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October 15, 2007


Sometimes, you just have to commit to something. Tell us about one of those times.

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Tanya: Untitled

“You can ask any sailor, and the keys from the jailor,” she sang quietly, applying her mascara.

This outpost was so far beneath her, but they’d scraped up the cash for one show. Naturally, she resisted, until her agent threatened to fire her. Bitch. This joint always gave her nightmares. And they never had champagne. Not even the synthesized crap.

“And the old men in wheelchairs know… God, I hate that song.” She glared at herself in the mirror. “You’re already here, Lex. Just get it over with.” She slipped a knife into her garter and headed for the bar.

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Jim: Frozen Assets

Greeley stared bleary-eyed at the schedule. “Forty-seven deliveries today and only two pilots?” he asked.

Dora shrugged and stifled a yawn. “It’s the nightmares, Boss,” she replied. “They can’t haul ice when they’re passed out from exhaustion.”

“Don’t those deadbeats know that people will die if we don’t make these ice deliveries?” He pointed at the schedule. “How will these asteroids get air and water?”

Dora shrugged again.

I can fly a buggy, damn it!” swore Greeley. “Have them load the ice for the Ceres run!”

“I can’t,” Dora said. “All of the comet miners took a sick day, too.”

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Ted: Hole Card

Ed reached for his tickler.

"Got it Ed," James said softly. The bar went silent. "Sara, ask Tina to join us, please."

Goon One started to speak, but James silenced him with a finger. Sara waved the crowd to the aux rooms behind the bar.

"Tina, darlin'? I need to speak to Grovesner, can you reach him?"

"Sure. Shot?" Ed poured.

"Tina, ask Grovesner how committed he is to his quarterly payment."

"What's this about?' came the voice of the sector chief out of little Tina's mouth.

"Privacy. Or do you want Tina to blast your goons and your brain?"

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From The Comments: Rick (Posted by Tom)

After a ninety-minute wait, I spotted a twelve-point buck six meters to the right of me. Unaware of my camouflaged presence, he lifted his grand head to remove the woody stems off a dogwood tree's lower branches.

As I steadied my quivering finger on the trigger and placed my right eye near the scope, a falling branch surprised us both. As he bolted away, I pulled the trigger and hit my target high in the back of his neck.

Moments later, with the buck far out of sight, my hunting companion closed his puzzled eyes and drew his last breath.

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