Humor and comedy in the science fiction and fantasy space.
CROSSED SIGNALS Rob was exhausted. I don't mean from physical labour, although that must have contributed to it, I mean exhaustion from staring at the computer screen for almost six hours. The last time he looked up at the clock it was midnight. Glancing up again it was now five after one in the morning. His wife had gone to bed over three hours ago leaving his night table light set to low until he finally decided to come up to bed. Happily married for over twelve years and with three beautiful children to take care of, Rob was determined to figure out the latest computer problem. It was vital to have his computers always running efficiently. They were the main tools of his job. His backup computer had been slowing down lately and that night it had just about died altogether. Finding the source of the trouble shouldn't have taken this long he figured. His mind just didn't seem to be working. He designed websites and created computer programs for company clients. His job wasn't easy. There was no one else he could go to for help when it was needed and he was aware that his bosses relied solely on him.
The sun laid its’ last rays down upon the city as the sky shifted from bright blue to glowing orange. The group walked, turning corners and crossing streets until they arrived at a five-story building with many windows. The building was not only home to their living quarters, but also the Atelier for the Alliance of Species. Here, they parted ways and walked inside towards their respective earthly homes. Evening shifted to night. The night turned to early morning. Before the long rays of the morning sun peeked through the horizon, the Atelier on the fifth-floor was bustling with activity.
Jacoby sucked in a breath between clenched teeth. He felt surreal; weightless and dizzy, yet stuck to the floor like his feet had grown roots that anchored him to hell. He stared over Belona’s shoulder at the screen in horrible fascination, completely thunderstruck. He didn’t know if he would throw up or giggle like a person gone mad, but either was likely, and probably both at the same time when his heart dropped back into place.
11 Reasons why this (2020) might be the weirdest year...
! . 11 Reasons why this (2020) might be the weirdest year EVER! . 1) Can someone please take that bottle of Whisky out of Gods hands!
The Turd Adventures
The Beginning of Things for Turds Mr. Haneywoedle was born from Good Things one gloomy Thursday in October. By Good Things I mean peas, carrots, potatoes, broccoli, bananas, apples and apricots. Especially apricots - his Maker really loved those. For a turd, Mr. Haneywoedle was perfect – not too muscular and not too fatty. His texture and complexion were smooth and solid, and in length he was just above average.
A Grave Misunderstanding That Leads to the Destruction of Humanity
-You are Dr. Mariana Munroe- You were born on a Wednesday. An average day for an average baby. You didn’t even scream when you came out of your mother’s womb. The doctors were worried you were stillborn, but your mother knew you were alright. You were smart and strong like her, which made her proud from the very first moment you were born.
Maria the Savior
A flash of green light filled the room. And then it was gone. In its place stood a man. "It's you!" Maria wasn't fazed. It was herself indeed, sitting in her bed, drinking some tea and catching up on her celebrity gossip on the computer. "Yes, I'm me. What about it?"
The shivers. The jitters. The shakes. The whatchyamacallits. Whatever it was, Andy Confundido had it. Es una pena que no estoy aqui hoy... it’s a pity that I’m not here today... yo deseo que puedo hablar con otras personas... I wish I could talk to other people... necesito practicar mi español... I need to practice my Spanish... thought Andy as he wandered back and forth through the crowded Mexican beachside dance club, feigning that he was urgently replying to a text message as girls danced and shook their fingers at him beckoningly (he was in fact just typing out his anxieties verbatim in the notes document of his smartphone).
Stalker's Night Live!
He gritted his nicotine stained teeth, staring at the computer screen that illuminated his sweaty face. Pressing his finger to his temple, he shouted into the empty room “Come on, Barnaby Willickers, send me the next telepathic message!”
The Pick Up
This story is my homage to the Netflix series Black Mirror. If you haven’t seen it yet, let me take a minute to warn you: It will change the way you think about everything. It’s a fantastic look at the possibilities and issues in the near future. From the surreal devotion to our social media standing, so much that it drives you crazy, to killer cyber-bees used to target internet bullies. If you enjoy this, you should definitely check out the show.