Satire
Dick Dodgers SFPI - Chap 3. Content Warning.
What in the DICKens are EWE up to now, Dodgers? **************************************************************** Please note that the below campy sci-fi adventure romp is the 3rd chapter in the ongoing saga of Dick Dodgers, Space Faring Paranormal Investigator. Be warned; some prefer to refer to him as that Silly Fracking Penile Investigator. Regardless, the reader response here has been quite good. If you are just stumbling in from a flit around the Quantum Graves Arm of our neck of space, you should first check out the 1st 2 chapters.
By Andrew C McDonald3 years ago in Fiction
priDEMONth
I was out running errands when the Black Sack descended over my head. Panic filled my lungs instead of air. Strong hands--two pairs? Three?--zip tied my wrists together behind my back. They frisked me and removed both of my self defense arms. I bellowed for help. How could this happen, on a public street, in full daylight? My captors pulled me a few paces. I struggled and kicked. I was outnumbered, but at least once, my foot landed full-force on someone's flesh and they wailed in pain. I may not have had ALL the power there, but at least I had some. A yank, a shove, and I was suddenly sidewise, surrounded by squirming people and muffled sobs. I heard the sound of a van's back door closing. I wriggled my way towards the door. Don't those have a handle? Something a guy can open from the inside? The engine came to life. I and everyone else in this van lurched as the movement started. I could barely hear their words, but one woman was clearly praying to Jesus. I silently prayed with her as I twisted around, looking for that blessed handle. I had to kneel like a man proposing, then twist to the right, for my zip-tied hands to reach the handle. I grasped it, Sweet Baby Jesus's name on my grateful lips. I pulled. It barely moved, maybe an eighth of an inch. The clink of metal told me it had somehow been secured by a chain. I'm not ashamed to say that at this point, tears did come to my eyes. If the Good Lord can weep, then a humble sinner like myself can, too, from time to time. The ride was surprisingly short. I figured we could only be two towns away from where I'd been captured. I could hear some metallic scraping sounds, then the van's back door opened. When they dragged me and my fellow captives out of the van, I confess, I used some rather terrible language. Rage swept through me. I called my captors horrible names, the kindest of which was "coward." I swore to them they wouldn't be so brave if they'd had the common decency to come at me from the front, announcing their intentions clearly, because then I could have shot them, the rotten gun-thieves. I reminded them that we're in America, and our state has the death penalty, so they better carefully think through what they were going to do to us. They ignored every word I had to say. They used cattle prods on me and my fellow captives, and those things hurt like a sunofagun. Maybe the sack on my head used to have chopped onions in it, too, because my eyes watered up again. They marched us one hundred and seven paces (I counted), then lined us up and made us kneel. "I swear on the Holy Bible," I said. "If you're making me kneel in front of an American flag--" The Black Sack slipped off my head. Bright light attacked my eyes. I had to blink for a few long, vulnerable moments before my eyes adjusted. In that time, the zip tie on my wrists was cut. I hadn't even realized how uncomfortable I'd been until regular blood flow resumed to my fingers. I flexed them. I massaged the divots left in my wrists from the binding. Finally, I took in my surroundings. Dread crept up the cold tile floor, through my jeans and into my knees. I sank down, sitting on my feet, staring at the aggressive rainbows all around me. One clothing rack had black tee shirts with "Trans rights are human rights" in pink, white, and blue. Another rack had some frilly, lacy dresses printed with the phrase, "No binary required." Shorts, tank tops, dresses, even a rack labeled "unisex bathing suits" surrounded my fellow captives and me. Over it all, there was a sign: "PRIDEMONTH." "No," a woman next to me said quietly. Her blonde pony tail quivered as she shook with fear. "This can't be happening. Please, no!" Finally, I saw our captors. They wore the red shirts and khaki pants of Target associates, and each one carried a cattle prod. The most disturbing thing about them was their androgynous appearances. The tallest one had pretty hair and makeup, but was definitely over six feet tall. If that was a man, I could punch him; if she were a woman, I couldn't do such an ungentlemanly thing. How dare this person make it so hard to tell? They all did. They had crazy hair colors, some short, some long, many with shaved parts on their heads too. One of the short ones had sexy curves but a goatee. Another had just about the most beautiful face I'd ever seen, and I was sure that had to be a woman, but she had the same haircut as my teenaged nephew. Seth, by God, if ever you are tempted to dye your perfect blond hair green, don't. I've seen what that looks like and the result is unsettling. My stomach clenched with revulsion as the pretty woman(?) with the short green hair said, "Shop." "What?" another man beside me on the floor asked. "It's Pride Month," the lovely captor said. "Every June, Target kidnaps cisgendered heterosexual people and forces them to buy rainbow merchandise they don't want. The only way to be safe from this demonic ritual is to change your gender or sexual orientation." I actually laughed. "This can't be real. Companies don't literally force consumers to buy their junk. And even if this were real, nothing you could possibly do would make me any less of a man, or any less straight." "Good point," the tall maybe-a-girl told me. Her voice was a little husky, but in a sexy way, like a jazz singer. "The real LGBTQ+ Community is typically very skeptical of 'rainbow capitalism.' Large corporations pander to us every June, but lobby for the same socioeconomic structures that disadvantage us and other minorities twelve months of the year." "Besides," added the bearded lady, or maybe the curvy man, what do you even call a person like that? They look appealing and revolting at the same time. I have no idea what to make of them. But they said, "Queer folk have never attempted to change anyone else's gender or orientation. We know for a fact that such attempts never work, and can cause lasting damage to the people tortured that way. I mean, look at us!" They swept their arms at themself. "I have lived thirty-two years in a culture that very actively tries to tell me I'm supposed to be something I'm not. It doesn't work. It just makes me resent Grandma for trying to beat the gay out of me with a yardstick." "But you're evil!" I said. "You kidnapped innocent people and you're forcing them to shop at Target!" "You said yourself that this doesn't actually happen," the green-haired succubus said. "There are countries where government agencies literally do make non-straight and non-cis folk disappear with Black Sacks over our heads. But we have never been the oppressors, and we're vehemently advocating against fascism." "You kidnapped us," I snapped. "You told us we had to shop here or change our genders. You are monsters." The pretty tall one rolled her eyes. "You idiot. This isn't real. It's satire, based on a straw person argument used to villainize a small minority of the human population--one that is frequently, in fact, victimized." I blinked. My knees were starting to feel sore. I slowly stood up. So did my fellow captives. The captive woman beside me said, "So, the Disney executives who broke into my house and destroyed my copies of the original The Little Mermaid...?" "It never happened," the bearded person said in a reassuring tone. "They made a new film with a Black mermaid, but they didn't do anything to destroy or disrupt the original animated classic with the white one." "But my beer," a captive man on my right whined. "A man in a dress forced me to chug Bud Light until I vomited!" Another captive man spoke out: "A drag queen tried to read Curious George to little kids at my sister's in-laws' library! Helpless little kids!" Righteous outrage swelled up in my heart. I demanded to know, "How come I can't tell which of you people has a penis? I have a right to know about your genitals!" Then my alarm sounded. I woke up.
By Deanna Grey3 years ago in Fiction
Story Of A Farmer. Content Warning.
Once upon a time in the fertile countryside of Greenmeadow, there lived a humble farmer named Thomas. Thomas was a hardworking and kind-hearted man who tended to his fields with love and dedication. From the early hours of dawn until the sun began to set, he toiled under the open sky, sowing seeds, tending crops, and caring for his animals.
By Article Creator3 years ago in Fiction
The Fantasy Novel of F. Blaine
Flora Blaine, 16, loved to explore the forest near her village. In fact she had always dreamed about being an explorer. The villagers were fearful of the Maine forest and avoided going deep into the woods, but Flora found it enchanting. She would pack snacks and her journal and spend hours wandering under the dense canopy of trees, listening to the sounds of birds chirping and small animals rustling in the bushes.
By Feathermoon 3 years ago in Fiction
How has Porsche's experience in rally racing influenced its road cars?. Content Warning.
Porsche's experience in rally racing has had a significant influence on the design and technology of its road cars. Rally racing is a form of motorsport that takes place on closed public roads and off-road terrain, and it requires cars to be fast, reliable, and able to handle a wide range of different driving conditions.
By Car Community3 years ago in Fiction
A STORY WITHOUT HAPPY ENDING
Amara was a little girl who lived in the middle of a beautiful and dense jungle. Her dazzling eyes, which reflected the forest's lush colors, and the cascades of black, silky hair that framed her delicate face gave her an ethereal beauty. Amara had a life woven into the rhythms of the jungle since she had grown up surrounded by nature.
By Zenia Samson3 years ago in Fiction
The Rise of Virtual Reality. Content Warning.
Introduction: In a world increasingly driven by technology, a new frontier is captivating the imaginations of millions—virtual reality (VR). This immersive technology has surged in popularity, offering users the opportunity to step into alternate realities and experience the extraordinary from the comfort of their own homes. Join us on a journey as we explore the rise of virtual reality, its impact on popular culture, and the exciting possibilities it holds for the future.
By JOSEPHINE STEPHENS3 years ago in Fiction
Asur Season 2 Review: A Compelling Continuation, Yet Testing Its Limits
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By M. A. Alam3 years ago in Fiction
Puns Intended. Content Warning.
ESTABLISHING A BEACHHEAD Any of you guys live near the ocean? Maybe a river or a lake? If so, I’m sure you’ve probably at some point taken a date from dinner and a movie to dancing … to the shore. A long walk on the beach is so romantic. Take off your shoes and walk along the edge of the water where the surf can lap softly around your toes. Put your arm around your girl and walk quietly along listening to the whisper of the water and the calls of the birds. If you’ve planned the timing right there’s a gorgeous full moon bouncing luminescent rays off the gently rolling surf. At some point you stop and put your arms around her waist, stare into her eyes, maybe use a soft touch to gently move an errant lock of hair back from her forehead… At this point you may have used a sappy line such as “All the wondrous beauty of Mother Nature can’t compare with the luminous beauty I see when I gaze into your eyes.” Come on guys, admit it, you’ve tried this approach. Or, if you’re not given to the sappy romantic stuff maybe you say something closer to “DAMN BABE! YOU ARE SMOKIN’ HOT!” Whatever works for you man. DON’T LET HIM KID YOU LADIES! He has the same goal at this point as that of the ALLIED Troops during the Invasion of Normandy on D-Day during WWII… HE’S CONDUCTING AN AMPHIBIOUS ASSAULT WITH THE AIM OF ESTABLISHING A BEACHHEAD. Let’s face it guys. Honestly, isn’t BEACHHEAD what every guy hopes happens at the end of that romantic stroll along the shore? If you brought a blanket along you may even get some serious WOODWORK done.
By Andrew C McDonald3 years ago in Fiction
Humans And Ants. Content Warning.
Once upon a time, in a bustling and oppressive ant colony, thousands of ants toiled relentlessly under the scorching sun. Among them, there was an ant named Alex who had always questioned the nature of their labor and the purpose of their existence. Despite their tireless efforts, Alex couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something more to life than the meaningless tasks they carried out.
By Stephen Betancourt3 years ago in Fiction
"The Fisherman"
Once upon a time, in a small coastal village, there lived a humble fisherman named Samuel. Samuel was known throughout the village for his exceptional fishing skills and his kind heart. Every day, before the sun rose, he would venture out into the vast ocean in his small wooden boat, hoping for a bountiful catch to provide for his family and the villagers.
By Ebad Paras Afzal3 years ago in Fiction
