Mala Fide dotcom

I'm an iron-tongued devil, I am.

Monday, August 8, 2011

Lazy Monday

For your amusement I invite you to review the letters I’ve written to Dear Margo.

The first letter.

A followup on the first letter.

The second letter co-authored by Mrs. King.

"Dropo, you are the laziest man on Mars." – Kimar

posted by latiolais at 0815  

Monday, August 1, 2011

Innerwebz Archeology

Using the Wayback Machine I’ve resurrected the second, circa 1996, version of my original webpage, Quando Prandimus.

Try not to hurt yourself laughing.

It’s, like, totally rad, dude.

posted by latiolais at 0800  

Monday, June 27, 2011

In which I duplicate effort

I’ve set up a separate blog for my writing, A Tidy, Amoral Alias. All my new work will be posted there, but I’ll link everything here on Mala Fide dotcom.


posted by latiolais at 0800  

Saturday, June 11, 2011

In which I make use of repetitive narration

Steve Weddle has issued a vacation noir flash fiction challenge at Do Some Damage. I dunno if my offering here contains enough noir for DSD, but it does contain a cougar on the loose and nice enough bridge…

Ray Adam Latiolais

The natty man was polite, but would clearly rather be doing anything else than assisting this…harridan. She had turned cashing traveler’s cheques into an inquisition about the bank’s services and then into a freaking tour of the bank itself.

He could not believe the manager had encouraged it on the mere possibility that this woman would open an account at the branch. The manager had smelled money and insisted that he show the woman every courtesy and answer all reasonable queries. He thought it was because the woman and the manager were in the Sour Old Bitch Club together.

For the last hour plus he had closed his eyes and thought of England…or at least the nice English boy he had met earlier and had arranged to meet again later. The only good thing about working in the touristy part of town was meeting cute tourist boys. He was lost in, let’s call it thought for a moment and had missed a question. The woman was Not Happy and was threatening to talk with the manager.

This day could not end soon enough.

OH! EM! GAH! He was so adorkable! The glasses and that really cute haircut…he could dress better, but what boy couldn’t? That could be fixed. She so hearted working in the touristy part of town and meeting cute tourist boys.

And he was so nice. He had been asking her and that goth cow Esmeralda such intelligent questions about the area and he had been so polite the whole time and had hardly looked at their tits at all. Esmeralda had whispered that he might be gay, but she was just being a bee-otch because he had totally complimented her on her retro-punk look and had said nothing about Esmeralda’s scary goth ass.

She could totally tell that they had so much in common by all the things he asked about! The museums, the planetarium, and the best routes to get there, the harbor tour and the times it left. She could totally amaze him with all that junk she had learned in art appreciation! That semester at the community college was finally paying off.

She really hoped he stayed until her shift was over. This day could not end soon enough.

Mr. Adorkable picked up his smartphone and made farewells to the suddenly crestfallen baristas. The punk rock barista blurted the name of her blog and that she totally hoped that he would visit it. As he exited the café he passed the woman from the bank and nodded politely to her. She sniffed at him and continued to the counter to give the young ladies very stern and precise instructions on how to build her latte.

He made his way to a surprisingly well-kept public restroom where he put away the hipster glasses, made a few changes to his attire and hair, had a slash, washed his hands, and exited the gents’ looking much different than when he entered. His father had run summer stock when he wasn’t heisting and had taught Mr. Adorkable how to create character with a few simple changes in style and demeanor. He looked older, better dressed, and taller than he had in the café.

As he walked to the observation deck on the wharf he passed the woman from the bank again. His polite nod got another sniff. At the deck he fed a few bills to a telescope and took a look at the the city’s iconic bridge. He thought it a nice enough bridge. It went all the way over the water.

The woman from the bank sniffed at the forwardness of young men these days. In the restroom she made a few changes to her attire and make-up, swapped her handbag for another she carried in the first, dropped the wig into it, had a slash, washed her hands and exited the ladies’ looking much different than when she entered. She knew her way around the makeup counter but had picked up a few tips from someone with stage training lately. The middle-aged harridan from the bank was replaced by a woman of a certain age. She drew admiring glances all the way to the observation deck.

A familiar hand tucked into the crook his arm. The woman kissed his cheek and nuzzled his ear.

“Mr. Green.”

“Mrs. Robins..oof…Ms. Willis.”

He moved aside and let her look at the bridge.


“It’s a nice enough bridge. It goes all the way over the water.”


“Oh, that! Four in, plus a driver, and one more to shut down the silent at the security firm’s office…it’s downtown but if it can’t be done over the ‘net I’ll eat that very sharp hat of yours…umm, in and out in no more than ninety seconds, and the take would be about 200K. Almost worth a six-man crew. What’s the route out like?”

“There isn’t one. The city’s set this place up like a theme park. The streets are made for foot travel. Auto traffic’s so restricted it’s impossible to get a car near the bank…at least not in any way that wouldn’t attract the cops attention. The best bet would be to split up, fade into the crowd, and regroup later, but it’s not a very good bet.”

She sighed.

“Too bad. It is such a darling little bank.”

She looked up from the scope to peer at him critically.

“You and punky barista seemed to get on well. Did you make plans with her for later?”

“Pfft. Why should I dally with such callow youth when there’s all this milfy goodness at hand?”

“Good boy.”

“Woof. Are you happy now, Charlie? Can we get on with our vacation or do you need to plan another impossible job tomorrow?”

She left the scope and wrapped her arms around him.

“I’m sorry, Allen, but I was just feeling so fat and lazy. You’re sweet to humor me. Yes, I’m done.”

“Okay then. So, this afternoon we can go to the stuffy museum and see the Monet exhibit, go to the hip museum and see the Manet exhibit, go to the planetarium and see the planets, go on the harbor tour and get a better look at the nice enough bridge that goes all the way over the water…”

She made a moue.


“I was trying to be a gentleman and let you know that I appreciate you for your intellectual and spiritual qualities and not just your obvious physical charms, but ‘or we can go back to the room and fuck like bunnies’, a’ight?”

“I vote for the bunny option!”

“¡Ay, mamí! Okay, but I get to be Lauren Hutton this time.”

The afternoon went nicely. The champagne, strawberries, and whipped cream that room service had provide quickly and without comment had been consumed with giggles and moans. After a brief rest Charlie was encouraging Allen’s trip from her toes to points north when he suddenly stopped cold.


“Allen? What is it?”

“You’re a bad influence, Charlie. I just figured out how to get away from the bank.”

The gleam in Charlie’s eyes shifted from one deadly sin to another and her smile became predatory.

“Tell mama, dear boy.”

Allen told mama. Charlie was thrilled and rewarded him for his cleverness. He recovered nicely and was able to walk by morning.

Two days later they had a crew and a week later the bank coughed up nearly 100K more than Charlie predicted.

Charlie crouched down in the cab of the streetsweeper being driven by a mustachioed Allen.

“You’re more than just a pretty face, Mr. Green.”

“Oh, I know, Ms. Willis. I’m a cute ass as well.”

Charlie laughed and patted his knee.

“You are a very cute ass, dear boy.”

Allen grinned.

“Charlie? What do you say we take a little vacation after this?”

Over 500 words and no pope jokes!

posted by latiolais at 1000  

Monday, May 2, 2011

Sol sol sol, hic provenit

From Wikiquote's Latin Phrases.

Tempori parce!Save time!

We’re saving MAD daylight. y’all!

posted by latiolais at 0800  

Monday, April 25, 2011

In which I am dared

John Hornor Jacobs and Fiona Johnson dared me to write a vampire story titled ‘Saving Daylight‘, so all fault lies squarely upon them. And I’ll probably die horribly if I don’t point out that the real Ms. Guidry and Mrs. LaViolette-Parker are from Golden Meadow and not Cut Off.

Saving Daylight

©2011 Ray Adam Latiolais

Suckers weren’t very active during the summer, so we’d gotten a lot of rest before the Solstice. We were due to rise early, 1600ish, but I got the squad up and ready before Top could fuck up our day.


Top was Reglur Army and hated wartimers. I washed down a forkful of bacon with coffee before answering. Top had stopped asking about the coffee months ago.

“Feral pig.”


Top was incapable of anything like a normal tone of voice.

“Feral. Pig. Escaped from a farm. Crossed our perimeter couple nights ago. Mongo clubbed it, Guidry and LaViolette boucherie-d it.”

I jerked a thumb across the squad bivouac at Mongo, Corporal Maurice Shaw, assistant squad leader, and our flamethrower team, nearly identical cousines from Cut Off, LA, both named Marie. Mongo blew a kiss and the Maries waved like the beauty pageant winners they were.

Top sputtered for a bit and then demanded to see our gear. We were so squared away we shat bricks, but Top made up something to gig us for. I thanked him and we cleared up breakfast and triple-checked our gear after Top stormed away.

The tough thing about fighting the suckers was sorting out fact from Twilight bullshit. Once we knew that vampirism is merely a virus (where ‘mere’ = ‘incurable, prehistoric retrovirus capable of transforming humans into long-lived, quick-healing, hemophagic, pointy-eared freaks’) it became a matter of finding their real weaknesses and exploiting them.

They healed fast, so doing heavy damage and making it stick was important. We used anti-materiel rifles and stakes for that. Sunlight, ultraviolet specifically, didn’t make them burst into flames, but it gave them a case of sunburn that made bursting into flame look enviable. UV spotlights and flashlights for that. Also, every squad had a dedicated flamethrower team to handle the downed suckers.

I had the squad quadruple-check the gear.

Mongo gave the high sign and we soldiered up for the LT. She was a right guy and always went to bat for us when HQ got all Army on us.

“Attention! Afternoon, Ma’am.”

She snapped back our salute.

“As you were.”

The squad as-they-wered and quintuple-checked the gear.



“Is this shambolic bunch ready?”

“Certainly, ma’am. Don’t let our contumacious demeanor fool you. You know us, all spit, no polish.”

She looked up.

“This might be the end, Sundance.”

“Maybe the beginning of the end, ma’am. I’ll believe it’s the end when I see my DD214 and I’m robbing trains again.”

The LT clapped my shoulder, and left me to make her way around the squad. After she left us we chilled, used our contraband phones to let our people know we weren’t dead yet, and waited for sundown.

At 2000 the big CEV mounted spots came on and we followed them into what used to be Iowa. The suckers were just beginning to stir and were easy to put down. We got a rhythm going; probe, shoot, stake, burn, repeat. The spots did their job, all the suckers we were putting down where covered in peeling skin and blisters, but their range is limited and as soon as the suckers are out of the light they begin to heal. But tonight’s surprise should take care of that.

The suckers seemed to realize something was up. Things got hairy for a while, but we needed to hold until full dark. We lost Big Ed, Villechaize (which really bit because he was short), and Surfer Zoë. Top also bought it, so it wasn’t a complete loss. Finally 2200 rolled around.

Most launching facilities were further south than most suckers would willingly go and had been putting the sats up since the second year of the war. Now it was time.

Thousands of sats began to deploy nanomylar mirrors. Thousands of mirrors at 25000 miles was effectively one gia-fucking-norous mirror. The optically pure nanomylar reflected sunlight, ultraviolet specifically, with no loss. There was no place for the suckers to hide now.

The night vanished as the Large Orbital Mirror Array spread the saving daylight across the world.

I had to do it! I was dared!

posted by latiolais at 0800  
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