Galactispeak is a dialect of Ancient Varadne.
There is no Modern Varadne. All life on Varadne was exterminated in a planetary civil war many centuries ago.
The species may be gone, but archaeologists and xenoanthropologists pieced together the culture as best they could.
Their language was revealed to be amazingly flexible, descriptive, and efficient.
It is also incredibly easy to learn and master in a short amount of time.
So easy, Varadne spread like a virus across the galaxy, replacing almost all other languages.
We call it Galactispeak.
And we shout it as we fight each other to the death.
Category: My stories
Tongues
The salesman put a briefcase on the table in front of Jenny and lifted the lid
Inside were dozens of tongues. Wet. Crawling. Like a pile of earthworms.
“You wanted French?” he said, digging around the pile. He pulled out a tongue and looked it over. “Let’s try this one. Open wide.”
Jenny opened her mouth, and the salesman yanked out her tongue. Then he stuck in the tongue from the pile.
“Say something,” he said.
Jenny spoke, but she couldn’t understand a word.
The salesman pulled out another case. “You’ll need these, too.”
Inside was a pile of ears.
Huevos
I thought about making up my own religion, but decided that it was easier to just corrupt an existing one.
So, I found a small town in Ecuador and, through trickery and technological sorcery, convinced the people that the Easter Bunny was real, and he demanded painted eggs as sacrifices.
Any home without decorated eggs gets a visit from the bunny, and he steals the testicles of all the men.
After a few years, I went back to the town.
All the men had painted their balls bright colors.
Next time, I hire a professional translator instead of using Google.
Zymurgist
Due to budget cutbacks, the school district laid off all the guidance counselors. They were replaced with hats that contained strips of paper with the names of careers written on them.
Students line up, pick a career name out of a hat, and then pick classes based on the skill requirements of that job.
They used to flip through a book and stick their finger on a page to pick out a career.
But the book was in alphabetical order, and word spread fast that the last career in the book was Zymurgist.
Speaking of which, care for another beer?
Thank You Notes
When I was young, I got the crappiest gifts from my relatives.
Socks. Ugly sweaters. Inedible sugar-free candy.
You know, shit like that.
So, I never wrote thank you notes to them, because I wasn’t going to thank them for crappy gifts.
One year, my mother arranged for everyone to send me packages of thank you notes as gifts.
They were made from heavy stock paper.
Perfect for making paper airplanes.
They kept their shape, and flew longer than simple notebook or copy paper.
I’d have thanked them for the notes, but I used them all up making the airplanes.
The Long Distance Kiss Goodbye
The first time you needed help, I helped you.
And you thanked me.
But when I needed help, where were you?
“I’m busy,” you said.
Busy.
I got through it on my own, but it hurt. A lot.
You live, you learn.
And you remember these things.
Now you’re back, all bloody and begging for help again.
No.
Don’t spit in my face and tell me it’s a long-distance kiss, baby.
I know the difference.
And you know the difference.
It takes a lot of strength to put the past behind us.
I slowly close the door, and whisper “Goodbye.”
Shampoopoo
Every week, shampoo manufacturers come up with a new formula that incorporates some obscure and absurd natural ingredient like monkeypuzzle tree oil or himalayan yak scrotum shavings.
Sure, the supermodels in the commercials are practically orgasmic over their shiny and bouncy full hair, but all I ever want is to shed less dandruff and not smell like a flower shop.
Nope. It’s impossible to get shampoo without this wacky Amazonian rainforest crap in it anymore. I’m stuck with hyacinth pollen extract reviving my roots and Mongolian rose elbows on my split ends.
No wonder why Bruce Willis shaves his head.
Fighting
I heard a scream through the wall.
My apartment neighbors are fighting again.
I put on my headphones.
As loud as the music is, I still hear the screams.
Should I go over there to see what they’re doing?
Nah.
Instead, I call the pizzeria down the street and order a pizza for them.
Yeah, this won’t help the situation at all.
Good.
The sooner they kill each other, the quicker I can get my friend to move in next door.
It’s a thousand bucks for a referral.
Maybe I shouldn’t do this…
I call again.
Ten pizzas.
That’ll work!
Chili
Jenny thought that God would save her from Jimmy, but the harder she prayed for a miracle, the worse Jimmy beat her.
So, one day, she put rat poison in the chili she cooked for dinner.
Jimmy came home from work, and without saying hello or anything, began to eat.
Jenny watched him, waiting for Jimmy to clutch his throat and die.
“Quit starin at me,” said Jimmy, and he took a knife and stabbed her with it.
Up in Heaven, Jenny asked God what the fuck happened.
“I did send a miracle,” said God. “I neutralized the rat poison.”
Bill Murray
Groundhog’s Day is a movie where Bill Murray plays a jackass weatherman who gets stuck covering the Punxsutawney Phil shadow ceremony.
He goes through the day over and over until he gets his shit straight and he wins the heart of his producer.
There was talk of a sequel: Valentine’s Day, where he and the producer-chick hook up for the first time, but something goes horribly wrong, so he has to live that day over and over again until he gets it right.
To me, that sounds like a plot for a perfectly good porno movie.