I have the crud, and also total noder's block, so off we go to the Internet Anagram Server to generate story titles. What fun!
Anagrams of Iron Noder
With a whirring of gears, its burnished wooden carapace split open. Delicate onionskin wings slid out. "Fly, my pretties, fly!" she cried, pulling the mighty brass control levers of her apparatus. The Iron Drones rose into the air, flywheels keening. With deadly payloads grasped in iron pincers, they wobbled off towards their destiny.
Every day she hopped on her bicycle and sped down the forest path to rendezvous with her young lover. Deep within the underbrush, something watched with envious eyes, and plotted.
Battered and weary, bereft of supplies, the adventurers stood at the final portal. Beyond lay wealth unimaginable. They patted their pockets. Sadly, the rogue had fallen into the bottomless chasm the day before. Lothar sighed.
"Fireball it is, then."
Or No Nerd I
"I question your geek credentials," sneer’d the doorman.
"Prove your worth, quote something epic or do not pass."
"Epic? Fine! Hamlet, in Klingon! Or no nerd I."
On Red Iron
Joe sat on the bare iron seat of the Massey Ferguson tractor amidst the long shadows of the autumn afternoon. He'd been at the co-op corn silos all day, slowly inching forward in the long line of tractors until it was finally his turn to unload. Now he waited near the edge of the lot for his father to come back and get the tractor. He was only fourteen, and he was not allowed to drive the tractor off the lot and onto the county road. His father had never been this late before. He hoped that nothing had gone wrong.
Anagrams of The Iron Noder Challenge
A Leeched Inert Longhorn
Clem and Ross looked the bovine corpse lying next to the salt lick. The poor longhorn lay like a deflated balloon, sucked dry of every bodily fluid.
"’taint nacherl." Clem observed, hooking his thumbs under his armpits and spitting tobacco juice into the sparse grass.
"Nah," Ross agreed, lifting his mesh ball cap to scratch the top of his head. "Sure ain’t."
There was a strange sound behind them.
Genocide A Northern Hell
Southward they came. Wave after wave, unstoppable. Eyes glowing, improbably sharp weapons clutched in their bony hands. Destroying everything in their path.
Except kittens, everyone loves kittens.
Decline a Leghorn Throne
"No, I say no, son, there’s no way that this feathered be-hind is going up on that fancy perch. No sirree."
El Horn A Neglected Rhino
The zoo was sad, a tiny little private affair that always tottered on the edge of bankruptcy. When people did stop it was usually to use the restroom, though they’ve take a glance or two at the inert form of the big cats lying moribund in their cage. In his own enclosure, El Horn chewed sullenly at a clump of twitch grass. His breathing was labored, he had ulcers on his nose, and his eyesight wasn't very good. But it was Friday night, and El Horn had a plan.
A Chilled Greenhorn Note
@biff, i dropd my axe in the crvass. Kinda stuck. Little help dude?
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