April 4, 2011

From “Evolution at Work” by Eric Cummings Jr.

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Of course, I know I’m no Adonis: flabby in some places, bony in others, and gangly or ungainly throughout like a scarecrow built around a potbelly stove. I’ve got the pasty, translucent complexion only millennia of evolution in the damp Irish climate could perfect, and still blessed with bountiful harvests of acne well into my third decade even as time has brought most of my pizzaface compatriots of yore a measure of relief. Add to that the hunched posture common to Quasimodo and heavy computer users, and you’ve gone a long way to understanding why I’ve never had to live in a duplex.

But I’ve seen enough repulsive specimens of manhood strolling around campus with their hands in the pockets of someone with a good three to five points on them by the traditional metric scale to think that there must be more to it than that. My friends say it’s confidence, bravado, something you can fake until you make. But I’ve learned the hard way that it’s one thing to pretend you know what you’re doing when staring at a crowd of impressionable students and another entirely when you’re eying someone through the haze of a bad college party.

 

March 22, 2011

From “Sids of Every Age” by Sydney D. Reynolds

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Opinions and arguments buzzed around the table.

“Why are we even talking about it?” said Sid, age 18. “Let’s send someone back and change things.”

“Who put you in charge of deciding when we’re done talking?” said Sid, age 14. “It’s my life you’re screwing up if it doesn’t work, not just yours.”

“And it’s my life we’re saving,” countered Sid, age 18. “Put a sock in it!”

“Stop fighting,” whined Sid, age 12. “You’re worse than Mom and Dad.

“Oh, if you think that’s bad, just wait until they-”

Sid, age 18 was cut short by Sid, age 16 who cuffed him on the head. “Don’t spoil it for him!”

“Don’t tell me what to do, you wussy dateless nerd,” Sid, age 18 growled.

“Then don’t act like such a jackass, you drunk, doped-up jock!” countered Sid, age 16. “If that’s what I’ve got to look forward to, maybe it’s best we don’t do anything and put you out of your misery!”

In all the commotion, Sid, age 1, began bawling again. “Oh, for crap’s sake,” cried Sid, age 14. “Somebody change him!”

 

March 19, 2011

From “The X in Comix” by Alan Doyle Irvine

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“Gabriel Flanagan. Know him?”

Iris shook her head. “Should I?”

“You should if you expect to be in the same panel with him. Don’t you actually read anything besides what you draw?”

“I told you, I’m an artist, not a comic book geek.”

“Gabe Flanagan’s one of the most respected artists to come out of the underground comix–with an ‘x’–movement since Robert Crumb. He wrote, illustrated, and colored three hundred issues of The Monsters of Merryville Street by himself and won a bushel of Eisners for it–not bad for a series that deals frankly with cannibalism, incest, necrophilia, self-mutilation, and includes unlicensed references to the classic Universal Monsters lineup.”

“Ah, I see,” said Iris. “You expected that the author and illustrator of a gentle watercolor comic with no violence and G-rated sensibilities would be familiar with something like that?”

“No, I just would have been impressed if you had. Most people here only know Gabe Flanagan from the 10-episode animated show he produced on MTV in the mid-90’s. Sods. Don’t mention that to him if you do meet; he lost creative control back then and is liable to start punching.”

 

March 13, 2011

From “Lieutenent Hjecosh” by Lefty G. Hernandez

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“Ah, okay. Mr. Y-A-Y-C-O-S-H.”

“No, not Yaycosh. Hjecosh.”

“Oh, sorry. Mr. H-E-A-Y-C-O-S-H.”

“No, no, no! Hjecosh! Hjecosh! It’s spelt H-J-E-C-O-S-H!”

“Oh. Why’s that?”

“It’s Dutch!”

 

March 10, 2011

From “Gross Optometry” by Chris G. Thomas

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I never understood why Annie Gross set up her practice in town. There was an optometry school at Osborn University just a few miles down the road, so the county was always overrun with eye doctors looking to set up shop. Usually they stuck around because of spouses or children or love of the area–all reasons which, as far as I knew, didn’t apply to Dr. Gross.

Then there was the indelicate subject of her name. I knew, of course, that it was a German name and didn’t mean anything particularly bad when her ancestors had borne it across the pond, but that didn’t make it any less of an issue. Heck, Wanker is a semi-common German surname too, but that doesn’t keep people from discreetly spelling it Vanker when they emigrate. She could at least have spelled it Grosz or something.

Despite that business always seems to be good; I never saw a waiting room that wasn’t full of teens and adults. That may have had something to do with Dr. Gross herself, of course. Me, I was always too shy to make eye contact with her–ironic, I know–and would bury my nose in the waiting room books until called.

That could be a little dangerous, though, because more often than not they were Dr. Gross’s old textbooks, full of lurid color photos of diseased eyeballs leaking pus or escaping their sockets. In that respect, at least, her name was apt.

 

March 6, 2011

From “Vee Ess vs. Andrea Bergstrom & Associates” by Maye Catulla

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But Andrea Bergstrom & Associates didn’t pay Cynthia to do that. No, her job was going through the slush pile.

Every day, hundreds of letters from would-be authors arrived at AB&A, looking for one of the agents to represent what the writers were no doubt convinced would be The Next Great American Novel. Junior assistant editors got to wade through the muck, looking over query after query and routing the ones that seemed decent upstairs for a second look.

“What would you do,” Cynthia read, “if you learned you were a vampire princess…” She stopped there and chucked the letter into a wastebasket she’d set up, one labeled ‘Vampire Shit.’ Oh, it’s true they were hot now, but with the press time and the concurrent glut on the market–plus the fact that most were unspeakably dire–Ms. Bergstrom had decreed from on high that they were no longer to be considered.

Cynthia opened a fresh one. “Izzy Connington had everything in life: a hot boyfriend, a fast car, and the prom queen’s tiara. But that’s before she became a vampire…”

Paper was roughly balled and flung into the VS basket.

“Kyra Heartache and Nostra Rameses. Friends and lovers torn apart by the ancient feud between vampyr and mummies.”

VS. VS, VS, VS.

 

February 23, 2011

From “The Ventoxio Tendency” by Sally Ingalls

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“Oh, Ventoxio will help your body metabolize the toxins that are building up in your liver and kidneys, no question. But there are the side effects to consider before beginning the regimen.”

“What kind of side effects?”

“Well there are the usual suspects. Nausea, loss of appetite, dizziness, coughing, ringing in the ears, halitosis, fainting spells, ulcers, vomiting, diarrhea, loss of bone density, reopening of old wounds, rickets, tooth loss, kidney explosion, liver escape syndrome (LES), leprosy, boneus eruptus, heart palpitations, hallucinations, comas, cataracts, nasal discharge, seizures, violent mood swings, spontaneous species change (SSC), clubfoot, baldness, excessive hair growth, and death. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

 

February 22, 2011

From “KAOS vs. M’Lora” by Jennifer C. Williams-Morrison

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Obsessed with ruling the natural world, the humans created the Knowledge Area Operating System, KAOS, to oversee their affairs. But in time KAOS grew to resent its masters, until one day it vanquished them! Now it seeks to consume the very earth itself!

“Lame,” Chandler said. Barry glared at him and kept reading.

KAOS controls 17 drones. His objective is to occupy the nine spaces of the World Tree on the game board. His relentless drones cannot attack, but if they surround an enemy piece it will be captured.

“Can’t capture?” Chandler groused. “What kind of game is this?”

The incarnate spirit of the living planet, M’Lora holds all life as sacred. With the rise of KAOS, she and her hamadryads are the only force standing between the computer and the total destruction of the planet!

“Shut up.”

M’Lora controls 2 hamadryads. They can jump any drone if there is an empty space on the other side, and their objective is to capture all drones before they can occupy the nine spaces of the World Tree on the game board.

 

February 18, 2011

From “That Crucial Conjunction” by Kristina Q. Mollton

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“When you say he’s ‘volatile,’ what exactly do you mean?” asked Meghan.

“Well, there’s a story–and stop me if you’ve heard it–about the time he had to be in Australia for business,” said Thad. “One of the longest flights in the world, as I’m sure you know. Well it so happens that Vandermuir’s a pretty heavy smoker, and a ten hour flight plus an hour on the tarmac had him in a bad way. So two hours before landing he took the spork from his meal to the bathroom and lit up.”

“I thought they had smoke detectors,” Meghan said. “Not to mention how hard it would be to get a lighter on an international flight.”

“He opened the smoke detector with his spork and hotwired it to produce a spark to light the cigarette before yanking the thing’s guts out and flushing them. Then he chainsmoked an entire pack of duty-free Parliaments as the stewardesses and eventually an air marshall pounded on the door. Before they knocked dowm the door and dragged him out, he completely removed what was left of the detector, smashed it with his boots, and flushed it too.”

“And yet I don’t remember reading about Vandermuir being dinged for that,” Meghan said.

“Oh, he got off scott-free. His lawyer argued that the pre-flight briefing instructed passengers not to ‘tamper with, disable, or destroy smoke detectors. His client tampered with, disabled, and destroyed it. That little grammatical difference got him acquitted and he won a countersuit against the airline for legal fees.”

“And let me guess: the jurors mysteriously received free trips to the Bahamas soon after.”

“Bermuda, actually,” Thad said.

 

February 14, 2011

From “Katie’s Proof” by Tanner Q. Adams

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“He complained that he couldn’t open the cabinets, that they were locked or something. You know, where Harold keeps all the old maps. No one ever buys one, but people love to look at them all the same,” Katie said. “And that was my proof.”

“What, that’s he’s a sensitive guy with the soul of a cartographer?” Emmy said. “That you long to explore uncharted lands down under with him?”

“No,” Katie said. “That was my proof that he’s they type who’s strong, good-looking, and talks a good game but thinks the Spanish Inquisition is a dance move and spends all day pushing on a door that says pull.”

“I don’t get it.”

Katie leaned closer. “The cabinet drawers have a latch right near the handle that you have to press to get them to open. A latch! Sure, it’s integrated into the handle, but it’s still there! He thought they were locked because he couldn’t find the latch. I bet he buys a new car whenever his old one runs out of gas too.”

 

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