Saturday, December 22, 2007
So I finally get to the pool where the showdown is taking place, just in time to find that the festival is over and the candy is strewn about the floor in a quiet haphazard manner. Just in time to find that the festivities let their sails to the wind and passed on down the road to tuluga. The starfight and the gelly fish were already gone and the crowds had gone with them. Down the road to a place I'll never know and a time in which I'll probly be somewhere else. Praps in a dream. Praps in my mind. Praps getting to the bottom of a juicy juicy lollypop.
So on I go down the road, following my destiny on the long way into the sun when suddenly. And suddenly still. I met a man with Ram's legs.
He showed me the way.
Sunday, December 9, 2007
He wore cheap nylon gloves that were melted between the first two fingers of his right hand, the problem with burning his cigarettes to the very last drag. He looked back to the square brick building he was huddled beneath, probably just another office building. It meant he'd have to clear out sometime before six, if he didn't want to get run off.
Damn, it's cold. He shook his head at the thought--it's not doing you any good to complain about it--and gathered his coat around him. Sleep wasn't going to come easy tonight--Heh, like it ever does.
He used to have a pretty decent gig, unloading trucks at the market for whoever needed help, getting a few bucks each time, but nowadays they got a bunch of young kids doing it, most of them couldn't even be more than 17 years old, throwing freight, like he used to. But as bad as he hated his life, the newspaper and the melted gloves and the cold, it was better than his other choice, and he wasn't about to stoop like those bums on the corners.
Ah, who're you kidding? True, he thought about it, sometimes, about how easy it would be to play off of people's pity, getting a few bucks from the bankers passing by, but he couldn't get himself to ever do it--the looks on the people's faces when they shoved dollar bills into those grimy hands--he couldn't do it. He focused his attention now on the other figures around. About a dozen people like himself, blending in with the brick and concrete like they've been doing it their whole lives. Every year there were more and more of them, until it seemed like now the homeless took up the majority of the city.
Yeah, yeah...there's time to worry about that later, just focus on tonight, it's gonna be a cold one. In a life like his, the seasons come and go, fortune smiles one day and scorns him the next, and the days and nights will march on, but sadly, in the midst of this changing world, his bleak situation is the only constant that he can be assured of. This last thought filled his mind as he closed his eyes, and fell into a restless sleep.
Saturday, December 8, 2007
One-Eye-Jim lit the cannon's fuse, and walked away.
Steve struggled against his bonds, not eager to meet the nine-ball grape-shot aimed roughly at his head.
The aforementioned ammunition, which didn't have a name, regretted nothing.
The church bells of Saint Mary's rang twelve times, and the courtyard fell silent.
Before the twelfth stroke, Steve was dead, and never again would he be able to ask a stranger for the time.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
The squat figure spun to face his minions as the bowl fell to the floor and shattered. "Someone must die for this," he snarled, "You, Minion. Kill the one beside you."
"Um...on the left or the right?" the armored figure asked, looking back and forth.
The ruler of the universe sighed; good minions were so hard to find. "You, other Minion, kill him for his insolence."
The knife was swift and soon met its target. The body was dragged out by a cleaning crew, which luckily was nearby mopping minion-blood off of the corridor, the remnant of an earlier outrage. Satisfied, the ruler of the universe turned once again to the main viewing window. He was very young to be in such a position of power, having only about 3000 years, but he knew how to give orders. He stared out from his fortress, deep within the core of a yellow star, inpenetrable to all but the most powerful of beings. Beings like me, he thought, grinning.
"Zorgnnn!" he shouted, and soon his most trusted, his bodyguard and advisor, stood at his side, "I'd like to have some fun today."
The ruler of the universe formulated plans, mischief, and mayhem, most of which involved the system of planets in orbit about his stellar fortress, none of which he cared for very much. He spent long periods either in deep thought or maniacal laughter until finally it was decided. "The third planet," said the ruler of the universe, "destroy it. The minions there have been unfaithful to me." "But m'Lord, your father created that planet specially, for you, are you sure?" said Zorgnnn, carefully. But his plead fell on deaf ears. The ruler of the universe was not to be questioned. Thus, in the space of a day, the fate of Earth was decided, and in the space of a hundred years, the average temperature on the insignificant planet increased by over 3 Kelvin, causing panic among the populace and marking the single greatest practical joke the cosmos has ever seen.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
P.S. Notice the quick nav bar I added to the right side, to easily facilitate your meanderings through the darkest corners of my mind, and the website.
How far? Nobody could say
You’d walk, run, or hike
Or sail, fly, or bike
And still you’d be quite far astray*
But upon this land so fair
Came a man with matted brown hair
On the shore, his two feet
Made their journey complete
Regardless of how they got there
His name is Sir Captain MacMuffin
Who liked to show children his “stuffin”**
He spent time in jail
But got out on bail
Ran away “fer all or fer nuthin!”**
An important thing happened that day
Said he, “I’m changing my way!
Right now is the time
I’m absolved of my crime***
And inside my clothing I’ll stay"
And while exploring the rest of the sand
He found a more magical land
Gum drops and gum bears
Skipped down chocolate carved stairs
And frolicked, with candy in hand
while looking upon this gay**** scene
a smile, was said, to be seen
creeping onto his face
he approved of this place
as if it were out of a dream
when the mayor of said happy town
Looking regal in licorice gown
Carried her edible gavel
Walked on edible gravel
And had this to say, with a frown
“Um, hi there!…let’s see, but according to provision 366B of the official HappyCandyTown--" the quickly gathering crowd of delicious mythical creatures cheered at the mention of the city, "--town charter, before entering the city limits—that’s anywhere within the chocolate-paved area here—you’re going to need to head on down to the HappyFunTimeStation,” she said, and gestured to a small gingerbread building to her left, “and fill out a…er…sex…offender…registra-
* Actual distance may vary.
** Direct quotations from Mr. MacMuffin during his 2006 trial.
*** Actually a series of seven suspected crimes committed in 5 states.
**** Not like that, you sicko.
Friday, April 6, 2007
A Chance Encounter
The Entity floated through the darkness of space, as it had done for the entirety of its existence. It was an example of one of the oldest life forms in the universe, though partly because it was also one of the simplest, its body nothing more than a tenuous cloud of ions and messenger particles. For several million years, it had tracked its way around this and many other stars, blindly and instinctively searching for others of its kind, a search that most would proclaim futile. In the long ages of searching, this particular Entity had found only one. But now, between the fourth and fifth planets of a small stellar system, the Entity’s luck was about to change.
If the Entity knew of feelings like yearning or loneliness, it would certainly feel them. Separated by the vast gulfs of space, each member of its race yearns to find its peers, each one searching with infinite patience. On the all too rare occasion when this did happen, and two of these entities met, the two living clouds would slowly merge together. During this transformation, they become something new, greater than the sum of their parts, never to separate again.
In the vast distance, this particular Entity sensed a moving object, shining like a blinding light, which it knew at once to be the indication of another life form. It moved closer until the light resolved itself further into a close grouping of almost two dozen separate entities, moving together and, more importantly, in its direction. If the Entity knew of elation, it would have felt it. Shifting its mass slightly, the entity accelerated away some of its own gases to move into the direct path of the incoming life forms--shedding lifeblood to prepare itself for the glorious merging which would soon take place.
Eight months into a voyage which was scheduled to take one year, thirteen days, and five hours, the Captain of the R.Borillian looked worriedly upon his instrument panel. A red light blinked, one which very rarely required his attention. It was labeled
Looking back to the screen at his left, he scrolled through an article, dense with equations and figures, titled On the Eccentricity of Lunar Orbits in the Jovian System. It was written by one of the astrophysicists on board. He’d never been good with names, or physicists, for that matter, but it was either the bearded one or the guy with the glasses. Carrying sixteen scientists, five of his crew, and a disproportionately large amount of cargo, the ship raced at ten miles per second through the vacuum of space, intent on reaching the three inhabited moons of Jupiter.
The quest for extraterrestrial life, the scientists reminded him daily, is what brings mankind to the outer planets. The frozen seas of Europa, Ganymede’s oh-so-precious magnetic field, and the volcanism of Io had been the only topics of discussion among the labcoats aboard, each factor supposedly contributing to the chance of life emerging either on or beneath the moons’ surfaces. Even now, there were dozens of research teams drilling and scraping and digging, trying desperately to unearth even a single microbe in the hopes of forever cementing their names in the history books.
A door behind the Captain slid open with a pneumatic hiss to admit one of the biologists, who clumsily floated into the room. He held four thick books, two in each hand, and a pen between his teeth as he floundered his way into a chair. Finally settled, he nodded to the Captain and spread the books out to hang in the air in front of him. Breaking the silence of the otherwise quiet observation deck, a faint beeping from the
The Captain barely had time to notice the sound before a sharp pain stabbed into his head, one which he would have likened to the feeling of his brain trying to rip itself free from his skull. The Captain looked to the biologist, who was convulsing wildly in the air, obviously sharing the experience. Involuntarily his eyes clamped shut and his hands went to his head, though the blinding white pain remained for several seconds until fading to dull blackness. It was after this point that the Captain, and the rest of the scientists and crew, would breathe no more.
The official report on the incident would later conclude that, after passing through an otherwise clear region of space, the R.Borillian was showered with radiation, whose origin and nature are as of yet still unknown. There were no survivors among the crew; every one of them had suffered from either hemorrhagic strokes or other complications stemming from burst blood vessels in the brain. One crewman, however, survived long enough to shout his last words into a transmission aimed for Ganymede. The last transmission is as follows:
“Hello? Is anyone listening? I’m trying to transmit...oh God, they’re all dead...Something’s happened, my ears are bleeding, I’ve got a terrible headache, they all just stopped moving, and I don’t know what to do...please, it just hurts so—“
[End of Transmission]
The Entity continued on its path around the Sun. Such a wealth of life had been found, and yet none of them were compatible, none ready to combine their life with itself. If the entity knew sadness, it would have felt it. Although an opportunity had been lost, the Entity would have consoled itself in knowing that such a great gathering of life was completely unprecedented among its race, and that the pleasure of such a momentous sight made the encounter well worth the trouble. Besides, for a being which was all but immortal, there would be plenty of chances to try again.
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Even though the moon is much larger than it appears to be, it's still much smaller than the earth actually is--in fact, only about a quarter of the size. A quarter is only one fourth of a dollar, which these days usually isn't enough money to buy anything of great value. The value of something is usually determined and set by the people selling the item or service in question. Asking questions is a good way to find things out. By asking questions of smart people you'll normally get things called answers in response. But more often you'll find that people are liars and are not to be trusted. Liar is what you call someone who tells lies. These are people who will knowingly decieve and confuse you in order to achieve their personal goals. Polititians are a good example of this. While not all could be labeled with such a harsh epithet, most can be called, with great certainty, liars. This shouldn't be held against them because it is their job. People take on jobs because they need money. In exchange for their services, their employers will give them money, proportional to the amount or degree of difficulty intrinsic the job. Money is something that can be exchanged then for other goods and services, the american version of which is measured in dollars. A dollar can then be split into four quarters and so on. If you were to compare the relative value of a quarter with a dollar, it would roughly approximate the difference in size between the earth and the moon.
Hopefully this clears things up.
James "The Answer Man" Hazelton PhD
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
(The exciting conclusion) (It's kind of awkward reading these archived, since you've gotta go to the bottom of the page to begin with part one...but I don't know of any better way. So do it. Unless, of course you've read parts one and two, then please go ahead, you don't have to read them again, since doing so would only create some kind of infinite loop, just reading parts one and two again and again because a silly preamble told you to. If you've figured it out, I'm just trying to build suspense for what truly is the exiting conclusion to the trilogy...which is actually just one story that I split into three parts to make it more internet manageable...enjoy.)
Sunday, February 18, 2007
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Wednesday, February 7, 2007
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
"So there's a CIA spymaster who decides to teach high school algebra. He's a very stern teacher who tends to dramatize most of the assignments. One day he says to his class, 'Alright students, I'd like for you to do these averages...by any means necessary.' "
What's that? No more math jokes? okay.
"There are two things that put Chickasha on the map: one is the annual Fesitval of Lights, and the other is cartographers."
What? No geography jokes either?
"If you're not part of the solution, then you're part of the precipitate."
Ah, come on, you don't like chemistry either?
"...so the electron says to the positron, "Wow, due to the particulate interaction of a photon with that magnetic field, we've split up, except due to the fact that energy has to be conserved, we lost a neutrino along the way..." to which the positron replies, "You can say that again!" "
that one is just silly, photons don't react under a magnetic field...except of course if you're counting virtual photons, but as of now they're purely mathmatical abstractions...oh, well I think the punch line was somewhere in there...
anyway, more is coming soon.
Saturday, January 6, 2007
Skipping through the forest had always been a hobby of his, the smells and sights and sounds gently threatening to overpower the young nymph with their beauty. He'd come this way many times before, but on this particular day something caught his eye.
Sitting against a tree with wide-brimmed hat pulled over his face, a strange man slept. He seemed to be clad entirely in leather, as if such an atrocity were possible, and even the man's skin had taken on a tanned and roughened look which matched his hat and boots.
After a long period of careful deliberation he concluded that there was nothing left to do but say hello.
Approaching with the greatest of care, without breaking a single twig or rumpling a single leaf, he found himself standing over the strange character. He reached out his hand, blinked, and found that in the space of that instant, the metal device which had once been attached to the stranger's belt was now positioned squarely at his own face.
"Hello there, friend!" he announced happily, and when this recieved no response, he ventured, "I am Alonso, the happy, joyful, and gay nymph of this forest!"
The man tilted the hat back onto his head, revealing an eyepatch and a face which seemed to be molded into a perpetual scowl. After several silent moments, he lowered the device and stood to leave.
"Well, you're not very gay at all, are you?" he called after the departing figure, "Perhaps with my help I could persuade you! We could be gay together!"
A tremendous gunshot rocked the once silent forest, the metallic taste of blood filled Alonso's mouth, and he knew that it was his end.