May 26, 2013

From “Fatal Fall of the Fireshields” by Madelyn Aisha Goeke

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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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May 25, 2013

From “Natron™: Unlock the Beauty Secrets of the Desert Sands” by Q. Wayne Wilson

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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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May 24, 2013

From “The Prosperity Interview” by C. Alton Parker

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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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May 23, 2013

From “The Mechanic’s Oath” by B. L. Uessmann

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The car came screeching into Manuel’s garage pockmarked with bullet holes and leaking fluid.

“Hey!” he cried. “Hey, you can’t drive in here like that! I’m not that kind of mechanic!”

The driver’s side door flew open to reveal a woman cradling a man’s head on her lap. He had clearly been shot several times and was not breathing.

“H-holy shit!” Manual gasped.

“You’ve got to help us…please…” the woman wheezed.

“I’ll…I’ll call 911,” Manuel said, fumbling for his cell.

“No time, no time!” the woman said. “I need you to do it yourself. Fix him yourself.”

“What? I don’t know any first aid…I don’t even know CPR!”

The woman grasped at her companion’s chest…and opened it, revealing a whirring array of planetary gears and pistons not unlike a sophisticated Northstar V8. “Fix him…please…”

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May 22, 2013

From “Sailer’s Automotive Theorem” by Andrew A. Sailer

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One of the toughest things about taking to the open road is that there’s often no way to tell who is a safe and responsible driver and who is a dangerous loon with a 2-ton hunk of steel at their beck and call. As such, I’ve prepared the following guide for public service purposes. Make sure you stay well clear of…

Cars Obviously Bought For Teenagers By Their Parents
You see these a lot in college towns–Mommy and Daddy couldn’t possibly send little Krissy Mae to school without a car, so they bought her a Chevy Silverado with a custom pink pain job. Or maybe Daddy, thinking back to the rustbucket he had to drive before making his bones at the firm, buys his son Brayden his own hot rod red or mustard yellow sports car. The key here isn’t just that teenagers are bad drivers; it’s that teens who are privileged and never had to deal with the consequences of their actions are such bad drivers they make the rest of their species look safe. A young kid in a car they obviously couldn’t afford is the sign to watch for, but custom paint jobs are a good shortcut. All those teen-driven pink cars on the road have a Daddy’s Girl behind the wheel, since they aren’t old enough to have earned it through Mary Kay.

Cars With More Bumper Stickers Than Bumper
People who like to inflict their views on random passersby are not always shy about inflicting other things on them as well. Like vehicular manslaughter. This one cuts across all political spectrums and belief systems. People with hippie leftist communist Maoist stickers about saving the extinct Tasmanian tiger and whatnot are statistically speaking more likely to be high while driving, which results in impairment as well as questionable music choices. And the right-wing stickers, the ones with gun-toting eagles bursting through Confederate flags…well, they’re probably drunk, which is the rough equivalent of being stoned in terms of impaired judgement. And they’re heavily armed, which means perceived roadside slights might be met with deadly force, where the lefties can only hurl their bong at you.

Cars With Dealer Stickers
Either the person is test driving or they just bought the dang thing. Even if they didn’t total their last ride, they still have no idea how much brake pressure there is between “hard stop” and “gentle slowing.”

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May 21, 2013

From “Cerebral Locks” by Belle O. Lofton

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When the researchers in the Cognitive Mapping Program first began sifting through memories that their volunteers couldn’t consciously recall, they found a really startling image. A creature leering over the volunteer with what could only in the loosest sense be considered a face, with features so alien and hideous that the lab techs wound up needing months of therapy to deal with their initial surprise. It was thought that the monstrosity was a simple image from a nightmare.

That was before similar images appeared in other volunteers…volunteers who had never seen the original.

In fact, out of a pool of 1000, one in every five participants had a similar image locked deep within their minds.

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May 20, 2013

From “Bathroom Blackmail” by Raina S. Mitchel

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Garrett King fell into blackmail quite accidentally.

You see, the men’s room at the accountancy firm where he slaved away as an underpaid auditor abutted a conference room. If the firm had been built to code, that would just have meant less running after a bladder-bursting meeting. But it was a product of the 70’s, when cheap and brutalist was the way to go.

As a result, King (and anyone else) could hear the discussions going on. Nobody ever fixed the problem because so few people used that bathroom–the executives all had private washrooms, and the rest of the menial workers in King’s unit used the ladies’ room (which let in sound from the copy room–the the great dismay of the participants in the Great Xerox Tryst of 2007).

So King was the only one who heard the brass wetting their beak on a kickback laundering scheme they were discussing with city officials. He cornered one his firm’s VPs int he supply closet later that week and issued an ultimatum: a promotion or a tape recording of the meeting would wind up on the SEC’s front desk. He was out of his cube farm by the end of the week.

But that wasn’t the end, no, not for Gary King. Not only had he found out that he was quite good at blackmail, he’d also learned that he quite enjoyed it.

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May 19, 2013

From “The First Annual X Championships, 1928” by Felix K. Esperanza II

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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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May 18, 2013

From “The Vortex Call” by Chara Gardiner

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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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May 17, 2013

From “The Auto Can Opener” by Anonymous

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It was inevitable, really.

The parking spaces on Fraternity Row were perpendicular to the road and had been zoned in the late 1970s for tiny late 1970s cars. Instead they were regularly occupied by enormous extended-cab extended bed pickup trucks, the kind that could carry half a farm in back and pull the other half in a trailer. The fact that the kids driving them were all at least three generations removed from anything resembling farm work was immaterial–their parents had bought the trucks to keep their kids safe, even at the expense of everyone else.

Since the trucks were never used to carry anything besides furniture at move-in and move-out, the kids tended to leave the trailer hitches in, which added another six to twelve inches to their already bloated length. Throw in opposing traffic that was always late for class and backed up and, well, it was inevitable.

So when I stood by the side of the road looking at the side of my car, which had been ripped open can opener style by a trailer hitch hanging off of a massive truck whose rear end was at least two feet outside the lines…well, it wasn’t an accident.

It was fate.

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