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littlemanpoet · 12-14-2005, 02:56 PM

It was two hours past midday. The traffic snarls had begun at the cross-over point from left-side-of-the-roadness to the-other-left-side-of-the-roadness. Car after car squealed out of control because too many orcs insisted on driving alone, thus rendering them in the passenger's seat and useless in terms of car control. Anakron allowed the hint of a smile.

It seemed that King Kong himself had appeared in Mordor. What hey, a brand new Anakronism. Some of these things appeared will-Anakron or nill-Anakron. Little matter. The Grand Anakronist wondered if King Kong would find his Empire State Building, and if he would find his girl. He didn't care either way. He also did not care that various and sundry of the members of the Offending Party thought incorrectly as to who was what, or what was who. He didn't even care if they succeeded. He did not, of course, mind that Mordor was getting only more interesting with the advent of the Offending Party's desperate race to get out. Anakron allowed a mild smirk.

The traffic snarls worsened. That was because of Rôgû. Known to balrog-wingers by his nickname of Roggie. Rôgû was angry. He had murder on his mind. Not that Anakron could read balrog minds, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that someone who had a cold virus freezing one of his legs into shards, making him a maimed laughing stock amongst balrogs, could not be quite pleased with things. Rôgû was above ground, wreaking havoc along the interstate, picking up and throwing down Cruisers, Little French Cars with No Guts, Hummers, and anything else that came to claw. Traffic had been backing up in both directions for miles, for a good hour. Anakron allowed the quickest, smallest escape of a momentary giggle.

All the alternate roads were two lanes only. And towns were frequent, slowing traffic down to 30 miles per hour .... at best. And in Mordor, it was always rush hour, no matter the time of day ... especially in the towns. Anakron snickered.

And raised his staff. The cat yowled. The sandstorm stopped, sputtered, spewed, and spit the sand out of its mouth. It looked at Anakron out of the side of its eyes, wondering why it had been stopped.

"You are to turn into a thunderstorm hiding a tornado," Anakron said to it. It grinned and bloated and grew dark and wet and began spinning. Anakron cackled and did a jig.

12-14-2005, 02:56 PM	#87
littlemanpoet Itinerant Songster Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: The Edge of Faerie Posts: 7,066	Intervention It was two hours past midday. The traffic snarls had begun at the cross-over point from left-side-of-the-roadness to the-other-left-side-of-the-roadness. Car after car squealed out of control because too many orcs insisted on driving alone, thus rendering them in the passenger's seat and useless in terms of car control. Anakron allowed the hint of a smile. It seemed that King Kong himself had appeared in Mordor. What hey, a brand new Anakronism. Some of these things appeared will-Anakron or nill-Anakron. Little matter. The Grand Anakronist wondered if King Kong would find his Empire State Building, and if he would find his girl. He didn't care either way. He also did not care that various and sundry of the members of the Offending Party thought incorrectly as to who was what, or what was who. He didn't even care if they succeeded. He did not, of course, mind that Mordor was getting only more interesting with the advent of the Offending Party's desperate race to get out. Anakron allowed a mild smirk. The traffic snarls worsened. That was because of Rôgû. Known to balrog-wingers by his nickname of Roggie. Rôgû was angry. He had murder on his mind. Not that Anakron could read balrog minds, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that someone who had a cold virus freezing one of his legs into shards, making him a maimed laughing stock amongst balrogs, could not be quite pleased with things. Rôgû was above ground, wreaking havoc along the interstate, picking up and throwing down Cruisers, Little French Cars with No Guts, Hummers, and anything else that came to claw. Traffic had been backing up in both directions for miles, for a good hour. Anakron allowed the quickest, smallest escape of a momentary giggle. All the alternate roads were two lanes only. And towns were frequent, slowing traffic down to 30 miles per hour .... at best. And in Mordor, it was always rush hour, no matter the time of day ... especially in the towns. Anakron snickered. And raised his staff. The cat yowled. The sandstorm stopped, sputtered, spewed, and spit the sand out of its mouth. It looked at Anakron out of the side of its eyes, wondering why it had been stopped. "You are to turn into a thunderstorm hiding a tornado," Anakron said to it. It grinned and bloated and grew dark and wet and began spinning. Anakron cackled and did a jig.