Strike Online 2.0 Released!

Happy New Year! Strike is proud to present the release of Strike Online 2.0, a new strikemagazine.net built into the Foglight website. Head on over to strikemagazine.net for the new experience!

Announcement: Strike Online 2.0 To Be Released on Dec. 22

It's like AOL 2.0, but absolutely nothing like it either.
In fact, Strike 2.0 is freaking awesome.
And it's not a fire hazard.

Shortly following it's Winter 2012 release this Thursday, Strike Magazine will be re-launching StrikeMagazine.net in an entirely new format on December 22nd. The massive change has been designed to create a hub for all Strike content that is easily accessible and high quality. Strike Online 2.0 will also highlight some of the largest changes (TBA) that Strike Magazine will have going into 2013.

The new Strike Online is also built with community in mind. Strike will be accepting more writers, and there will be many social networking options to be involved with the publication on the website. 

The change has been in the works for three months now, and the release is highly anticipated. Strike has quadrupled its server sizes and plans to host a vast amount of content going into 2013 with their association with Foglight Studios. (Details later this week)

So with that said, enjoy our temporary website, and on December 2nd Strike 2.0 will be active! 

Love Like Coffee

artwork by author

by Kristina Hagman

The old man held the mug in both of his old wrinkled hands. Steam swirled up and brushed his face before dissipating into the air. He breathed in deeply but shakily — his lungs were not as they used to be.

The bittersweet smell of coffee rose toward his nose, his brain knowing the scent before it reached his body. Leaning forward, he picked up the small pitcher of cream in the middle of the table. Pouring it in slowly, he watched it swirl with the dark brown of the coffee. He added a packet of cane sugar and stirred gently.

Taking a sip of the hot drink, he smiled. It was good coffee, for sure. But it was not as good as that of his wife. His thoughts brought him to another time.

He walked down the frigid streets of New York, his hands tucked tightly into a gray wool coat. The cold air nipped his skin, teasing the warmth out of his breath. Walking just a bit faster, he turned a corner and saw the coffee shop.

It was small but inviting, with a cheery sign hanging in the window. It was empty; it was almost closing time. A lone barista was wiping down tables, her sleeves pushed up past her elbows.

Not wanting to disrupt the routine, but now yearning for coffee, the young man pushed open the door. A bell jingled as he entered. The barista looked up, a pleasant expression on her face.

“It’s almost closing time,” she announced simply.

He nodded, “I know. But coffee sounded just perfect right now. If it’s an inconvenience, I could…” He gestured toward the door.

“It’s alright. You’re here already. And it wouldn’t be kind to have you wander in search of the second-best coffee in New York!” She smiled up at him and moved to pour hot water into a filter.

The room was silent for a while as the coffee machine whirred. It beeped after a minute or two, and the girl prepared a cup. She let the foam settle on top and gave it a quick stir with a spoon. Carrying it over to the table where the boy sat, she handed it to him.

“No charge,” she said.

He looked into the cup. A heart of foam floated atop the dark liquid. “Why the heart?”

“Everyone can use a little more love. Plus, it’s Valentine’s Day. You looked lonely.”

The young man came to that coffee shop every day for the next week, until he worked up the courage to ask the friendly barista out on a date. The old man sipped at his coffee, a smile crinkling his wrinkled face as he remembered his first date.

It was another cold February day, and they were going ice-skating. Shyly, the boy took her hand, emboldened by the pink that flooded her cheeks.

They skated in circles, laughing and sliding along. The girl’s hair danced behind her, the strands escaping the grip of her hat. The tips of her nose and ears were red from the cold, but she was happy.

When they were finished with skating, the young man tugged her toward a hot chocolate stand, purchasing them both a cup of the steaming liquid.

“Coffee is better,” she teased him.

Coffee was better, the old man thought. It had been such a unique part of their relationship, one that popped up over and over again.

He remembered his proposal to her, with coffee. It had been a year after their first meeting — Valentine’s Day. He corresponded with her coworkers and they allowed him to use the coffee shop where they first met.

He decorated it with Christmas lights, taking her there long after the customers had left. One of her friends acted as their server, taking their orders. She ordered a latte.

With its arrival, she smiled. It had a foam heart on top. “Everyone can use a little more love,” she remarked.

He smiled back at her, nervously sipping his drink as he waited for her to find the ring at the bottom.

The old man looked at his cup fondly, almost to the end of his drink. He would never forget the shine of her eyes as she said yes.

           

He remembered the iced coffee they served at their wedding reception. He remembered the coffee his wife gave him to announce her pregnancy. He remembered the coffee they shared to consol each other after each miscarriage. He remembered giving each foster child, all eight of them, a coffee cup and coffee grinds as they left to go to college. He remembered the solemn eyes of his wife as she gave him a cup of coffee, telling him that she was dying. He remembered sneaking coffee into the hospital as she lay sick. He sat there for a long time, and remembered.

            He glanced around at the coffee shop. It had been many things over the years — a bookstore, a boutique, a small restaurant, and ever so often a coffee shop. This year, it was a coffee shop. He came often, and the young hosts knew his face. They listened eagerly to him as he told them how they shop would change, how the world would change, how people would change, but how memories would always stay the same. 

When Faking Sick Doesn't Cut It

By Larson Ross

Sometimes, you need to take a little “you” time. However, this time is not always easy to come by, for instance, your favorite show is coming on in twenty minutes, but there’s that pesky funeral that you need to attend. It’s times like these that you need to go a little extreme if you truly want to laze about. Exceeding laziness calls for desperate excuses. So if you really feel the need to miss out on the important things in life you can:

Set some fires:

There’s nothing more equally feared and loved than fire. Well, perhaps bathrooms, but let’s focus on the fire. Let’s say that your family is about to depart on the dreaded yearly vacation. Or maybe it’s an actual fun one this time, but you really just want to sleep in. In either situation, the best way to get out of this predicament is to channel your inner pyro and burn a few buildings. Preferably abandoned, but if REALLY don’t want to spend time with your loved ones, then it’s understandable to get some ones in use. If you’re feeling that motivated, then an orphanage is the best route to go. These fires will do two things: create traffic due to both firefighters and refuges, and (hopefully) keep your family glued to the TV in horror at the carnage. This, of course, means no vacation. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED!

Wolves, lots of wolves:

            Say you’ve got an exceedingly important test on the morrow, one that can’t be made up later. (Or even just a quiz, no judgment here.) In any case, the old fake cough route isn’t gonna cut it this time. It’s time to get drastic, and nothing’s more drastic than wolves. This one requires a little preparation beforehand. You’ll need access to several vans, friends who don’t mind risking rabies, and some chew toys. Oh, and wolves, obviously. The easiest way to get those is to go down the nearest dark alley and ask “Doctor Dante” if he can get you some dangerous canines. His answer will probably be no, but he can find someone who can. Allow three weeks for delivery. Once you have your mutts, it’s time to take this party to the streets. Load up the wolves (preferably at least 24) and head on downtown. Release two or three wolves every four blocks or so, and take any that you have left over closer to your school, so that no one quite knows where the wolves will strike next. Again, orphanages are always a viable target. Random mauling lead to panic, and panic leads to no test for you. (No test for you leads to both juvenile delinquency and the dark side, but that’s not important now) WOLFTASTIC!

Start a riot:

            Easy enough, easier if you live in Detroit, I see no need for explanation. EVERYTHING IS FREE! AND ON FIRE!

Secede from the Union:

            So you’re dating now, that’s great! What’s not great is actually spending time with the person you’ve chosen to date, who wants to do that? Your partner wants to go out on the town, but you’ve got other plans, most likely involving cookies and a couch. But you don’t want to disappoint this person, what are you to do?! It’s easy, round up some guys with mullets, shotguns, trucks, and at least two pieces of clothing with the confederate flag upon its grease stained surface (preferably denim).  Tell these boys that the time has come and use the codeword “Waffle Tuesday” and soon enough, all of Alabama will be up in arms! You’ll find yourself at the head of a moonshine-drenched, disorganized militia numbering in the high teens, so have some fun before either the National Guard steps in, or the boys figure out that they’d rather be watching some professional wrestling. As long as the attempted nation building makes it to the evening news, you’ve avoided building a meaningful relationship with your partner, and that’s something we can all get behind. EXTREME!

Saved

By Larson Ross

I see the light, I have been saved! And it’s all thanks to one man who took time out of His life to take time out of mine. I was on a date, sitting outside an ice cream shop with my girlfriend, when He parted the sea of people and came up to us. Obviously, I was up to blasphemous actions, or he wouldn’t have come, but I’m still at a loss as to what those were, but I’m ever so grateful that He saw into my soul and judged me in need of a spiritual intervention. “I can see you guys are having a nice time,” he so  humbly said. “I want you to get back to that, so I’ll make this short.” He then quickly spent the next ten minutes explaining the teachings of Jesus and the dangers of the sins that I was surely committing, though He had not seen them.

When, alas, he took his leave, he gave me a gift of one million dollars. Well, a fake piece of million dollar currency which had upon it words informing me that I was going to Hell because in my past I had looked upon a woman with lust. The evil in me initially made me reject these words as pompous and false, but as I sat there, his message tore through my thoughts like a bear through an orphanage. What if He was right? I didn’t want to go to Hell. I had already looked upon a woman with lust, and the one million dollars made no mention of possible repentance. Surely, though, this glorious crusador wouldn’t simply tell me of my unavoidable damnation just to feel superior to us shameful barbarians. He must have been trying to save my soul, so I accepted His god into my heart, and avoided looking at my female companion for the remainder of the night. Tomorrow, I promised myself, I shall change my horrible tendencies.

And thus, I doned horse blinders. These were effective for a time, but they didn’t solve the problem of seeing women directly in my line of sight. So, I took the logical next step and gouged my eyes out. Now there’s absolutely no danger of me spying a woman again! I know to some, this may seem a little extreme. I can understand that, and I hope you enjoy being boiled for eternity along with the likes of Hitler and Martin Luther King Jr.; he was married, after all.

Say what you will about my actions, but I care not, for I am free! Free to commit horrible acts of violence and engage in ridiculous amounts of sexual depravity without the fear of cosmic punishment. And boy, did I take advantage of these freedoms, for I was right in the eyes of God. However, soon, missionaries from other churches came to my door. I couldn’t refuse them, you see, because I had no idea that they were missionaries at first, due to my condition. They talked of their deities and how I was sinning in their eyes as well. Again, I’m an easily frightened individual, and I didn’t want to be banished to a horrible underworld in their religions, because they might be right as well. So, I accepted all religions that I was exposed to, to guarantee my salvation in at least one, if not more, afterlife.

And thus, I have officially become the world’s first Jenova’s Christian Islamic Hindu Shinto Manson Family follower of The Later Day Saints, and I couldn’t be happier, or more worried.

Expedition Journals #5

These are the expedition logs of Larson J. Pendelton Ross the III esquire, Archduke of Canterbury.
Transcribed into modern day English by Larson Ross, a decedent of the Archduke.

October 9, 1885:
The blizzard has yet to subside, but on the bright side, since we are near the cliffs, and snowing heavily, we can expect to have a field of dead albatross to awake to tomorrow. I love a good snack, and reminders of mortality.

October 10, 1885:
Just as predicted, the ground was littered with large birds. I allow no cook fires, though, since I don’t want to risk us scaring off the pandacorn. Raw bird meat is much harder to eat than suspected, and most of the animal is frozen. Fortunately, Jeremy Two knows how to use every part of the albatros, including the inc sack.

October 11, 1885:
Today I saw the shapes on the horizon again, there are still small snow flurries, so it was not clear what they were. It looks to be a small creature dragging something heavy behind it. Perhaps it’s a adolescent yeti carrying a satchel full of delightful ice objects to decorate its cave. They are so like us, which is why it’s fun to kill them.

October 12, 1885:
Jeremy Two nearly froze last night. It turns out that an Eskimo strumpet isn’t often the best equipped to deal with cold, given their attire. In the tent, this wouldn’t be as much of a problem, but I’ve taken to making her sleep outside. My status as Gentry back home may decrease if others learned that I had been sharing English body heat with those of non-Saxon heritage.

October 13, 1885:
This day was filled with both massive joy and slight annoyance. I shall begin with some context: I wished to gaze upon the semi-frozen waves crash against the cliffs like Napoleon's frogs against Wellington’s lines. An ultimately useless endeavor. So, I brought our party to the cliffside and continued on the journey. Suddenly, from out of the Wales-strength fog, a small form crashed into me from the side. Luckily, Jeremy Two was there to prevent me from falling to my moist demise. Unluckily, Death demanded a life that day, and so she was the one to fall. Anyone who claims that Death had a helping hand in my angry push motivated by the disgust of touching filthy heathen fur is both a liar and a fiend. Her flailing, blasphemous body may haunt my dreams yet. However, I shall be calmed by the fact that she will forever be imprisoned in the deepest pit of hell for being both a heathen and a woman, where she can never reach my divine spirit.


After the shock of watching Jeremy Two fall to her death, I looked upon the strange apparition that had caused the untimely, yet hilarious, stumble. Huzzah! It was none other than the scaly head of my lost companion, Jeremy! Not that eskimo harlot, but the original lizard boy! How he’s managed to live so long in this clime, I have no clue, but that is not my concern as of now.

October 14, 1885:
Jeremy is still as tired as a lady of the night after one of Prime Minister Gladstone’s special drinks has coursed through her veins. However, there is not a moment to be wasted in my search, so I have constructed a sling out of the remains of Jeremy Two’s jackets, she never quite used her layers well. I shall carry Jeremy for as long as I am needed to, he is indeed the answer to the age old question: Who is the real monster? Man, or beast? The answer is man-beast.

October 15, 1885:
Jeremy has finally recovered enough to tell me the tale of his survival. It turns out it was quite simple, all he had to do was kill the person who had helped him the most! English logic has finally broken through his savage skull. He had traveled with Stephanie for several days; she gave him almost all of the food that she hunted or had saved up, saying that she had to sacrifice to help the helpless. Such a fool, she is! When the rations had begun to run low, Jeremy used his cold-blooded lack of empathy to kill her and slice her stomach open to keep warm, commenting that he thought that she smelled better when she had not been in a state of both death and desecration. He proceeded to eat parts of her over the next several days, this also freed up more space for him to shelter. Eventually, he had turned toward a state of boredom and sought me out.

Annoying Things Girls Do

by Christiana Junta

Learn how to dress. Those new super short pencil skirts that are becoming trendy…they make you look like a painted harlot because you’re pulling the darn thing down every ten seconds because it’s THAT short. By the way, if another female can accurately guess your cup size, your shirt is too tight.

We play with our hair…all the time. Now, I personally do this constantly and didn't realize how obnoxious it was until I noticed some of friends meticulously playing with their hair. We look like chimps grooming ourselves.

I could never be a guy because I extremely dislike initiating practically anything you could name, but seriously, what is with the female gender no being able to initiate anything?

Guys don’t want to hear this, but why are girls’ periods synced with their friends? It’s like a cruelty of nature and shouldn't have come into existence.

We have a tendency to get grossed out easily. Admit it, if you have the option of killing the icky looking spider yourself or having your dad or guy friend kill it for you, you’ll choose the latter.

We like social networking a little too much. Whether that looks like texting your boyfriend constantly, spending ridiculous amounts of hours stalking guys on Facebook, or you’re like me and stay up until 3 am on Skype.

I understand using tanning lotion or going to a tanning salon, however, when you’re skin goes from pale to dark brown in a day; you may want to slow down and consider how mad your skin must be at you.

Don’t get me wrong, I love taking pictures and think they’re a great way to recall memories. What’s frustrating is when there are two hundred plus pictures of you and friend being bored posted on Facebook.

Why wear heels to schools? There are some cases when it makes sense, for example: ladies that play sports have dress up days and wearing heels on these days is practical. Other than those rare occasions, what’s the point of wearing heels? Just give your feet a break.

We have poor tastes in movies. I loved the Twilight books, but the movies turned out bad, really bad. I might even go as far to say they were atrocious.