Brother Thomas fell exhausted onto the creek bed. He turned around. His monastery burned. Flames licked the sides of the building and blasted open the roof. Black smoke rose towards heaven.

Brother Thomas had fallen asleep in the hay loft. He awoke to the sounds of the horses panicking. From his vantage point he could see that fire had consumed the gatehouse. He leapt from the loft window and cleared the back wall. He ran from the monastery compound.

As he watched the monastery burn he had one thought on his mind.

“Damned Lutherans.”

Urferd Forkbeard stood a head taller than the next tallest man in his village. Urferd was as broad as two men. His muscled shoulders sat atop a barrel chest. It was known that he could rip trees out from the earth with his massive arms. Urferd’s stony visage was punctuated by world-weary blue-green eyes. As he thought he pulled on his beard; a beard that grew in two long tendrils from his chin.

Urferd Forkbeard should have been the most feared Viking of his age.

But he was not.

Urferd Forkbeard sat on a great rune covered stone near his hut. The sun shone brightly on his face. He squinted down towards the village. The men of the village gathered at the foot of the path leading to Urferd’s hut.

They were talking in hushed voices. They looked at him furtively.

Urferd pretended not to see them.

Urferd picked up his massive axe and whetstone. The axe was a terrible sight. He wondered if there was another man in the village who could wield it like him. Amused, he sat and sharpened the axe.

He knew what they wanted.

Urferd Forkbeard saw Skein Sheildbearer walking towards him. Urferd felt sorry for Skein. It must have been his turn to try and convince him.

“Good day Urferd.”

“Good day Skein.”

“So,” Skein shifted nervously, “the boys and me. Well… We were thinking… You know Olaf Thurgussen just finished his new dragon ship…”

Urferd nodded.

“Well… We thought we’d take Olaf’s boat out and terrorize some Picts. You know… A little killing. A little raping and pillaging. It does a boy good…”

Urferd nodded.

“Wanna come with?”

Urferd Forkbeard put down the axe and whetstone. He tugged his beard.

“I’ve told you before.”

“But Urferd…”

Urferd cut him off. “We can’t keep on killing and raping and pillaging. Like I said in council, this lifestyle isn’t sustainable.”

“But…”

“No! We need to farm and fish more. I’ve got animals and a vegetable patch out back. We should be farmers. We’d get along better with our neighbours. People would like us.”

“But Urferd… We’re Vikings…” Skein shook his head and walked away.

This is why Urferd “the farmer” Forkbeard was not the most feared Viking of his age.

It was after him. He ran through the maze of city streets. The absence of signs of life even at 3:00 am scared him.

And it was after him.

He turned through an alley. Beyond the alley was the safety of his apartment building.

But it was just behind him.

In the alley he stumbled and fell. He knew it would get him. Quivering in fear and covered in sweat he faced his nemesis.

The cardboard Big Mac box leered at him and declared “Now to avenge my brothers who have died at your hand!”

Randy screamed.

Detective Stanley Howard didn’t know what to make of the crime scene. One dead white male, 20-30 years old. The body was sprawled in a short alley, next to a dumpster. Why not in the dumpster?

The victim had been cut up badly. The attacker must not have been terribly strong. The cuts were shallow. But all the cuts bled. The victim must have bled to death. Howard took a final look at the body and the blood that trickled to a storm drain.

Howard saw a bloodied Big Mac box near the drain, and realized he was hungry.

Joe was tired of losing money to the stranger. The stranger seemed clever. Too clever by half.

“Listen feller,” Joe stated, “I’m of a mind to think you’re cheatin’.”

The stranger smiled wide. “My dear boy, I’m not cheating. I am using both of my brains to figure you out.”

“Both yer brains?”

“Yes, the one I was born with, and the other I stole from an itinerant I killed back in ‘68. My two brains are quite superior to your one.”

Joe thought about it. Yup. Two brains would ’splain everything.

It was him.

How could that be? He was dead. Well… He was said to be dead. There was no body. But to show up now after so many years? It didn’t make sense. He looked good for being dead. Well… He looked good at any rate.

“Hullo Roger. I thought you’d died alone. A long long time ago.”

And so it was that Roger Patton was addressed by his arch-nemesis. Years later, when his revenge was complete and total, Roger would look back at that day as one of the happiest in his life.

Without looking away from the television Billy said to Kwame, “Dude. I think we should start a bank for gamers.”

Kwame flinched in his chair, game contrller clenched in his hands, eyes never moving from the luminescent screen.

Billy restated, “It would be a bank where you could keep money that would be used for keeping your on-line accounts current. I’d call it ‘The Users Bank.’”

Kwame killed another virtual zombie. “Dude, that sounds too much like ‘The Usurers Bank.’ Bad idea.”

Billy frowned. “Yeah.”

I stared into my bourbon. I tried to find patterns in the ice and liquor. It was my version of finding shapes in clouds. A grown-up version of staring at the sky.

While I was staring at my drink my soon-to-be ex-girlfriend was ranting on about how she felt distant from me. I “wouldn’t let her in.” Whatever the fuck that means.

I took a drink and told her, “I’m a question mark, a walking talking question mark. But what is the question again?”

“Are you even listening to me?” she pleaded.

“No baby. I’m drinking now.”

High school became difficult for me. I’m from a respectable family. My dad was the city treasurer. I was looking forward to college and a bright future as a doctor.

Then one day dad disappeared. Not only that, the town was broke.

Turns out my life was taxpayer subsidized. Life changed. Nasty glances. Cold shoulders. Lawyers dwell on small details since daddy had to fly. My hopes for the future changed.

I can only hope my old man is living it up in some South American village somewhere. ‘Cause if I ever find him he’s a goner.

It was a crazy time at the restaurant. Mr. and Mrs. Angelities ran the best diner in town for decades. Who’d have suspected that after years of (supposedly) happy marriage Mrs. Angelities would catch her husband “with” the new waitress?

I was smoking with the boys upstairs when I heard about the whole affair. “How old is he again?” Jake asked.

“I don’t know. Sixty?” I responded taking a drag on my Marlboro.

I wondered to myself if it was worth it? I concluded that it probably wasn’t; even if the new waitress was pretty hot.

Greetings, loyal minions. Your Maximum Leader got a wild hair - so to speak - while listening to his iPod. He has decided to take a single line from each of the songs on a particular playlist he’s listening to and write an unrelated 100 Below post incorporating the lyric.

This is just an explanatory post. In case any of you wonder what the hell all these 100 Below posts are all about…

Carry on.

Joe was fading. The compound fracture of his left femur bled unabated.

Homey, Joe’s dog, saw everything. Joe was carrying two cases of beer up from the basement and lost his footing. Homey could see and smell the horrible protrusion of bone coming out of his master’s leg.

Joe knew he’d never make it to the phone upstairs. Joe feared he would die at the foot of the basement stairs.

Homey went to Joe and spoke, “I want to help you, but I’ve decided to trade up to the hot blonde with huge tits down the street. Sorry dude.”