<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10600562</id><updated>2011-05-24T14:07:01.547-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Chris Crane Town</title><subtitle type='html'>Welcome to Chris Crane Town.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oktime.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10600562/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oktime.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Chris Crane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01995566808032483854</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>5</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10600562.post-113955812052293127</id><published>2006-02-09T23:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-20T01:09:45.866-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Eagle Chief</title><content type='html'>This story concerns the chief of the eagle people, and how he spoke to the men of this land during the last age.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I ask you, men of this land, to hear me now. I am Eagle, and it was I who with mighty shrieks once cajoled and hectored the fearsome mountain serpents mercilessly, driving them from their mountain lairs into the valleys below, from whence I then fearlessly drove them back again into the mountain caverns from whence I had originally driven them. It was I, Eagle, along with Rabbit and Snake and several others, including Frog, who wrested the sacred flame from the squat monsters of the east; and while carrying the flame across the sky, it was I who became momentarily distracted and dropped the flame, thus cunningly and inadvertently bestowing upon your ancestors the sacred fire wisdom of your race. I, Eagle, was with you the day Crow stole your testicles, and it was my people who gave chase and retrieved most of the testicles. I speak for all eagles, and it is the conviction of my people that our races should each benefit from the forging of a sacred bond of kinship. Let the association of our two peoples be such as to rival in cooperation the Otter and Muskrat, in mutual respect the Tree Weevil and Bear, and in peaceful coexistence the Lesser Weevil and the fog people." These were the words of Eagle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the men did not hear these words, as they were all eating dinner and making a lot of noise. Also, the voice of the great eagle was difficult to understand because it was extremely high-pitched, and he was speaking from a great distance, as was once the custom of the eagles. Receiving no answer to his words the chief spoke a second time, and for a second time the men did not hear. The chief waited for the men to speak.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"They have not replied to my words again. Perhaps I will repeat my words once more so that the men may hear them and respond," thought the wise chief. The third time Eagle spoke some of the men did notice him, but they did not listen to his words as they thought he was speaking to someone else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The eagle spoke his words a fourth time. This was later in the day, and those few men who were not asleep were playing a betting game. Each of these men wanted to win the game so that he might keep what he had bet, and take from the other men what they had bet. This game was important, and so the men ignored the eagle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Using his keen eyesight the eagle chief observed the men for some time. He was not familiar with the game they played, and soon became confused by the complicated rules. When Eagle left the men he was so confused that he began walking in the wrong direction. But Eagle was wise, and did not walk that direction for very long before correcting his course.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although Eagle was somewhat upset by the behavior of the men that day, he also knew that they were not really to blame. On the way back Eagle made up a song which he thought was great, and then found a piece of gold on the ground.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10600562-113955812052293127?l=oktime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oktime.blogspot.com/feeds/113955812052293127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10600562&amp;postID=113955812052293127' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10600562/posts/default/113955812052293127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10600562/posts/default/113955812052293127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oktime.blogspot.com/2006/02/eagle-chief.html' title='The Eagle Chief'/><author><name>Chris Crane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01995566808032483854</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10600562.post-111136160449279719</id><published>1998-03-20T15:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2005-03-20T18:43:38.520-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;img src="http://zonker.stanford.edu/~tamer/motorcycle_safety3.jpg"&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10600562-111136160449279719?l=oktime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oktime.blogspot.com/feeds/111136160449279719/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10600562&amp;postID=111136160449279719' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10600562/posts/default/111136160449279719'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10600562/posts/default/111136160449279719'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oktime.blogspot.com/1998/03/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Chris Crane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01995566808032483854</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10600562.post-113356695327726445</id><published>1996-10-31T23:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2006-02-27T16:02:08.486-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Case of the Missing Vampire</title><content type='html'>1. You find yourself at the front of a castle because your car broke down and it's raining. It looks really spooky, but it is the only building around for miles. You hear wolves howling in the forest behind you, but there is something not quite right about their howls. You can't put your finger on it, but something about them sounds almost human...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you think you should investigate the sounds from the dark woods, go to 2&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you would rather take your chances with the spooky castle, go to 3&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. You can see almost nothing as you trudge through the mud into the deep dark forest. As you walk further into the woods you realize you are lost, and the howls are getting louder. Panicking, you start to run blindly through the trees. Your face soon hits a tree and you fall onto your back in the mud. Just then, lightning flashes and you realize you are not alone! Those noises you heard were werewolves! But it is too late to do anything now, as the werewolves begin to circle you with their teeth bared. There are just too many werewolves! If there were less werewolves, escape might have been possible. But the number of werewolves who now approach you adds up to just one thing for you and that is&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;THE END&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. You reach the castle door and use the heavy brass door knocker to announce your presence to whomever might be inside the spooky mansion. The door opens slowly with a loud creak. You look inside but see no one in the dim candlelight of the drafty castle's entrance. The howling behind you has grown louder and lightning has begun to flash, illuminating the heavy stone masonry of the castle walls. You set foot inside the castle and look around. Suddenly the door slams shut behind you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you think you should panic and start running around as fast as you can, go to 4&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you decide it would be best to remain calm because it was probably just the wind that closed the door, go to 5&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. You shriek like you are on fire and run straight ahead. Because it is dark you do not see the stairs leading down just ahead of you. When you regain consciousness from your fall you find that you cannot move! It feels as if something has happened to your back. Before you can collect your thoughts, however, you notice that there are two mummies in the room, and they are walking right towards you! Too bad you can't move, because those mummies look hungry!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THE END&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. You turn calmly towards the door to survey the situation. Sure enough, there is no one there. You smile to yourself, proud that you didn't panic.&lt;br /&gt;"Good evening," says a deep voice from out of the darkness. "I am Manfred, the butler. I hope the...dogs didn't frighten you."&lt;br /&gt;You introduce yourself to Manfred, and assure him that the dogs were not a problem, though something in the way he said "dogs" didn't seem quite right and made you think of werewolves.&lt;br /&gt;"My car has broken down, if I could just use your phone-" you begin to say, but Manfred cuts you off sharply.&lt;br /&gt;"We have no phone here. Not anymore at any rate. You see, the master... has been unwell."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you think to yourself : "No telephone? Rats! I might as well just take my chances in the forest - maybe there's a payphone on the other side" then bid Manfred a good night and go to 2&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you decide that you would rather just stay in the castle because it's obvious that the master of the house is a vampire and this book is about a vampire, go to 6&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. "He's a vampire, isn't he?" you say to Manfred.&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, of course he is a vampire," replies the butler, "but that isn't the problem. You see, the problem is... I can't find him."&lt;br /&gt;Now it all seems to be falling into place.&lt;br /&gt;"Of course," you think to yourself, "if I help old Manfred here find the vampire, I'll be that much closer to having my car fixed."&lt;br /&gt;You smile at Manfred.&lt;br /&gt;"Of course I'll help you find your vampire," you tell the butler. "Why not? It sounds like fun, and if it will help me get my car fixed, then so much the better."&lt;br /&gt;Manfred looks confused for a second, and then shrugs.&lt;br /&gt;"Whatever," he says. "Would you like to check upstairs or downstairs?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To volunteer to check upstairs, go to 7&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Downstairs? go to 8&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. "Upstairs for me," you exclaim. After ascending the rickety staircase you find yourself in a hallway. You walk down the hallway and look into each room you pass, but it soon becomes obvious that there is no vampire in any of them. "Better see how old Manfred's doing," you think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Look for Manfred downstairs; go to 8&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Following the stairs down from the entranceway you find yourself in a dark, dank cellar of some sort.&lt;br /&gt;"Manfred?" you call. "I can't see anything!"&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly the room becomes bright, and you can see that you've been tricked. You find yourself at the end of a long table surrounded by werewolves, mummies, and Frankensteins, and in the middle of the table is a cake.&lt;br /&gt;"Surprise!" the assembled guests shout in unison. And surprised you are, that's for sure!&lt;br /&gt;Just then, Manfred steps out from behind a Frankenstein and addresses you with a smile.&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, young detective, this party is for you. I hope you like good cake!" The monsters laugh at this politely.&lt;br /&gt;Before you can assure the old butler that you do in fact like good cake, he continues. "By the way, I have someone here who would like to meet you."&lt;br /&gt;At this, a figure emerges tentatively from behind one of the other Frankensteins. It's the vampire!&lt;br /&gt;"So there you are!" you announce happily.&lt;br /&gt;The vampire smiles shyly and looks down at the cake.&lt;br /&gt;"You read my mind, vampire!" you laugh. "Let's all eat some fucking cake!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;THE END&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10600562-113356695327726445?l=oktime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oktime.blogspot.com/feeds/113356695327726445/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10600562&amp;postID=113356695327726445' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10600562/posts/default/113356695327726445'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10600562/posts/default/113356695327726445'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oktime.blogspot.com/1996/10/case-of-missing-vampire.html' title='The Case of the Missing Vampire'/><author><name>Chris Crane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01995566808032483854</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10600562.post-112163112978072512</id><published>1995-04-03T13:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-07-21T09:31:28.053-07:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1044/827/1600/pdog2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/1044/827/320/pdog2.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10600562-112163112978072512?l=oktime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oktime.blogspot.com/feeds/112163112978072512/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10600562&amp;postID=112163112978072512' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10600562/posts/default/112163112978072512'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10600562/posts/default/112163112978072512'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oktime.blogspot.com/1995/04/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>Chris Crane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01995566808032483854</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10600562.post-111136915726681193</id><published>1990-09-09T17:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2005-03-20T18:01:33.936-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Army Team Nine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chapter 1&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Army Team Nine stood around and watched as the monitor revealed the aftermath of yet another atrocity perpetrated by the nefarious Shithead Brothers. “That’s the last straw,” Bulldog growled. His bald head shone with rage, and his fu manchu moustache twitched rapidly with resolve.&lt;br /&gt;“Let’s move,” a woman’s voice said. It was Katrina. As the woman and Kung Fu expert of the group, she was as deadly as she was strong, but not like a female body-builder. No, she was totally hot. &lt;br /&gt;Hawk Eaglesmith was the first to act. “Jimmy,” he whispered gruffly, “get me my helicopter and machine guns.” &lt;br /&gt;Jimmy started towards the door, but Seadog stopped him. “Don’t forget my submarine,” he said, holding Jimmy’s arm. “Bring it around front, and leave the engine running.”&lt;br /&gt;“Yes sir,” Jimmy responded, and started to leave again. &lt;br /&gt;“Wait,” said Jack Hunter, “I’ll need my Jeep, Jimmy. This job isn’t going to be easy.”&lt;br /&gt;“That’s never stopped us before,” replied Katrina as she stroked Jack’s muscular arm in a suggestive way.&lt;br /&gt;Jimmy waited a second, then started towards the door again. &lt;br /&gt;“I like those odds,” said Rock.&lt;br /&gt;“Actually, get me my fighter jet,” said Hawk. ”And Jimmy…”&lt;br /&gt;“Yeah Hawk?”&lt;br /&gt;“Don’t forget the missiles.”&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/10600562-111136915726681193?l=oktime.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://oktime.blogspot.com/feeds/111136915726681193/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=10600562&amp;postID=111136915726681193' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10600562/posts/default/111136915726681193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/10600562/posts/default/111136915726681193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://oktime.blogspot.com/1990/09/army-team-nine-chapter-1-army-team.html' title=''/><author><name>Chris Crane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/01995566808032483854</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
