Alcatraz Versus the Shattered Lens

Boys, welcome to the wonderful world of talking to women about their feelings. As a handy primer, here are a few things you should know: 1) Women have feelings. 2) You will spend the next seventy years or so trying to guess what they're feeling and why. 3) You will be wrong most of the time. 4) I like French Fries.

Impossible things are really rough to do, you know.

I am a Smedry, and we do ridiculous, unexpected, eccentric things like this all the time! Ha-ha!

She was absolutely beautiful. She had long blonde hair, kind of the shade of a bowl of mac and cheese. She was smiling a wide, genuine smile—which was rather the shape of a macaroni and cheese noodle. She seemed to radiate light, much like a bowl of mac and cheese might if you stuffed a lightbulb into it. Her skin was soft and squishy, like— Okay. Maybe I’m too hungry to be writing right now.

Bastille has a talent for killing conversations. Basically, Bastille has a talent for killing anything.

Everyone always talks about the magic of books being able to take you to other places, to let you see exotic worlds, to make you experience new and interesting things. Well, do you think words alone can do this? Of course not! If you’ve ever thought that books are boring, it’s because you don’t know how to read them correctly. From now on, when you read a book, I want you to scream the words of the novel out loud while reading them, then do exactly what the characters are doing in the story. Trust me, it will make books way more exciting. Even dictionaries. Particularly dictionaries.

I've never understood one thing: Why do all these megalomaniac dictators, secret societies, mad scientists, and totalitarian aliens want to rule the world? I mean really? Don't they know what a pain in the neck it is to be in charge? People are always making unreasonable demands of kings. "Please save us from the invading Vandal hoards! Please make sure we have proper sanitation to prevent the spread of disease! Please stop beheading your wives so often; it's ruining the rugs!

To my father and son,’” Grandpa Smedry read, adjusting his Oculator’s Lenses as he examined the note. “‘I am bad at saying goodbye. Goodbye.’” He lowered the paper, shrugging.

I still think a grenade shouldn’t be able to explode inward,” I said, shaking sand off my clothing as I walked up to the window. “I mean, how would you even make that work?” “Maybe you take the same stuff you put in a regular grenade, then put it in backward?” “I … don’t think it works that way, Bastille.

Wondering where the Mokians get all those shark teeth? Well it involves using children who read the last pages of books first as bait.

I will not read the last page of novels first," I said, and then punched myself in the face. "I promise, I'll never again read the last page of novels first," I said, then smacked myself on the head with a book. "I really, really, really regret reading the last page of this novel first!" (This page is, of course, here for those of you who skip to the end of the book first. Naughty, naughty! Fortunately, you're acting out the book like you're supposed to, right? Well, let that be a lesson to you.)

At that moment, something incredible happened. Something amazing, something incredible, something unbelievable. Bastille smiled. It was a deep, knowing smile. An eager smile. Almost a wicked smile. Like the smile on a jack-o’-lantern carved by a psychopathic kitten. (Oh, wait. All kittens are psychopathic.

As a side note, I hate assassination. It looks way too much like a dirty word. Either that or the name of a country populated entirely by two donkeys.

Kaz nodded. "If you fight and make a disturbance, the Librarians will cut off our exit out of the tunnel. Sparrows!" "Kaz, where did you pick up all that fowl language?" Bastille asked. "Sorry. Spent two weeks trapped in an ornithologist's convention during my last time lost.

By the way, have I mentioned how ugly that shirt is? Yeah. Next time, please try to dress up a little bit when you read my books. Someone might see you, and I have a reputation to maintain.

Recess. That’s right. They’d break recess and turn it into a session of advanced algebra instead.

Every Smedry has a Talent. The Talent can be powerful, it can be unpredictable, and it can be disastrous. But it’s always interesting.

The real reason everything looks the same has to do with one simple concept: underpants.

Something needs to happen,” I said. “Something exciting.” We looked out the window expectantly. A bluebird flew by. It didn’t, however, explode. Nor did it turn out to be a secret Librarian ninja bird. In fact, despite my dramatic proclamation, nothing at all interesting happened. And nothing interesting will happen for the next three chapters.

She Who Cannot Be Named

Also, you may have noticed that this is Chapter Two. You may be wondering where Chapter One went. It turns out that I—being stoopid—lost it. Don’t worry, it was kind of boring anyway. Well, except for the talking llamas.

This is my story. Or, well, part four of it. Otherwise known as “The part where everything goes wrong, and then Alcatraz has a cheese sandwich.

A clanking sound came from behind us. I glanced over my shoulder. No fewer than fifty Knights of Crystallia were rushing down the hallway in our direction. “Gak!” I cried. “Alcatraz, would you stop saying—” Bastille looked over her shoulder. “GAK!

We choose this life in Mokia. Not because it is ‘primitive’ or ‘advanced,’ but because it is what we like. The more complex the things surrounding your life become—the homes, the vehicles, the things you put in your homes and your vehicles—the more time you must spend on them. And the less time you have for thought and study.” I