Psitticoids of Theta Apodis IV
Despite actually being a type of fungus, convergent evolution led these creatures to strongly resemble Earth parrots. Their psionic skills, in particular their mind control abilities, allowed the Psitticoids to carve out a modest empire and drive their rivals the Daurians to extinction. Accordingly, they dispatched a long-range infiltration cruiser to Earth, to begin controlling key subjects in preparation for all-out invasion.

The Psitticoids were defeated due to mankind’s propensity for putting parrots in cages; without direct contact, they were only able to repeat garbled fragments of human thoughts–just like Earth parrots. Their ability to lower the intelligence of nearby creatures similarly went unnoticed, as people tend to behave childishly around pets anyway. Most of the Psitticoid 112th Infiltration Unit currently resides in an illegal Manhattan pet shop specializing in exotic birds.

Capricornians from Deneb Algedi II
The harsh climate of Deneb Algedi II led to a species that can conduct and ground electricity with an insulative coating that must be periodically shed. This has the side effect of making them incredibly deadly warriors as well as highly similar in appearance to Earthborne sheep. After subduing their own homeworld and enslaving the Ovidines of HD 20644b, the Capricornians launched a full-scale invasion of Earth.

Unfortunately, their assault craft landed on a rainy day in New Zealand. Unable to use their discharge powers for fear of electrocution, they were inadvertently sheared by sheep farmers and deprived of their primary weapon. The herd was culled later that month, with all the surviving Capricornians winding up slain and mixed in with animal fodder. Their presence was only discovered after a rash of exploding wool shirts and temporarily electrified sheep.

Apids from Musca Australis Prime
Broadly resembling terrestrial insects, the Apids are highly coordinated and toxic creatures made up of hundreds of small organisms that are specialized (not unlike the Portuguese Man-o’-War). With a neural net formed of Apids and pheromones at the center of each swarm, they easily overwhelmed all comers in establishing domination over their sector.

Their scouting party on Earth met a tragic fate when a human swatted the Apid that was responsible for navigating the swarm. Without direction, it wandered through an air intake and was shredded. The incident was only noticed when the highly corrosive remains ate through the intake and the surrounding city blocks.

Aurigans from the Almaaz Dark Disc
These mysterious creatures evolved in an environment so strikingly different from Earth as to be inconceivable not only to humans but all other species on this list. Uniquely, they evolved a cylindrical layout which allowed them to roll along the surface of objects they encountered, along with a hollow core to allow interstellar debris to pass through and dark coloring to blend in with the light-absorbing matter in the Dark Disc. They communicate with bioluminescence along their outer rims, relying on a network of photoreceptor grooves on their outer surface to pick up sensory information, the pattern of which is unique to each Aurigan.

Just like their evolution, the Aurigans’ motivations are inscrutable, and they have annihilated several species nearby while leaving others untouched. What is known is that a party of Aurigans landed on Earth, undetected by the authorities. Unfortunately for them, they landed in Detroit (which even the Apids knew to avoid), touching down in an urban tire yard. Thanks to their unique morphology, the Aurigans’ corpses are still attached to the rims of a 1989 Honda Civic.

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Old Sam used to be a grammar teacher. Now he’s just an old pilcrow-popper that no rehab clinic will touch, a jittering mess of nerves looking for his next fix of ¶, ¶, ¶.

And let’s not forget about Betty, the long-haul semicolon-trucker. Time was, her ; brought order and clarity to complicated sentences with more clauses than the North Pole. Now; they speckle her; every page; like; worm; damage.

&, &, &. That’s the sound of the ampersand-storm rolling in at the behest of Chris, who became infatuated with the symbol doing old-timey graphic design. Now it’s become a mission to singlehandedly reverse its decline.

Lastly, who could forget poor A.J., who through exposure to East Asian popular culture has started ~bracketing~ ~words~ ~with~ ~tildes~ and even using them to end sentences~ A real tilde-luxe, that~

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This post is part of the June 2013 Blog Chain at Absolute Write. This month’s prompt is “Bugs.”

The S’lvn-L’vs descended upon us, a terrible insectoid scourge from the stars, and all mankind’s technologies and spacefleets were in vain against their inexorable approach. With the last of our great starships lost in the battle off Pluto’s orbit, it was inevitable that the S’lvn-L’vs would attempt a landing on Earth. For it was Earth they coveted, a green and verdant planet to sweep over like the locusts they so resembled. Their technology, so far in advance of our own, and their swarm intelligence made this inevitable.

So it was with little surprise but much horror that the ships of the infernal space bugs appeared in our skies. One of the S’lvn-L’vs dreadnaughts, city-sized, touched down on the broad plains south of Topeka while another moved toward the Mongolian steppe. Military resistance was an impossibility, as precision strikes by the S’lvn-L’vs had devastated Earth’s global defense network. Instead, they were met at the landing site by a delegation of Earth politicians, religious leaders, and common folk selected by lottery to plead on behalf of humanity.

When the great doors opened and the S’lvn-L’vs emerged, none knew what to expect, for their communication with humans up to that point had been exclusively aggressive or disinterested. Nevertheless, it seemed that the S’lvn-L’vs to emerge might engage with the delegation. The great insectoid at the head of the emerging group approached the humans, its compound eyes and mandibles expressionless and unreadable.

Before the humans could say a word, they listened as the seven-foot-tall bug gasped, choked, and exploded under its own weight, coating everyone present with viscous green goo.

For so it had come about, as indeed I and many men might have foreseen had not terror and disaster blinded our minds: the twin terrors of lower oxygen content in the atmosphere and high gravity had taken their toll on Earthly life since the beginning of things–taken their toll on our evolutionary precursors since life began here. But by virtue of this natural selection humans have developed resisting power: to gravity–that which causes exoskeletoned beings above a certain size to explode under their own weight–our living frames are altogether immune. We do not succumb to lack of oxygen as spiracle-breathing bugs do, with our 20% oxygen mix being sufficient where 35% or 40% is necessary for creatures the size of the S’lvn-L’vs.

Already when the delegates watched them they were irrevocably doomed; our gravitational and atmospheric allies had begun to work their overthrow. It was inevitable. By the toll of a billion Barcaloungers and breathless runs man has bought his birthright to his size and oxygenation capacity, and it is his against all comers; it would still be his were the S’lvn-L’vs ten times as buggy as they are. For neither do men lounge nor breathe in vain.

With apologies to H. G. Wells.

Check out this month’s other bloggers, all of whom have posted or will post their own responses:
Diem_Allen
Ralph Pines
articshark
Lady Cat
U2Girl
MsLaylaCakes
SuzanneSeese
robynmackenzie
milkweed

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“Aw, man,” said Chrissy. “I thought this was supposed to be a contemporary romance story.”

“Nope,” said the man in the steampunk hat and goggles that had just tunneled up through a concrete sidewalk slab. “This is a dark fantasy story, and you’re headed into the Vale of Pnath in the underworld to find purpose in life amongst the ghasts, gugs, and night-gaunts of eldritch legend.”

“Are you sure?” asked Trenton. “I was sure that this was going to be an action comedy. I mean, I ‘m pretty sure I saw terrorists getting ready to take over campus, and me and Chrissy are vapid and adversarial enough that you know we’ll bump uglies even in the heat of combat.”

“I didn’t sign on for that,” Chrissy pouted, folding her arms.

“And I’m not equipped to fight anything that isn’t a Lovecraftian monstrosity,” said the steampunk, shrugging.

An androgynous princeling happened by at that very moment, holding a beatbox. “Yo! Anyone call for Tolkienesque poetry to halt this story dead for a few pages?”

“And that’s the final straw,” Chrissy said, stalking off. “I’m not going to be in this story until it decides what it’s about. If you need me, I’ll be having a hard drink in a Western.”

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Chief Irons nodded. “He was…recommended to me after the imbroglio with that serial killer and those role-playing cards.”

“A psycho leaving playing cards at murder scenes like the goddamn Joker?” said Officer Kennedy. “Is that a joke? Tell me you’re joking.”

“Certainly not. This isn’t anything related to comic books, but my encyclopedic skills are once again of use to the boys in blue.” The speaker trundled in on a Roustabout-brand electric scooter, his face grave and bewhiskered, his head alternately bald and overflowing with greasy hair. “Sherwood Greg. Private graphic novel archivist, loremaster, licensed Pokemon breeder, guild leader, head of the Council of Twelve, and overall coordinator for Nerdicon, at your service.”

“This is Sherman Gregward, recommended to me personally by Chief Strong,” said Irons.

“An expert witness, huh?” Kennedy snickered. “Well I suppose if we’re looking into insights on fat nerds like our victim here…”

“Sherwood Greg, as I indicated, if you please,” said Greg with a confident flip of his head. “And yes, officer, I am being retained for my insights. I am sure that if the next victim is a boorish reprobate hiding behind a badge like a +2 amulet of strength, your services will be sought instead.”

“I’m pretty sure there was an insult under all those flabby nerd words,” said Kennedy. “Get off my crime scene.”

“Very well,” Greg said, beginning the laborious process of turning his scooter around. “But good luck identifying that guild symbol without me.”

“Hang on,” said Chief Irons. “What’s that about the symbol?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just the symbol of one of the most powerful guilds in the Dungeons of Krull MMORPG, the most popular online game of all time if you don’t count Bejeweled.”

“Why would someone paint it on the wall in the blood of a murdered nerd?”

Sherwood Greg cocked his eyebrows and tented his fingers, Spock-style. “That, Detective, is the right question,” he said. “It might interest you to know that not one month ago that guild–the Fireshields–was proscribed by the Dungeons of Krull team for massive illegal item duplication and laundering in-game gold mined in China. Players lost everything. And depending on what information you’d like to share, I’d wager that this victim of nerdur most foul was either a guild member…or one who reported on their illicit activity.”

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FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:

GesteCo to Release NATRON™, A Revolutionary New Beauty Product

GesteCo Labs, [redacted] – May 23, [redacted] – GesteCo Pharmaceuticals, a wholly-owned subsidiary division of GesteCo, is pleased to announce that public trials for its new beauty product NATRON™ have officially begun.

NATRON™ is a breakthrough in modern cosmetology, combining cutting-edge research with age-old techniques to leave skin beautifully tanned and totally resistant to all forms of weathering and aging.

How does it work? By tapping into the ancient and underdeveloped process of mummification, NATRON™ works to preserve the youthful, glowing skin that you now have, and acts as a natural tanning agent as well. Why trouble with expensive Botox, which is a toxin harvested from deadly bacteria, when NATRON™ is an all-natural* substitute?

NATRON™ provides the same firming effect as Botox, but lasts for centuries in even the harshest desert environments. Side effects are minor** and pose no known long-term risks†. Interested applicants can contact GesteCo directly for public testing information, either through our toll free number 1-555-789-36λ9 or by visiting our website at http://www.gesteco.ntz

Contact:
Conchita Perez
perez@gesteco.ntz
Ph: +55-555-1337

* – Natural ingredients before processing with GesteCo’s patented chemical and genetic accelerants. Meets natural purity standards in Liberia, Sierra Leone, Angola, Burma, and the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.
** – Side effects in previous studies include but are not limited to: dessication, entombment, death by fire, the Curse of the Sands, compulsive soul-feasting, scarab infestations, loss of appetite, and walking like an Egyptian. Meets the definition of “minor” according to the Great Soviet Encyclopedia, 1972 edition.
† – “Long-term” in this case refers to the length of the previous clinical trial, which was two weeks. This meets the international standard definition of “long term” as proposed by the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia at the Non-Aligned Nations conference in Geneva, 1957.

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This is Clifton “Sagebrush” Lowe, reporting for the Prosperity Falls Futurist. As part of our continuing series on “People in the News” I interviewed Virginia MacNeil, late of the Prosperity Rangers, on the circumstances of her dismissal from that storied organization.

LOWE: To what gainful purpose have you put your so-called skills to now that the Rangers have permanently expelled you from their ranks for cowardice and recklessness?

MACNEIL: I’m working as a guard for the Chatham Stage Company now, and they’re lucky to have me. They know what the Rangers don’t: these skills are in the blood. It’s not about practice or anything like that; I come from a line of people who can shoot straight and hit hard, and that why I’m the best at what I do.

LOWE: This despite your well-known loss to young Mr. Sullivan at the Ranger Trials?

MACNEIL: He caught me off-guard, and is a low-down, dirty sneak and cheat. You can take that to the bank and cash it in.

LOWE: Could the words you had not moments ago for the convalescing Mr. Sullivan indicate a latent and passionate longing? What truly defines love for an ex-Ranger?

MACNEIL: Love is about being equal or better than somebody, and I don’t see a lick of that in Sullivan. He’s haughty, insulting, and superior, putting on more airs than a perfume factory and more full of insults than a whorehouse for a cheap john.

LOWE: So by her own definition of love, Miss MacNeil has been laid low by Ranger Sullivan!

MACNEIL: I hope for his recovery only that I might have a chance to show him up once more and that the Rangers might see that my so-called mistakes weren’t so bad. They’re between me and God, not me and the Rangers–who’re they to say I was wrong when I’m just doing what comes naturally, what I was made to do?

LOWE: There can be no secrets from the Great Watchmaker, it’s true.

MACNEIL: Well…I’m not sure if he knows about the stack of Horatio Alger pulps behind the loose board in my room, especially not the ones where the hero’s name is crossed out and I wrote my own in. If Adam knew that I was reading the same thing that the Prosperity Library burned in a heap last year…

LOWE: Salacious! I would opine that the Great Watchmaker does in fact know all about your stash of pulp rubbish. Then again, but your earlier argument, since he made the man who made them, the fault lies not with that pulp-peddler Alger but rather the Watchmaker himself.

MACNEIL: Yeah! I fit hadn’t been meant to be read, it wouldn’t have been written!

LOWE: And I suppose the same can be said of homemaking guides for young ladies?

MACNEIL: No.

LOWE: Fair enough. If you could tell your own story your own way, how would it go?

MACNEIL: Dashing, beautiful, and talented Ranger Virginia MacNeil, daughter of late Marshals Vincent and Patricia MacNeil, has risen from hardship to glory! People constantly underestimated her, called her stupid and boastful and idle and lazy and such, but she has proven them wrong in spectacular fashion by saving Prosperity Falls from forces that would destroy it from the inside and the outside! Like the hero of a Horatio Alger novel–and in fact Alger is hard at work adapting her own story for worldwide publication–she pulled herself up by her bootstraps and triumphed!

LOWE: So you count being the daughter of two of the most famous Rangers and being admitted to the Rangers despite failing the admission test and having your brother’s successful ranch at your back as Horatio Alger style hardship?

MACNEIL: Shut up.

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HOTSY-TOTSY INAUGURAL X CHAMPIONSHIPS SHOW DEWDROPPERS KNOW THEIR ONIONS
DATELINE
: Newport, Rhode Island, June 4, 1928

With a final flourish of the ragtime jazz band on hand for the festivities, the closing ceremonies for the 1st Annual X Championships came to a raucous close amid medals, swing-dancing, and general jubilation. While Mrs. Grundy down the street and all her fellow “fire extinguishers” might frown upon the X Championships as pure applesauce or horsefeathers, a product of idle young dewdroppers bereft of industry, the crowd and sponsors clearly think it’s just ducky.

“These fine young athletes have shown us just how the spirit of the age can turn idle pursuits into virtuous exercises and healthy capitalistic competition,” said the closing speaker Mr. Harrison Dykestra. President of Dykestra’s Old No. 12 Velocipede Company and a major sponsor of the event, he personally presented a gold medal to the overall winner and crowd favorite C. Ernest “Torpedo” Coopington Jr. Coopington, 20, placed first in the dramatic Freestyle Velocipede finals as well as pocketing a silver in the highly competitive Toe-Stoppered Quad Skate event.

“It’s such a gay rub, really,” said “Torpedo” Coopington at the closing ceremonies. “I’m used to killjoys feeding all us a line about velocipeding and skating and such being something only a quiff would like, and razzing us about being no-account lollygaggers. But I think we really showed them we’re on the level and got them on the trolley today!”

Indeed, the image of “Torpedo” Coopington attacking a difficult grind in his knickerbockers and newsie cap with tied-on number and Dykestra’s Old No. 12 advertisement patches has captivated the normally sleepy Providence summer. One can hardly pass a streetcorner without seeing children playing at being their favorite X Championship athletes, despite their elders’ stern disapproval. One source, who declined to be named, said as much: “Velocipedery is but the first step on the staircase to brimstone and damnation! How long before these hellions are engaging in wanton acts of public carnality or frequenting moving picture houses?”

Still, the mood seems overwhelmingly in favor of the X Championships, and Mr. Dykestra was quick to predict that they would return next year. “As long as people are interested in acts of derring-do, the spirit of these young men and their Dykestra-brand equipment will never fade!”

Additional results:
Homer “Cowlick” Hyde took gold in the 1200-ft. Competitive Jitterbug
Gunther Schwartz came in first place in the Regulation Hoop Roll
There was a tie in the Stickball finals, with team captains Thomas “Gunny” Gunnington and Robert R. Robertson sharing the trophy between the Boston Zozzlers and the Baltimore Blotto Boys

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TRANSCRIPT OF 911 EMERGENCY CALL TO HOPEWELL DISPATCHER
TIME: 17:27:33 EST
DATE: 5/18/2013
RESPONDING DISPATCHER: ECJ

DISPATCHER: 911 Emergency, may I help you?

CALLER: Yes, hello. I’d like to report a large snake on the loose.

DISPATCHER: A large snake?

CALLER: Yes, a large snake. About, um, fifteen feet or so. Give or take.

DISPATCHER: Do you know the name of the street or building that the snake is at?

CALLER: Oh yes, it’s in the cul-de-sac off of Brighton Street. You know, the one under the retaining wall? It’s across from Rosette’s Creperie, which is, um, 1147 Brighton.

DISPATCHER: 1147 Brighton?

CALLER: Yes, that’s right. I’m worried someone might get hurt by the snake.

DISPATCHER: Ma’am, please do not approach the snake. I’m going to send animal control to you but I need you to answer some questions for me first. First, do you have any idea where the snake came from?

CALLER: Oh, yes. I saw exactly where it came from. I was here the whole time, at the creperie.

DISPATCHER: Where did it come from?

CALLER: It came out of the wormhole–or vortex–that opened up in the retaining wall at the Brighton Road cul-de-sac.

DISPATCHER: You said the…wormhole?

CALLER: Or vortex. I don’t know if it’s meant to be there; seems like it might be a public hazard or something. The wormhole–or vortex–seems like some kind of portal to other times, places, and dimensions.

DISPATCHER: I’m sorry, did you say…a portal to other times and places?

CALLER: And dimensions. Also I’m not sure if it’s a portal or a vortex. I would have gone closer but I was afraid it would scare my schnauzer Biff.

DISPATCHER: And you’re sure there’s a large snake near this…wormhole?

CALLER: Or vortex. But yes, when I went to the creperie today–it’s been there a while but didn’t seem to be hurting anyone, I thought it might have had something to do with the arts festival downtown–there was this flash of yellow light and a big snake started crawling through the portal. Or vortex.

DISPATCHER: What…what is the snake doing?

CALLER: It’s just sitting there.

DISPATCHER: And the, um, vortex?

CALLER: Or portal. It’s just sitting there too, doing its thing. Like I said, I’d have gone closer to look at it but, um, I was afraid it’d scare my dog.

DISPATCHER: Well, animal control is on the way. Will you be able to, um, stay on the line until they arrive?

CALLER: Do warn them about the portal. Or vortex. I’d hate for them to fall in.

CALL TERMINATED BY CALLER AT 17:32:02 5/18/2013
ACTION TAKEN: Dispatch of Hopewell Animal Control Mobile Unit #5
RESULT: Hopewell Animal Control Mobile Unit #5 reported unable to locate animal. Hopewell Animal Control Mobile Unit #5 subsequently failed to report in by the time dispatch report was finalized.

Inspired by this.

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“How does that happen?” said Mr. Gruenfeld, the morning’s newspaper in hand. “How do they catch someone with 2,300 rare turtles for the illegal pet trade when they’re coming into the country? Don’t you think someone would notice when they were leaving wherever they came from?”

Republic of San Martin, two days earlier

“Excuse me, sir,” said one of the Sanmartinese airport guards. “Your cargo pants seem to be…moving.”

“Oh, that’s just my medical condition. I have something that clears it right up.” The guy proffered a roll of colorful Sanmartinese currency.

“I feel better already,” said the guard. “Have a nice flight.”

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