You know that Dave’s Insanity Sauce, the really hot hot sauce?
For some reason, people buy stuff that hurts them. It’s a macho thing, I guess.
Well, my client Dr. Odd is suing them for false advertising.
He says that despite the fact that the sauce causes discomfort to the point of mental duress, it doesn’t actually drive the person consuming it to a state of mental illness.
On the other hand, he’s developed formulas that will cause any range of madnesses, temporary and permanent.
True insanity sauces.
And those Dave’s people are ruining his business with their snake oil.
Tag: science fiction
Ripe
It used to be that apples were grown locally on small farms, and when the fall came, you’d go out and pick them into a basket, ripe right off the tree, the farmer weighing the deliciousness at the gate, a handshake, a smile. He knew your name, you knew his, hey, Farmer Jackson, how’s the wife? Kids doing alright?
Or you had your own tree, you watched it grow from blossoms to apples to falling leaves and winter’s frost and back again.
Now, in the store, apples shipped from around the world, the whole year long.
I taste one.
Gross.
Weightless
A poet once described being in love as feeling weightless all the time.
So, when I got a chance to ask a crewmember of the International Space Station if they felt like they were in love, I thought they’d say “Yes, all the time!”
Instead, I got a visit from a security team, checking me for adult diapers and asking to see the trunk of my car.
“You don’t own duct tape or other kidnapping implements, do you?” they asked.
I shook my head, then looked up. “Well, I own duct tape,” I said. “But not for that.”
They left.
Raise Em Right
It’s not easy growing good teachers.
Good soil.
Good weather.
Good gardeners.
Even with seeds genetically modified to handle various academic climates, few districts take the time or give the effort to try to raise the best crop.
Some say organic pesticide-free is the way to go. Hydroponics, too. Force-feeding nutrients in glass pots reduces root-shock.
Our district tries to stay as natural as we can, using leaf-cuttings from good teachers while limiting physical manipulation to grafting of buds and branches for diversity.
The bad teachers, we chop up for the kids’ lunches.
No wonder why they’re so damn stupid.
Magi
Doctor Odd put down “Gift Of The Magi” and smiled.
O Henry’s tale reminded him of when he sold his invincible army of robots to buy his true love a crown of diamonds, while his true love gave him an Orvis gift certificate.
Orvis?
What the hell?
He didn’t own anything from there.
They fought and broke up.
She kept the crown, and it really pissed him off.
So, he activated the homing beacon, recalled his robots from the pawn shop, and conquered earth.
He put the crown in his trophy case, mounted on his former true love’s severed head.
Ignorance Is Wedded Bliss
Igor found her body in a chair, poison in one hand and a note in the other.
“Victor
I remember now.
I know what kind of monster you are.
Please, no more experiments. Burn my corpse.”
Instead, Victor found her diary, and burned the note with it.
Flushing the poison was difficult, but the rejuvenation formula not only replaced the contaminated blood, but neutralized all toxins.
They laid her out on the table and hooked up the wires.
Once again, the electricity would cause temporary amnesia.
Two months? Three?
“Isn’t love grand?” said Igor.
Victor nodded, and threw the switch.
The Velveteen Robot
Tony is a robot, an experiment in artificial intelligence and learning.
Joe goes down to the lab and reads books to the robot.
The robot listens quietly.
Once, after reading The Velveteen Rabbit, the robot asks if it could ever be alive.
Joe doesn’t know how to answer.
“I am the Velveteen Robot,” says Tony.
Joe shrugs, and brings in velvet for the robot to wrap in.
Tony bends its pair of antenna, wraps them like rabbit ears, sews on cotton for a tail.
Then it tries to hop, jars a power cable loose, and falls over with a thud.
Jar
We lay down, I hold her close, and she’s shaking.
She tells me she has bad dreams.
So, I whisper “Tell me about them” into her ear.
She shakes her head. “No.”
I hold her tighter, then… i breathe in deep.
I feel her relax as I suck the bad memories out through her ear.
They taste horrible, vomit and burning slime.
I reach for the jar, and spit the dreams out.
I seal the lid tightly.
Done.
She smiles, her eyes distant… vacant…
Safe.
I lay back down, hold her close.
Maybe this time, she’ll not drink them again.
Backwards and in Heels
Ginger Rogers did everything Fred Astaire did, but backwards and in heels.
Absolutely everything. Just like that Benjamin Button fellow, she aged backwards.
At first, she needed makeup and pain pills to match her dance partner’s youth and speed, but over time, her body loosened up, and her wrinkles faded.
Oh, how radiant they were, Ginger’s bright face, shining like a starlet’s, gazing into Fred’s eyes.
Younger… younger… then, the audiences got suspicious, so the makeup boys came back in to turn forward the clock.
They looked back and laughed, Fred wheezing heavily, and Ginger as giddy as a schoolgirl.
Martian canals
Astronomers in the 19th Century said there were canals on Mars.
Whether this was because of the poor optics available or the construction of several major canal projects here on Earth, I’m not sure. But over time, better telescopes demonstrated that there were definitely no canals on Mars.
Still, I like to imagine ancient Martians, punting gondolas from domed city to domed city, chanting Martian chants as young Martian lovers watched the clouds, hand in hand, talon in talon, tails entwined.
Ah, Science! You foul destroyer of Romance!
I push the astronomer’s head back into the toilet and flush again.