Journals

There's a good chance I may have made another person. Sorry.

Specifically, Jude Morris, my son. Born on the 17th at 06:07 and weighing eight pounds and three ounces after only 32 minutes of labour.

For those not yet making babies, my daughter took nearly 16 hours to appear. 32 minutes is crazy fast...

Released: 2016
Genre: Horror
Directed by: Rob Zombie
Running Time: 102 Minutes

Would you believe that I'm yet to receive another response?I think I might have won. I don't like where it had to go, but I'm willing to go to the extreme to come out on top... no pun intended

Sooo... streaming. Let's talk about that. I'm going to be doing it.

You can check my Twitch channel HERE

My net connection isn't amazing at the moment which limits the quality somewhat, but I think it should be watchable.

I'll be playing maps and mods from time to time, as well as mapping every now and then.

Mainly I'm putting this out there in case any of you feel like dropping in for a chat. You can see my past broadcasts to get an idea of the feed quality, mainly the latest one. I will also be on mic next time.

DREAM TIME

So last night I had a pretty horrific dream. I figured I would write it all down as best as I can recall so anyone who cares can look over it, say "meh" and move on.

The dream starts with me waking, face down in a bed, not my own and in a room I don't recognise. I immediately feel uneasy, as if somebody is watching me. I roll over and sure enough, my heart skips a beat as I see a ghostly white woman standing at the foot of the bed, who looks unsettlingly similar to my wife. She is draped in rags that flow as if she is underwater and her eyes are completely blacked out. She raises her arm, pointing to a nearby window and whispers; "The tractor is coming"

Within seconds I can hear a distance sound, an engine, drawing closer. It continues to get louder and louder until everything goes black.

Suddenly, I am driving along a country road in the dead of night, sure enough on an old fashioned tractor. The lights barely light the road ahead and I can just make out that there are thorn bushes either side of the road, about six feet tall. I hit a bump and realise that something is shifting behind me. It turns out that I am pulling a heavily loaded trailer. I turn to see if everything is still in place and to my horror, the trailer is piled high with dismembered and disfigured human corpses. Another jolt sends the heap tumbling off the trailer with a sickening wet sound as they fall onto the road. I keep driving.

Up ahead now, maybe 150 metres, I can see a single street lamp on a wooden pylon. Below it, standing on the grassy curb just in front of it are two figures, silhouetted by the bright light. On of them stood firm, like a stone while holding the other by the back of the neck. They are clearly distressed, thrashing and trying to break free of their grip. I hit another bump and the motionless figure looses it, brutally hacking at the squirming figure with a cleaver or hatchet, eventually beheading them. Their body remains upright, blood shooting up like a fountain. I hit the breaks, stopping the tractor instantly. Both figures stop, motionless, the beheaded figure still standing and squirting blood from it's neck... then they both take off, sprinting straight for me, screaming and gurgling. They vanish into the darkness between myself and the lonely street light. I put the tractor in reverse, look over my shoulder and see all of the disfigured and mutilated bodies from my trailer are now standing behind me, staring right at me.

The engine cuts out, the lights click off... and I wake up.

Mere days after we lose Bowie, cancer has done the world yet another great disservice and taken Alan Rickman from us.

Fuck you, cancer.

XXIX

Some of you have seen this on Facebook already. Thanks for the messages.

I posted some months ago now that my wife and I were working on something. Well, it's officially been released on the 31st of March.

Say hello to the newest member of our family and the youngest member of Scotch and Coffee, Ivory-Rose Morris.

This could be a super old glitch or something that's been around since opposing force came to steam or whatever. I just found it and it tickled me.

Kaboom.

I'm not a professional voice actor, so I do it in the car on the way to my real job to amuse myself: Look here.

10,227 days

My wife and I are making something. It won't be ready for about 7 months though.

Happy explosion day America. Blow something up for me!

Game Idea

What with open world survival now being the trend, I came up with an idea this evening while watching a documentary. How about an open world, first person survival game, where you play as a cat.

You have to hunt small creatures such as birds, mice, rats etc for food, while avoiding other larger creatures such as dogs. Hell you could make it a post apocalyptic setting if that's your bag, or maybe set it in the chernobyl exclusion zone meaning you could enter buildings and such to find food as well, while having to avoid heavily irradiated areas.

Take it online and you have the potential of teaming up with or facing off against other cats in order to defend your territory / to have the ability to hunt in the area undisturbed.

The Alchemist's Wish

“Curses!” the tormented wail echoed through the stoney hallways of the castle. “This one’s come out green! It’s supposed to be blue!” A glass beaker shattered as it struck the cold stone floor, the green fluid within it sizzling as it spread and began dissolving a nearby rug.
The castle alchemist, Ebenezer Brothbrewer was hunched over his work table, wildly flicking through the pages of an enormous recipe book. He had lost track of how long he had been working. It could have been hours, even days, but he would not rest until he had figured out the ingredients for a very special brew he had once created by mistake.
“How hard can it truly be to turn oneself into a dragon?” he said aloud as he stood straight, his bones creaking audibly as he did. He slumped back into his naturally hunched posture and continued turning the pages of his book. “Why did I not write it down?”
He was mostly talking to himself, although some of his muttering caused Woodrow, one of the many cats who called the castle home, to stir in his sleep on top of one of the bookshelves lining the walls. He sat up and yawned, looking down on the frail old man ranting below him with great disinterest. Displeased with having been woken, he slowly moped along the row of shelves before leaping down onto the floor and gleefully trotting out of the room to find a new, quieter spot.
Brothbrewer paced back and forth across the room, scratching his bearded chin, completely oblivious to his previous attempts which littered the room. His most recent attempt was still rapidly dematerialising the large rug in the middle of the floor, while another was slowly climbing one of the walls, attempting to escape through a window. Suddenly, an ingredient he had not yet considered popped into mind. He quickly strode over to his ingredients cabinet and pulled out various vials and jars, checking the label on each.
“Aha!” he laughed “Cinnamon!” he practically skipped back to his bench, confident that this was what he had been missing all this time. He took another beaker, filled it halfway with water, and added the ingredients he had arranged on his table one by one. Then, he opened the jar of cinnamon, tipped some of the powder into his hand, and sprinkled it into the mixture. Satisfied with the amount, he took out his wand and used it to stir the concoction, before taking a step back and watching with high hopes. As the clear liquid began to take on a colour, his eyes almost welled up. It started out incredibly pale, before turning to a bright sky blue, darkening a little, and finally, as though to mock the poor man, rapidly morphed to a deep, dark purple and stopped. Brothbrewer’s eyes were still tearing up, but now they were twitching too, as he felt an intense building up inside him. He shook his head and tiptoed over to the beaker, quickly stirring the mixture again with his wand. Nothing. It remained purple.
He felt something snap. Actually, he felt two things snap. The first was something deep inside his head, his rage at its peak, the second was the wand in his hands. He let out a furious roar and brought both fists down on the work table either side of the beaker, which exploded.
When he opened his eyes, he was lying on his back, looking up at the mossy stone ceiling. He sat upright and rubbed his eyes, and then gazed at the dark purple smoke that was pouring out of the small crater in the table top. Then he noticed a strange light, shining inside the billowing smog. It grew brighter and brighter until suddenly, a small winged creature burst out of the smoke cloud with an audible pop. She was a beautiful, tiny creature, her dark brown hair swaying ever so slightly in the wake of her brilliant bright wings. Her miniature body was slim and without imperfections, covered by a small dress which ended halfway down her thighs.
“You’re a fairy” gasped Brothbrewer, the words sounded mad even to him, his eyes focused on the remains of the beaker “I’ve created a fairy.”
“You have summoned a fairy” the gorgeous being corrected him. “I am to grant you one wish. Then I am free to return to my true home.”
A grin crept across the wizards creased and tired face. He scrambled to get to his feet, then eagerly skipped over to the work bench, his face only an inch or so from the creature’s. Excitedly, he blurted out the first thing that came into his head. “I wish I could remember this blasted dragon potion recipe.”
The fairy almost looked shocked. No wish for great fortune or fame, no wish for eternal life or to be guided to the heavens regardless of sin or religious beliefs. Men often wished for such things without thinking of the consequences and usually paid the price. This one however, was much easier to please. “Very well.” she said and vanished in a bright flash, a single sheet of paper in her place. It fluttered down and landed neatly on the bench top. The wizard hurriedly grabbed the recipe, scanned it with his weary eyes and gathered the ingredients. Adding them one by one to a fresh beaker, he watched the liquid form with wide eyes, finally he had it, as he saw the mixture turn a brilliant blue. He leapt with joy, his cries echoing through the hallways. He calmed himself down, poured the liquid into a vial, and corked it for safekeeping. Then he set it aside and began trying to remember how he summoned the fairy.
It was purple. He knew it had to be purple.