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'For the Love of Temperance' 3 excerpts:

By Ichabod Temperance All Rights Reserved ©

Humor / Adventure

Prologue: Red Menace







Gringle Kronk!”

Kringle Gronk!”


(Stomp and crack!)

(Limbs and backs!)

(We will attack! Attack! Attack! Attack!)

Thousands upon thousands of heavy drums pulsate through the thin air. Hundreds of thousands of trio-ed feet stomp the red terrain. An otherwise barren landscape vibrates with the excited ritualistic dancing and chanting by an untold multitude of fanatical participants. The non-Terran tundra trembles under the tread of the terrible tri-toed tromps.







Grargle Jauck!”

Grargle Spauck!”


(We will pillage!)

(We will play!)

(We will pillage and slay today!)

Even when seen from a great height, the masses of thrice-armed monsters stretch for as far as your three eyes can see. Millions upon millions of the berserker monsters frolic in uncountable multitudes. In a continuous and frenzied dance, the awkward creatures parade about a gigantic mountain. However, this is no naturally occurring geographic landscape feature. This is an artificial mountain. Generations of these inhabitants beyond measure have toiled to create this monumental wonder. Almost inconceivably massive is our butte. It is actually of a metallic construction. Intricate machineries can be seen to be built into the gynormous, circular behemoth. Nine titanic columns stand at equal distances around her perimeter. These are built to take the hydraulic backlash from the tectonic crushing attributes of the horrible creation.







Smeagle fleag!”

Fleagle smeag!”


(We want your water!)

(We want your air!)

(We wanna waller in your mud, mud, mud!)

The populace of this used-up planet has worked for this day with all the determination of countless generations. Having exhausted all of her resources, the inhabitants of this scarlet world looked to the night sky for relief. In the not-too-far distance, they spied a scrumptious planet, so young and tender. The object of their desire lay covered over by two thirds in water, a delicious atmosphere; and best of all, it teemed with a delectable food source. A plan of conquest was devised, and all of this world’s energies were directed towards an incredible public works project: this great, upwardly aimed device that so resembles a mountain, but is actually an incendiary launching system.







Kitka bitt!”

Bitka kitt!”

Kitka, kitka, bitt! bitt! bitt!”

Bitt! Bitt! Bitt!”

Bitt! Bitt! Bitt!”

(No more sand!)

(We get mud!)

(We slake our thirst on blood, blood, blood!)

(Blood! Blood! Blood!)

(Blood! Blood! Blood!)

Pulled by teams of slathering three footed oxen, a carriage is drawn to the overgrown hillocked howitzer. This vehicle is different than most. It is smooth and shiny. It has no windows. Cylinder shaped, its thick steel-like walls have no features. This hardtop buggy is very big. It is rounded on one end, forming a blunt nose, and flat on the other.

A round hatch is spun open in the center of the flattened end. A three footed, three armed fellow in a baggy, one piece suit steps forward. His admirers enthusiastically applaud in their unusual three handed manner, this world’s hero. He pauses at the entry hatch of his coach to turn and accept the accolades of his peers. The multi-armed champion raises his three hands in salute as his brothers cheer him raucously. He then turns and steps into his awaiting craft. The first of many inter-planetary conquerors is sealed into his projectile. The hatch is screwed shut tightly, safely sealing its hematanaut within.

Huge machineries begin the complicated business of opening their entry to the metal mountain. With many accompanying ‘kuh-whirrs’ and ‘kuh-chunks’, steel sections reveal their paths of conveyance. One after another, the heavy receiver sheets lift and pull backwards, like the many layers of a steel onion peeling open to accept the intrepid, packed passenger. This capsule is fed into the deepest breeches of the colossal cannon. This places our cosmic commuter atop his prepared propellants. There is enough bang compactly packed under this boy’s butt to send him on a very long journey.

Once the space carriage is properly seated, the breech receivers begin the complicated process of closing again. With the last great metallic breech snapping to place in a thunderous click, a hush falls over and spreads out among the gathered masses.

This moment has been worked towards for millenia.

A few moments of silence are reverently observed.

Then, instinctively, the chants, stomps, and drums start up again. With amazing speed, spreading throughout the throngs like a monster tsunami, a fevered and frothy hysterical pitch overtakes the inhabitants. They are a threat to themselves and each other in their violent and calamitous happiness. The wild and uninhibited celebration extends around this World of War.

Without having being told, the populace once again falls under the grip of a profound silence.

The breath of an entire species works as one.

An entire planet suspends its collective breath.

A subconscious, visceral umbilical cord connects this hopeful race of hematavoric monsters.

In some uncanny manner, a simultaneously occurring count-down begins.

At the critical, titular crescendo, the last crucial switch is thrown to fire the dread weapon.


With a shot heard around the solar system, Mars begins her invasion and conquest of planet Earth.

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