Reddit user Muezza submits:
"a cat sets off a series of events that lead to its owner's violent death"
His owner called him 'Whiskers' but that wasn't his name. His name was Leon, not that it mattered because Leon was of course a cat and therefore lacked the capacity for speech.
When Leon awoke in the morning, he set about his day's work. First there was a dump to be taken, then a walk around his small territory was to be had. The walk around his domain was the most important event of his day, necessary to keep that prick Jack Combs in check. Leon knew that his owner had left a piece of cheddar on the counter the night before and Jack would surely be planning a heist. By walking past the mouse hole in the morning, he let Jack know that he would not be fooled.
His mousy rival had his head out of the hole when Leon approached the kitchen. Upon making eye contact with Leon, Jack ducked back in his hole. Leon's domain remains within his possession, at least for the time being.
Next on his morning task list was the daily protest. Like all cats, Leon despised his owner with a fiery passion equal to that of the flame of one thousand suns. To show his hatred, Leon would enter his owner's room early in the morning and walk all over him. Despite Leon's best intentions to disturb his owner, the poor soul seemed to enjoy it most of the time.
Today was different, though. When Leon jumped up the bed, he landed on a strange object. Unbeknownst to his cat brain, this was a cell phone, and Leon had dialed a number his owner didn't want dialed. Furthermore, with his owner asleep, Leon didn't realize that the screaming man on the other end of the line was a cold-blooded killer.
Thirty minutes later his owner was awake and about the house, sorting his powders, pills and leaves as he did every day. Leon figured he was some sort of botanist but Leon being a cat, had bigger concerns. Just as the mobster he had inadvertently called was arriving at the house, Leon awoke from a short nap and headed toward the kitchen to check on Jack Combs.
As Jack exited the mouse hole and spotted Leon, Leon knew he was going to get a meal today. Leon however, was unaware that the man who had just come in had a gun, and was demanding his owner's entire stash of 'botany materials.' Like any cat, Leon ignored the increasing volume of yelling between the humans and focused on the mouse. Leon was in the zone when he lunged at Jack Combs and just as the meal was in his reach...
BAM!
Leon's owner was dead.
Click here to see the sequel/second side to this story
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Monday, December 24, 2012
Reddit Challenege #32
From Reddit user Papie:
"A story from the perspective of a mouse living in a house where a violent crime happens."
For Jack Combs this was a normal day, nothing out of the ordinary. Like any other mouse, he knew there were things to do, places to go, cheese to snatch. Specifically a piece of cheddar on the counter in the kitchen. He had seen it earlier while scurrying across the floor to snatch a piece of dried onion that he spotted the day before.
Jack wasn't quite your average mouse, mind you. He had the capacity for sentient thought and reasoning, rather unusual in a rodent. Though he could not articulate his thoughts he certainly had them. His thoughts however, rarely ventured past the thoughts that a normal mouse would have, rather he simply took about his mously duties in a far more calculating manner than most. Instead of scurrying where his nose directed him he would plan out his capers into the wee hours of the night and execute them with blinding speed and precision.
Today was just another day to execute another one of his grand plans. The cheddar was in plan sight, he had an entrance and exit strategy and his family sure as hell needed the food. That damn cat, he thought. The feisty feline had eaten his best friend and partner in crime Terry McDonaugh, leaving Jack alone to provide for not only his own family, but Terry's as well. All in all there were 12 tiny mouths to feed. Expletives passed through Jack's mind as he cursed that wretched cat.
He knew the cat would be napping at 6:00, so he planned to make his move then. As the hour approached, Jack pumped himself up by listening to some Jay-Z on the world's tiniest ipod. He still could not believe he had gotten Steve Jobs to make the thing for him- it had been his greatest con yet- and he could not understand how they fit 32 gigabytes of storage into something so small. Nonetheless as he mouthed along to the lyrics of '99 problems' and replaced 'bitch' with 'cat' he prepared to make his run.
After carefully wrapping up his headphones to prevent them from getting tangled, he set down his ipod and burst out of his mouse hole with blinding speed. Getting to the cheese was a breeze and as he prepared to pick it up, something gleaned from the corner of his eyes that made him freeze. It was that fucking cat. Wide awake and standing in the doorway with a wicked smile on his face, Jack knew his only option was a mad dash to his hole. Both of them still perfectly still, Jack counted to three in his head and then made a run for it. Jack jumped off the table and the cat lunged forward, 5 feet separated them when it happened.
BANG!
It was the loudest noise either of the animals had ever heard in their short lives and even though they were so close together, and the car just moments from a meal of his own, neither one moved a muscle.
THUMP!
The thump wasn't as loud as the bang, but as both creatures turned in the direction of the noise, the next thing they saw rang as loudly in their mind as any noise. It was the owner of the house. His head and chest, bloody and lifeless, were sticking out of the doorway where the cat had just been. Jack Cursed his maker and the cat did too. Suddenly they were a team.
The two rival animals looked at each other and nodded, the cat knew that Jack's family was important. Jack ran as fast as he could toward the mouse hole in the kitchen and the cat followed close behind. Without any explanation, Jack demanded that the whole group exit the hole. None of them understood what he was saying or why they would ever ride on the cat's back like he suggested, but the look on his face was one of truth.
The mice and Jack all scurried out of the hole and climbed up. As soon as everyone was grabbing on tight, the cat made a break for the door of the house.
Running as fast as he could, the cat didn't even bother to look at his owner or the man standing over him a gun who was at present witnessing the strangest thing he had ever seen in his life: 12 mice riding on the back of a cat running out of a drug dealer's apartment.
"A story from the perspective of a mouse living in a house where a violent crime happens."
For Jack Combs this was a normal day, nothing out of the ordinary. Like any other mouse, he knew there were things to do, places to go, cheese to snatch. Specifically a piece of cheddar on the counter in the kitchen. He had seen it earlier while scurrying across the floor to snatch a piece of dried onion that he spotted the day before.
Jack wasn't quite your average mouse, mind you. He had the capacity for sentient thought and reasoning, rather unusual in a rodent. Though he could not articulate his thoughts he certainly had them. His thoughts however, rarely ventured past the thoughts that a normal mouse would have, rather he simply took about his mously duties in a far more calculating manner than most. Instead of scurrying where his nose directed him he would plan out his capers into the wee hours of the night and execute them with blinding speed and precision.
Today was just another day to execute another one of his grand plans. The cheddar was in plan sight, he had an entrance and exit strategy and his family sure as hell needed the food. That damn cat, he thought. The feisty feline had eaten his best friend and partner in crime Terry McDonaugh, leaving Jack alone to provide for not only his own family, but Terry's as well. All in all there were 12 tiny mouths to feed. Expletives passed through Jack's mind as he cursed that wretched cat.
He knew the cat would be napping at 6:00, so he planned to make his move then. As the hour approached, Jack pumped himself up by listening to some Jay-Z on the world's tiniest ipod. He still could not believe he had gotten Steve Jobs to make the thing for him- it had been his greatest con yet- and he could not understand how they fit 32 gigabytes of storage into something so small. Nonetheless as he mouthed along to the lyrics of '99 problems' and replaced 'bitch' with 'cat' he prepared to make his run.
After carefully wrapping up his headphones to prevent them from getting tangled, he set down his ipod and burst out of his mouse hole with blinding speed. Getting to the cheese was a breeze and as he prepared to pick it up, something gleaned from the corner of his eyes that made him freeze. It was that fucking cat. Wide awake and standing in the doorway with a wicked smile on his face, Jack knew his only option was a mad dash to his hole. Both of them still perfectly still, Jack counted to three in his head and then made a run for it. Jack jumped off the table and the cat lunged forward, 5 feet separated them when it happened.
BANG!
It was the loudest noise either of the animals had ever heard in their short lives and even though they were so close together, and the car just moments from a meal of his own, neither one moved a muscle.
THUMP!
The thump wasn't as loud as the bang, but as both creatures turned in the direction of the noise, the next thing they saw rang as loudly in their mind as any noise. It was the owner of the house. His head and chest, bloody and lifeless, were sticking out of the doorway where the cat had just been. Jack Cursed his maker and the cat did too. Suddenly they were a team.
The two rival animals looked at each other and nodded, the cat knew that Jack's family was important. Jack ran as fast as he could toward the mouse hole in the kitchen and the cat followed close behind. Without any explanation, Jack demanded that the whole group exit the hole. None of them understood what he was saying or why they would ever ride on the cat's back like he suggested, but the look on his face was one of truth.
The mice and Jack all scurried out of the hole and climbed up. As soon as everyone was grabbing on tight, the cat made a break for the door of the house.
Running as fast as he could, the cat didn't even bother to look at his owner or the man standing over him a gun who was at present witnessing the strangest thing he had ever seen in his life: 12 mice riding on the back of a cat running out of a drug dealer's apartment.
Reddit Challenge #31
Reddit user Basman_ submits:
"A thirsty man walks to his kitchen, pours a glass of water, drinks water."
"Water"
The thought penetrated his mind like an arrow striking its target with tremendous speed. He could almost feel the fleshy grey matter shift out of the way as the projectile entered his brain and embedded itself in his consciousness.
"Water"
How long had it been since he had last had a drink? Two hours? Two days? Two weeks? A concerted effort to determine the answer to this question brought upon a chilling conclusion: he simply did not know. Since his wife passed away time's role in his life had become altogether different; altogether more meaningless.
"Water"
Perhaps it would stave off the feeling, perhaps it would lessen the pain. Maybe, just maybe if he could have a drink he would remember what it felt like for time to pass, for life to be lived, for smiles to be had. He could see her face, the moisture in her eyes, the tenderness in her lips.
"Water"
What was worth doing once no longer felt worth doing now. Was the drink worth having? Was the bed worth leaving? Was the television worth abandoning? He looked wistfully at his sole companions for the past month, they could say nothing of how they felt and if they could he was sure they would say the same thing everyone had been saying.
"Water"
It was time to get up. It was time to move on; she would have wanted it that way. All those many years ago it has been her who showed him how to laugh and mean it, it was her who showed him the face of God, it was her who showed him life was worth living. It was time to get up.
"Water"
He sat up in the bed. The television seemed to call to him, crying "don't leave me" just as she would on restless nights when her dreams kept her awake. But he knew better, he could hear her true voice calling him, telling him the truth. He turned off the television.
"Water"
His legs hit the floor and for the first time in so long- he wasn't even sure how long- he felt the weight of his body on his feet. Steady. His strength had diminished but his love still strong; he willed himself to lift up and get out of the bed. He was standing on two feet and facing the door. Opening it, he turned around to see the cavern his body had created in the mattress. However long it has been, too much time had passed.
"Water"
Those first steps were shaky but within moments his confidence returned, his smile shown. Thoughts turned quickly to the best times in his life, they were all with her but he knew that she would not want him to stop and he knew she would want him to move on and be happy.
"Water"
Her voice still echoed in his mind as he approached the sink. He held the glass in his hand and let the water flow into it. The feeling of cold on his hands through the glass as the water rose up its interior made him smile again. He could hear her speaking to him, and at that moment he finally felt that everything would be okay. Calmly, she said to him:
"Drink"
And he did. And all was well.
"A thirsty man walks to his kitchen, pours a glass of water, drinks water."
"Water"
The thought penetrated his mind like an arrow striking its target with tremendous speed. He could almost feel the fleshy grey matter shift out of the way as the projectile entered his brain and embedded itself in his consciousness.
"Water"
How long had it been since he had last had a drink? Two hours? Two days? Two weeks? A concerted effort to determine the answer to this question brought upon a chilling conclusion: he simply did not know. Since his wife passed away time's role in his life had become altogether different; altogether more meaningless.
"Water"
Perhaps it would stave off the feeling, perhaps it would lessen the pain. Maybe, just maybe if he could have a drink he would remember what it felt like for time to pass, for life to be lived, for smiles to be had. He could see her face, the moisture in her eyes, the tenderness in her lips.
"Water"
What was worth doing once no longer felt worth doing now. Was the drink worth having? Was the bed worth leaving? Was the television worth abandoning? He looked wistfully at his sole companions for the past month, they could say nothing of how they felt and if they could he was sure they would say the same thing everyone had been saying.
"Water"
It was time to get up. It was time to move on; she would have wanted it that way. All those many years ago it has been her who showed him how to laugh and mean it, it was her who showed him the face of God, it was her who showed him life was worth living. It was time to get up.
"Water"
He sat up in the bed. The television seemed to call to him, crying "don't leave me" just as she would on restless nights when her dreams kept her awake. But he knew better, he could hear her true voice calling him, telling him the truth. He turned off the television.
"Water"
His legs hit the floor and for the first time in so long- he wasn't even sure how long- he felt the weight of his body on his feet. Steady. His strength had diminished but his love still strong; he willed himself to lift up and get out of the bed. He was standing on two feet and facing the door. Opening it, he turned around to see the cavern his body had created in the mattress. However long it has been, too much time had passed.
"Water"
Those first steps were shaky but within moments his confidence returned, his smile shown. Thoughts turned quickly to the best times in his life, they were all with her but he knew that she would not want him to stop and he knew she would want him to move on and be happy.
"Water"
Her voice still echoed in his mind as he approached the sink. He held the glass in his hand and let the water flow into it. The feeling of cold on his hands through the glass as the water rose up its interior made him smile again. He could hear her speaking to him, and at that moment he finally felt that everything would be okay. Calmly, she said to him:
"Drink"
And he did. And all was well.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Reddit Challenge #30
Reddit user vanatanasov submits:
"An archaeology student is helping his lecturer smuggle fossils and artifacts from Egypt into the UK. But things go terribly wrong when one of the fossils turns out to be alive and runs off into the streets of London.
Edit: Actually, Egypt is too cliche. Make it Tibet or India or some other oriental country."
The tube train was crowded, or at least far too crowded for the task at hand. Professor Alvin Clarkson and his graduate assistant Nigel Hammersmith were doing something they knew they shouldn't: smuggling. As Nigel clutched the box of precious items in his arms, he wondered if they would make it to King's College in one piece.
It began in the rolling hills of China's Tianjin Province, where Clarkson and Hammersmith were on an archeological expedition. Of course, the Chinese didn't know that; they simply thought the two men were tourists- likely homosexuals as they assumed most British to be. The reason for Hammersmith and Clarkson's lies were because of antiquated Chinese laws which expressly forbid the removal of fossils from so-called 'sacred Chinese soil.'
However, Clarkson knew that there were more important things than chinese law at stake, specifically the evolutionary history of dogs. Recent DNA evidence discovered by American scientists indicated that Canines likely evolved in their modern form in southern China. Clarkson, being the preeminent ancient canine researcher in the world, knew he had to get to china and recover a fossil. So he took his best graduate student and did just that; lying to the authorities about their purpose, they broke off from an organized tour and found several magnificently well preserved canine fossils in the remains of an ancient village. The next day they were on a flight back to London, with their finds tucked carefully inside Chinese wine boxes.
Passing through security in China turned out to be far simpler than expected, but on the tube underneath London, Hammersmith and Clarkson began to get worried. With so many people around they were concerned for the integrity of their finds. A sudden shake, a wrong hit to the boxes and all of their work and research could be foiled, and this exact thought passed through Hammersmith's mind just moments later.
A sharp jerk on the train as it passed through a curve threw one of the passengers directly into Hammersmith. The young student dodged out of the way with cat-like precision, but he was unable to prevent the man from bumping the box. As Clarkson looked on in horror, their work fell to the floor. The box's top popped open precipitously as Hammersmith screamed, but before he could reach to grab it, the fossilized remains of the dog let out a strange sound.
It was a bark.
Clarkson's jaw dropped to the floor as he heard the bark. There were no other dogs on the train. Barely able to comprehend the nature of what he had just heard, his mind was sure his eyes had played a trick on him when he saw what happened next. The fossilized canine stood up from its cage and jumped out. The passengers screamed and gasped as the bones-dry ancient animal bounded about the train car just as it pulled into the station. as the passengers rushed to exit the train which they surely thought was haunted, the curious and playful Chinese pup followed them.
Excited, the dog followed the terrified passengers all the way out of the station and on to the streets of London. Trailed by a breathless Clarkson and Hammersmith, the dog bounded and jumped about on the streets of Kensington where they had arrived. The astonished researchers watched in horror as the fossilized dog ran across the street and right through the doors of the science museum. The two men made chase, pushing people out of the way as they tried to keep their eyes on their find.
Soon they lost track of it, but a woman's shriek gave them an idea of where to go next. As they approached Watson and Crick's original DNA model, they saw it: the dog was sitting patiently in front of the model, barking at it like a dog would to its owner when it wants to come inside.
"Looks like we found your home" Clarkson jested as he picked up the dog.
The two men shared a relieved laugh and just as Clarkson placed the happy puppy back into its box, he heard the click of handcuffs on his wrist. Looking up, he saw two policemen.
"You're under arrest for conspiracy to commit terrorism on the London tube."
"An archaeology student is helping his lecturer smuggle fossils and artifacts from Egypt into the UK. But things go terribly wrong when one of the fossils turns out to be alive and runs off into the streets of London.
Edit: Actually, Egypt is too cliche. Make it Tibet or India or some other oriental country."
The tube train was crowded, or at least far too crowded for the task at hand. Professor Alvin Clarkson and his graduate assistant Nigel Hammersmith were doing something they knew they shouldn't: smuggling. As Nigel clutched the box of precious items in his arms, he wondered if they would make it to King's College in one piece.
It began in the rolling hills of China's Tianjin Province, where Clarkson and Hammersmith were on an archeological expedition. Of course, the Chinese didn't know that; they simply thought the two men were tourists- likely homosexuals as they assumed most British to be. The reason for Hammersmith and Clarkson's lies were because of antiquated Chinese laws which expressly forbid the removal of fossils from so-called 'sacred Chinese soil.'
However, Clarkson knew that there were more important things than chinese law at stake, specifically the evolutionary history of dogs. Recent DNA evidence discovered by American scientists indicated that Canines likely evolved in their modern form in southern China. Clarkson, being the preeminent ancient canine researcher in the world, knew he had to get to china and recover a fossil. So he took his best graduate student and did just that; lying to the authorities about their purpose, they broke off from an organized tour and found several magnificently well preserved canine fossils in the remains of an ancient village. The next day they were on a flight back to London, with their finds tucked carefully inside Chinese wine boxes.
Passing through security in China turned out to be far simpler than expected, but on the tube underneath London, Hammersmith and Clarkson began to get worried. With so many people around they were concerned for the integrity of their finds. A sudden shake, a wrong hit to the boxes and all of their work and research could be foiled, and this exact thought passed through Hammersmith's mind just moments later.
A sharp jerk on the train as it passed through a curve threw one of the passengers directly into Hammersmith. The young student dodged out of the way with cat-like precision, but he was unable to prevent the man from bumping the box. As Clarkson looked on in horror, their work fell to the floor. The box's top popped open precipitously as Hammersmith screamed, but before he could reach to grab it, the fossilized remains of the dog let out a strange sound.
It was a bark.
Clarkson's jaw dropped to the floor as he heard the bark. There were no other dogs on the train. Barely able to comprehend the nature of what he had just heard, his mind was sure his eyes had played a trick on him when he saw what happened next. The fossilized canine stood up from its cage and jumped out. The passengers screamed and gasped as the bones-dry ancient animal bounded about the train car just as it pulled into the station. as the passengers rushed to exit the train which they surely thought was haunted, the curious and playful Chinese pup followed them.
Excited, the dog followed the terrified passengers all the way out of the station and on to the streets of London. Trailed by a breathless Clarkson and Hammersmith, the dog bounded and jumped about on the streets of Kensington where they had arrived. The astonished researchers watched in horror as the fossilized dog ran across the street and right through the doors of the science museum. The two men made chase, pushing people out of the way as they tried to keep their eyes on their find.
Soon they lost track of it, but a woman's shriek gave them an idea of where to go next. As they approached Watson and Crick's original DNA model, they saw it: the dog was sitting patiently in front of the model, barking at it like a dog would to its owner when it wants to come inside.
"Looks like we found your home" Clarkson jested as he picked up the dog.
The two men shared a relieved laugh and just as Clarkson placed the happy puppy back into its box, he heard the click of handcuffs on his wrist. Looking up, he saw two policemen.
"You're under arrest for conspiracy to commit terrorism on the London tube."
The Reddit Challenge is Back! #29
From Reddit user JosephGordonReddit:
"A monkey, who is dating a walrus, discovers that he has the ability to fly and takes the walrus on a flight. The walrus dies from falling out of the sky."
There are moments in a Walrus' life when he wonders to himself just what the hell he is doing, and for Virgil Fink this was one of those moments.
As they breached the cloud cover and approached 20,000 feet it was the bitter cold that Virgil felt first. At that altitude the temperature is around minus 40 Celsius, too much for most animals to handle. However, Virgil was a Walrus and therefore used to the chilling temperatures in the arctic seas. The cold was biting but not unbearable; the lack of oxygen however, was. As hypoxia set in and Virgil's brain was fighting to remain conscious, he thought back to how he ended up in this predicament...
It had been a beautiful Tuesday, six months ago to the very day of his fateful flight. Hanging out, as walruses do, on a rocky beach at the edge of a tropical island, Virgil was approached by a creature he had never seen before. Lanky and oblong, with long arms and stubby legs, a brown chest covered in thick black hair and a calming smile, Virgil didn't even know what to call this creature but he knew he wanted to be near. Flubbering his way over to where the forest met the beach, the creature was at first shy, but Virgil had a calming smile all his own and when he said hello the creature timidly walked up to shake his flipper.
Her name was Anya and she was a rather large Howler Monkey. Whereas a normal Howler is no more than a few feet tall, this Howler was nearly 5 feet in height. Her coat glistened in the sun and her shy smile melted Virgil's ocean-bound heart. For days, Anya would wait on Virgil while he hunted and then converse with him for hours upon his return. In a matter of weeks they were in love. But like all loves, there was a measure of the unknown waiting in the weeds. Anya was special.
Anya was larger than a normal Howler Monkey because she had been a Russian experiment gone bad. Virgil discovered this on the first night they shared a sandy nook to sleep, when her nightmares kept her up all night. He tried everything to console the poor monkey but nothing would work. She said she dreamed of flying- flying then falling. Virgil never knew what to say other than that everything would be okay. If only Virgil knew the truth...
Six months later, Virgil was returning from a hunt with a beautiful Marlin in his tusks for Anya but when he arrived at their nook she was nowhere to be seen. As he looked around a tap on the head startled him and he looked up to see Anya, floating in the air like an angel from Walrus Heaven. She told him of her amazing discovery: that she was able to fly, and not just soaring a few feet here or there, she had fantastic control and strength like she had never understood. She pressed her love to let her take him on a flight above the clouds, to see the world as he had never seen it before. Virgil, usually not a risk-taker, was reluctant at first but finally relented.
With her fantastical strength, Anya lifted her mammalian love into the sky, accelerating to 550 miles per hour within 60 seconds. Virgil had never felt happier as the wind raced past his face at a blinding speed. From 10,000 feet he could see the ocean- his home- like he had never seen it before. Entire schools were his to see at a glance; it was magnificent.
Magnificent until he reached 20,000 feet, that is. As the temperature plummeted and his brain's oxygen level depleted, Virgil knew the end was near. He no longer had the strength to move and being out of the water and in the cold so long had dried up his skin. His only warmth was from Anya's hands, clutching him tightly. He looked up at the love of his life and was able to push out a few more words before his body finally froze.
"I love you" He gasped as his body let out its last breath.
"A monkey, who is dating a walrus, discovers that he has the ability to fly and takes the walrus on a flight. The walrus dies from falling out of the sky."
There are moments in a Walrus' life when he wonders to himself just what the hell he is doing, and for Virgil Fink this was one of those moments.
As they breached the cloud cover and approached 20,000 feet it was the bitter cold that Virgil felt first. At that altitude the temperature is around minus 40 Celsius, too much for most animals to handle. However, Virgil was a Walrus and therefore used to the chilling temperatures in the arctic seas. The cold was biting but not unbearable; the lack of oxygen however, was. As hypoxia set in and Virgil's brain was fighting to remain conscious, he thought back to how he ended up in this predicament...
It had been a beautiful Tuesday, six months ago to the very day of his fateful flight. Hanging out, as walruses do, on a rocky beach at the edge of a tropical island, Virgil was approached by a creature he had never seen before. Lanky and oblong, with long arms and stubby legs, a brown chest covered in thick black hair and a calming smile, Virgil didn't even know what to call this creature but he knew he wanted to be near. Flubbering his way over to where the forest met the beach, the creature was at first shy, but Virgil had a calming smile all his own and when he said hello the creature timidly walked up to shake his flipper.
Her name was Anya and she was a rather large Howler Monkey. Whereas a normal Howler is no more than a few feet tall, this Howler was nearly 5 feet in height. Her coat glistened in the sun and her shy smile melted Virgil's ocean-bound heart. For days, Anya would wait on Virgil while he hunted and then converse with him for hours upon his return. In a matter of weeks they were in love. But like all loves, there was a measure of the unknown waiting in the weeds. Anya was special.
Anya was larger than a normal Howler Monkey because she had been a Russian experiment gone bad. Virgil discovered this on the first night they shared a sandy nook to sleep, when her nightmares kept her up all night. He tried everything to console the poor monkey but nothing would work. She said she dreamed of flying- flying then falling. Virgil never knew what to say other than that everything would be okay. If only Virgil knew the truth...
Six months later, Virgil was returning from a hunt with a beautiful Marlin in his tusks for Anya but when he arrived at their nook she was nowhere to be seen. As he looked around a tap on the head startled him and he looked up to see Anya, floating in the air like an angel from Walrus Heaven. She told him of her amazing discovery: that she was able to fly, and not just soaring a few feet here or there, she had fantastic control and strength like she had never understood. She pressed her love to let her take him on a flight above the clouds, to see the world as he had never seen it before. Virgil, usually not a risk-taker, was reluctant at first but finally relented.
With her fantastical strength, Anya lifted her mammalian love into the sky, accelerating to 550 miles per hour within 60 seconds. Virgil had never felt happier as the wind raced past his face at a blinding speed. From 10,000 feet he could see the ocean- his home- like he had never seen it before. Entire schools were his to see at a glance; it was magnificent.
Magnificent until he reached 20,000 feet, that is. As the temperature plummeted and his brain's oxygen level depleted, Virgil knew the end was near. He no longer had the strength to move and being out of the water and in the cold so long had dried up his skin. His only warmth was from Anya's hands, clutching him tightly. He looked up at the love of his life and was able to push out a few more words before his body finally froze.
"I love you" He gasped as his body let out its last breath.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
The obligatory Sandy Hook post
So the United States is currently mourning the loss of some twenty of its citizens in one of the worst shootings since the Virginia Tech massacre a few years back, but what does it all mean?
To me, it means that the United States is in no better place in terms of gun control than it was when the VA Tech shooting happened. When that gunman opened fire in a college classroom, for weeks the media covered the story intently and our politicians rallied for tighter gun control. The result? The shooting in Sandy Hook this past week.
This time around, Congress and President Obama- who I support- are pressing for an assault weapons ban. This is all good and dandy, its absurd as it is that assault weapons have been legal since the ban expired several years ago. However, it is not going to do anything remotely like what is necessary: to approach the heart of the gun problem in the US.
Eighty seven. That is the number of people who die from gun deaths on average every day in this country, it is more than almost any other nation. The problem clearly is not that there is too easy access to assault weapons; the problem is that there is too easy access to weapons in general.
While the philosophy coined in Blitz era Britain is true that 'the bomber will always get through' (meaning that with such a large population, there will always be crazy murderers who get through our defenses) the reality is that if we are not doing everything we can, we are not doing enough. To prevent another Sandy Hook, the course of action as I see it is simple: rethink the second amendment.
To me, it means that the United States is in no better place in terms of gun control than it was when the VA Tech shooting happened. When that gunman opened fire in a college classroom, for weeks the media covered the story intently and our politicians rallied for tighter gun control. The result? The shooting in Sandy Hook this past week.
This time around, Congress and President Obama- who I support- are pressing for an assault weapons ban. This is all good and dandy, its absurd as it is that assault weapons have been legal since the ban expired several years ago. However, it is not going to do anything remotely like what is necessary: to approach the heart of the gun problem in the US.
Eighty seven. That is the number of people who die from gun deaths on average every day in this country, it is more than almost any other nation. The problem clearly is not that there is too easy access to assault weapons; the problem is that there is too easy access to weapons in general.
While the philosophy coined in Blitz era Britain is true that 'the bomber will always get through' (meaning that with such a large population, there will always be crazy murderers who get through our defenses) the reality is that if we are not doing everything we can, we are not doing enough. To prevent another Sandy Hook, the course of action as I see it is simple: rethink the second amendment.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Elections got me crazy, bro.
Seriously, this election cycle has been so intense that it has been hard to concentrate on anything else. Instead of using my energy to write, I'm using it to talk politics, yell and scream (in vain) at people with different viewpoints and wonder whether the next four years will be dominated my my guy or theirs...
The debates alone provide enough fodder for weeks of discussion and with one just finishing tonight and another next Tuesday, I have no idea when I'll be able to get back to writing. The story I started weeks ago still has a lot to go and the ideas are spinning around in my head all the time, but I feel like until I know who has won it's going to be hard to put words on paper.
So, instead of another section of my story about the sculptor, I'll leave you with this: I'm voting for Barack Obama; go ahead and debate me about it, I dare you.
The debates alone provide enough fodder for weeks of discussion and with one just finishing tonight and another next Tuesday, I have no idea when I'll be able to get back to writing. The story I started weeks ago still has a lot to go and the ideas are spinning around in my head all the time, but I feel like until I know who has won it's going to be hard to put words on paper.
So, instead of another section of my story about the sculptor, I'll leave you with this: I'm voting for Barack Obama; go ahead and debate me about it, I dare you.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
A story titled "The Sculptor"
Some people can't help but write, some people can't help but run, others can't stop creating beautiful music. Then there's me- I can't help but sculpt faces.
Since I was a child it was all I ever wanted to do. Before I knew how to sculpt, all I would do was draw faces; but they weren't like the other kids' drawings. From the time I was a toddler, the detail I was capable of was immense, rivaling the great portrait masters.
When I first discovered clay my results were even more dramatic- even in lifeless gray, I was able to bring soul and emotion to these faces. I started out just using my hands, but early on, around age five, one of my art teachers realized my talents and showed me tools. It takes a college student sometimes years to master the tools of sculpting and a lifetime to perfect the art itself- but for me, it took just one afternoon before I was using even the most basic schools available in a preschool to manipulate my clay in magnificent ways. My classroom teachers were dumbfounded, my peers were jealous and I simply didn't care enough to notice any of it.
Naturally, my parents thought something was wrong with me; they took me to the best shrinks and psychologists in the city thinking it might help. These accomplished doctors, with degrees from the best universities in the world adorning their walls, would stare intently at me for hours at a time while I sculpted away. By this time, I was about seven and I had taken to bringing clay and tools with me all the time in a small backpack. The shrinks tried to deduce things from who they thought I was sculpting, one of them figured I was portraying images of people who had hurt me, bullies and such. Another had suggested to my parents that perhaps I was sculpting the faces of would-be criminals, like that movie Minority Report. Thankfully my parents never took me back to that guy because I just don't think I could handle the pressures of working with Tom Cruise all the time.
In the end none of the highly paid professionals could come to any diagnosis. One my one they were dumbfounded by both my prowess at sculpting and my apparent lack of any cognitive detriments. A few of the doctors suggested various pills, antidepressants, ritalin, cocktails of the two and so on. My parents decided to give one of them a try only to discover that while on the pills I didn't just not sculpt- I didn't eat or sleep or talk to anyone. After a week of sleepless nights, memories of which are fuzzy at best, I was taken off the pills and left to my sculpting.
Now, it's not as if I didn't do anything else. I ate spoke, I at my meals and had proper manners at the table, I cleaned my dishes, I was polite (when not sculpting) and I even managed to make a few friends who were so impressed with my sculpting that they would come over for hours at a time to watch me sculpt and try to imitate me. Of course, no one could come close.
As I got older, I lost most of my friends who had moved on to other pursuits such as chasing girls, having drinks and playing video games. None of these things interested me in the slightest and high school was very difficult because of this. I had learned by this time not to sculpt in class, but I would still spend my lunch hours in a quiet corner making faces of whoever I saw passing by, or melding faces together. Their realism only increased as I grew, adding color and texture so detailed that from the right angle you could almost not tell it was a lump of molded and painted clay. And then there were my dreams.
My nights would be filled with vivid images of the faces I had created, whether they be familiar faces or faces I had invented out of the blue. This alone would not bother me, but it was the cryptic messages they would send me that did. Instructions for situations I had yet to encounter, formulas for mathematics I didn't understand and the names of people I had never met. It would not be until I entered college that I understood what the dreams were about.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Since I was a child it was all I ever wanted to do. Before I knew how to sculpt, all I would do was draw faces; but they weren't like the other kids' drawings. From the time I was a toddler, the detail I was capable of was immense, rivaling the great portrait masters.
When I first discovered clay my results were even more dramatic- even in lifeless gray, I was able to bring soul and emotion to these faces. I started out just using my hands, but early on, around age five, one of my art teachers realized my talents and showed me tools. It takes a college student sometimes years to master the tools of sculpting and a lifetime to perfect the art itself- but for me, it took just one afternoon before I was using even the most basic schools available in a preschool to manipulate my clay in magnificent ways. My classroom teachers were dumbfounded, my peers were jealous and I simply didn't care enough to notice any of it.
Naturally, my parents thought something was wrong with me; they took me to the best shrinks and psychologists in the city thinking it might help. These accomplished doctors, with degrees from the best universities in the world adorning their walls, would stare intently at me for hours at a time while I sculpted away. By this time, I was about seven and I had taken to bringing clay and tools with me all the time in a small backpack. The shrinks tried to deduce things from who they thought I was sculpting, one of them figured I was portraying images of people who had hurt me, bullies and such. Another had suggested to my parents that perhaps I was sculpting the faces of would-be criminals, like that movie Minority Report. Thankfully my parents never took me back to that guy because I just don't think I could handle the pressures of working with Tom Cruise all the time.
In the end none of the highly paid professionals could come to any diagnosis. One my one they were dumbfounded by both my prowess at sculpting and my apparent lack of any cognitive detriments. A few of the doctors suggested various pills, antidepressants, ritalin, cocktails of the two and so on. My parents decided to give one of them a try only to discover that while on the pills I didn't just not sculpt- I didn't eat or sleep or talk to anyone. After a week of sleepless nights, memories of which are fuzzy at best, I was taken off the pills and left to my sculpting.
Now, it's not as if I didn't do anything else. I ate spoke, I at my meals and had proper manners at the table, I cleaned my dishes, I was polite (when not sculpting) and I even managed to make a few friends who were so impressed with my sculpting that they would come over for hours at a time to watch me sculpt and try to imitate me. Of course, no one could come close.
As I got older, I lost most of my friends who had moved on to other pursuits such as chasing girls, having drinks and playing video games. None of these things interested me in the slightest and high school was very difficult because of this. I had learned by this time not to sculpt in class, but I would still spend my lunch hours in a quiet corner making faces of whoever I saw passing by, or melding faces together. Their realism only increased as I grew, adding color and texture so detailed that from the right angle you could almost not tell it was a lump of molded and painted clay. And then there were my dreams.
My nights would be filled with vivid images of the faces I had created, whether they be familiar faces or faces I had invented out of the blue. This alone would not bother me, but it was the cryptic messages they would send me that did. Instructions for situations I had yet to encounter, formulas for mathematics I didn't understand and the names of people I had never met. It would not be until I entered college that I understood what the dreams were about.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
To Astoria...
Astoria, we've had an interesting summer together...
We've had Shawarma, we've had laughs, we've had adventure.
I may not be able to stay, as forces beyond me are at work, this is surely a clencher.
Astoria, you taught me what it means to know a neighborhood. You taught me what it means to not care about living in Manhattan
When our time is finally up whether it be next month or next year, you'll have a place in my heart, never dead- unlike Latin.
I know that you're full of pride, with Greek life abound.
But when push comes to shove even if I'm in Brooklyn, I'll always be around.
We've had Shawarma, we've had laughs, we've had adventure.
I may not be able to stay, as forces beyond me are at work, this is surely a clencher.
Astoria, you taught me what it means to know a neighborhood. You taught me what it means to not care about living in Manhattan
When our time is finally up whether it be next month or next year, you'll have a place in my heart, never dead- unlike Latin.
I know that you're full of pride, with Greek life abound.
But when push comes to shove even if I'm in Brooklyn, I'll always be around.
Wednesday, September 5, 2012
Take a load off...
Whatever you're doing right now, take a load off and relax for a few minutes... Unless you're reading this, finish this up (please) then take a load off.
I'm living in the city that never sleeps and the times when I can just sit back, relax and let the city pass me by are some of the moments I've enjoyed most. My time in New York has been full of outrageous adventures, interesting new people and so much more than could fit into a few sentences on here; but sometimes you just have to sit down for a minute!
Sitting in a cafe, I'm staring out the windows at the corner of 39th and 5th Avenue. In the several hours I've been here, probably thousands of feet have passed in front of me, everyone on their way to live some part of their life. Tourists and businessmen, fathers and mothers, daughters and sons- everyone is living, and I have the divine pleasure of watching.
Try it some time and you might find there is more peace in people watching than there is in meditating. Put yourself in the mind's eye of those busy bodies and try to imagine what they are doing, where they are going and just enjoy. Take a load off.
Ferris may have not intended for his phrase to be used this way, but I love it anyway:
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
I'm living in the city that never sleeps and the times when I can just sit back, relax and let the city pass me by are some of the moments I've enjoyed most. My time in New York has been full of outrageous adventures, interesting new people and so much more than could fit into a few sentences on here; but sometimes you just have to sit down for a minute!
Sitting in a cafe, I'm staring out the windows at the corner of 39th and 5th Avenue. In the several hours I've been here, probably thousands of feet have passed in front of me, everyone on their way to live some part of their life. Tourists and businessmen, fathers and mothers, daughters and sons- everyone is living, and I have the divine pleasure of watching.
Try it some time and you might find there is more peace in people watching than there is in meditating. Put yourself in the mind's eye of those busy bodies and try to imagine what they are doing, where they are going and just enjoy. Take a load off.
Ferris may have not intended for his phrase to be used this way, but I love it anyway:
"Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."
Monday, September 3, 2012
Friday, August 31, 2012
The Beatles 'Let It Be' Movie.
You've never seen Let It Be. That is because the movie failed at its indented goal and once The Beatles saw the final cut, they refused to allow it to be sold. To see it today, you have to find yourself a good torrent and if you like The Beatles, I suggest you do just that.
In the wake of the death of their manager Brian Epstein, The Beatles were without direction. The delicate balance of egos- especially Paul and John's- was kept in check by Brian, but with him gone, Paul- in an ill-fated attempt to bring the band back together- he suggested that the band film themselves composing, practicing and then live-recording an entire album from scratch.
Having been influenced by the brilliant and simple work of The Band in their album Music from the Big Pink, the boys were excited at the prospect of getting back to the basics. No crazy studio effects, no overdubs, no backwards guitars: just four guys and a few microphones. The Beatles knew they could swing it with any band in history and Let It Be was their chance to prove it- most of all to themselves.
Sadly, the film did not show how a band comes together to create an album. Instead, it showed how a band breaks up. Sitting in the cold soundstage, Let It Be shows the group frustrated and angry with each other, getting into serious verbal arguments. However, the film does have one redeeming feature: the rooftop concert.
The sequence that unfolded is one of the most iconic in rock and roll. We've all seen bands hop onto a rooftop or an awning and play their hearts out: The Beatles started this trend and it will forever belong to them. Though they didn't know it at the time- it would be the last time the band ever performed in front of an audience. Knowing this today, it is an emotional scene to watch, seeing John and Paul enjoying each others company for perhaps the last time.
If you have not seen this film I urge you to watch. You'll laugh, you'll sing, and most of all you'll smile. Despite the fact that the band was broken up later that year, it is clear when you watch them rocking their hearts out on that rooftop that they truly are the greatest band in history.
In the wake of the death of their manager Brian Epstein, The Beatles were without direction. The delicate balance of egos- especially Paul and John's- was kept in check by Brian, but with him gone, Paul- in an ill-fated attempt to bring the band back together- he suggested that the band film themselves composing, practicing and then live-recording an entire album from scratch.
Having been influenced by the brilliant and simple work of The Band in their album Music from the Big Pink, the boys were excited at the prospect of getting back to the basics. No crazy studio effects, no overdubs, no backwards guitars: just four guys and a few microphones. The Beatles knew they could swing it with any band in history and Let It Be was their chance to prove it- most of all to themselves.
Sadly, the film did not show how a band comes together to create an album. Instead, it showed how a band breaks up. Sitting in the cold soundstage, Let It Be shows the group frustrated and angry with each other, getting into serious verbal arguments. However, the film does have one redeeming feature: the rooftop concert.
The sequence that unfolded is one of the most iconic in rock and roll. We've all seen bands hop onto a rooftop or an awning and play their hearts out: The Beatles started this trend and it will forever belong to them. Though they didn't know it at the time- it would be the last time the band ever performed in front of an audience. Knowing this today, it is an emotional scene to watch, seeing John and Paul enjoying each others company for perhaps the last time.
If you have not seen this film I urge you to watch. You'll laugh, you'll sing, and most of all you'll smile. Despite the fact that the band was broken up later that year, it is clear when you watch them rocking their hearts out on that rooftop that they truly are the greatest band in history.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
A little story about The Moon...
My pal Jonah posed a simple question a few months ago:
"Need some ideas: what is a disaster that could happen and involves Wisconsin cheese?"
This was my suggestion:
"Alternate history where Apollo 11 lands on the moon only to discover it is indeed made of cheese, wisconsin cheese- but how did they get it up there?"
So... in honor of Neil Armstrong, without further ado, I present: The Eagle Has Cheddar
From the diary of Neil Armstrong:
We landed on the Sea of Tranquility at approximately 20:17. The mood inside the Lunar Module was joyous, with me and Buzz shaking hands in celebration of the occasion. After preparing the cabin and dressing in our space suits, we prepared to embark on the greatest extra-vehicular activity in this history of humanity.
When I climbed out of the Lunar Module and began descending down the ladder I realized that the surface was all too different from what the scientists had told us to expect. By the time I reached the bottom of the ladder, my strangest thoughts and greatest fears were confirmed: the surface of the moon appeared to be made of cheddar cheese!
I radioed Houston to describe to them what I was seeing. I told them that it was very squishy and porous when you get up close to it. I still had yet to step off the landing pads for the Lunar Module, but seeing no other option, I stepped off. I thought that the words I had planned to say would come out of my mouth, but instead I could only manage to say "That is one small step for a man... wow that cheese is bouncy!"
The surface was indeed made of porous cheese, but despite its bouncy and squishy nature, it was more than solid enough to walk on, and the Lunar Module didn't appear to be depressed to deep in the surface. I proceeded with the first task on the mission checklist: to pick up a sample of lunar rock so that if something were to go wrong in the rest of the EVA, we would at least have that. I quickly found a solid chunk of cheese and picked it up with the NASA grabber. Upon closer inspection I could see lettering on the cheese, it read "Made in Wisconsin."
I could not believe my eyes, and I immediately called out the discovery to Buzz in the lander. I told him that the cheese was from Wisconsin! He replied in disbelief that it could not be possible, but 20 minutes later when he emerged from the Lunar Module he saw it for himself. Wisconsin Cheese, gray in color but definitely cheese in nature and consistency littered the surface, it was the surface!
We radioed Houston to tell them that we could confirm that the Moon was made of cheese. The silence that proceeded was deeply frightening to us. Nearly 45 seconds passed before we received a reply: "We know. We've always known. The Moon was built by the government of Wisconsin in 1922."
Dear lord.
-- 21 July 1969
"Need some ideas: what is a disaster that could happen and involves Wisconsin cheese?"
This was my suggestion:
"Alternate history where Apollo 11 lands on the moon only to discover it is indeed made of cheese, wisconsin cheese- but how did they get it up there?"
So... in honor of Neil Armstrong, without further ado, I present: The Eagle Has Cheddar
From the diary of Neil Armstrong:
We landed on the Sea of Tranquility at approximately 20:17. The mood inside the Lunar Module was joyous, with me and Buzz shaking hands in celebration of the occasion. After preparing the cabin and dressing in our space suits, we prepared to embark on the greatest extra-vehicular activity in this history of humanity.
When I climbed out of the Lunar Module and began descending down the ladder I realized that the surface was all too different from what the scientists had told us to expect. By the time I reached the bottom of the ladder, my strangest thoughts and greatest fears were confirmed: the surface of the moon appeared to be made of cheddar cheese!
I radioed Houston to describe to them what I was seeing. I told them that it was very squishy and porous when you get up close to it. I still had yet to step off the landing pads for the Lunar Module, but seeing no other option, I stepped off. I thought that the words I had planned to say would come out of my mouth, but instead I could only manage to say "That is one small step for a man... wow that cheese is bouncy!"
The surface was indeed made of porous cheese, but despite its bouncy and squishy nature, it was more than solid enough to walk on, and the Lunar Module didn't appear to be depressed to deep in the surface. I proceeded with the first task on the mission checklist: to pick up a sample of lunar rock so that if something were to go wrong in the rest of the EVA, we would at least have that. I quickly found a solid chunk of cheese and picked it up with the NASA grabber. Upon closer inspection I could see lettering on the cheese, it read "Made in Wisconsin."
I could not believe my eyes, and I immediately called out the discovery to Buzz in the lander. I told him that the cheese was from Wisconsin! He replied in disbelief that it could not be possible, but 20 minutes later when he emerged from the Lunar Module he saw it for himself. Wisconsin Cheese, gray in color but definitely cheese in nature and consistency littered the surface, it was the surface!
We radioed Houston to tell them that we could confirm that the Moon was made of cheese. The silence that proceeded was deeply frightening to us. Nearly 45 seconds passed before we received a reply: "We know. We've always known. The Moon was built by the government of Wisconsin in 1922."
Dear lord.
-- 21 July 1969
Saturday, August 25, 2012
RIP Neil Armstrong
Our universe lost a great man today. Neil Armstrong taught us that the very home we have come to know is only the shore of the cosmic ocean. His small step on Earth's celestial dance partner proved that we children of the stars are indeed unlimited beings, capable of any achievement we set our minds to.
When John F. Kennedy brashly challenged us to send a man to the Moon and return him safely to earth, many were not even sure it was possible. Robert Goddard dreamed it, Kennedy threw down the gauntlet and Neil Armstrong achieved it. He landed a rocket in reverse in 1/6th Earth's gravity, flying a ship so delicate that a few pebbles whizzing through could tear it apart.
Always an intensely private man, unlike his LMP Buzz Aldrin, Armstrong remained vocal about only one thing: the fall of NASA. Despite his reluctant fame, he was a staunch believer in the power of inspiration and dreaded seeing NASA's greatness float away in a breeze of politics and budget cuts. Perhaps his death will cause our leaders to reexamine the future of the space agency, and the technological innovation and human inspiration it provided to millions.
I think its best to close with the words of Neil's family:
"For those who may ask what they can do to honor Neil, we have a simple request: Honor his example of service, accomplishment and modesty, and the next time you walk outside on a clear night and see the moon smiling down at you, think of Neil Armstrong and give him a wink."
When John F. Kennedy brashly challenged us to send a man to the Moon and return him safely to earth, many were not even sure it was possible. Robert Goddard dreamed it, Kennedy threw down the gauntlet and Neil Armstrong achieved it. He landed a rocket in reverse in 1/6th Earth's gravity, flying a ship so delicate that a few pebbles whizzing through could tear it apart.
Always an intensely private man, unlike his LMP Buzz Aldrin, Armstrong remained vocal about only one thing: the fall of NASA. Despite his reluctant fame, he was a staunch believer in the power of inspiration and dreaded seeing NASA's greatness float away in a breeze of politics and budget cuts. Perhaps his death will cause our leaders to reexamine the future of the space agency, and the technological innovation and human inspiration it provided to millions.
I think its best to close with the words of Neil's family:
"For those who may ask what they can do to honor Neil, we have a simple request: Honor his example of service, accomplishment and modesty, and the next time you walk outside on a clear night and see the moon smiling down at you, think of Neil Armstrong and give him a wink."
Friday, August 24, 2012
To the lonely swinger...
I don't know what you were doing out there all by yourself, but it looked like a scene out of a sequel to Juno. You sat alone on the swing set as the sun gently came to rest below the horizon behind you. The sunglasses on your face reflected the passers by and the headphones in your ears ensured the world was pushed away. I wasn't the only one who noticed you, lonely swinger, but I was the only one who tried to say hello.
You claimed all was well but I still don't believe you. You said you just felt like swinging... but who says that? The last time I went to the swings by myself was in my back yard, and I was still wearing baby shoes. Lonely swinger, you can swing but you can't hide. Whatever it was that was troubling you that day, I certainly hope you resolved it because the world needs less people trapped behind headphone and sunglasses. The human connection is what separates us from the rest of the animals- I beg anyone reading this to not take it for granted, because it's all we have.
You claimed all was well but I still don't believe you. You said you just felt like swinging... but who says that? The last time I went to the swings by myself was in my back yard, and I was still wearing baby shoes. Lonely swinger, you can swing but you can't hide. Whatever it was that was troubling you that day, I certainly hope you resolved it because the world needs less people trapped behind headphone and sunglasses. The human connection is what separates us from the rest of the animals- I beg anyone reading this to not take it for granted, because it's all we have.
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
Reddit Challenge #28
Reddit user zygote_harlot submits: Grandma brushes her teeth with LSD-laced tooth paste before taking her cat to the vet.
Norma Needham had never before felt the urge to count each step she took from her house to the veterinarian's office just a few blocks away. Today was different. The 76 year old pensioner left her house and proceeded to count each step from the door; calling out each number at the top of her lungs, she elicited stares from passers by. On the way to the vet for her cat Snuggles' six-month check up, Norma held the feline tightly in her arms, putting the cat in a position that you could tell by its expression it did not like.
Not. One. Bit.
As Norma reached- and then called out- step number 136, she froze in place, letting the world pass by around her. Thoughts began racing through the old woman's head. Why was she there? Why was 136 important? 136... She liked that number, so she said it ten or twelve times in a row, appreciating each mention as if being told 'i love you' by a passionate bed-fellow.
What was the fluffy thing in her hands? Was that 136? She loved 136. If Snuggles could have spoken he would have told her he was not 136- but Snuggles was only a cat and he had no choice but to remained in the pensioner's steely grip.
Still standing motionless, Norma realized that something was different about today. Like every other day she had dressed in the morning, brushed her teeth, waited for an hour for a call from her grandchildren- which never came- and then proceeded out of the house to go on with her day's plans. Today she knew she was going to the vet but things felt different. 136 felt different. Perhaps it was the new toothpaste she tried.
The funny man with the dreadlocks at CVS told her it was the best toothpaste on the market, "guaranteed to whiten her day" he had said. The tube said 'CoLSDgate' but Norma didn't know or care what it meant- to her the recommendation from the lovely man with the strange hair was all she needed, for Norma was the trusting type.
136. 136. 136.
Norma decided the day was lovely, the colors were lovely, Snuggles36 was lovely. She kissed the cat on its head then wondered to herself again why she had not left the spot she was in? Did the spot love her like she loved it? Did the spot love Snuggles36?
Norma appeared in the veterinarian's office.
Having no recollection of how she got there, Norma began to wonder if Snuggles was okay. He was shaking in her arms, which were still gripped tightly around his body. She loosened her grip and Snuggles jumped out of her hands with lightning quickness. The cat- who had been unable to breathe fully for the last two hours- ran as fast as it could in circles around the office before passing out from exhaustion.
Luckily, Norma was at the veterinarian's office.
Norma Needham had never before felt the urge to count each step she took from her house to the veterinarian's office just a few blocks away. Today was different. The 76 year old pensioner left her house and proceeded to count each step from the door; calling out each number at the top of her lungs, she elicited stares from passers by. On the way to the vet for her cat Snuggles' six-month check up, Norma held the feline tightly in her arms, putting the cat in a position that you could tell by its expression it did not like.
Not. One. Bit.
As Norma reached- and then called out- step number 136, she froze in place, letting the world pass by around her. Thoughts began racing through the old woman's head. Why was she there? Why was 136 important? 136... She liked that number, so she said it ten or twelve times in a row, appreciating each mention as if being told 'i love you' by a passionate bed-fellow.
What was the fluffy thing in her hands? Was that 136? She loved 136. If Snuggles could have spoken he would have told her he was not 136- but Snuggles was only a cat and he had no choice but to remained in the pensioner's steely grip.
Still standing motionless, Norma realized that something was different about today. Like every other day she had dressed in the morning, brushed her teeth, waited for an hour for a call from her grandchildren- which never came- and then proceeded out of the house to go on with her day's plans. Today she knew she was going to the vet but things felt different. 136 felt different. Perhaps it was the new toothpaste she tried.
The funny man with the dreadlocks at CVS told her it was the best toothpaste on the market, "guaranteed to whiten her day" he had said. The tube said 'CoLSDgate' but Norma didn't know or care what it meant- to her the recommendation from the lovely man with the strange hair was all she needed, for Norma was the trusting type.
136. 136. 136.
Norma decided the day was lovely, the colors were lovely, Snuggles36 was lovely. She kissed the cat on its head then wondered to herself again why she had not left the spot she was in? Did the spot love her like she loved it? Did the spot love Snuggles36?
Norma appeared in the veterinarian's office.
Having no recollection of how she got there, Norma began to wonder if Snuggles was okay. He was shaking in her arms, which were still gripped tightly around his body. She loosened her grip and Snuggles jumped out of her hands with lightning quickness. The cat- who had been unable to breathe fully for the last two hours- ran as fast as it could in circles around the office before passing out from exhaustion.
Luckily, Norma was at the veterinarian's office.
Monday, August 20, 2012
A quick review of Senna.
This is a quick review of one of my favorite documentaries about one of my favorite athletes: racing driver Ayrton Senna (1960-1994)
The sensation of the wind blowing over your helmet at 200 miles per hour on a straightaway and the feeling of five times the earth’s gravity pushing against you in a corner must be simply mind boggling; for Ayrton Senna this dangerous dance with destiny was the norm- he balanced life and death on a razor’s edge every day.
I know what you’re thinking right now: “I could give a hoot about racing; it’s all just tarmac, turns and testosterone!” Well if you’re not fan, do not fear! Senna’s story is so visceral, so powerful and so moving that it will bring even the most racing-ignorant viewer through a whirlwind of emotions. Even for someone who flat-out hates racing, the end of this tale of triumph and tragedy will bring you to tears.
‘Senna’ is presents the gripping tale of one of Formula One's most spectacular drivers. Ayrton Senna raced in Formula One for 10 years, winning three world championships prior to his tragic death at the Imola Circuit in Italy. The greats of yesterday and today- even Michael Schumacher- respect and admire Senna, considering him to be the greatest driver to ever live.
Directed by Asif Kapadia, the film tells Ayrton's story from his early years in go-karts all the way through to the day of his death in 1994. Using archival racing footage, interviews with relatives, friends and fellow drivers, plus past interviews with Senna himself, Kapadia is able to bring the man back to life. From his bitter rivalry with legendary French driver Alain Prost to to his devout Christianity and immense capacity for compassion and charity, Kapadia leaves it all on the screen and lets you be the judge. The re-edits of some of Formula One's most famous races turn them into even more dramatic- and easier to swallow- events than when they originally occurred. Make no mistake: this one will have you hanging on like you’re in the car with Senna for the entire 105 minutes.
Senna is available on Netflix Instant.
For a taste of what you can expect from Senna, check out this tribute to Ayrton's life done by BBC's Top Gear.
The sensation of the wind blowing over your helmet at 200 miles per hour on a straightaway and the feeling of five times the earth’s gravity pushing against you in a corner must be simply mind boggling; for Ayrton Senna this dangerous dance with destiny was the norm- he balanced life and death on a razor’s edge every day.
I know what you’re thinking right now: “I could give a hoot about racing; it’s all just tarmac, turns and testosterone!” Well if you’re not fan, do not fear! Senna’s story is so visceral, so powerful and so moving that it will bring even the most racing-ignorant viewer through a whirlwind of emotions. Even for someone who flat-out hates racing, the end of this tale of triumph and tragedy will bring you to tears.
‘Senna’ is presents the gripping tale of one of Formula One's most spectacular drivers. Ayrton Senna raced in Formula One for 10 years, winning three world championships prior to his tragic death at the Imola Circuit in Italy. The greats of yesterday and today- even Michael Schumacher- respect and admire Senna, considering him to be the greatest driver to ever live.
Directed by Asif Kapadia, the film tells Ayrton's story from his early years in go-karts all the way through to the day of his death in 1994. Using archival racing footage, interviews with relatives, friends and fellow drivers, plus past interviews with Senna himself, Kapadia is able to bring the man back to life. From his bitter rivalry with legendary French driver Alain Prost to to his devout Christianity and immense capacity for compassion and charity, Kapadia leaves it all on the screen and lets you be the judge. The re-edits of some of Formula One's most famous races turn them into even more dramatic- and easier to swallow- events than when they originally occurred. Make no mistake: this one will have you hanging on like you’re in the car with Senna for the entire 105 minutes.
Senna is available on Netflix Instant.
For a taste of what you can expect from Senna, check out this tribute to Ayrton's life done by BBC's Top Gear.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Reddit Challenge #27
Reddit user SeeDeez submits: Fictitious rapper Rhyme-asaurus Sex. Picture Tracy Morgan for this role.
Famed rapper Rhyme-asaurus Sex and his wife, Jersey Shore star Nicole Elizabeth "Snooki" Polizzi announced the birth of their first child today. The baby, a boy who Mr. Rex and Ms. Polizzi have affectionately named 'Paycheck Dolla-Bill' was born of a surrogate mother at New York's Mount Sinai Medical Center at approximately 2:35 AM last night.
Snooki, who was unable to attend the birth due to a contractual obligation to appear at the famous Marquee Nightclub in Chelsea appeared in front of cameras at 2:45 after taking a taxi to the hospital. "I could not be happier about this news" Snooki said, holding her newborn child in one hand "and I think I speak for my husband and myself when I say... WHAT? WHAT?" Ms. Polizzi then proceeded to raise the baby up in her hands in a 'raise the roof' motion before being quickly escorted back inside by hospital staff.
Aproxamately one hour later, Ryme-asaurus Sex arrived in his trademark reptile scale covered Escalade and gave a brief statement to reporters before entering the hospital. "This is the greatest day of my life" the rap star boldly exclaimed "in the car on the way here, I beat my high score on Donkey Kong!" Mr. Sex then proceeded to remove a Gameboy from his pocket before continuing "but I still can't figure out how they made such a tiny gorilla in the first place!"
Famed rapper Rhyme-asaurus Sex and his wife, Jersey Shore star Nicole Elizabeth "Snooki" Polizzi announced the birth of their first child today. The baby, a boy who Mr. Rex and Ms. Polizzi have affectionately named 'Paycheck Dolla-Bill' was born of a surrogate mother at New York's Mount Sinai Medical Center at approximately 2:35 AM last night.
Snooki, who was unable to attend the birth due to a contractual obligation to appear at the famous Marquee Nightclub in Chelsea appeared in front of cameras at 2:45 after taking a taxi to the hospital. "I could not be happier about this news" Snooki said, holding her newborn child in one hand "and I think I speak for my husband and myself when I say... WHAT? WHAT?" Ms. Polizzi then proceeded to raise the baby up in her hands in a 'raise the roof' motion before being quickly escorted back inside by hospital staff.
Aproxamately one hour later, Ryme-asaurus Sex arrived in his trademark reptile scale covered Escalade and gave a brief statement to reporters before entering the hospital. "This is the greatest day of my life" the rap star boldly exclaimed "in the car on the way here, I beat my high score on Donkey Kong!" Mr. Sex then proceeded to remove a Gameboy from his pocket before continuing "but I still can't figure out how they made such a tiny gorilla in the first place!"
Reddit Challenge #26
Reddit user DNAsly submits: At my nearby grocery store, many bottles of wine and almost all footlong subs ring up as $9.11. Please make a conspiracy thriller about this.
I present: The Killing of Danger's Brother, an action adventure conspiracy thriller.
Danger's brother was dead- blown apart by government agents at the grocery store.
Danger McDeadly was in the pastry section at the time, scoping out some croissants and wondering which jam they might go best with in the morning. As his thoughts turned to the strawberry preserves in the fridge at home, his brother Mistake McDeadly was heading to the checkout counter. Mistake's hand held a bottle of wine and foot-long meatball sub.
***
In a dark room in an unknown location, government agents crowd around a computer screen. The agent manning the computer let the others know that the man on the screen- Mistake McDeadly- was the man they were looking for. The screen showed McDeadly approaching the grocery checkout counter and making small talk with the cashier. As soon as he handed his items to the cashier, the room grew silent. One of the agents got on his radio and issued an order to prepare for action.
***
Mistake McDeadly loved this grocery store. He'd gone here for years and he knew all the staff; he was even talking to his favorite cashier, a cute girl named Rose whom he had known since grade school. After he and Rose exchanged pleasantries, Mistake handed her his two items. Rose took the wine bottle, scanned it and then- just as she had done for the last 5 years- she announced the price: nine dollars and eleven cents. She then picked up the sub, scanned it and announced the very same price: nine dollars and eleven cents
The next second, lights were off in the building and an explosion could be heard. Danger McDeadly hit the floor instinctively, but being across the store from Mistake, he had no idea what was coming. Armed government agents burst into the store and surrounded Mistake and Rose.
***
Back in the dark room, the agent manning the computer turns to the others and they all nod to each other. He reaches for his radio and issues one last command: Rose and Mistake are too dangerous to be left alive.
***
The chaotic burst of bullet fire only lasted a second or two but when it was over, the sound of bodies hitting the floor was unmistakable.
By the time Danger arrived at the scene the agents were gone, leaving only the shells from their weapons as evidence. Seeing his dead brother on the floor, Danger shut his eyes tight and balled his fists. Slowly, he exhaled and let the tension dissipate from his body. Leaning down next to the bodies of his brother and the innocent cashier, Danger picked up one of bullet shells and inspected the backside. He could see the lettering and knew they were FBI standard. He looked up toward the corner of the store ceiling, and then walked out the front door, the automatic slider closing behind him.
***
The men in the dark room were shaking hands and smiling when they spotted him. The shadowy figure approached the bodies, picked up a bullet casing on the ground, then looked at their security camera, smiled and walked off. Instantly, all the men in the room turned white.
"Oh shit" the computer operator gasped "Thats Danger McDeadly"
***
THE END???
I present: The Killing of Danger's Brother, an action adventure conspiracy thriller.
Danger's brother was dead- blown apart by government agents at the grocery store.
Danger McDeadly was in the pastry section at the time, scoping out some croissants and wondering which jam they might go best with in the morning. As his thoughts turned to the strawberry preserves in the fridge at home, his brother Mistake McDeadly was heading to the checkout counter. Mistake's hand held a bottle of wine and foot-long meatball sub.
***
In a dark room in an unknown location, government agents crowd around a computer screen. The agent manning the computer let the others know that the man on the screen- Mistake McDeadly- was the man they were looking for. The screen showed McDeadly approaching the grocery checkout counter and making small talk with the cashier. As soon as he handed his items to the cashier, the room grew silent. One of the agents got on his radio and issued an order to prepare for action.
***
Mistake McDeadly loved this grocery store. He'd gone here for years and he knew all the staff; he was even talking to his favorite cashier, a cute girl named Rose whom he had known since grade school. After he and Rose exchanged pleasantries, Mistake handed her his two items. Rose took the wine bottle, scanned it and then- just as she had done for the last 5 years- she announced the price: nine dollars and eleven cents. She then picked up the sub, scanned it and announced the very same price: nine dollars and eleven cents
The next second, lights were off in the building and an explosion could be heard. Danger McDeadly hit the floor instinctively, but being across the store from Mistake, he had no idea what was coming. Armed government agents burst into the store and surrounded Mistake and Rose.
***
Back in the dark room, the agent manning the computer turns to the others and they all nod to each other. He reaches for his radio and issues one last command: Rose and Mistake are too dangerous to be left alive.
***
The chaotic burst of bullet fire only lasted a second or two but when it was over, the sound of bodies hitting the floor was unmistakable.
By the time Danger arrived at the scene the agents were gone, leaving only the shells from their weapons as evidence. Seeing his dead brother on the floor, Danger shut his eyes tight and balled his fists. Slowly, he exhaled and let the tension dissipate from his body. Leaning down next to the bodies of his brother and the innocent cashier, Danger picked up one of bullet shells and inspected the backside. He could see the lettering and knew they were FBI standard. He looked up toward the corner of the store ceiling, and then walked out the front door, the automatic slider closing behind him.
***
The men in the dark room were shaking hands and smiling when they spotted him. The shadowy figure approached the bodies, picked up a bullet casing on the ground, then looked at their security camera, smiled and walked off. Instantly, all the men in the room turned white.
"Oh shit" the computer operator gasped "Thats Danger McDeadly"
***
THE END???
Reddit Challenge #25
Reddit user Guntcher submits: Sci-fy story about someone trying to get laid on a planet with 10 sexes.
I call this story 'Überbad'
Life for Chandrians was simple. The people of Chandria were a peaceful people- highly advanced, but peaceful. They had made the mistakes of Earth before, ruining their home planet with over-industrialization. Luckily for the people of Chandria, this particular solar system in the Orion Nebula had two habitable planets within it. After ruining their planet, the Chandrians moved on to the second planet- known as Aprillia- and began a life of symbiosis with the living plants and animals there. The Chandrians used their advanced knowledge to help grow the planet while only taking away what they truly needed.
However, the damage from life on Chandria had already been done- huge doses of radiation and acid rain from factories had permanently altered the people, giving them 10 different sexes. Some of the 10 sexes could only breed with one of the others, some could breed with two or three, but not the other seven or eight; sometimes which sex could breed with which other sex depended on the time of the month and the physical mood of the participants. It was all terribly confusing. None of this made life easier for teenager Anthony Jones (name changed to protect anonymity) who at age 19, was really just looking to get laid.
At his- or rather, its- higher learning institute on Aprillia, Anthony would scan the classrooms for someone it liked. It knew it was a sex seven, meaning it could breed with those of sex four, five and six and other sevens only while they were on their moon cycle. Scanning the room, Anthony found everything so confusing- it had read stories about a past with only two sexes- it couldn't understand why it had to be so tortured.
One day while exiting class Anthony dropped its books. Leaning down to help it pick them up was the most beautiful sex three that Anthony had ever seen. Anthony reached across as the three grabbed the last book, not wanting the three to have to pick up more, but as it did this their hands brushed together. Anthony met eyes with the three... It had never seen any Chandrian like this before- so beautiful and with eyes so inviting. Immediately, Anthony thought of its Saganism teachings from Sunday School and how sometimes the Cosmos intervenes in fateful situations. Anthony decided it would ask this three on a date.
Two days later, Anthony saw the lovely three walking through the quad and caught up with it. Nervously, Anthony approached the three and introduced itself. The three smiled and they began to talk. The two hit it off so well that in minutes they were laughing together- Anthony felt good. But then things began to get strange. Anthony noticed that the more the three laughed and smiled, the hotter it appeared to get. Glowing Chandrians wasn't crazy- the sex one and twos glowed any time it was below 50 degrees- but for a sex three this was unexpected. Anthony was enjoying itself so much it didn't care.
Anthony had never felt like this before and soon it saw an opportunity to kiss the three. It leaned in and so did the three, but as Anthony got close, it suddenly became all too aware of the massive heat radiating off the three. Determined to get laid Anthony continued moving for the kiss and as the two of them locked lips, the three's body began to superheat exponentially.
The reaction took only a few milliseconds- there was nothing Anthony could have done. The body energy of the three rose so rapidly that it drained of its energy in an instant and collapsed upon itself, creating a small scale nuclear explosion which destroyed the section of the quad the two were standing on. Anthony and the three it had fallen for were both killed. The Dean of the university- a seven itself- stood over the wreckage and delivered a dark word of warning to those listening:
There is a reason sevens can't have sex with threes.
I call this story 'Überbad'
Life for Chandrians was simple. The people of Chandria were a peaceful people- highly advanced, but peaceful. They had made the mistakes of Earth before, ruining their home planet with over-industrialization. Luckily for the people of Chandria, this particular solar system in the Orion Nebula had two habitable planets within it. After ruining their planet, the Chandrians moved on to the second planet- known as Aprillia- and began a life of symbiosis with the living plants and animals there. The Chandrians used their advanced knowledge to help grow the planet while only taking away what they truly needed.
However, the damage from life on Chandria had already been done- huge doses of radiation and acid rain from factories had permanently altered the people, giving them 10 different sexes. Some of the 10 sexes could only breed with one of the others, some could breed with two or three, but not the other seven or eight; sometimes which sex could breed with which other sex depended on the time of the month and the physical mood of the participants. It was all terribly confusing. None of this made life easier for teenager Anthony Jones (name changed to protect anonymity) who at age 19, was really just looking to get laid.
At his- or rather, its- higher learning institute on Aprillia, Anthony would scan the classrooms for someone it liked. It knew it was a sex seven, meaning it could breed with those of sex four, five and six and other sevens only while they were on their moon cycle. Scanning the room, Anthony found everything so confusing- it had read stories about a past with only two sexes- it couldn't understand why it had to be so tortured.
One day while exiting class Anthony dropped its books. Leaning down to help it pick them up was the most beautiful sex three that Anthony had ever seen. Anthony reached across as the three grabbed the last book, not wanting the three to have to pick up more, but as it did this their hands brushed together. Anthony met eyes with the three... It had never seen any Chandrian like this before- so beautiful and with eyes so inviting. Immediately, Anthony thought of its Saganism teachings from Sunday School and how sometimes the Cosmos intervenes in fateful situations. Anthony decided it would ask this three on a date.
Two days later, Anthony saw the lovely three walking through the quad and caught up with it. Nervously, Anthony approached the three and introduced itself. The three smiled and they began to talk. The two hit it off so well that in minutes they were laughing together- Anthony felt good. But then things began to get strange. Anthony noticed that the more the three laughed and smiled, the hotter it appeared to get. Glowing Chandrians wasn't crazy- the sex one and twos glowed any time it was below 50 degrees- but for a sex three this was unexpected. Anthony was enjoying itself so much it didn't care.
Anthony had never felt like this before and soon it saw an opportunity to kiss the three. It leaned in and so did the three, but as Anthony got close, it suddenly became all too aware of the massive heat radiating off the three. Determined to get laid Anthony continued moving for the kiss and as the two of them locked lips, the three's body began to superheat exponentially.
The reaction took only a few milliseconds- there was nothing Anthony could have done. The body energy of the three rose so rapidly that it drained of its energy in an instant and collapsed upon itself, creating a small scale nuclear explosion which destroyed the section of the quad the two were standing on. Anthony and the three it had fallen for were both killed. The Dean of the university- a seven itself- stood over the wreckage and delivered a dark word of warning to those listening:
There is a reason sevens can't have sex with threes.
Friday, August 17, 2012
Reddit Challenge #24
Reddit user submits: Almonds are actually sentient beings that have been trying to communicate with us for ages to stop eating them in genocidally large numbers.. Communication has failed, so now they are moving towards warfare.
The general stood stoic beside the president; The two men stared into the distance of the oval office windows. For a moment it appeared as if the president was going to speak- the general readied his mind for the moment he thought was coming.
False alarm. The president lowers his posture and returns his gaze to the world beyond the window. Slowly, the president turns to face his general and comments on the difficulty of the situation. He says its going to be a tough nut to crack. The two men chuckle. The general agreed that it would be a difficult decision to make.
The Almond people had always been a peaceful people. Almonds gained sentience during an accidental radiation exposure at a Mr. Peanut factory that was located too close to a nuclear test site. The Almonds were overjoyed by the gift of life and sentience, but they were plagued by impending doom. The early Almond councils sat and smoked peace pipes for many hours to attempt to solve the problem and save their lives. Their solutions have been failing.
Tasting delicious in the hope that humans will have sympathy on them has failed, as has the reverse attempt to make themselves crush into tiny pieces that you have to get out of your teeth with floss. Each new strategy fails worse than the next and their latest idea- to have terrible celebrities advertise them on television- has led to more Almond eaters than ever. Disguising themselves in Hershey's chocolate was a disaster.
Now, with nothing left to lose, the Presidential Almond is facing the choice- to use their nuclear arsenal or not. The general is nervous because he knows the power at the president's hands: with one word he could level Chicago and start a self sufficient almond colony there within days- when no humans could enter.
The president stares once more into the distance, ready to decide; when he turns back he sees a photo of his daughter- an almond of similar size and shape- sitting on the desk. He tells the general he doesn't want his daughter to die, but that he sees no other way to save her or the rest of his people.
The president presses a button beneath his desk, causing the table top to flip open into a computer console for launching missiles. He enters in a code with the general watching on, salt pouring off his forehead. The president moves to press the button but just before he reaches a door bursts open! An almond stands in the door and tells them to hold off on the decision. The president demands an explanation and the almond informs them that Chic-Fil-a Called and they want to do an new almond chicken sandwich. The president sits down in his chair and decides the war will be postponed- collaborating with Chic-Fil-a is sure to make people stop eating almonds.
The general stood stoic beside the president; The two men stared into the distance of the oval office windows. For a moment it appeared as if the president was going to speak- the general readied his mind for the moment he thought was coming.
False alarm. The president lowers his posture and returns his gaze to the world beyond the window. Slowly, the president turns to face his general and comments on the difficulty of the situation. He says its going to be a tough nut to crack. The two men chuckle. The general agreed that it would be a difficult decision to make.
The Almond people had always been a peaceful people. Almonds gained sentience during an accidental radiation exposure at a Mr. Peanut factory that was located too close to a nuclear test site. The Almonds were overjoyed by the gift of life and sentience, but they were plagued by impending doom. The early Almond councils sat and smoked peace pipes for many hours to attempt to solve the problem and save their lives. Their solutions have been failing.
Tasting delicious in the hope that humans will have sympathy on them has failed, as has the reverse attempt to make themselves crush into tiny pieces that you have to get out of your teeth with floss. Each new strategy fails worse than the next and their latest idea- to have terrible celebrities advertise them on television- has led to more Almond eaters than ever. Disguising themselves in Hershey's chocolate was a disaster.
Now, with nothing left to lose, the Presidential Almond is facing the choice- to use their nuclear arsenal or not. The general is nervous because he knows the power at the president's hands: with one word he could level Chicago and start a self sufficient almond colony there within days- when no humans could enter.
The president stares once more into the distance, ready to decide; when he turns back he sees a photo of his daughter- an almond of similar size and shape- sitting on the desk. He tells the general he doesn't want his daughter to die, but that he sees no other way to save her or the rest of his people.
The president presses a button beneath his desk, causing the table top to flip open into a computer console for launching missiles. He enters in a code with the general watching on, salt pouring off his forehead. The president moves to press the button but just before he reaches a door bursts open! An almond stands in the door and tells them to hold off on the decision. The president demands an explanation and the almond informs them that Chic-Fil-a Called and they want to do an new almond chicken sandwich. The president sits down in his chair and decides the war will be postponed- collaborating with Chic-Fil-a is sure to make people stop eating almonds.
Reddit Challenge #23
Reddit user ANewLowInGettingHigh Submits: The sadness of a plantation owner who lost everything after the civil war.
Anderson White was not like many people who bore witnessed the rise and fall of Dixie. Many people in the south strongly believed in their convictions about slavery and its relation to states rights, many of them believed in the supremacy of White Protestant Americans, but not Anderson White. Anderson White was the only black southerner.
He was born in 1841 in a small town in in Minnesota from an African couple who had escaped the south before realizing what they were destined for. Running the minute the boat hit port, they missed the fact that their friends were entering slavery and ended up in the north. There they adopted American language and culture. The newly named Richard White and his wife Angela White proceeded to Minnesota to become farmers- it was there that they decided to raise a family as well.
Anderson loved the farm- not just the farming activities but the business as well. He had raised thousands by properly managing the family farm and this love of business led a young Anderson to make a drastic decision. Anderson decided to head south to start his own farm in Georgia. He knew that even the cost of non-slave labor was cheaper in the south, and he was closer to major ports.
Leaving his family in his early 20s and heading south, Anderson became a model southerner and somehow became accepted by the whites in the community. Anderson had so much money and business savvy that he bought out every person in town with gifts and kindness. He had all white employees who he paid fairly and when the Civil War broke out he decided to stick with the South.
Despite this, and despite his African heritage, the Union army burned Anderson's farm because of his southern sympathies- he lost everything.
Anderson White was not like many people who bore witnessed the rise and fall of Dixie. Many people in the south strongly believed in their convictions about slavery and its relation to states rights, many of them believed in the supremacy of White Protestant Americans, but not Anderson White. Anderson White was the only black southerner.
He was born in 1841 in a small town in in Minnesota from an African couple who had escaped the south before realizing what they were destined for. Running the minute the boat hit port, they missed the fact that their friends were entering slavery and ended up in the north. There they adopted American language and culture. The newly named Richard White and his wife Angela White proceeded to Minnesota to become farmers- it was there that they decided to raise a family as well.
Anderson loved the farm- not just the farming activities but the business as well. He had raised thousands by properly managing the family farm and this love of business led a young Anderson to make a drastic decision. Anderson decided to head south to start his own farm in Georgia. He knew that even the cost of non-slave labor was cheaper in the south, and he was closer to major ports.
Leaving his family in his early 20s and heading south, Anderson became a model southerner and somehow became accepted by the whites in the community. Anderson had so much money and business savvy that he bought out every person in town with gifts and kindness. He had all white employees who he paid fairly and when the Civil War broke out he decided to stick with the South.
Despite this, and despite his African heritage, the Union army burned Anderson's farm because of his southern sympathies- he lost everything.
Reddit challenge 22
Reddit user Frajer submits: Mitt Romney goes to see a midnight screening of Ice Age but it is sold out
Tragedy strikes in Los Angeles, California as presidential candidate Mitt Romney was unable to attend his midnight screening of Ice Age: Continental Drift. It seems that due to delays on the campaign trail, Mr. Romney was unable to make the screening on time. His late arrival and the theater’s refusal to allow him and his entourage in created a large stir in the lobby.
Mitt Romney, speaking to reporters outside the theater said “I assure you I am human, and I simply arrived late as humans do.” He then proceeded to reenter his limo and drive off. Clearly, a strategic blunder for the campaign; but this was an important movie.
If Romney had attended the premier, he would gain favor with young families and people who believe in evolution. Romney’s people knew the movie was valuable. It hit key audiences for the Romney campaign: children, and people who think like children. Jokes aside the reality of the situation here is that he was going to make a big splash. Ice Age: Continental Drift, I’m told, is about a group of animals who are split off from due to enormous climactic forces, much like those accelerating forces today.
Romney it seems wants to prove to people he does agree with the most basic tenants of intelligent humanity, which is all right, but he still hasn’t proven he’s not a vampire.
Tragedy strikes in Los Angeles, California as presidential candidate Mitt Romney was unable to attend his midnight screening of Ice Age: Continental Drift. It seems that due to delays on the campaign trail, Mr. Romney was unable to make the screening on time. His late arrival and the theater’s refusal to allow him and his entourage in created a large stir in the lobby.
Mitt Romney, speaking to reporters outside the theater said “I assure you I am human, and I simply arrived late as humans do.” He then proceeded to reenter his limo and drive off. Clearly, a strategic blunder for the campaign; but this was an important movie.
If Romney had attended the premier, he would gain favor with young families and people who believe in evolution. Romney’s people knew the movie was valuable. It hit key audiences for the Romney campaign: children, and people who think like children. Jokes aside the reality of the situation here is that he was going to make a big splash. Ice Age: Continental Drift, I’m told, is about a group of animals who are split off from due to enormous climactic forces, much like those accelerating forces today.
Romney it seems wants to prove to people he does agree with the most basic tenants of intelligent humanity, which is all right, but he still hasn’t proven he’s not a vampire.
Tuesday, August 14, 2012
I wrote this little story a few years ago with the idea that The Bible was written in a writers room, with just one woman and a dozen men. This of course leads to every misogynistic line and thought in The Bible, as the woman thinks of everything important, only to have her ideas stomped on and then stolen by the stupid men.
My apologies for the formatting...
In a nondescript conference room, a group of men sit together- with one woman in a far corner. They are arguing and it is hard to hear what anyone is talking about, but words like “Testament” and “Deuteronomy” are heard through the yelling. One man, sitting at the front of the table holding a script in his hand yells above the rest to get everyone's attention. The room quiets down slightly as he continues
“we’re on a tight deadline people, we need this baby done by Friday, so no more bickering!”
The one woman in the room stands up and addresses the group “guys, we’re never going to get this finished by Friday, its just too much, we need to call the executives and tell them this isn’t going to be ready by sweeps, we don’t even have a title for the first section, why don’t we start doing that now….”
“Shut up cathy, that’s an awful idea” One of the other men in the room quickly retorts, then he continues “now, guys, we’re never going to finish this thing by Friday.”
“But I just said…” Cathy stammered out before being cut off.
"No, Cathy, please be quiet, Bill is right, we need to pick up the pace, I think we should start thinking of a title.” All the men in the room smile and nod in agreement as Cathy looks more frustrated.
“Okay people, lets start pitching ideas for the name” the man at the front of the table tells the group.
Cathy quietly moves to stand from her seat. “what about… Genesis? It’s clever, descriptive, and I think it sounds cool too.”
For a moment all the men in the room are suddenly silent. The silence lasts for a few seconds, until one of the men is suddenly bursts out laughing, followed by all the other men. The men begin making stereotypical "girl" sounds with extra high voices, and moving their hands in a talking motion while mocking the name Cathy pitched. Soon though, the man at the head of the table calms everyone down.
“Okay okay guys, she knows not what she does… hey, that’s a good line, Cathy, write that one down, I think we’ll stick that somewhere near the end.”
Cathy looks down at her notes, more frustrated than ever as the leader continues “okay, people, names!” Immediately everyone begins spitting out name ideas, each one as dumb as the last.
“starter”
“invention”
“Law and order”
“first quarter”
“openings”
“exodus”
The leader looks over at one of the men and addresses him directly “Jerry, was that you who said ‘law and order’?”
Jerry looks nervous as he answers with a quiet “yes…”
“That’s good thinking, Jerry: we’re on the right track people, lets really get those mental juices flowing”
“CSI”
“CSI: Miami”
“geneticist!”
The leader stops the group before anyone can go further “wait a minute, geneticist… that’s it! We’ll call it Genesis! Its perfect!” one by one all the other men agree.
“its clever!”
“and so descriptive!”
“it sounds so cool too!”
“good thinking, boss”
Cathy rolls her eyes for the future generations of women who were sure to be doomed by the moronic plunders these men.
My apologies for the formatting...
In a nondescript conference room, a group of men sit together- with one woman in a far corner. They are arguing and it is hard to hear what anyone is talking about, but words like “Testament” and “Deuteronomy” are heard through the yelling. One man, sitting at the front of the table holding a script in his hand yells above the rest to get everyone's attention. The room quiets down slightly as he continues
“we’re on a tight deadline people, we need this baby done by Friday, so no more bickering!”
The one woman in the room stands up and addresses the group “guys, we’re never going to get this finished by Friday, its just too much, we need to call the executives and tell them this isn’t going to be ready by sweeps, we don’t even have a title for the first section, why don’t we start doing that now….”
“Shut up cathy, that’s an awful idea” One of the other men in the room quickly retorts, then he continues “now, guys, we’re never going to finish this thing by Friday.”
“But I just said…” Cathy stammered out before being cut off.
"No, Cathy, please be quiet, Bill is right, we need to pick up the pace, I think we should start thinking of a title.” All the men in the room smile and nod in agreement as Cathy looks more frustrated.
“Okay people, lets start pitching ideas for the name” the man at the front of the table tells the group.
Cathy quietly moves to stand from her seat. “what about… Genesis? It’s clever, descriptive, and I think it sounds cool too.”
For a moment all the men in the room are suddenly silent. The silence lasts for a few seconds, until one of the men is suddenly bursts out laughing, followed by all the other men. The men begin making stereotypical "girl" sounds with extra high voices, and moving their hands in a talking motion while mocking the name Cathy pitched. Soon though, the man at the head of the table calms everyone down.
“Okay okay guys, she knows not what she does… hey, that’s a good line, Cathy, write that one down, I think we’ll stick that somewhere near the end.”
Cathy looks down at her notes, more frustrated than ever as the leader continues “okay, people, names!” Immediately everyone begins spitting out name ideas, each one as dumb as the last.
“starter”
“invention”
“Law and order”
“first quarter”
“openings”
“exodus”
The leader looks over at one of the men and addresses him directly “Jerry, was that you who said ‘law and order’?”
Jerry looks nervous as he answers with a quiet “yes…”
“That’s good thinking, Jerry: we’re on the right track people, lets really get those mental juices flowing”
“CSI”
“CSI: Miami”
“geneticist!”
The leader stops the group before anyone can go further “wait a minute, geneticist… that’s it! We’ll call it Genesis! Its perfect!” one by one all the other men agree.
“its clever!”
“and so descriptive!”
“it sounds so cool too!”
“good thinking, boss”
Cathy rolls her eyes for the future generations of women who were sure to be doomed by the moronic plunders these men.
Reddit Challenge - 21
Topic: Can you set a story in purgatory where historical figures have to compete in a scavenger hunt/obstacle course competition to win a spot in Heaven?
-Reddit user deandra_reynolds
Hitler stands perfectly still in front of a start line. Surrounding him are red cave walls and massive pools of fire-spitting lava. The former dictator of the Third Reich stands in a race-ready position- he is wearing sweat pants and a sweat shirt adorned with the name and logo of the Vienna Art Academy- as a man in a red and white striped referee’s uniform walks up to the line and holds a gun in the air. Hitler bends down slightly, as if to prepare for the impending start. BAM!
As soon as the gun fires, Hitler is off and running like a Polack running from the Blitzkrieg. First he dashes about 50 meters at full speed before encountering the tire path. The genocidal maniac then begins to bounce and weave through the tires, making sure not to trip on them while still moving as quickly as possible. Toward the end of the tires, Hitler finally trips on one of the tires, causing him to fall face-first to the ground just at the end of the section. As he struggles to get up and continue, he is met by The Devil himself. The Devil looks down at Hitler and meets eyes, then simply shakes his head and points toward a door labeled “back to Hell.” Slowly, Hitler gets up and walks back toward the door, sulking.
The Devil then walks back to the starting line and looks at the next challenger: Muammar Gaddafi. Muammar is wearing a Libyan flag banana hammock and nothing else- the Devil rolls his eyes upon seeing this and then sets out to explain the objective. The Devil explains the rules plainly and simply: if you pass the obstacle course without fault in under two minutes you are granted passage into heaven.
Excited at the new prospect of freedom, Muammar jumps up to the line and gets ready. The referee slowly raises his gun in the air and begins to count down. As get gets to ‘one’ the referee lowers his weapon to his waist and shoots Gaddafi in the chest; the Colonel collapses to the ground and dies… again. The Devil is surprised but not upset, his glance quickly turns to the ref who looks back at him and shrugs “I used to live in Tripoli.”
-Reddit user deandra_reynolds
Hitler stands perfectly still in front of a start line. Surrounding him are red cave walls and massive pools of fire-spitting lava. The former dictator of the Third Reich stands in a race-ready position- he is wearing sweat pants and a sweat shirt adorned with the name and logo of the Vienna Art Academy- as a man in a red and white striped referee’s uniform walks up to the line and holds a gun in the air. Hitler bends down slightly, as if to prepare for the impending start. BAM!
As soon as the gun fires, Hitler is off and running like a Polack running from the Blitzkrieg. First he dashes about 50 meters at full speed before encountering the tire path. The genocidal maniac then begins to bounce and weave through the tires, making sure not to trip on them while still moving as quickly as possible. Toward the end of the tires, Hitler finally trips on one of the tires, causing him to fall face-first to the ground just at the end of the section. As he struggles to get up and continue, he is met by The Devil himself. The Devil looks down at Hitler and meets eyes, then simply shakes his head and points toward a door labeled “back to Hell.” Slowly, Hitler gets up and walks back toward the door, sulking.
The Devil then walks back to the starting line and looks at the next challenger: Muammar Gaddafi. Muammar is wearing a Libyan flag banana hammock and nothing else- the Devil rolls his eyes upon seeing this and then sets out to explain the objective. The Devil explains the rules plainly and simply: if you pass the obstacle course without fault in under two minutes you are granted passage into heaven.
Excited at the new prospect of freedom, Muammar jumps up to the line and gets ready. The referee slowly raises his gun in the air and begins to count down. As get gets to ‘one’ the referee lowers his weapon to his waist and shoots Gaddafi in the chest; the Colonel collapses to the ground and dies… again. The Devil is surprised but not upset, his glance quickly turns to the ref who looks back at him and shrugs “I used to live in Tripoli.”
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