Thomm Quackenbush, author

SwankiVY

Title
Clouds

The Good

The author captures the idea of writing children excellently. The author unfortunately captured lobsters in the process and those, in turn, eat the children before they can relate anything remotely interesting.

The Bad

Those clouds they keep looking at are a swarm of asteroids that will crush not only their feeble dreams but also their young bodies. Their parents, so intent on escaping the impact, left them to die. This world is no longer safe for children.
"What does that cloud look like?"
"To me it looks like the avatar of death, the unquenchable thirst of a God who longs to be heard in our hearts again."
"I'm scared, Shannon." "Of course you're scared Chris, your sin makes you afraid."
"I never told you this, but my dream was to see you in the sky, to see you in the collection of water, to understand that you were the one meant for me."
"Must you overdramatize everything, Chris? Why don't you dry your eyes, keep your chin up and be prepared to be reduced to burning particles like the rest of us?"
"You're right. I'm sorry, Shannon."
"Not as sorry as you will be if we don't make love right now." Chris never noticed the knife as it plunged into his heart, never saw the reflection of the blade as it kissed the light of the sun. He only felt a sharp stab and the sound of his heart collapsing around the blade. Above, the sky roared in approval, as the President, a fan of big budget movies, sent an array of nuclear missiles into the sky in vain hopes of deflecting the oncoming swarm. Russian automated response components, abandoned for over twenty years, sprung to life, sending their automated response towards key American cities. Chris whimpered, Shannon laughed as she clutched his head against her bosom, and the sky awoke in fire and ash.

None of this actually happens in the story, but you have to admit that's a great idea.

The Review

SwankiVY -- because internet writers don't have grown up names -- spins a tale of childhood innocence. Two children, both alike in dignity, decide to spend their day staring into the sky and relating to one another what horrific visions appear to them. Methinks these children got into their parent's LCD stash, but that's just an interpretation, and subtracts nothing from those D.A.R.E readers in the audience. Shannon, as it turns out the lesser annoying of the characters, has a dream.

"I think I want everyone to know me because I can tell good stories. I want everyone to read my stories and then think about the story, and then write me long letters about how much my story changed their lives."

This story reminds me that midgets, if given the chance, will kidnap my daughter and stare with her into the sky. Where are the parents? If anything, this story will lead to me harshly judging anyone who comes near my future daughter. Get your hands off her, you little pervert.

"Well, when they were both thinking about the same things, making up the story together, the way they saw the sky was a lot more the same than when they were thinking different thoughts. It only makes sense, don't you see?"

No, this actually makes no sense. Visualize the center of sense as Boston, Massachusetts. Now using your magic flying bicycle and a pint of vanilla ice cream, travel to where they keep the magic flying train. Now the train runs on dreams, but only good ones, so you'll want to think of something involving kittens and a ball of string, unless you want to hit the ground somewhere over Iowa. Trust me, no one would notice.

Here's the problem with this story, children do not interact this way. Hell, grownups rarely interact with more than three mumbled words before grinding on each other in a purely inappropriate way. Maybe it's just me though; maybe I'm missing the point to all of this.

"Not everyone will miss the point like you," Shannon barked. "I don't mean you are stupid but it certainly seems like I was clear enough."

You weren't clear. Where are you going with this? I have no idea what you want this story to say.

"Thank you," said Shannon, pacified. She took a bite out of her apple.

Well, that's a horribly simplistic answer to end this discussion. I can't believe you're just going to sit there, eat your apple and pretend nothing is wrong with us. You're supposed to be my wife, Shannon, remember that. Why did you suddenly change your mind?

"Because maybe I'd want to be someone else's wife, or maybe nobody's at all," she explained. "There's no reason why I should think about marrying you."

Forget it, let's just look up to the sky and look at the clouds.

"That one looks like a frog," he said, pointing.
"You're absolutely right."

Therefore, the female of the story is compromising with the stupid male. Nice job killing the women's movement, SwankiVY, way to freaking go.

Your Moment of Insanity

"We could talk about my stories," she said, brightening.
"But I don't want to talk about your stories. We already heard one story and now I don't really feel like listening to you tell another one."

It's as if the author inserted a recording machine into my mind.

Your Musical Moment Provided By Benny Profane

"Had another gray day here. The Novocain's too weak. I can feel your drill but you know I still hope you find what you seek."


Stevehen J. Warren is a trained professional in dealing with the crap society churns out. If possible, do not attempt to engage any crap you may find. He mocks it so you don't have to.

If you have a movie, picture, website, friend, game, book, fan fiction, or toilet you would like me to see, or crap all over, please inform your friendly webmaster and include your name and the name of the crappee. The numbers are open and we have trained professionals waiting to receive your call.



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Works by Thomm Quackenbush

The Night's Dream Series

We Shadows by Thomm Quackenbush

Danse Macabre by Thomm Quackenbush

Artificial Gods by Thomm Quackenbush