can save the world from a seaweed wrap.
Also the DOD meets his just and timely end.

So the fourth will be a little different. We're doing it Round Robin style, so ANY commentator can join in. This means that both Schweet Schnookums and the DFL can have a say.
I just hope no one gets hurt.

The thrilling conclusion

At the sight of the hot, sexy, single, Maori warrior SS turned into a big gooey puddle of pudding. Not literally mind you, mentally. Her eyes glazed over into happy oblivion. She lost all power of speech and a small trickle of drool oozed out of the corner of her mouth. Janelle walked over and waved a hand up and down in front of SS's face.
"Yes I thought that might do it. Take her away and lock her up. Then I want this scrap heap in DC, and I want it there yesterday."
She turned to the HSSMW, "I want you to stay in her direct line of sight at all times understood?" Then she turned back to SS, "By the way... I love the outfit."
The words bounced around SS like so many jumping beans. In her head, she and the honey had a small house deep in New Zealand, and a little herd of sheep, and some pumpkins. Just then:

A) A blast rocks the ship
B) SS remembers that she doesn’t like sheep
C) The HSSMW comes out of the closet
D) SS breaks a stiletto heel




well as much as I'd love to see SS hook up with her Maui warrior, I'm gonna have to pick C
!

The HSSMW turned to Janelle, put one hand on his hip while the other flapped down “Lithen girlfriend, I am not going down to the prithon levelth until they do thomething about that thmell, hmmm kay?”
Good night he was flaming!! SS jolted out of her reverie, dreams shattered and crashing down about her in little sparkling bits.
“NNNNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! But I’m the star!! No!!”
SS began to glow red as her battle aura grew, fueled by frustrated rage.
“Aw crap” Groaned the DFL.
Does SS:

A) Generally lay waste in a grand Kung Fu action sequence
B) Direct a focused attack at the HSSMW
C) Direct a focused attack at the Dictator for Life
D) Contemplate the vast mysterious hidden in her own navel



definitely A


With a mighty battle cry, SS started laying into the bad guys. Henchmen flew, furniture busted, machines exploded, and through it all danced DFL. “What are you doing? No, not allowed! What?! Who dares!! No! Not my new home theater!! That’s it!! I want her off my ship before she ruins the upholstery!!"
So they flew low over Holmes Lake and two burly Wookies gave SS the heave ho. DFL flew away to redecorate, ending the story in a draw. Until next time...
YEAH!!!!
Everybody clap.

Definition of a Man: Part Deux

Now, if you are a science, biology, engineer or some other strict adherence to reality major, you may believe that all it takes to be a man is a Y-chromosome. Not so my technicality minded friend. A Y-chromosome is merely a gender definition. We're talking about being a "man," man. (Pardon me, hee hee)

Okay. Here's the scoop. To qualify for the runnings you have to be taller then me by at least an inch. Hey I don't make the rules...........okay, you're right, I do make the rules; and you still have to be taller then me by at least two inches. I wear a lot of heels, okay?

Second, you have to have some definitively masculine traits. Not all of them, but at least one or two. Example, you have to know how to change the oil in the car, or rewire an electrical outlet, or be able to pick up really heavy things, like maybe me if the situation required it.

Third, you have to be a gentleman. If you think burping the alphabet is going to get you kudos I'm sure you are probably not even literate enough to be reading this. But it's more then that. How about opening the door, pulling out a chair, or offering your hand as I get out of the car? Remember my birthday, I am serious, it would also help to remember anniversaries, Christmas, and the fact that I hate anchovies. Is that so much to ask? Just remember it's the little things that count.

I ask that you please refrain from commenting about other girls' hotness in my presence, unless I comment first. Let's face it, there are some gorgeous girls out there, and I can admit that. But if you drool on me while watching some foxy vixen strut her way too short skirt down the street we are going to have an issue. Trust me.

Finally, please please please, check your ego at the door because you know what? If you were really all that I would notice it for myself and you wouldn't have to spend all that time talking yourself up. Be real, be personable, be kind. For heavens sake is there too much kindness in the world, you have to stand apart by being a tough guy? Don't dis my friends, be nice to my mom and every once in awhile send me flowers, just for the heck of it.

By the way, if you know this guy could you send him my way?

Relearning an old lesson

So I took a few moments for introspection the other day, I know, I know, with a subject as awesome as yours truly who can resist, right? Any-who, I was introspecting and discovered anew that I have a pretty rockin' life. I believe I was bemoaning my date-less wonder of an existence when it occurred to me that a) I live in a nice apartment with working plumbing and central heating and air conditioning b) I have a job where my boss likes me and I can afford to splurge on a pedicure whenever I want and c) I'm 25 and have no reason not to be living a fabulous life, and I am. So what brought this onslaught of self-realization you ask? I am going to wax philanthropic here momentarily so feel free to check out at will. I spent my Saturday morning (repeat SATURDAY MORNING) lending my very able hand to the local Habitat for Humanity project. What a project. First of all, walking up to the construction site I passed several individuals casually loitering about the adjacent property watching in wonder as a couple dozen crazy people spent their free SATURDAY MORNING performing manual labor of their own free will. CRAZY PEOPLE. We started out the day taking down scaffolding and moving it to the house next door. Within the first 5 minutes I had started to regret my volunteer efforts. Scaffolding is not flimsy stuff folks, it's heavy. After moving one house of scaffolding we moved next door and finished the existing scaffolding to three levels. When the second layer of walkway wasn't nestling down properly on the frame I was instructed to go up there and "jump on it." Now let me tell you that standing 20 feet in the air on a bunch of tin constructed by your fellows is not something that fills you with security much less makes you want to jump. So I held on to one of the studs handily available from the unfinished wall and gave it a good stomp, at which point the other end promptly popped up into the air. We went this way back and forth stomping each side of the scaffolding trying to get it to settle down until finally we had two people on the first level ROCKING the scaffolding back and forth and I haphazardly stomped my way around the perimeter. Finally the scaffolding was steady and secure and everyone could climb aboard. Now you may not be aware, but Habitat for Humanity is a non-profit operation, hence they put their income toward the necessities, land, nails, wood. Not luxuries like power-tools, namely nail guns. So here's our lovely hero, not exactly a husky broad, hauling 8 x 4 sheets of OSB board up 3 flights of scaffolding to HAND NAIL it to the side of a house. I believe I've done enough manual labor for this year. As much fun as this was, it is not the point of my story. The point is this, well almost, I am now leading to the point of the story, hang on. So part of the Habitat deal is that homeowners have to put in 300 hours of "sweat equity" toward their home. We had a woman join us who was working toward just that. She was probably in her 50's, heavy-set, and just not in a position to be climbing up and down scaffolding all day in the heat. Bless her heart she was there though, it was her 3rd Saturday and explained to my roommate that she had been trying to get her family to come out but they just wouldn't yet. The neighborhood we were building in was not Park Avenue, the homes would never equate with Trump Towers, in fact every first floor window was outfitted with it's own brand spankin new set of bars. And here we were, a dozen or so 20-something single latterday saints spending our free time building houses. There's something fulfilling in that. There was a time when the work of your own hands came much more readily. When having a home didn't mean filling out the lease forms and providing proof of employment. There was a time when people came together and helped one another for the common good. But it's not past tense, I just can't bring myself to believe that humanity has sunk that far. And I am part of the truth in that. So what is the point of the story really? I don't know if there was one. But it's pretty fun to tell. When I sit at home with all of my creature comforts and start to complain, I have one more thing to hold me back.

Part the Next: In which we meet our evil nemesis

Only if you wanted to be, you had three other choices.

The command chair swiveled around to reveal Janelle, Dictator for life, with her fingers steepled and an evil smirk on her face.
"Janelle" SS stammered, "No...it can’t be…NNNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!"
"Yes, it's me! And you have fallen right into my trap. I knew you couldn’t resist saving the city from rampaging aliens, so I hired these wookies and now I have you! With you out of the way, Schweet Schnookums, nothing stands between me and world domination! BWa Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!!!"
"But Janelle..”:
A) There’s still good in you, I can sense it.
B) You’ll never get away with it! Never Never Never!!
C) I'll have the bishop call you to the nursery! I swear I will!
D) Then I challenge you to fight me, Mano Y Mano or whatever...



thank heavens there's a singles ward and we don't have nursery. I'd say D. Let's see who's side you're really on.

Can’t we all just get along?

"Fight you? That is so not allowed." Janelle stepped down from the command chair, "You see, I've read the evil overlord list. I know that in keeping with my status as an Evil Overlord, I will neither fight fair nor honorably. And I know your secret weakness, so take this.
And with that she whipped out:
A) A cow
B) A McDonald’s value meal
C) A smurf
D) A hot, sexy, single, Maori warrior complete with ceremonial tattoos.


Yeah!!! D! D! D!

Corbeau the Tenderfoot

As I prepare to move to a land with defining geography I find myself cursing my pre-crisis, Kryptonian plaster walls. Wielding my trusty hammer, each nail becomes a struggle for dominance until the evil plaster, sensing an opportunity of physics, releases the nail which then launches past my head into parts unknown. So, now that all my wall decorations are down, my entire apartment has become a real life minesweeper game.
Current score:
Corbeau: 5 Apt: 1

Update:
Corbeau: 13 Apt: 2

I'm a slacker

But here's the next bit:

SS was proud of her glare. She had practiced it at home until all her mirrors melted, then she practiced it on household plants, insolent mortals, and the occasional bit of beef. She screwed up her face and directed the full might of her glare on the door, which dissolved into a lumpy mess on the floor. "Hmm," thought SS, "I sure hope they don’t try to go into orbit while there’s a giant hole in the hull; that could get messy." She shrugged and strutted inside. She found herself standing in what appeared to be a cargo bay. Just then klaxons went off, lights flared, and an angry voice gibbered over the PA. SS:

A) Makes a stand
B) Hides
C) Climbs into a ventilation shaft
D) Jumps back outside


A.) makes a stand but first, what are klaxons?


Klaxons are warning sirens/alarms...you know like AWWOOOGA AWWOOOGA, or just really irritating loud beeps, out of tune bagpipes, whatever, they’re loud and blaring.

SS could hear pounding feet nearing her location, well let them come. She struck heroic pose #72, (also practiced at home) with a slight sneer on her lips. The doors slid open to reveal a horde of

A) Aliens (like Sigourney Weaver type)
B) PUCHUUS ( A cute teddy bear type of alien)
C) Wookies
D) Democrats



although I'm tempted to go with Democrats, I'm gonna have to say Wookies.


Hordes of Wookies burst into the cargo bay, star wars blasters at the ready. A big one at the front steps forward, points at SS and says, "RREaaaarrrrrrrrrr OOWaarhhrrrrrggggg bweeeeeeeeeAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO grunt grunt"
SS cocks an eyebrow and says

A) So, who's up for fishing?
B) I don't have any bananas, but I am happy to see you.
C) What hole?
D) OOOOOOOOOOWwwwwwwwwwwwwwwaaaaaaarRRRRRRRRRR. EEEAAAAAAAAAOGgggggggaherrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr

allright, let's go for humor and pick D.


SS, face scrunched with effort, replied to the Wookie in his own language. Luckily all those hours watching Star Wars paid off. Thus commenced an incomprehensible conversation full of vowels, howling and exaggerated hand motions. Finally the Wookie, exasperated, shot her with a stun ray and threw her butt in the brig. When SS woke up, she looked around and thought "All right, what would Sydney Bristow do?" Sydney would:

A) Smooch her cute but annoying partner
B) Get beat up, but still be just fine for a later escape
C) Escape after making witty remarks to her interrogators
D) Make a big deal out of an F-150.


probably E.) all of the above, but for the sake of your little fingers typing madly away we'll say C


SS ran down the passageways of the spaceship, the remains of a metal chair hanging from her two wrist manacles. "Whew!" she thought, "good thing my Wookie interrogators spoke English so I could distract them with my witty commentary and make my escape." She ran to the bridge, planning to storm it and make the Wookies leave by force if necessary. After a running gun battle she at last came to the bridge. Using blasters she'd taken off unconscious Wookies, SS burst into the bridge. "I demand you cease your attacks at once!"
The command chair swiveled around to reveal:

A) Sauroman
B) Mr. Bean
C) Darth Vader
D) Dictator for Life


oh now you're gonna bring me into it huh? I guess it must be dictator for life.

Part the 1st Continues!

Richelle spread her arms for balance, went up on her toes and began to spin in a tight pirouette. Faster and faster she spun, until she was but a blur to the human eye, and when she finally slowed down, she stood before the stunned populace clad in:

A) Patriotic leotard and high heeled boots, what else?
B) A black leather and chain outfit that violates 15 laws just by existing
C) A manly kilt
D) The full dress uniform of the British Beefeaters.

oh it has to be B please, Richelle in black leather? love it


There was a gasp from the watching crowd as Richelle emerged. Glossy, high-heeled, knee-high boots hugged her legs. A black leather, well leotard for lack of a better word, hugged her like a second skin. It accentuated her every curve while, when combined with the metal bra, managing to cover just enough to keep things PG-13. The outfit was completed with the small whip in a side holster for a combined look straight out of Helga's House of Pain and Pleasure.
Richelle looked down at herself, blushed a bright shade of chartreuse, and murmured something like "gonna kill them" before rallying to the duties at hand. After all, evil would not wait for a costume change. Richelle boldly strutted (in that kind of outfit all you can do is strut) to the middle of the street and offered her challenge.
"Stop these shenanigans you miscreants! I am. . .”

A) Wonder Woman!
B) Dark Mistress!
C) Really Serious!
D) Schweet Schnookums!


D.) Sweet Schookums
and I totally think you should be CCing Richelle on all this


Are you kidding? I was thinking about printing it and letting her read it while both of us are there, giving her multiple targets.
Ahem….
Richelle posed dramatically in the street, the wind ruffling her golden locks as she boomed out her challenge.
“I am Schweet Schnookums! And today your evil ends!!"
However the aliens ignored her, continuing to blow things away willy-nilly. SS scowled, pulled out her whip, and with a flick of her wrist wrapped it around one of the outlying structural supports of the alien craft. As SS soared through the air she pulled herself up the whip, hand over hand until she reached the spaceship. But how to get inside? SS

A) Knocks politely with her stiletto heel
B) Whips out a blow torch
C) Melts it by shooting lasers out of her eyes with her “President Glare"
D) Rings the doorbell and yells out "Avon calling!"



C.) melts it with her eyes

Critical Man Shortage

In a tersely worded statement issued last night, the Department of Single Awareness revealed the results of their most recent study indicating that the United States is in a severe man-drought. Local citizens responded with indignation, citing that symptoms have been apparent for years and the government is just now recognizing the problem, when it may already be too late.

"Why are my tax dollars going to fund a study that I, and any number of single women could have answered?" questioned L. Lawless of Dallas, TX. In San Diego, CA, L. Lane put it succinctly by saying, "there ain't no mens."

While critics are calling the news "sensational" and "outlandish" most women just want to know what is going to be done about it.

"We've tried everything," claims one woman, who wishes to remain anonymous, "from personal ads to online dating, to letting our grandmother try to set us up with her sister's mortician. We're running out of options!"

Unfortunately, at this time there is no sure solution. According to Secretary of State Ryan Gosling, we may just have to import them from China, "like everything else."

Stay tuned for our next report, "Definition of a Man" which seeks to establish why 5'3" and living with mom just doesn't cut it.

Part the first

Here we go!! Since these were orginally done by email, I have gone through and edited a wee bit. Fixed some grammar stuff and awkward sentences but now I give you, the first three paragraphs.

The day dawned overcast and chill. The air still carried the bite of winter as snowflakes drifted lazily through the haze of downtown Lincoln. “What a great day to be a miId-mannered telemarketer.” Richelle sighed happily to herself; happily because she Was a mild-mannered telemarketer. She swung circles in her chair and perkily started cold dialing. Suddenly, a piercing shriek rends the air. Trouble’s brewing in the peaceful metropolis!!
Does Richelle:
A) Stand at the window and stare with the rest of the office
B) Rush out to investigate
C) Finish her survey as the consummate professional that she is
D) Rush out to investigate; forgetting that her phone headset is still on, bringing her
to a rather abrupt and painful halt.

YOU DECIDE!!

ooh ooh ooh, D D D!!!!


There's an innocent soul in trouble! Richelle rushes to investigate, her long legs easily covering the distance as she leaps from her cubicle. Unfortunately, our hero forgets that she is still wearing her phone headset. Just as she reaches the end of her cubicle the cord snaps taut, yanking her head back as her feet, who still hadn't received the memo, continued their mad dash, stretching her out until she hung, horizontal, for a brief moment in the air before crashing to the floor.
Undaunted Richelle disentangled herself from the nefarious telephone cord and leapt down the stairs still she hit street level. Pausing for a moment behind the door, Richelle carefully checked through the handy little peep window. Left, Right, then Left again. All clear. She cracked the door and slithered out along the wall, just another shadow among many. She needn't have bothered. A human tide swept screaming down the street, being chased by

A) An alien spacecraft
B) An 800 pound giant gorilla
C) Mysterious black SUVs with tinted windows
D) A dragon


At the risk of being cliché
A) an alien spacecraft


Zounds! An alien spacecraft zapping people willy-nilly in the middle of downtown Lincoln! Richelle mused on the thought. Nope, this simply would not do. While her association with Janelle and Elaina had prepared Richelle for the strange and unusual, especially Elaina, space aliens were a little beyond her ken. She would have to become….*insert dramatic music here* Wonder Woman!!

Richelle raced down the street and:
A) Tore open her shirt
B) Hopped in a phone booth
C) Spun in a tight pirouette
D) Yelled “I have the power!" while pointing dramatically at the sky


ooh this is where my knowledge of comic book heroes fails me. I'm gonna go with my gut and choose C.

Thinking about John Smith

So today Nicole told me that with my hair pulled back into a twist I look like John Smith from Disney's Pocohantas. I'm not sure how I feel about this. But I have this sudden inner longing for a pointy steel hat.

Leather

Leather. One always wears leather to a blog event. WHIPCRACK!

All right Y'all

Let's get this puppy started.

Welcome Welcome

So this is the world of blogging. And it's so apropos - aspirations and avoidance. I don't know anyone else who can dream as large and procrastinate as long. And here we accomplished this in one short day. Party like a rockstar baby - we're blogging!

Just who is Schweet Schnookums anyway??

A valid question. Schweet Schnookums is a tall, almost Amazonian, blonde who uses her farm girl strength and cutting edge fashion sense to fight evil in the wilds of Nebraska.
These adventures started as an email story used by two friends to fight off the madness that results from staring too long at cornfields.
Hopefully these stories will be posted soon, unless SS (Schweet Schnookums) threatens to beat me up. Then they will just be vaguely hinted at while maintaining a perfectly innocent, story free blog.
The stories operate like an old choose your own adventure. Trying this on a blog format should be very interesting, and I'm excited to see how it goes.