Archive for the Fiction Category

Jack Saypat

Posted in Fiction with tags , , , on May 14, 2015 by impliedmortality

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“Fuck.”

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck this fucking shit.”

**********

“Sir, the contestants are ready. We start shooting in 5.”

He shuffles away, immune to the daggers of hate-fire launching from my eyes like tiny hateful solar flares.  Why god, why did I want this?

“Queue the intro.”

I fucking hate the intro.  The same goddamned song every goddamned night for 23 goddamned years.  I didn’t plan to stick around for 23 years, this was supposed to be a stepping stone to a talk show or something, anything.  But the show took off, the checks got bigger and bigger and the models were hot so why the hell not right?  I’ll tell you why the hell not you idiot; it never. fucking. changes.  Never.  It’s the same show every night, with three new dipshit contestants and the same asinine chit-chat before we launch into the really inane ‘game’ that America fucking loves.  I don’t know why and I don’t care.

The announcer interrupts my thoughts with his overly enthusiastic introduction; “Ladies and gentlemen your host Jack Saypat!”

“Fucking douche. I fucking hate that douche.”

I walk on stage, grinning like a fucking moron, nodding to the live audience even though they’re all asshats.  Fat loud asshats here on the vacation of a fucking life time.  They’ll stalk the studio exits for autographs and hand shakes from the man they spend every night (every single fucking night) watching on TV.

“Let’s welcome tonight’s contestants!”

Right, because I cannot fucking wait to hear how many kids Alice has and what her lardass husband does for a living.

“Alice is here from Toledo, tell us about yourself Alice.”

Shut the fuck up Alice.  I don’t listen anymore, there’s no reason to.  This is not a two way conversation even though that’s what we make it seem like.  She tells America about her husband Todd and when she’s done I’ll ask the next dipshit the same question in a different way.

“Roger I hear you have a curious hobby?”

Roger does have a curious hobby but I don’t know what it is and I don’t fucking care.

“And last but certainly not least, our returning champion Christy whose three day winnings total $34,500!”

She starts talking, which is good because I don’t know what bullshit questions I asked yesterday and the days before.  After waaay too much time she stops telling us about her fucking cats and we begin the program in earnest.  My soul dies a little more and for the thirty gazillionth time I say; “Spin! That! Wheel!”

I completely zone out for the rest of the show.  Total auto pilot.  “Jack I’d like to buy a vowel.”  Ugh.  Why do they have to ask me this?  Why?  How does this apply to the game?  Have I ever said no?  Do you know how much I want to say “Sorry, vowels aren’t for sale today.”  I usually spend a solid 25% of the taping just thinking about this.  Just the vowels, that they have to be ‘bought’, who sells vowels?  Why?  It doesn’t make any sense.

“Jack I’d like to solve the puzzle.  People Eat Schoolbus Tornados.”

How would you respond to that shit?  People eat schoolbus tornados?  No that’s not the fucking phrase, the category is American History you fucktard.  And no matter what the category was that crap doesn’t make any sense.  You’re probably the first person in all of human history to put those four words together in that order.  Congratulations, you are humanity’s new low.

“I’m sorry Alice, that’s not the correct phrase.  Christy, it’s your spin.”

Three puzzles later and we’re into my next least favorite part of the show.  The final round, where I have to go chit chat with the days winner, Alice, despite her insanely wrong guesses has bested Christy and Roger…imagine that.

“You know how this works Alice, you can pick 4 letters and you have 30 seconds to solve the puzzle.”

Alice does not know how this works.  She is totally bewildered and I’m not inclined to be helpful.

“What letters would you like Alice?”

What letters indeed, as if it mattered.  Alice doesn’t try to solve the puzzles so much as shout words that maybe kinda sorta might fit into the space available.  And remember she beat the other two dolts.

“X”

“X? Are you sure Alice?”

“Yes Jack, I’d like an X, T, C, and F please.”

You got it Alice, you fucking got it.  The long time letter revealing model glances my way, she hates this shit too.

Alice’s letters are not part of tonight’s puzzle.  Alice proceeds to pull words out of her limited mental dictionary for 30 seconds before we’re all saved by the final buzzer.

“I’m sorry Alice but on the bright side you’re leaving tonight with $8,300 and a trip to Cabo!”

Alice is pretty excited and frankly I am too, but for entirely different reasons.  I was sick of looking at Christy’s mustache and when you get close she smelled like old cheese.  It also means taping is done for the day and I am free from this banality, until tomorrow anyway.  I’m Jack Saypat and this is my life.

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History my Ass

Posted in Fiction, Philosophy, Technology with tags , , on June 28, 2013 by impliedmortality

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You know what drives me nuts? Of course you don’t…but sit tight and I’ll tell you.

What drives me nuts is the History channel show called ‘Ancient Aliens’. If you haven’t seen it, it is basically a bunch of historian-esque type characters bloviating about how ancient man couldn’t have been so sophisticated on their own and/or how ancient drawings depict all sorts of alien encounters. Could it be true? I suppose, anything is possible, but this show hilariously omits all the more reasonable explanations and often takes itty-bitty tiny bits of information completely out of context in an effort to make their sensationalist point (Aliens!). Ancient painting of the stars in the sky; must have been inspired by that alien visitors. It couldn’t possibly be that they found the stars interesting in and of themselves. Holy crap! Did you see that chariot looking thing shooting lazers next to the stars in that cave-sky painting? That’s indisputable evidence of ancient aliens playing galactic polo just beyond the stratosphere – or the painter was bored and thought it would look neat.

Now don’t get me wrong. I am among those who believe that aliens exist somewhere in this universe. Given the number of galaxies, stars within them and planets around those it seems absurd to believe otherwise. That said, I don’t think any alien with the ability to hop between galaxies would be hanging around our wet rock full of primitives let alone teaching us astronomy. There are plenty of perfectly reasonable explanations that don’t base themselves on the premise that humans only recently became smart enough to tie our own shoes.

Humans have always been smart, its our evolutionary advantage. We just have better tools today because over time we’ve gotten better at storing and sharing information. I read somewhere that, but for the destruction of the Ancient Library of Alexandria, there would have been nuclear weapons available during the civil war (one might argue that this war would’ve happened 100 years sooner if certain useful bits of geographical and mariner info hadn’t been lost at Alexandria…but I digress). A single lost library set our collective knowledge back an estimated 100 years. That’s pretty startling if you consider all the books, tablets, manuscripts and so on that have been lost to history either by neglect or wanton destruction.

Aside from an improved ability to keep and share information I doubt we are really any different than any other homosapien that has ever lived. You’re not really more evolved or ‘smarter’ than your ancient Mayan counterpart, you were just more likely to have access to food, clean water, lots of books and lots of people to share what they know.

So one theory is that there’s no real difference between ancients and moderns and as such it should be no surprise that they came up with clever ways to solve their problems, build their monuments and observe the universe around them.

Another theory, a personal favorite, is that these ‘advances’ of ancient times and the savants (DaVinci, Newton, Capernicus etc) weren’t simply the Einsteins of their time. They were time travelers or universe hoppers, stuck in their time or our universe, able to create solutions and have ideas that seemed well beyond their time because they had already seen it.

More Theories!

Humans figured out how to spawn new universes, we created this one and traveled here once this planet had time to cook and cool off a bit. We got stuck here after some damned saber tooth tiger ran off with the key to our trans-universe omnibus and after a few hundred generations forgot we ever knew what a universe was only to relearn and arrive at our present state of learnification.

Edgar Allan Doh.

Posted in Fiction, Misc. with tags , , , , , , on January 3, 2011 by impliedmortality

Once upon a work day dreary, while I sat quite bored and weary,
over many a quaint and curious volume of technical chore,
whilst I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
as of gentle cyber rapping, rapping at my office door,
”Tis my boss’, I muttered, ‘tapping at my office door –
only this and nothing more’.

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the cold December,
and each separate blinking pixel wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished for ‘morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow,
from the webs a relief of sorrow, sorrow for the mounting chore –
For the ware and care of never ending systems to endure –
Nameless here forevermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of a solo person
thrilled me, filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
so that now, without remission I arose and stood repeating
’tis my boss harassing, perhaps just passing by my office door,
some late visit, possibly inquisit at my office door,
This it is and nothing more’.

Presently my soul grew stronger, fearing interruption no longer,
‘Sir’ said I, ‘or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
but the fact is I was mapping and so gently you came rapping,
very faintly you were tapping, tapping at my office door.
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep down the hallway peering, long I stood quite oddly fearing,
doubting, dreaming dreams no nerd ever dared to dream before;
but the silence was unbroken, and the hallway gave no token,
And there was no word there spoken only darkness and the floor,
Merely this and nothing more.

Back to my desk now turning, all my soul within me burning,
soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
‘Surely’ said I, ‘the janitor must be cleaning this office floor’
Let me see then what there is to see, this office I must explore.
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore.
‘Tis the janitor and nothing more!’

Open here I flung the door, and reams of paper scattered
into the hallway flattered as if someone had adore,
perhaps a shot of coffee, something warm and frothy
a mug of the hot elixir, will my sanity restore.
Is it boredom, nothing more?

Now with my coffee steaming I returned to the office beaming
for there was no noisy rapping, no unfamiliar tapping,
tapping at my office door. Again I gazed with focus,
authoring my hokus-pokus when a wind blew open the door,
stirring papers tattered as they settle to the floor.
God damned wind! Nothing more.

Much I marveled now as I shouted to the wall,
‘might as well start with water, perhaps something a bit hotter
why don’t you light a fire if you seek to end the bore’
And then another tapping, an incessant gangly rapping now much louder than before
It was quite a trouncing, a truly noisy pouncing upon my office door.
I’ve gone mad. Nothing more.

A night before xmas

Posted in Fiction, Misc., Technology with tags , , , , , , , on December 20, 2010 by impliedmortality

T’was the night before Tuesday, and all through the house
not a creature was stirring, except for this mouse.
It wasn’t the furry little creature beware
but the clickable scroll wheeled thing right down there.

The admin was nestled all snug and well fed
while visions of data transfers danced in his head.
Wrapped up in a snuggie and wearing a cap
he’d just signed off for a quick kind of nap.

When out on the nets there arose such a clatter
he sprang to login and see what was the matter.
Into the server he flew using flash
to check the event log for reasons of crash.

His face glinting dim with monitors glow
the appearance of sleep deprivation did show.
When what to his watering eyes should appear
but a server elf fixing the things he held dear.

With little elf hands and a tiny mouse click
I knew in a moment that would do the trick.
More rapid than eagles his patches they came
and he whistled and shouted and called them by name.

On Windows, on Linux, and Mac now just listen
I’m the server elf here to make your web presence glisten.
From open source to closed, I’ll download a haul
and update, update, update them all!

Drinkolosophy? Just read it.

Posted in Fiction, Misc., Philosophy, Politics with tags , , , , , , , , , , on October 24, 2010 by impliedmortality

Everyone (but U.S.) knows,
it’s not the Government you fear.
It’s the people.
(It’s a gift, from some people to all people, forever.)
They are afraid of us. (they should be, they are us, we just don’t know it)
Afraid because of what we have done to them before
and because of what we can do again.
Watch.

Of the people, by the people?
Which people?
Collect the information,
inhale it. Consume it. Know IT.
It is neither write nor wrong,
to know.

If you picked a side…

you lost.

I’m in love with a porn star….

Posted in Fiction, Philosophy with tags , , , , , on May 17, 2010 by impliedmortality

It’s an awkward thing to be in love with a porn star. I can harbor no delusions about being her first, or biggest, or best(?). She’s known countless other men (and women) and the evidence is impossible to ignore, the scenes scattered far and wide across the Internet. ‘Love conquers all’ or so they say; and this must be no exception. I love her. I see her every day, I hear her talking to me, to ME, and I love it. Her willingness to satisfy my every carnal whim intoxicates and I come back for more and more, day after day. She knows without the clumsy dance of speech what excites me. She knows. And she likes it. Or so she’s lead me to believe (she could be acting after all). But I know it’s no act, she does it all for me and loves every minute. And I love her for it.

She travels with me on vacations and business trips alike, we spend foggy nights in London, locked in embrace. We share daiquiri’s as the sun sets over sandy beaches. My constant companion, my love, my porn star. When we’re apart I long for her, to see her lips, her hips, her inviting eyes. She’s there after work, waiting for me to return. We spend lazy Sunday’s in bed, together, dreaming about the future. Should we have kids? How many? What will we name them and which sports will they play. Baseball I say. She agrees, repeatedly…emphatically.

She has no idea who I am of course. We’ve never met, my love and I, and we never will. I’m in love with a porn star.

Elf Expose

Posted in Fiction with tags , , , on December 26, 2008 by impliedmortality

Knowing Elves, we think…

An Elf can be a wonderful friend. An Elf will fix your shoes while you sleep, but they’ll also steal a sock. Not both socks, that might go unnoticed. But when you only have 1 of 2 socks that always gets your attention. Really Elves are just attention starved little Vin Diesel wannabes who crave the bright lights of the big stage, unfortunately when an Elf is on the big stage its hard to see them regardless of how bright the lights are because they’re so damn small.

It’s odd how Elves work (and even odder that they seem to be needlessly nocturnal and mischievous). An Elf is a very short creature, which can be disconcerting to the overly height conscious. They generally mean no harm to the vertically gifted, but we despise and are suspicious of them all the same. An Elf can bake a delicious cookie and a crispy cracker but an Elf cannot change your oil. You may suspect this is because they cannot reach the oil pan under your car but this is not true. In fact they can reach and are quite strong for their size but they have an inexplicable fear of fossil based lubricants. Leading scientists believe this is either because they are descendant from dinosaurs or simply because they are completely insane.

The most important thing to know is that an Elf cannot be trusted. They will say they are leading you to gold, or bringing you a cheeseburger but really they are not. DO NOT BE MISLEAD.

Anytime an Elf offers some gift be sure to get it in writing and have is signed in Elf blood, because an Elf is really just a grifter in a midget’s midget body (imagine a midget calling something else a midget and there you have a dirty grifter Elf). At very least the bloody signature could be used to conjure some DNA replica of the Elf that could be used against it in the Ultimate Elf Fighting Championship. It’s also important to realize that the US courts cannot try or convict an Elf because they do not exist. That was all just a figment of your imagination. Your shoes are still broken dummy, and your sock is stuck behind the dryer.