At The Mountains Of U Mad?

Just the explanation for the Shoggoth creatures in GDT's next film have us scratching our heads. We have no idea how he will execute this.

"Let's say that creature A turns into creature A-B, then turns into creature B, then turns into creature B-C. And by the time it lands on a guy it's creature E." He discussed one grisly Shoggoth transformation: "It's like when you grab a sock and you pull it inside out. From his mouth, he extrudes himself."
And that's not all; the director goes into great detail about an "abandoned coral reef" world he's building for the monsters in which the Old Ones will "torpedo through tubes" to get from one area to another.

"A coral reef is a shitload of skeletons fused together, right? All the technology those creatures have, all their technology is organic. You and I use metals, plastics. These creatures don't have weapons or chisels. They create other creatures as tools."

In the early stages GDT referred to the The Old Ones as "cucumbers with wings," but later on the author got a much better look at the concept designs for the beasts which will open up like a "Swiss Army Knife" revealing wings and tentacles.

The oceanic motif was particularly evident in the design of the Old Ones. Del Toro's enthusiasm for the lionfish had endured, and the aliens' wings echoed their flamboyant fins. In motion, he explained, the Old Ones would appear buoyant-"unbound by gravity." As the camera tracked them caroming around the city, the viewer would feel disoriented, like a panicked scuba diver inside a cave.

But bringing to life H.P. Lovecraft's Shoggoth is much more complicated.

Since the Shoggoths could mutate into anything, there was no fixed silhouette, but many would feature a "protoplasmic bowl," an abdomen-like area from which new forms could sprout. One maquette was a disorienting twist on classic Lovecraftian form. It looked like a giant octopus head with tentacles jutting from the top and the bottom-a fearful symmetry. "That's my belly in the middle," del Toro joked. In another maquette, the Shoggoth had sprouted two heads, each extending from brontosaurus-like necks. Their skulls could be smashed together to destroy victims. "The idea is to create craniums that function as jaws," he said. The Shoggoths would often create ghastly parodies of human forms; as they pursued the humans, they would imitate them, imperfectly.

Jack Fucking Frost

The Cutting Edge

Recently I was given a gift, the gift of a proper tool for the cutting of food and intruders. Having grown accustomed to the $20 4-piece IKEA knife set that I've been using for two and a half years, using the Calphalon 8-Inch Chef's knife for the first time was like bringing a machine gun to the Alamo. It changed everything. I greedily hacked away at a cucumber, watching the green tuber become halved then quartered than eighthed then sixteenthed and thirtysecondthed and sixtyfourthed in the blink of an eye. Laughing maniacally, I wielded Maul's double-sided saber and tore through the padawan onion with gleeful malice. The tedious sawing and resetting of vegetables on the cutting board I had accepted as the norm was replaced by single swift strokes of a scythe forged at Thor's anvil. In using this instrument of culinary surgery I realized where Pheewrap has been getting his power from, why he always has so much left in the tank for the final stretch, and how I too can know stop using precious energy laboring over lengthy legumes.

An elegant weapon, for a more civilized age...

I Should Be Okay.

Haven't been late yet.
I credit the salmon-colored ski-mask.

M4M

I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I FOUND IT I

A Deep Spear

It was a short while before the attacks that Kiela found herself in the doorway of an Earth-lit pod on Finnis IV. Walking through the encampment was a nightmare to her senses. The words of hundreds of minds bled into their rhythmic shouting and cheering. She was mentally crippled. With her reanimation post-hibernated jaunt across the galaxy to this fringe world only hours behind her, her eyes muddied by the blend of the rotten cherry sky above and electric light beyond, it was a wonder she was even still conscious. Perception skewed and body tense, she dared to read deep into the pod for any sign of activity. An alarm sounded, and what was at first a feeling of anxious rage became a curious lust and an affront to her very presence: Mind yourself, woman! There’s nothing for you in these dark thoughts.

“Cease alarms.” And they obeyed. “It’s a read-scanner…lets me know when one of your kind starts misbehaving. Of course, I didn’t expect you here so quickly. For fuck’s sake I only got of the V-comm with the bastard a second ago!”

“You, you are General Rae, yes?” Kiela stuttered, still barely maintaining her composure.

“Damn, woman! Kiela, was it? You sound like a wreck, come in.”

Her legs wobbled, feet lifting a flush of dull, red silica, but carried her far enough for the pod’s door to slip shut. She closed her eyes, grabbed her head, and prepared to faint. All at once the General was at her side. He guided her to a chair by a large, tidy desk. He stared down at her a moment to be sure she wouldn’t fall. He got down on his haunches. The grunt he made was short and well hidden, enough to coax Kiela’s left eyelid to rise and explore.

“The Starports accept dozens of ships a day, here, with little time or regard for passengers just out of hibernation. War world or no, I apologize. You’ll be fine, shortly. Drink this.

“Drink wha-“ and then she was drinking something. It was smooth and sweet and she did not cough. “Thank you, but what was-“

“It’s a stim; Marine-juice. Here.” The General handed her the cup, now less than half-full. “Personally, I hate the stuff. You looked like you needed it though. And besides, we need to talk. Can I trust you to respect my wish? Will you keep out of my thoughts?” His words were nervous but not without conviction.

“General Rae, it is hard to trust someone without reading them. It’s sort of a habit these days.” Honesty, at least at the start, Kiela felt, was simple courtesy.

“The nature of our conversation requires perfect transparency, Kiela. I’m sure that snake Dorn gave you some files on me, while here I am calling you by your first name. I was about to call up your papers when you…call me Kethel, by the way.” He sighed deeply and cradled his rocky chin. The pause gave Kiela a moment to consider the offer he was making, or trying to make; as he began again. “This world is a wreck, strategically. I assume you’re talented, since Dorn sent you, but I’ve also assumed you’re a spy. Tell me why you’re here and maybe we can figure this out.” He was finished and had no idea what to expect.

They both waited.

“He gave me all your files, Kethel, and I have no idea why I’m here. Dorn is an old friend from Earth,” she lied, “and demanded I come. He made it seem urgent. I was desperate to leave home anyway, so that’s why I spent ten years snoring across space to almost die walking across your little party. I was hoping you’d have more to tell me, really.”

“My readers are worthless,” he continued, “colony-bred; and the Earth-Readers planet-side are Dorn’s personal lackeys. If you’re here for anything I would hope it’s to end this ridiculous siege, but that asshole up in orbit may just be playing a joke on the both of us. How are you feeling?”

“Better.” And she was. “But I can’t shake this feeling of dread since I’ve arrived.”

And then the ground swelled and shook and split open. A whirring like a thousand high-frequency drills pierced the air. Kiela and Kethel grabbed their ears, the latter forced flat on his back in a sudden loss of footing. But as abruptly as the wailing stopped so did the fighting begin. Kethel crawled to his feet and released his sidearm. Grabbing Kiela, he ran toward the pod’s exit. It opened, a mouth revealing catastrophe and chaos. “COME ON!” The General screamed.

Kiela froze and gawked at the spectacle before them. Some enormous machine, some spear, had erupted from the deep. Compartments along its metallic rims were erupting alien warriors. Dead humans encircled the crater like some sophisticated, macabre drama. Lasers cut through the smoke and dust, and a final tug on her arm dragged her and her focus toward the aging General. They were charging.

“How’s that stim treating you now!?” Kethel bellowed.

Kiela shook off her stupefied face and cupped her free hand to her open mouth. “It’s- HOLY SHIT!”

The plasma shield of a Lancer just to their left was pierced by shrapnel. It dug into a large tube on his back which emitted a crescendo of squealing energy. The Lancer burst, a nearly invisible shockwave sending Kiela, Kethel, and some of the late-Lancer soaring thirty meters through the air. They crashed into the soft wall of another pod. Kiela opened her eyes and let the thick, angry sky engulf her. Everything ached, but when she looked around the General was already standing and firing. His wide stance revealed a severe gash down his left leg, and before anything else could register his free hand was searching for Kiela’s shoulder. Kethel pulled her up close to him, pistol squawking intermittent death, and said, “We’re leaving.”

Another charge, this one more direct with a clear target in sight: a rover in the distance untouched by the spreading destruction. Kiela couldn’t help but question this gambit as she witnessed the growing field of dead men and monsters. She was reading them all, and she was overwhelmed with sorrow and fear. Plasma shields were bursting all around them, the soft crimson orb of each expanding and enveloping the two as they dashed through, raining warm dust upon them. General Rae laughed when they reached the rover, exhausted and bruised. He tossed Kiela aboard like a pack of gear and lit the engines. As they swirled away and picked up speed, she observed the panorama of camp. Never had she wished more to be back in the Wastelands of Earth.

With fierce revelation she shouted, “That’s not what I’ve been worried about, Kethel! It’s something else! What the HELL is happening here!?”

Kethel pushed hard on the throttle and leaned back, checking his pistol before turning to his new companion. This lovely woman had brought with her more trouble than he could have possibly imagined. So pretty and so cursed…aren’t they all, he joked to himself. Her breathing was erratic, still charged by that magical stim. Kethel relished how her looks were magnified by the disaster upon which she was now the foreground...maybe even the cause. And, deciding to ignore her beauty for a moment, just a moment, he gave her an answer:

“If you’re ready for another trip up into space, Kiela, I know just the bastard to ask.”

IHOP

FUCKING COME TO IHOP
EAT BREAKFAST AT MIDNIGHT WHO FUCKING CARES



EVERY NIGHT IS BREAKFAST IN THE MORNING WHAT THE FUCK
EAT ONION RINGS ON TOP OF PANCAKES WHO CARES
EAT DENNY'S SHIT FOOD COFFEE YES

DENNY'S

FUCKING COME TO DENNY'S
EAT BREAKFAST AT MIDNIGHT WHO FUCKING CARES



EVERY NIGHT IS BREAKFAST IN THE MORNING WHAT THE FUCK
EAT ONION RINGS ON TOP OF PANCAKES WHO CARES
EAT DENNY'S SHIT FOOD COFFEE YES

I wonder what Henry Rollins would have to say about this little showdown?
Surely, he would find a way of mediating the violence and training these good people in the ways of peaceful resolution!

Craigslist Matchmaker: New York City Blizzard Edition

Bored and Tired of the winter - 39 (Nassau, Suffolk)

---

Date: 2011-01-26, 5:41PM EST

---

Im bored right now sick of the snow Wow. INTERESTED?

I thought I run this ad to maybe find a man to hang out with,, who has time for friendship and more,, I need lots of company and TLC,, must be single, no drama, and not into games, serious minded and into going forward no issues not into games, liars , or players a nice person who is down to earth, adventured, and no recent ex girlfriends or wife. One sentence, eleven commas, zero responses to this ad. I thought I might write this ad and maybe reply, you know, not overcommitting or anything, no big deal, I didn't really take the time to write this but I did because it's here. Also, no recent ex-girlfriends. Because I am batshit insane, and want to be with someone who has not gotten a date recently. But at least I'm bored and sick of the snow. So you know I have a great personality.

• Location: Nassau, Suffolk
• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 2181895148

CUTE NERD WITH MUSCLES SEEKING FUNNY GIRL

---

Date: 2011-01-25, 7:50PM EST

---

Hi ladies, I am a busy guy, a typical week is saving a baby penguin stranded on a glacier and hand it back to its momma, Tuesday fighting pirates off the coast of Nigeria, Wednesday learning a new language and a new Mayan dialect, Thursday assist on a delicate brain surgery, and Friday negotiating a peace treaty with two Gangs in LA. I rape and strangle homeless women Monday to Sunday.

Oh by The weekend I am exhausted and all I want is some peace and quiet and a drink. CAN YOU BELIEVE SOME OF THEM TRY TO FIGHT BACK?!

If you are interested in finding out more about me and my adventures say hello. I can make some free time for you. We can get some hot tea ( yes I am that fancy ) and we can can enjoy a nice date in the city. I will pour boiling water on your face and neck while blasting Vivaldi inside my studio apartment. Your wrists will be cut and bleeding from the cheap metal handcuffs I've used to secure you to my radiator.

Warning, I just need to get home by 11:00 PM or I turn in to a werewolf so promise me you will take me home in time. The Portuguese cleaning crew that doesn't ask any questions has to be paid by then, or else I have to go to the hardware store for lye and softscrub at midnight, and they hate that.

So, you know, if you're bored ding ding ding ding ding, and you like cute smart ass guys with no criminal record and a job and lots of stories to tell, and you live in New York ... then, you know, send me some sort of electronic communication, some smoke signals or send me a pigeon with your message. Jesus dude, give it a rest.

I forgot, If i don't get back to you right away don't worry I am on an expedition to summit Mount Everest but don't worry there is wifi on Everest and once I have cell access I will promptly reply to you. I am flaky and withholding. I have taken the time to tell you nothing about myself. I pray that I am satirizing myself, yet I fear this may be an attempt at actual romance.

In the meantime it is time for me to turn off the laptop it is getting cold here and seems like I have to save a sherpa and a Yak that got stuck in the snow. My messianic complex is complete. Get in the fucking trunk.

Brrrrrrr............ GOES THE IDLE CHAINSAW

• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 2178345227

Oh Boy, Here We Go Again

Confession time:



Look, I would come home from lacrosse practice everyday exhausted. My ankles would be a swollen mess of broken, sinewy strands and useless flesh (no doubt a side effect of swimming and never running). I had a series of tedious stretches to accomplish, and found the most comfortable and quiet atmosphere was on my elder sister's floor in front of a television.
Of course I watched Cartoon Network. They played kick-ass shows about samurai and giant freaking robots. If you haven't heard of G Gundam you should really check it out...incredible and ridiculous in all the right ways. I was sixteen and getting a little too old for cartoons, I suppose, but by then they were basically my soap operas and I just couldn't abandon them.
The curse of it all was the timing. In order to get to the shows I loved, I had to sit through two episodes of Sailor Moon. I would tear at my ankles with big smelly bands, flexing until the fire inside grew too great to bear. All the while, eyes fixated on little girls suffering high school drama and fighting monsters.
Sure, I started to like it. After a few weeks of the routine I had the theme song memorized. The characters were stupid, but cute, with extremely defined and cliched personalities. My favorite was naturally the shy, nerdy, short-haired girl/superhero: Sailor Mercury. Her power involved blowing bubbles or something stupid. She was kind of the weak, brainy team member...DELICIOUS!







Ah, yes: Mercury! Sweetest of the transitional metals, gentlest of the nine planets!


















On the other hand, I despised Tuxedo Mask.
Look at the smug fucker...LOOK:





Don't get me wrong, slaughtering aliens with roses can look a lot cooler than you think. It was the fact that all the Sailor chicks had stupid girl-boners for him that pissed me off. And come on, everyone knows that you're really Chiba under that stupid Eyes Wide Shut outfit.
You're not fooling anyone.








Well, there you go. I was a lax bro who watched Sailor Moon...for the story. I became very interested in what new aliens the girls would fight and who they would fall in love with and when the hell they would explain why these teenage Japanese girls got magic powers.
Judge me, reader.
I'll be busy fighting evil by moonlight and winning love by daylight.

I Sound Bitter But I'm Not Really

I was surprised by three things today:

1. A woman skiing while on my walk home from class this morning through the winter fear-scape that my campus had become. Not for pleasure, though there was certainly much to be had, but as a mode of transportation. It was out of place; almost charming, but more a terrifying reminder of how the skies punish us, and that we, in a show of desperate ingenuity, manufacture alien appendages.

2. A couple of bros, later on during that same walk, playing in the snow...on the campus pond...that was not fully frozen. I stared for a full minute and grew anxious. If one of them fell, I knew what obligations would drive me and to which ends.
"Dude! It's totally frozen, I swear! We're drawing a big dick in the snow!"
I dragged hard on a cigarette and marched on, gaze and rage averted.

3. A sign posted outside the only afternoon class that had not been canceled.
It read:
"Our class is canceled.
-Your Awful Professor"
No emails, no warning. Certainly rude, probably unforgivable. At least I hadn't slugged ten minutes in two feet of, uh, I don't even know. I mean, I did do that. I was trying to be smug, you know? But then I couldn't even begin to describe the mess on the streets outside.
Man, I just sort of give up.
---



It was like a dead whale's rotting flesh mixed with all the bowels of everything, ever.
Also, ice cold and slowly melting.
Goodnight.

There's Snow Excuse

Gaaah it snowed today! It's going to keep snowing! Gaaah! I love snow hysteria, and I try to overreact and sustain it as much as possible. Snow does awesome, silly things to people. Normal rules cease to apply.

For example, dogs just start shitting everywhere. There is no effort to clean up the dog's shit if there is snow on the ground. I do not know the logic behind this, nor do I own a dog. I just now that the ratio of snow on the ground to dog shit on the ground is approximately 1 : 2 when it snows. Granted, this also means there is old dog shit on the ground when the snow turns to slush and then melts.

Also, I saw an old man just back up into another car today. He watched me watching him do this. He might even have hit the car behind him because he was watching me watch him. But it was snowing, and he just backed up his parallel-parked sedan into the volvo wagon parked behind him. It was like he was using the curb on his driver's test, but with another person's car. Now maybe this is something that would have happened even if it wasn't snowing. But he probably wouldn't have looked at me, shrugged, and then driven off if it hadn't been snowing. "IT'S SNOWING, WHHADDAYAGONNA DO?!" I keep waiting for someone to tell me that I don't have to go to work tomorrow. I mean, it's not going to happen. But I can pass the time by shining my maglite out my window at people walking by. It's actually great fun, when drunk.

Number Wine

I've decided that there are several kinds of "that guy" I want to be when I'm older. For one, I want to know how to change a tire. I like knowing that I know how to do this. I do not particularly like doing it, but I like knowing that I have done it in the past, and that I could do it again.

I also want to be the kind of "that guy" who just gives a case of wine to the establishment that helps him as a holiday gift. There is a "that guy" at my work, and without a note or any other kind of bullshit, a case of wine shows up and we are told to take a bottle home with us, happy holidays and courtesy of "that guy". Its just the kind of casual thoughtlessness to dropping a crate of booze on the under-appreciated that makes the gift so thoughtful. I envision a utopian future where I am dropping cases of wine like NATO food rations on the local deli, barbershop, and dry cleaner. There will be no need for cards or kind words. Just "hey, I brought this, and I brought more than enough for all of you, and take some, thanks, I've got other stops to make."

I also want to learn how to drive stick. I'm pretty sure you're not a man until you can at least drive a manual transmission car out of harm's way.

FLAT-LANDER!

In between reading through a miasma of textbooks, I have distracted myself with this short video. Some guy is role-playing a game about marriage counseling as Genghis Khan.

The Sweet Smell Of Blank

Day 1
---I've made a terrible mistake. Refer to the drawing on the left. That green desk is the freak. You know the one; always wearing that jacket that looks like an old rug, wire-frame glasses that hang off a crooked nose, and
...the smell.
The smell is that green, frothy wave descending on poor old orange desk.
I was poor old orange desk. And between choking down toxic fumes and ignoring the freak's class-disrupting questions about NASA, I'd decided to make a change.





Day 2
---I can't believe I was worried that one seat of olfactory distance wouldn't be sufficient! What wonders that little desk has given me...or should I say Wonder? When the fashionably dressed black male entered our classroom, I was already seated, my one desk buffer safely in place. As far as I was concerned, things were going well.
Then something amazing happened:
I smelled him. My goodness, I smelled him. Cologne? Fresh laundry? Summer storms? I don't have the words, but as he took that defensive desk, I didn't need them. His glorious aroma became a shield, and I knew I would never regret a seating assignment ever again.

Day 3
---All the good seats were taken and I was forced in back.
The pinkish glitter are two guidettes who won't shut the fuck up.
The three purple X's are bros that won't shut the fuck up.
The milky brown shit stain is an older woman snoring loudly.
WHEN DID MY CLASS BECOME A DOWNTOWN L-TRAIN!?
...
/tom waits'd

Cut, Sanded, and Scored

Hanged, Drawn, And Quartered

The things we do for love...

Sex with Miners

Two Great Comebacks

Girl unsuccessfully cutting in front of me to get on bus : "Whatever happened to ladies first?!"

Me : "Whatever happened to ladies?"

/gets on bus

Altman Be Praised!

I'm Sorry.

I'm so sorry.
I don't know what else to say.
I have been coaching and exercising and reading and taking notes for lectures and canoodling with grandparents and Dadfleck's clients and the big boss and trying to write and giving up and giving up and doing laundry for Goldfleck and planning a long weekend and introducing myself to literary journal staff and eating tuna casserole and building fires and burning bridges.
But tomorrow evening, much like last night's surprise, is the payoff.
Not the paycheck.
Not the degree.
Not the networking.
No...just a few drinks with a few friends in a bar built for me by men long gone.
Bless their cold, dead hands;
I envy their long sleep, and await the peace to come.

I'm smiling because I really, really hate you.

#1 Team In The NHL...

...twice in the 70's.

Simple Dinner

Bury me softly in this womb
I give this part of me for you
Sand rains down and here I sit
Holding rare flowers
In a tomb...in bloom

Egg in a hole and I don't know if I can be saved
See my heart I decorate it like a grave
You don't understand who they
Thought I was supposed to be
Look at me now a man
Who wont let himself be

Egg in a hole, feelin so small
Egg in a hole, losin my soul
Id like to fly,
But my wings have been so denied

Egg in a hole and they've put all
The stones in their place
Ive eaten the sun so my tongue
Has been burned of the taste
I have been guilty
Of kicking myself in the teeth
I will speak no more
Of my feelings beneath

Egg in a hole, feelin so small
Egg in a hole, losin my soul
Id like to fly but my
Wings have been so denied

Bury me softly in this womb
Oh I want to be inside of you
I give this part of me for you
Oh I want to be inside of you
Sand rains down and here I sit
Holding rare flowers (oh I want to be inside of you)
In a tomb...in bloom
Oh I want to be inside...

Egg in a hole, feelin so small
Egg in a hole, losin my soul
Egg in a hole, feelin so small
Egg in a hole, outta control
Id like to fly but my
Wings have been so denied

Umm...yeah

Behold the Power of Boots

Come, let us scurry about with our sneakers and loafers and low cut duck shoes. Surely this is adequate protection against the rivers of sludge coursing through our gutters. What? ankle deep in the filthy mire? The rain has come and ravaged the mountains of filthy snow? Every crosswalk now must by fjorded and traversed. Parcels and toddlers must be portaged in flat-bed ferries, while we pay the Native American guides for safe passage. I have steel toe waterproof boots, pictured at left. Totally unnecessary? Absolutely. It's like driving an SUV, but with walking. I go out of my way to walk through snow and water when I wear them. It takes a full 30 seconds to lace one up, so I'm going to enjoy the ride. I tuck my jeans into them so everyone confuses me with a jungle explorer. I am nearly 6'4" in them. The days on which wearing the boots is necessary are some of the best days around. Watching people line up to use the one foot width section of cleared sidewalk is so much more fun when you're striding past them with your EZ-Pass footwear. I am one more snowstorm away from kicking down snowmen. And then blogging about it.

Patricide

Eating dinner in reclining chair. Dadfleck enters.
Dadfleck tells me he has scored box tickets to the Flyers game tomorrow. Many were purchased by his boss for clients, and the last remaining ticket was given to Dadfleck as they are good friends. Dadfleck's boss and I share the same first name. The irony is permeable.
My envy seethes from spaghetti-stuffed mouth.
"Free parking, too."
"Dad, you bastard."
He is torturing me. This is water-boarding. I would want nothing more than to watch some bullies curb-stomp some senators. Dadfleck is aware and continues:
"Just gonna relax and schmooze the clients and have some beer and chow down and lounge with the Flyers at my fingertips. Doesn't that sound just perfect, Whofleck?"
Kill Dadfleck. Acquire tickets.
"You are the devil, Dad."
"No no, son. We don't play them until Saturday."

Advice(d)

I walked the ten minute two blocks to school in weather that could only be described as "bullshit." I spent another ten minutes trying to find the fourth floor of a building to which there is only one fourth floor accessible stairway, tucked in some hidden corner. I sat in my professor's office and discussed transcripts, audits, and tried not to notice that he was, without a doubt, the most disorganized man I have ever met. Ever watch that television program Hoarders? Imagine that; but worse.
As it turns out, he is not my adviser. As it turns out, I will have to petition for transferred credits to meet certain requirements. As it turns out, my orientation adviser was a liar.
"The updated audits list someone else as your adviser, so why did you come to me?"
Dr. Liar told me he had assigned you as my adviser.
"All of these credit dates are incorrect from what you tell me. And you have not done any of the follow-ups to determine which requirements your transferred credits meet?"
No. Dr. Liar said everything was fine. Dr. Liar spoke nothing of "follow-ups."
"Did he tell you he was leaving the college a week after your orientation? Didn't you think he may have been doing a lousy job, considering he wouldn't be accountable when you actually started the semester?"
Dr. Liar assured me he would take care of everything.
"Well, in the case of the petitions you're going to need some paperwork. Syllabus' and course descriptions from a handbook should suffice. Have those?"
No. I do not have paperwork from classes I took nearly six years ago.
"Hm."
Hm.
"Here's the literary information you requested and four people you need to talk to. They should be able to resolve everything."
Thanks. And the PE credits?
"I don't know. Do you like the book I assigned for class?"
Sure, Dr. Trumble. It's surprisingly good. If you'll excuse me, I need to smoke a cigarette, ponder the possible ramifications of developing another aggressive relationship with a school's administration, and get to class on time. Thanks for all your help.
"See you tomorrow morning!"



Maybe, Dr. Trumble.
Maybe...

BUSted

The situation has not improved. My morning commute is at times an Orwellian deathmarch of lines, scans, and randomized squad patrols. More efficient, they said. Faster, they promised. Better enforcement, they asserted. BUT AT WHAT COST? The long lines to get on the bus have been replaced by long lines for ticket machines located three feet from the traffic whizzing by. Once you have your ticket, you stand in the frozen mob waiting for the next bus, jockeying for position. People who have paid first and waited the longest end up getting on the bus last, as they are pushed back from the curb by the swell of human traffic coming off the ticket machines. From the line, to the mob, to the mobby line that forms at each black door to the bus. Every day, it is a sad day to be elderly, disabled, or the guardian of a child if you wish to ride the bus. Hold on to your tickets. You will need your paper tickets. You no longer scan your metrocard onto the bus and be done with it, each person is issued a paper receipt for each trip. More efficient, they said. How, we screamed.

Hold on to your tickets. Because without warning, the bus stops and the doors open. People who try to get off are met by two enforcement guards asking to see tickets. No ticket? $100 fine. Then they come onto the bus. "Please have your receipts ready." They repeat. More efficient, they said, as traffic whizzes by. You hold up your ticket, they read the time and the date and the bus route. One woman desperately hunts through her many wet pockets as the agent stands in front of her with a neutral expression. "I know I have it," she says nervously as many eyes fall upon her. The bus idles, indifferent. "It must have fallen out of my pocket!" she cries, looking at those around her. Their eyes dart to the floor. There is nothing any of us can do for her. She may be lying, she may not be. It makes no difference. "Please come with me," the agent says, and walks off the bus. Doomed, the woman slinks off the bus as the doors hiss shut behind her.

Worst is the MTA agent who is all smiles every morning. "Hello! Please have your receipts ready! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" he repeats as he checks each ticket. When finished, if he is without prey, he titters; "Have a great day, everyone!" Then he goes home and skullfucks a stray kitten.

I didn't have a ticket once. The machine was broken at my stop and a group of us were instructed to get on the bus by the agent there. When I got off 30 minutes later, far away from the broken machine, I was confronted by an agent at my departure stop. "Why don't you have a ticket?" he asked, holding my Pennsylvania driver's license. Checking my fury, I repeated again that the machine at my origin stop was broken, and that I was instructed to get on the bus along with dozens of others. He holds my arm, all 5'8" of him clad in an MTA windbreaker and dangling faux sheriff badge, and asks the busdriver if this is true. It was. He handed me my license and let go of my arm.

"You need a receipt from now on," he said.

More efficient, they said.

Advice(r)

Ring Ring!

Whofleck: Hello? Dr. Trumble?

Dr. Trumble: Speaking. (dead inside)

Whofleck: This is Whofleck, I think you are my adviser and I'm in your English 135 class on Mondays and We-

Dr. Trumble: Of course! How can I help you!? (god I hope he didn't read those bios we wrote in class)

Whofleck: I just wanted to set up a meeting and discuss some concerns with my degree audit and ask you some questions about the literary community here at Poop State.

Dr. Trumble: Shoot. (long pause, what is he expecting?)

Whofleck: ...pardon?

Dr. Trumble: Go ahead, what's on your mind? (oh shit, son. flood gates)

Whofleck: Well, I wanted to go over my academic plan and try and outline everything for maximum efficiency regarding requirements. Also, I'd like to talk about dodging the language requirement and what I've gathered are PE requirements.

Dr. Trumble: Go on. (wait, is this the meeting?)

Whofleck: I took six years of German in high school and successfully scored out of the requirement when I attended college the first time. (shame) To me it seems silly that I would need to retake the same exam...also, after four years of not speaking German, I doubt I could pass again. The gym thing is just stupid to me, which the athletic history on my transcripts should make obvious.

Dr. Trumble: We'll see what we can do. (oh, we will, will we?)

Whofleck: So...tomorrow?

Dr. Trumble: Tomorrow morning, my office. Also, the campus literary and arts journal is the Abaddon Review. I can give you more information on that when we meet. (and so it begins...)

Whofleck: Excellent! Thank you so much, Dr. Trumble. I'll see you tomorrow.

Dr. Trumble: One more thing, Whofleck. (fuck fuck fuck fuck)

Whofleck: Y-yes? (jesus christ!)

Dr. Trumble: Happy MLK Day. I loved that bio you wrote in class.

Whofleck: (smiling) Happy MLK Day, professor.

GT MLK?

The Silver Lining

Physician Co-Pay:
$20

Estimated out-of-pocket costs (including deductible):
$950

A completely legal vial of Oxycodone, a magnum of serviceable Chianti, a few days of paid medical leave and some leftover pot roast:
PRICELESS!

Yurassic Park

What's the only thing scarier than a T-Rex?

A T-rex that speaks spanish!

Ultra-Derp

I was furious and told them to go have a "Pee Fiesta."
They laughed and only half of them we're disqualified.
"Of course I watched your race! So fast!"

The Spirit Of Men

As the door to his quarter-pod slipped open, the General heard commotion on the grounds outside and frowned.

“LONG LIVE KETHEL RAE!

LONG LIVE THE SPIRIT OF MAN!

WE REMEMBER BROX, WE RE-“

And then the door shut. His scout, Feldrey, was staring at him now. Feldrey knew his General’s face, and quickly tried to reorganize his report into something more agreeable to his superior’s mood. General Rae had not the time to spare.

“Your report, Fel. Stop staring at me and speak, you dumb bastard.”

Feldrey started, “Uh-of course sir.” The General’s frown sunk deeper. “In-in, in in…”

“Unless my armies are stationed in these pretty green eyes,” the General said slowly, blinking “I suggest you gather yourself. You are easily replaced, Fel.”

“In the North, sir. The Ignite Falls are under Human control. Even with the high-ground, Nim’roh defensive capabilities are overstated. Your plan was a success, and your K/D ratios were within an incredible margin, sir. General, we’ve pushed them back to the cave beyond the rear lines. They have only the webbing of the Under-Roads and a fractured city presence remaining in this sector. And Lancer teams from the West report more retreats from the enemy. There are rumors that they are surrendering the campaign, sir.” Feldrey breathed, waited.

“If I wanted rumors, Fel, I would leave my fucking door open and have no need of you.” Finally, General Rae began to regain his composure. “Look here with your dumb eyes and learn something.”

The General marched over to his Holomap, enormous under the humming Earth-light. Feldrey followed, momentarily overwhelmed by this impromptu lesson. He was listening intently. General Rae stood tall and shifted his sight into emptiness beyond. The vacuum was opened and a gust of hot wind blasted them both. Feldrey covered his face; his General did not.

“Finnis IV, or Nim in native tongue. We hunted the Hiveminders to this red rock. See?” The General, shifting his gaze to the impressed scout at his side, was satisfied and continued. “Sixty sectors mapped in standard A.R.T.H. Sixty thousand men for every sector: Lancers, Engineers, Infants, Squalls, Shifters, Readers, and even those pill-popping Marines. In orbit, dozens of Star-Galleons, beams pointed with astonishing accuracy at every enemy post. If it weren’t for this shit terrain and the unfiltered atmosphere, we would have simply burned the beasts to a cinder cycles ago. And now, after seasons and seasons of surviving our sieges and disrupting our Starports, they suddenly retreat? Look.”

The General forced his hand into the heart of the planet and flicked his wrist. A sequence of exploding light illuminated the entire war. Feldrey watched, searching for an answer that would surprise his General, but none came.

“The retreats happen so quickly, sir. It began at sectors twelve and thirty four, but the pattern appears random. One would assume they are simply reacting to individual defeats. You think otherwise, sir?”

General Rae smiled, and Feldrey nearly burst with pride. “This sequence is accurate, Fel, as is your first impression. But this map is incomplete.”

“Of course, General.” Feldrey said, “There exist no maps of the Under-Roads. There cannot, as our treaty with the Nim’roh forbid it…even in times of war.”

He stared at his General. Kethel Rae knew that the boy wanted to be taught. “Your mind is lazy, but not without hope. The Under-Roads are an unbelievable maze of trade routes, safe havens, and fucking fortresses for all we know. It is surely one of the first things the Hiveminders coveted. And I have no doubt they won their prize from these barbarians. Their alliance is our greatest weakness. We see no Hiveminders on the surface. When our plasma shields bloom and break like tiny red hearts, we fall to Nim’roh; not Hiveminders. They hide in the depths.”

“But we guard the entrances, General!” Feldrey interrupted.

“No, fool. We are simply stomping at moles...nevermind, it's an Earth-term. We are being led to believe that they are pinned, hopeless. But we are the ones who are trapped here. This surface world is unbearable to Humans, and with every cycle we weaken, no matter how many sectors we take. Beneath us lies the battlefield, Fel. In all the histories of all the species circling every star I’ve had to misfortune of destroying, no resistance surrenders. To them this is a revolution of body and spirit. And as long as they hold in their burrows, their dream lives; grows, even.”

Feldrey delved into his own mind for understanding and reply. Again, General Rae could not spare the time. As he was about to send the boy off on another errand, the General’s V-Comm flickered and squeaked.

“Kethel, we have to talk.” The face hesitated, noticing the young scout at the old General’s side. When the image settled and came into view, General Rae frowned.

“Dorn, a moment.” Before he could lift an eyebrow, Feldrey was gone, his leave marked by another wash of cheers from outside. “We’re alone, what is it?”

“It’s Commander Ricker, Kethel. How long will it take you to understa-“

“If you called to waste my fucking time, Dorn, I’ll just mute the damn thing and have a good laugh at your flapping mouth.” The General knew that his outburst was probably unwise. In fact, he didn’t care. Dorn was just a Reader. A worm.

“Hm! I’d say you have the wrong attitude about me, Kethel! Regardless, it’s about these numbers of yours…”

“I’m a strategist, not a goddamn mathematician. Dorn. Get on with it.”

“Too high, old man. Send them back out. Somewhere we can lose a few squadrons. The transports have been landing like clockwork since you got the natives retreating, and we don’t have the supplies for every man. This is fringe space, and it’s getting too costly for you to keep winning.”

How the hell did wriggling, dishonorable scum like Dorn Ricker get command of this war? General Rae thought. Blackmail, intelligence, something like that. Readers are always using bullshit to get ahead. But command!? Of an entire world!

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Excellent. Oh, by the way, I have a representative from Earth coming to keep an eye on you. Old friend of mine, treat her well. Name’s Kiela. And before you ask: yes." Dorn smiled and gave a flamboyant salute. "I’ll be seeing you, Kethel Rae…long live us both!”

And with a quick chuckle the screen dimmed to its desolate green matte. General Rae had a great deal on his mind. Dorn was sending spies, now. Earth Readers, extremely well-trained. Having them in the shadows was bad enough, but trying to keep one ignorant while she stands at his side would be impossible. In an instant, he decided to tell her everything. At this point, it didn’t matter. He walked back toward the Holomap and extended his arm again. The stance reminded him of the order Dorn had given. Kethel Rae, completely out of character, felt gloomy.

All at once the cacophony began again, and in the doorway of his small pod, consumed in the red light of Nim, world of flame, stood a lovely woman.

“WE REMEMBER BROX,

WE REMEMBER EARTH!

LONG LIVE DORN RICKER,

THE MIND-SLAYER!

LONG LIVE KETHEL RAE!

LONG LIVE THE SPIRIT OF MAN!”