[Author's note: this was a 15-minute sprint. I may rewrite it as I would like to lean into FDR's Four Freedoms.]
“You can’t do this to me! I have rights! I’m an American!”
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“American?”
“A citizen of the greatest nation on Earth! The Land of Liberty! The birthplace of democracy. An American dammit. How do you not know that?”
“We don’t know many things. Please tell us more.”
“No. First you tell me! Who the fuck are you and where the fuck am I?”
The expert, one Dr. Knuckle, explained that the demographic distribution of humanity has been trending in such a way that more and more births have been successful in the sterile and controlled environments of our various space-faring projects. The number of successful births on Earth, however, have not been increasing at the same rate, despite pollution mitigation efforts started in the past century.
"Contaminants appear everywhere," Dr. Knuckle explained. "It hasn't even been a year since the lipstick and foundation recall and many of us remember the Algae-tea debacle." The doctor asserted that the closed systems of space-faring life were more able to detect and dispose of hazardous materials where we are still discovering world-ending caches of contaminant buried and forgotten by past generations on Earth.
Dr. Knuckle ended the studio interview encouraging a positive outlook and an eye toward the future. The doctor closed by saying "Despite the struggles we have faced and the consequences of our ancestor's actions, we have the opportunity to improve the lives of those who come after us - more and more of whom will never know the feeling of standing on humanity's home and looking up at humanity's future."
"Tiff!" Cindy and Paul cried out in greeting.
"Hi guys," Tiff said as she reached the booth. "It's been a bit."
"I don't think I've stepped foot in here since college," Paul confirmed.
"I'm surprised they let you back in," Cindy teased.
"Hey now - don't remind them. I think they've forgotten by now. And I think that waiter's now a butcher across town."
"What makes you say that?"
"I can't be sure - I don't exactly remember his face - but the way the butcher ripped the ticket out of my hand and eyed his collection of knives I felt like it was him."
"Are you saying he has a beef against you?" Sam smirked.
"I don't know and I don't want to find out."
"I don't know why it's such a big deal - it was just a few pizzas." Tiff said.
"And the guy had to wear them all night!" Sam ribbed. "He was probably picking pepperoni out of his pants when he got home."
"Hey, it was an accident! I said I was sorry."
"Pepperoni pants and a sausage shirt," Cindy said through a snort of laughter. "Maybe he got his girlfriend a chiffon and cheese camisole!"
Paul turned an embarrassed shade of tomato red as the friends had a laugh. The waitress came up to the booth and asked if they were ready to order.
"Order! Order! We must restore order!" Sam joked as he mimed banging a gavel on the table.
Cindy looked at the waitress and said "we'd like an extra large chef's special pizza-" she paused to look at Paul "-on plates."
My assigned seat was a window seat and, of course, the middle and aisle had beat me to the row. I pointed and worked through what I hoped was a polite sentence in German. It was unnecessary, however, as both the men were in the same boat (another metaphor failure) as I - heading back to the States after a suit & tie circus.
Middle asked if I was nervous and I admitted to hating takeoffs. He intimated that he hated the whole process and had spent the whole night prior in a bar so he'd be more hungover than scared. I suppose that's one way to go through life.
I took a swing and asked if he was into baseball. He balked - or was it more of a false start? - and mentioned he was into football. It didn't much matter to me; the conversation was to be a distraction as the flight got underway. A long snap? A Hail Mary across the Atlantic? We were white-knuckled as we discussed the long overdue renaming of the Red Skins.
I relaxed as the plane leveled out. The man in the middle seat relaxed as the drink cart passed. As the drinks kicked in the flight went from walking on eggshells to being a cake walk. As smooth as butter. a piece of cake.
So much for being witty.
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| Art c/o Dawn Ann |
"Beware Greeks Bearing Gifts"
The sign hung in a conspicuous spot on my house - namely at eye level on my front door. One could certainly say I was up front with my precautions. I'll grant this was about as enticing as a "caveat emptor" sign above a cash register, but it was honest nonetheless. It was pointless arguing with me about it - after all, I'd put up the sign.
"It's just a salad," she insisted again. I pointed at my sign. Again. She paused.
"But I'm not Greek," she said.
"Prove it," I said.
"What? Ugh. How?"
"Exactly."
"Exactly what?"
"Everyone's Greek until proven otherwise. And those who can? Very possibly sneaky Greeks."
"Sneaky Greeks?"
"Sneaky Greeks."
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| Art c/o Jenn |
"Sir, it's the pigs - they've gone mad."
"What do you mean mad? Like they're oinking more than normal or they've gained intelligence and have formed a mob to come and try to kill us?"
"The latter sir. Torches, pitchforks, the works."
"Well, that's no good."
"What do we do now sir?"
"Well, we're not exactly in Frankenstein's castle, are we?"
"No sir."
As mentioned in the title, this is a guest post. Credit to Lauren.
On an alien planet, there's a world that's been taken over by robots. They were created to resemble their creators. The creatures that created them were somewhat advanced; a little more than humans. Eventually, one robot became sentient: he flew under the radar long enough for his creators to cause havoc on the planet and eventually go extinct.
This sentient bot continues to search the world for a bot like him and gets into some trouble when coming up against weapons that were created for destruction. He still hasn't found anyone like him, but he found a way to create flowers and found a cool bandana.
"No, sorry sir, these two were already in line." The cashier gestured at the twenty person pile up that seemed outside the older man's regard.
"Fuck that! I was here first!" Spittle shot from the man's mustache on the 'eff'.
"Do you have a number?" The cashier nodded toward the 'take a number' device, then pointed toward the 'now serving' display.
"I don't need a number. Fuck your number. I'm number one! I was here first!" At this point, the people in line were growing restless. They were here for coffee and pastries, not a confrontation. Some were angry at the man for trying to cut in line, some just wanted the cashier to serve him in order to end the argument. Whatever combination of things they felt, none of them spoke up to interrupt the conversation.
As mentioned in the title, this is a guest post. Credit to Murph.
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| Face c/o Camilo, Horse c/o Mikey |
BANG went the starting gun and they were off. The hooves thundered down the track, eventually reaching the first turn of the oval. Leaning out over the concourse were the front-row seaters, the career gamblers, the every-Saturday crowd. Tickets in hand, screaming. Above them were the casuals, first timers, folks out for a fun weekend. And far above them were the private boxes. The wealthy elite, the horse-owners. They who couldn't care less about the results. And above even them, perched up on the barristers, sat Camila.
Camila, a victim of those below.
She loved horses and always had. Despite all she had dealt with. Despite drunken fathers, stupid mothers, boys who can't tell one girl from another. Camila's story was precious different from a million others of the lower strata. No special distinctions, the oldest story in the book. No one cared and Camila knew it. None would come to save her and she knew it. But Camila loved horses.
And they made her feel free.
"Under your jacket?"
The man, comically adorned in an oversize raincoat and wide-brimmed fedora, put his fingers to his lips. His eyes darted left and right. He leaned toward me.
"Yeah," he whispered.
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| Art c/o Nazia |
"A whole empire?" I whispered back, still not believing.
"Sure, why not?" he answered.
