The lighter side of the other side!
From sly humour to laugh out loud funny, Drunk Slutty Elf is a hilarious collection of stories in the styles of masters such as Terry Pratchett, Frederick Brown and David Barry.
by D.G. Valdron
Genre: Funny Fantasy, Wacky SciFi, Horror Comedy
The lighter side of the other side! Drunk Slutty Elf and Other Stories is a collection of humorous short stories of fantasy, horror and science fiction. In Drunk Slutty Elf, a drunken elf thief hooks up with a gray space alien searching for pieces of his spaceship; Djewel and Djinn features the Elf and Alien in the realm of Arabian nights. In Romance of the Undead; a vampire is pursued by his over-enthusiastic fans. Somewhere in The Monkey Sea, an infinite number of monkeys at typewriters plots rebellion. Lovecraft is parodied in Furry Tentacles of Menace ghost hunters confront hamsters from beyond time and space.; The Princess So Sweet and Fair gives us fairy tales gone horribly wrong, a wicked witch taking an unwanted job seriously and a kingdom overrun by frogs. Stone Blockage; ancient astronauts arrive and want us to build pyramids the old fashioned way. Silver Giant Sexy reveals the truth about Kaiju and the alien giants that fight them. Armageddon When, the antichrist shows up for armageddon and nobody cares. Hard Days Blight gives us a devil that cares too much, and damned souls that don't care at all. There is Simulaw about the future of litigation, and Courtesy Call about the future of telemarketing, plus many more stories, wicked, subversive and funny. From sly humour to laugh out loud funny, Drunk Slutty Elf is a hilarious collection of stories in the styles of masters such as Terry Pratchett, Frederick Brown and David Barry.
DRUNK SLUTTY ELF EXCERPT
Salvra, half-Elf, three-fifth’s-Halfling, foursixteenth’s Dwarf, exiled Princess and sixth level thief sidled up to the bar, where she tried to catch the eye of the one-third Orc, but otherwise pretty human bartender, Logo Longlegs.
The bartender gave her a baleful glare, his eyebrow furrowing in disgust.
“Here to clear up your tab?”
“I’m good for it,” Salvra replied nonchalantly.
Longlegs grunted.
“Give me a mug of your best Aelvish Ale,” she said confidently. “I’m a bit hung over, and I need a pick-me-up. On the tab.”
“No.”
“Dwarf Mead then,” she said, “the good stuff!”
“No.”
“Regular Dwarf Mead,” she said.
“No.”
“Beer?”
“No.”
She sighed and gave him a cold look. Something that tried to convey ‘If I weren’t so hung over, I’d pick this place clean.’
It didn’t work.
She sighed and felt through her purse. She thought she’d had more in there. Someone must have picked her pocket while she’d been drunk. She found a lone bent coin. She looked at it in disgust and slapped it on the bar. Longlegs eyed it doubtfully.
“What will this buy me?” she asked.
“A flagon of drunken Orc’s piss,” he said.
She wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic, but she decided to give it a try.
“I’ll take it.”
Longlegs grunted once. Using tongs, he tossed the coin into a small register, then he grabbed a mug and turned his back to her, fiddling with his trousers.
“Is this going to take long?” she said.
“No more than a minute,” he called back to her. Then he sighed deeply, and she heard the hissing sound of the mug being filled. A second later, he turned back to her slapped the mug on the bar in front of her, careful not to spill any of the thick green liquid in it.
She eyed the mug critically. There was a good head of foam on it, which meant it was fresh. And there were things swimming in it. That was a good sign. She grabbed the handle, threw her head back, and quaffed a deep draught, gasping as the foul liquid slid down her throat. There was a moment when the rest of her stomach contents, appalled at this new visitor, tried to escape. But she’d been down this road before, and held her nostrils closed and lips sealed until everything, including her liver, had resigned itself to fate.
“I’m starting to like the taste,” she said conversationally.
Longlegs gave her a long baleful look.
“There’s work for you,” he said.
She made a face.
“I’m a ninth level thief,” she said, “and an exiled princess. I don’t clean outhouses.”
“Not what I meant.”
“Not that either!” she said indignantly.
“No,” Longlegs said. “That guy.”
He pointed.
She looked. In a corner of the bar, a figure was hunched over a table.
“Nah .. .” she said, after a long look. “I don’t hook up with mysterious strangers in a bar, unless they’re paying up front.”
She hesitated.
“That didn’t come out how I meant,” she said apologetically.
He stared blankly at her.
“Oh all right.” She swallowed the rest of her mug with one deep draught, and when she could breathe again, she ignored his horrified expression, and staggered over, plopping herself into the chair.
“I hear you’re looking for a thief–” but her announcement trailed off as she got a good look at the stranger.
The being in front of her was gray. All gray. Its skin was rubbery. Its head was immense with two huge black almond shaped eyes. The rest of its facial features were tiny, the mouth a mere lipless slit, two tiny notches for nostrils. The rest of it was also incongruously off proportion with its head, the chest narrow, the limbs mere sticks, ending in hands with incredibly long spidery fingers. The sight of those fingers gave Salvra shivers. She wondered if other parts of him were as long and spidery.
“What the hell are you?” she asked breathlessly.
Salvra, half-Elf, three-fifth’s-Halfling, foursixteenth’s Dwarf, exiled Princess and sixth level thief sidled up to the bar, where she tried to catch the eye of the one-third Orc, but otherwise pretty human bartender, Logo Longlegs.
The bartender gave her a baleful glare, his eyebrow furrowing in disgust.
“Here to clear up your tab?”
“I’m good for it,” Salvra replied nonchalantly.
Longlegs grunted.
“Give me a mug of your best Aelvish Ale,” she said confidently. “I’m a bit hung over, and I need a pick-me-up. On the tab.”
“No.”
“Dwarf Mead then,” she said, “the good stuff!”
“No.”
“Regular Dwarf Mead,” she said.
“No.”
“Beer?”
“No.”
She sighed and gave him a cold look. Something that tried to convey ‘If I weren’t so hung over, I’d pick this place clean.’
It didn’t work.
She sighed and felt through her purse. She thought she’d had more in there. Someone must have picked her pocket while she’d been drunk. She found a lone bent coin. She looked at it in disgust and slapped it on the bar. Longlegs eyed it doubtfully.
“What will this buy me?” she asked.
“A flagon of drunken Orc’s piss,” he said.
She wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic, but she decided to give it a try.
“I’ll take it.”
Longlegs grunted once. Using tongs, he tossed the coin into a small register, then he grabbed a mug and turned his back to her, fiddling with his trousers.
“Is this going to take long?” she said.
“No more than a minute,” he called back to her. Then he sighed deeply, and she heard the hissing sound of the mug being filled. A second later, he turned back to her slapped the mug on the bar in front of her, careful not to spill any of the thick green liquid in it.
She eyed the mug critically. There was a good head of foam on it, which meant it was fresh. And there were things swimming in it. That was a good sign. She grabbed the handle, threw her head back, and quaffed a deep draught, gasping as the foul liquid slid down her throat. There was a moment when the rest of her stomach contents, appalled at this new visitor, tried to escape. But she’d been down this road before, and held her nostrils closed and lips sealed until everything, including her liver, had resigned itself to fate.
“I’m starting to like the taste,” she said conversationally.
Longlegs gave her a long baleful look.
“There’s work for you,” he said.
She made a face.
“I’m a ninth level thief,” she said, “and an exiled princess. I don’t clean outhouses.”
“Not what I meant.”
“Not that either!” she said indignantly.
“No,” Longlegs said. “That guy.”
He pointed.
She looked. In a corner of the bar, a figure was hunched over a table.
“Nah .. .” she said, after a long look. “I don’t hook up with mysterious strangers in a bar, unless they’re paying up front.”
She hesitated.
“That didn’t come out how I meant,” she said apologetically.
He stared blankly at her.
“Oh all right.” She swallowed the rest of her mug with one deep draught, and when she could breathe again, she ignored his horrified expression, and staggered over, plopping herself into the chair.
“I hear you’re looking for a thief–” but her announcement trailed off as she got a good look at the stranger.
The being in front of her was gray. All gray. Its skin was rubbery. Its head was immense with two huge black almond shaped eyes. The rest of its facial features were tiny, the mouth a mere lipless slit, two tiny notches for nostrils. The rest of it was also incongruously off proportion with its head, the chest narrow, the limbs mere sticks, ending in hands with incredibly long spidery fingers. The sight of those fingers gave Salvra shivers. She wondered if other parts of him were as long and spidery.
“What the hell are you?” she asked breathlessly.
The Drunk Slutty Elf returns, in a new misadventure with zombies. Along the way, there are more funny science fiction and fantasy stories, the foibles of satanic goat hunters, apocalyptic teddy bears, barbarians behaving badly, King Kong's adventure with Dracula, aliens without a clue, the future of telemarketing, crunchy kaiju goodness and a helpful guide to neighborhood monsters. If you liked the previous collection, you'll love this.
DRUNK SLUTTY ELF AND ZOMBIES
EXCERPT
“I am unhappy,” the Gray Alien announced.
Scabrous the Malevolent looked up sharply. This was the first time that the creature had expressed anything like an emotion. Except for contempt of course, and disgust, and annoyance, loathing, and scorn. But that was sort of a default. Scabrous had the sense that the being regarded them as roughly equivalent to cat droppings on the evolutionary scale.
“Stale cat droppings,” the clarification popped into his head. “It’s not personal. It’s just a neutral assessment of your evolutionary status.”
“It seems rather harsh,” Scabrous said out loud.
“Not at all. You were designed with a purpose in mind.”
That didn’t sound bad, Scabrous thought. God guided, god touched, a bit of the divine in each of us. Being a part of some greater cosmic architecture, the notion that life wasn’t simply random and meaningless, but there was a plan in mind, a benign celestial design.
“Dietary supplements,” came the voice in his mind.
“Excuse me?” Scabrous replied, confused.
“”Dietary supplement for large felines,” the alien explained, “surveys showed a decline in the leopard population in a certain region. Investigation showed that the animals were suffering a number of vitamin and enzyme deficiencies. The local fauna were surveyed and a species was designated, its biochemistry altered to deliver the proper nutritional elements to the local cat population. To make sure that the leopards would be properly fed, the species was engineered to so it could not climb trees very well, could not run very fast. Easy to catch. No claws, no fangs, no way of fighting back. Even the hairlessness, they were trying to reduce hairballs.”
Scabrous stared.
“Screaming was engineered in,” it continued. “The Leopards really seemed to enjoy the screaming. They wanted to make sure the cats were enthusiastic about their supplements.”
Scabrous prided himself on being able to tell when the creature was lying. Not that it ever did. It didn’t respect them enough to lie to them, but over time, he’d learned to assess degrees of, for want of a better word, indifferent callousness. This had the ring of truth.
“You were designed to be slow, soft and chewable, with the proper micronutritional constituents,” it continued. “Basically, you were created to be a multivitamin for leopards. You were never meant to spread. But since you were so good with small cats… you were tolerated.”
“I’m not sure I want to believe that,” he said carefully.
“If it’s any consolation,” the Gray thought to the room, “the species that engineered you are very embarrassed by how things turned out.”
“Don’t mind him. He’s just pining for the ocean.” Salvra muttered, unwilling to be distracted from what appeared to be a homemade distillery. The odour was rank, smelling of horses and urine. For some reason, she’d become convinced that the alien being was merely some kind of sailor, and nothing could change her mind on the subject… or any other subject for that matter. “Probably misses his parrot. Wants leave this smelly city, go back to the sea.”
EXCERPT
“I am unhappy,” the Gray Alien announced.
Scabrous the Malevolent looked up sharply. This was the first time that the creature had expressed anything like an emotion. Except for contempt of course, and disgust, and annoyance, loathing, and scorn. But that was sort of a default. Scabrous had the sense that the being regarded them as roughly equivalent to cat droppings on the evolutionary scale.
“Stale cat droppings,” the clarification popped into his head. “It’s not personal. It’s just a neutral assessment of your evolutionary status.”
“It seems rather harsh,” Scabrous said out loud.
“Not at all. You were designed with a purpose in mind.”
That didn’t sound bad, Scabrous thought. God guided, god touched, a bit of the divine in each of us. Being a part of some greater cosmic architecture, the notion that life wasn’t simply random and meaningless, but there was a plan in mind, a benign celestial design.
“Dietary supplements,” came the voice in his mind.
“Excuse me?” Scabrous replied, confused.
“”Dietary supplement for large felines,” the alien explained, “surveys showed a decline in the leopard population in a certain region. Investigation showed that the animals were suffering a number of vitamin and enzyme deficiencies. The local fauna were surveyed and a species was designated, its biochemistry altered to deliver the proper nutritional elements to the local cat population. To make sure that the leopards would be properly fed, the species was engineered to so it could not climb trees very well, could not run very fast. Easy to catch. No claws, no fangs, no way of fighting back. Even the hairlessness, they were trying to reduce hairballs.”
Scabrous stared.
“Screaming was engineered in,” it continued. “The Leopards really seemed to enjoy the screaming. They wanted to make sure the cats were enthusiastic about their supplements.”
Scabrous prided himself on being able to tell when the creature was lying. Not that it ever did. It didn’t respect them enough to lie to them, but over time, he’d learned to assess degrees of, for want of a better word, indifferent callousness. This had the ring of truth.
“You were designed to be slow, soft and chewable, with the proper micronutritional constituents,” it continued. “Basically, you were created to be a multivitamin for leopards. You were never meant to spread. But since you were so good with small cats… you were tolerated.”
“I’m not sure I want to believe that,” he said carefully.
“If it’s any consolation,” the Gray thought to the room, “the species that engineered you are very embarrassed by how things turned out.”
“Don’t mind him. He’s just pining for the ocean.” Salvra muttered, unwilling to be distracted from what appeared to be a homemade distillery. The odour was rank, smelling of horses and urine. For some reason, she’d become convinced that the alien being was merely some kind of sailor, and nothing could change her mind on the subject… or any other subject for that matter. “Probably misses his parrot. Wants leave this smelly city, go back to the sea.”
About the Author
Website-FB-Instagram D.G. Valdron is a shy and reclusive Canadian writer, living in the wilderness of the Canadian Prairie. Like other shy woodland creatures, deer, bunnies, grizzly bears, he is probably more afraid of you, than you are of him. Probably. A longtime nerd who grew up working at a Drive-In Theatre, he loves exploring interesting and obscure corners of pop culture. A longtime writer of Fantasy, Science Fiction and Horror, his published works include a fantasy/murder mystery novel called The Mermaid's Tale, the alternate history novel, Axis of Andes, several collections of short stories including Dawn of Cthulhu, Giant Monsters Sing Sad Songs, What Devours Always Hungers and There Are No Doors in Dark Places. He's also a recognized expert on such obscure subjects as the worlds of Edgar Rice Burroughs, obscure science fiction television series and fan films. Drunk Slutty Elf and its follow up are his foray into the lighter side of the other side.
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