The Laugh of the White Tiger

*snort* Change! *guffaw* Hope! *snicker*


Now, before he stops laughing and gets serious, get that nickel out of your pocket and poke it into the coin slot on your cupholder CD-tray, and paypal it in to nickelatatime@gmail.com!

The Informer

The ants are coming in over the kitchen windowsill at 3--but you didn't hear that from me!

If this informative image didn't leave your skin crawling, your local informers at the NickelAtATime HQ could really use those nickels! PayPal them over, to nickelatatime@gmail.com!

Attitude is EVERYTHING!

Call me "kooky birdily bird" one more time, and I'm putting YOUR drumsticks on the menu for tonight!

...sometimes, attitude is ALL you need...

Okay, now, before you get sent to your room, check that famous attitude problem at the door, dig deep in the dark recesses of your hip pocket, pull up a nickel, and toss it in the general direction of the eighteen story skyscraper that is the NickelAtATime Corporate HQ...or just send it via PayPal, to nickelatatime@gmail.com!

Inside the Programmer's Mind

What goes on inside a programmer's brain:

Select * from tblBeer
Where [imported] = True
and [Temp] = 'Cold'
Group By [twelvepack]

Select * from tblGirls
Where [eyes]='bright'
and [smile]=true
and [boobs]='big'

RU / 18 = QTpi

Okay, okay, a snip from the female programmer's brain, too:

SELECT * from tblGuys
WHERE [height]=TALL
and [shade]=DARK
and [looks] >= 'Pretty Good'
and [sensitive]=TRUE
and [caring]=TRUE
and ...
and [isGay]=FALSE

ERROR: No Results!

If this glimpse into the alien thought processes of your average programmer-type-geek hasn't totally warped your own mind, bend open your wallet, tease out a nickel, and slide it into the PayPal slot on the side of your computer!  Address it to Nickelatatime@gmail.com!

Mysterious face of Elvis Found!

Yes, if you look closely and carefully, you can see Elvis!

"]

You can see Elvis in the spot over the cat's eye!

...okay, okay, if you insist...let's zoom in a little closer...



...you wanted a better view...?

It's a Miracle...!

If you enjoyed this sneak peek at Elvis in leopard fur, sneak a nickel out of your wallet and sneak it into the fur-lined mittens of your favorite Nickelatatime employee, by shipping it via Paypal to nickelatatime@gmail.com!

Dragons 101

A KNIGHT IS A KNIGHT

Or: What happens when a knight sleeps through Dragonslaying 101

Sir Gregor of Denth was the bravest of knights
And many a tale was told
Of the many opponents he did dispatch;
But perhaps he was too bold.

For Gregor's teachers did warn him:
"Someday the fight will come.
And on that day you will much regret
Sleeping through Dragons 101."

"A knight is a knight is a knight;" said he,
"Whether it be morning or noon.
And any Wyrm that thinks to defeat me
Comes flying to his doom."

A messenger came one midsummer morn
Seeking a knight of renown;
Sir Gregor answered before he knew
It was a dragon that had been found.

"A knight is a knight is a knight" said he,
"No matter the time of day."
He lowered his visor and lifted his shield
And swiftly rode away.

Gregor attacked on the following dawn,
And it was a terrible fight;
For the one lesson our knave never learned
Is that dragons are blind at night.

"A knight is a knight is a knight," he gasped,
"No matter the time of day."
And with those gallant words of wisdom
Did brave Gregor pass away.

So forget mathematics, and governing, and law;
With those, nothing need be done.
The one class none ever should miss
Is Dragons--101.


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The Stars Return

Jim was coming back from lunch when the tall stranger drifted down from the sky.

"Greetings, you poor pathetic person. I'm here to save you from your horrible life." The man fiddled with buttons on his belt, and gently settled to the ground.

"Huh?" Jim said.

"I am PittSean vin Brangelino de Winfrey," the man said, "and my people have returned." At Jim's puzzled frown, he continued "From the stars...?"

When that didn't seem to make an impression, he said "Four score years ago, my ancestors set sail through the sky. We abandoned you pitiful lesser beings to destroy yourselves. Now, I, the greatest of our species, have returned to bequeath upon you the wonder and glory of my benevolent rule."

"You really shouldn't..." Jim said, but the stranger cut him short.

"Shouldn't?" PittSean put his fists on his hips and struck a dramatic pose. "Shouldn't? You DARE try to tell me what I should or should not do? I, and I alone, survived the trials of leadership! I alone made it through the 197 hour marathon retrospective of Showgirls, Ishtar, Shortbus, Pink Flamingo, Caligula, and Steve Urkel reruns!"

"I didn't mean..." Jim said.

"And I alone," PittSean said, a bit louder this time, "was able to recite the classics from memory. All of them--Shakespeare, Salinger, Nabokov, and even Gore! I ALONE survived the battle recreations of both Braveheart AND Gladiator!"

"No, I mean, they changed the law after you left, and you need to..."

"You needn't worry about laws," PittSean chided. "I will be writing your laws for you, from now on. You may report to the President that his new ruler is..."

At that moment, a passenger car blasted through the intersection where PittSean was standing. The impact hurled him over a hundred feet through the air. The car's onboard computer registered a collision with a pedestrian, and immediately docked the driver's record with two points. Then, following procedure, it analyzed the accident, and noted that the pedestrian was a full forty-seven feet from the nearest crosswalk--and restored the two points, since the accident was clearly the pedestrian's fault. Next, it automatically diverted a generous amount from the driver's insurance fund into an account to cover hospitalization and/or funerary costs, and notified local emergency crews of the accident. The driver didn't slow down, but she did turn on the windshield wipers.

"...get out of the Autobahn," Jim finished.

If this collision with the future hasn't left you battered and bleeding, scrape a nickel out of your cuts and contusions and time-travel it our way, to nickelatatime@gmail.com!

Pumbaa, is that You?

]

In hopes of scoring a bailout of their own, members of the "Meerkats are NOT the Other White Meat" lobby turn on their Cute Factor for members of Congress today..."

Isn't this burst of cute overload worthy of a cute little nickel shoved under the door of the Nickelatatime Corporate Highrise?  Hey, you can send one via Paypal, too, at nickelatatime@gmail.com!

The Prince...and The Curse

Note:  This post was originally published as an entry in The Friday Challenge.  If you're not a fan, you should be!  For this particular challenge, the opening paragraphs were given, and the rest of the story was left up to the writers...

As Sir Epididymis squirmed on his rude straw bed and sought warmth in the tattered rags of his old saddle-blanket, he caught a glimpse of the rising harvest moon through the stable window, and once again the vision of that jaundiced, pock-marked orb reminded him of his lost love, fair Princess Gwenrowundelwynne, she of the twelve teeth. Oh, happy the legions of lice who dwelt in the forest of those greasy golden tresses!

His view of beautiful Luna was eclipsed by the short and stubby form of the farmer, who like many of the peasants in North Umborgringlugrand had the gift of understanding the language of the animals.

"Sorry, guv," the farmer said, as he leaned in through the window. "I'll 'ave to ask you to move to the sty. The 'orses are complainin' about 'ow you smell."

"That's quite all right, sir, I understand," said Epid, as his friends called him. He had long ago given up on sleeping in fine taverns and comfortable beds. Normally he would have found a place to camp, but with the rains, it had been as muddy as a pig wallow and dangerous to travel any further.

An hour later, he took pity on the pigs, and let them out of the enclosure. One collapsed and refused to move, and was lying there still, breathing raggedly, when the farmer came to rouse him at dawn. Epid stood at the well, dumping bucket after bucket of cold water over his head. The muck of the sty came away on the third splash; the dirt of the road only took one more. The stench fought an epic defensive battle, and defeated twelve buckets of water.

Epid was shaking water out of his hair and face when the farmer left the pig to stagger back into the sty. "You said you were cursed," he said. "I didn't realize 'ow badly. Poor Widlinn says she'll be running in terror every time a bubble wells up in the mud of 'er sty."

"Aye," the prince said. "Myself, my father the King, all of the royalty of the kingdom." The farmer went to step away, but Epid continued speaking, and the farmer stayed out of courtesy, though it was a near thing. Dealing with pigs and cows since before he could walk gave him a certain...tolerance...but even that was being tested to the limits; his eyes were already beginning to burn, and he blinked a dozen times to clear them.

"Seven years ago, my father threw a great feast, and invited all of the noble families to attend. It was...it was our betrothal," he said, with a quaver in his voice.

"An old woman came to the door, hungry and poor, but my father turned her away. And as she hobbled away, he laughed at her, and threw his bread at her, mocking her. All of the nobles laughed along with him.

"But she disappeared, in a great blast of lightning, and reappeared on the table. I could see the platter of venison between bony ankles splashed with mud and covered in blue and purple veins. She spoke with the shriek of a mad woman.

"'You dare to mock ME, you besotted flatulent fool of a king? I have more power in a lock of my greasy hair than you have in your entire kingdom!' She waved a bony claw at all the assembled nobles. 'ALL of you, witless as a spoiled child, with no sense of what lies outside your own halls!'"

"'Curse you, I do! I curse you all with all the ills of your people! Happy will they be, with the weight pulled from their shoulders and settled onto yours!'

"She vanished then, leaving behind naught but a green smoke that smelled of month-old eggs with cabbage. The wine had turned to vinegar and the cheese had grown mold, and the dogs--and even the rats--refused to eat what had been the venison.

"On the following morn, the nobles began to see the results of her curse."

Tears welled up in the prince's eyes as he remembered his family. "Brave Uncle Theonororffurus...trying to speak through a never-ending flood of snot. Duke and Duchess Whaltingsport, covered in pimples and boils and boils with pimples that rupture in purple pus.

"We dare not speak of the savage monster that dwells just beyond Lady Dentrifficus' pearly gates...and my own lady Gwen, who waits for me, all these years, with all her insects for company...

The wistfulness of his voice turned hard with determination. "And my father...who cannot speak without letting out a belch so powerful that all within a score of yards are knocked senseless and unconscious."

The Prince turned to gaze at the rising sun, and the animals for twelve furlongs behind him snuffled and wheezed and moved to other pastures upwind.

"And so...I am on a quest. A grand and glorious quest, to rid my father's lands and family of this horrible curse." He picked up his sack, and flung it open, showing a hundred small, neatly wrapped scrolls. One seemed to be covered in dried mucus, and two others were burned at the edges. "Apologies all," the prince said, as he slung the pack over his back. "I have travelled to the home of every noble who was there that night, and all have written an apology to the witch. No horse would have me, or allow me to ride in a carriage without panicking or fainting dead away, so my travels are on foot. And no tavern would let me past the gate, because all of the other clients would leave, so I spend my nights deep in the woods, far from anyone who would be disturbed.

"It took two years to get them all, and I've spent two more searching through all the land for the witch herself.

"You don't know of a witch who lives herabouts, do you?"

The farmer could only shake his head; the lack of oxygen in the area was making him swoon.

The prince sighed, and moved off towards the dawn light. The farmer watched him go, leaning heavily on the well with a rag over his nose, but the stench that followed the cursed prince remained until the sun was fully in the sky, long after the figure himself was lost to sight.

If you're still breathing after this Nickel joke, take the nickels out of your nose, splash them in the local well water a few times, and flick them in the general direction of the Nickelatatime Paypal account, nickelatatime@gmail.com!

...they're raising taxes...?

Fluffy, just before learning that the huge new tobacco tax also applied to his catnip stash...

...tax increases are hurting EVERYONE...

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