The Future Says...

Random Scenes From a Horror Movie I Thought Of

The crew is inside the haunted shack-mansion. Phillipe is dead on the ground. Tyler walks in.

Tyler: "Hey guys, I-" (Sees body) "Whoa! Aiech! Yeesh! Muahhh! Eewww! Yeeoo-"
James: "You know, those noises aren't going to exonerate you."
Tyler: "I guess not, but sheee..."
James: "Well, now we need to figure out which one of us killed Phillipe."
T.B.: "Could it have been the neighbor? The one that threatened to murder us all if we didn't leave before moonrise?"
James: "Now, now. Let's not jump to any conclusions."
Shawn: "Dammit, James, you never let us jump to conclusions!"
James: "I think we should establish our own alibis first. For example, at the time of the murder, I was in town shopping for food. Anyone in the store can vouch for me."
Kyla: "I was doing my video journal. The time stamp on the video should prove me innocent."
Lester: "Erica and I were debating about having premarital sexual relations. But after consulting with the Bible, we determined that going through with it would be morally wrong."
Erica: "So we can vouch for each other."
Tyler: "Well, I was having that same discussion with the local farmer's daughter. We came to a different conclusion."
Steve: "I'm twelve years old! If I could kill him, he deserved to die."
Shawn: "I was in the can. You can go in there if you don't believe me."
T.B.: "I was on the porch swing having a conversation."
James: "With who?"
T.B.: "The porch swing."
Everyone: "..."
T.B.: "Yeah, the porch swing was trying to convince me that I need to kill everyone in town - including you guys - before you all try to kill me."
Everyone: "..."
James: "And did you decide to acquiesce?"
T.B.: "Oh, Lord no. I was actually trying to convince the porch swing about the value of human life. In fact, I was just up in the library upstairs doing some research in one of those old grimoires about what the ancient philosophers believed was the worth of humanity. Here's a brief outline."
T.B. hands James several sheets of paper.
James: "Well, it's quality research, but still..."
T.B.: "...Oh, wait, you think I did it? I...I suppose that did all sound pretty suspicious."
Tyler: "You know, I think T.B. may have been right saying that it could have been a neighbor."
James: "Now, hold on there! I know these people may not be the smartest people in the world, or the most welcoming, but this town is their home! How would you like it if I came in to your home and starting calling you a murderer?"
Tyler: "If I murdered people, I wouldn't be terribly offended."
Lester: "But I've seen these people go to church. That means they worship God! And any God-worshiping folk wouldn't murder. It's against the 10 Commandments!"
Shawn: "Unless they're lying about being religious."
Erica: "But lying is also against the 10 Commandments!"
T.B.: "We could always ask them."
James: "No, no, I don't want to offend these simple folk. I say right now, we give Phillipe a decent burial. Tyler, T.B., Shawn: get on it."
Fade to scene of Tyler, T.B., and Shawn digging. The grave is barely a couple inches deep.
T.B.: "This digging job isn't as fun as I was hoping."
Tyler: "Yeah, but we need to bury Phillipe's body."
Shawn: "Do we really?"
Tyler: "River?"
Shawn: "River."
Tyler and Shawn throw Phillipe's body into the river.


***

The crew is eating dinner at the witch's house. What they don't know is that the witch (in the guise of a beautiful young woman) killed Tyler and is feeding his remains to them.

James: "Thanks for inviting us to dinner, Ms. Starlight.
Witch: "Oh, it's my pleasure."
James: "I've noticed Tyler has taken quite a liking to you. It's a shame he couldn't be around for this dinner."
Witch: (Looking deviously into her large pot.) "Oh, I'm sure he's around here somewhere..."
James: "...I'm...I'm not sure I follow."
Witch: "Oh, nevermind. Let me serve you your food."
The witch begins pouring soup into everyone's bowls.
Kyla: "I have to ask, how do you keep your boobs so perky."
Lester: "Kyla! That's not approriate dinnertime talk."
Witch: "Oh, it's alright. I guess you could say it takes a little...magic."
The witch pours T.B.'s bowl of soup. One of Tyler's sneakers sticks out of it prominently.
T.B.: "..."
Witch: "Well, dig in, everyone! Eat, and grow plump and tender and...succulent!"
Shawn: "Hell yeah!"
Everyone eats their soup, except for T.B., who contemplates the sneaker for several moments. He then turns to the witch.
T.B.: "Um, there's a shoe in my soup. I'm not sure if that's part of the recipe, but..."
Witch: "Oh, I'm sorry, my dear. How did that get in there. Let me get it for you."
The witch comes over and pulls the sneaker from T.B.'s soup. A big toe falls out into the soup, splashing some of it onto T.B.'s shirt before floating in the concoction.
T.B.: ".......I think I'll just have a roll." (He picks up a roll and takes a bite from it.) "Euagh."
T.B. lets the food fall from his mouth. An eyeball comes out and rolls around the table.
Witch: "Oh, how did that get in there."
James: "You have an unusually high amount of body parts in your cooking, Ms. Starlight. Is this a Welsh recipe?"
Witch: "You know, sometimes when you cook a feisty animal, a few unexpected things will end up inside. Think of them as hidden surprises."
Erica: "Like Cracker Jack prizes?"
Witch: "Uh, yeah."
T.B.: "May I have some water?"
Witch: "There's water right in front of you."
T.B.: "Yeah, but it looks like there's fingernail clippings in-" (The witch looks at T.B. harshly. A small pendant comes our from her blouse.) "Hey, isn't that Tyler's sacred pendant?"
Witch: "Um...yes. He gave it to me the night we fell in love. He said it's a symbol of our love."
James: "Actually, it's a symbol of mankind's wickedness. Tyler's grandmother was a Polish Jew, one of the lucky ones to survive through the entirety of the Auschwitz concentration camp, and through it all, she saw her family and friends all killed in various horrible fashions. That pendant originally belong to one of her best friends. She was able to sneak it in when they were first imprisoned. However, one day the friend tried to ask guard for medical attention. A dog had bit her. The guard beat her to death on the spot. Tyler's grandmother went to her aid, but she was too late. Her best friend was dead, her pendant hanging limply from her neck. Tyler's grandmother took a small lock of her friend's hair and put it inside the locket attached to the pendant, where it still remains."
Shawn: "Unless it's in the food."
James: "She did this because she knew that whenever she felt the lock of hair, she would remember how she felt when she was holding the lifeless head of her best friend. So she would never forget the kinds of horrible things one person could do to another. Now, about 10 years ago, Tyler's grandmother was diagnosed with cancer. Tyler was the last person she spoke to before her death. She wanted him to take the pendant to remember not only her, but all the millions who had died before her, not surrounded by family in a warm hospice bed, but surrounded by laughing, spitting guards, beating and kicking them until they stopped breathing. And Tyler took that to heart. He has never removed that pendant, and said he would never do so until he had to pass it on to his own grandchildren, because to do so would be to forsake the memory of his people, his faith, and his grandmother."
Witch: "..."
Erica: "But he gave it to you as a present? How romantic!"
T.B.: "Ow, this salad bit me."
Witch: "Alright, this dinner is over!"

Special Presentation: "The Day," A Novel From 12 Years Ago (Part 4)

And now, the exciting non-conclusion to my first attempt at a novel! And it's a doozy of a cliffhanger!

(P.S. In case you haven't seen it already, today is my 200th Elderly Apple strip. Check it, yo!)

***

Washington D.C., home of the White House, the Pentagon, the Washington Monument, and other American landmarks. It is also a place where people would go to get money for specific reasons. Unfortunately, the person looking for money this time doesn't deserve a penny of it.

It all started with the ringing of the White House doorbell. A skinny, dark-haired woman with glasses opened the door. She looked at the man in amazement. She was looking at Mocknock. Or was she? This man was at least six feet tall, complete with fancy clothes, a washed face, a neat haircut, and even pennies in his dress shoes!

As he talked, she could see his pearl white teeth, "Hello, my name is Mocksona Nockooly. I would like to see the President. It is very important."

"I'm sorry," she said, “The President is extremely busy. I have to . . . how did you get past the guards?”

He had a smirk on his face “What guards?"

The lady became confused, but finally she said “Anyway, YOU couldn’t see him even if he had free time. You need to have an appointment scheduled-And if I look on the list here, "she looked on a clipboard with about ten pages full of names. She looked up again. “I don't see your name anywhere on this list, Mr. Nockooly. Now please get off this property before I call the National Security."

Mr. Nockooly’s face was getting red, “Well 1'11 make it get on the list you slowpoke, cheapskate, overweight, butt-ugly ignoramus."

The woman gasped, “That is the rudest thing I have heard from a man of your stature. I have never been so insulted in all my days. I think that someone should teach your big butt some manners."

Right then Mr. Nockooly lifted his hand and then, like a fancy ray gun, an energy beam shot out of his hand, hitting and evaporating the woman instantly. He never even got a chance to take her name.

He walked inside the White House, laughing. He said, “I disapprove of your theory."

Meanwhile, at the base in Los Angeles, the three were drinking coffee and having a conversation with the others. "So," the chief of the Los Angeles base said, "What brings you Washingtonians here to L.A. Did you come to see the sights or somethin' like that?"

"Actually we didn't mean to come here. It just sort of...happened." John said.

Zach finished what John was going to say, "To tell the truth, some freako named Mocknock or somethin' changed our course to go here. Now this guy, whoever he is said. . .wait one measly second. Now I know where I heard that name before. That freak of nature murdered my brother."

John and Cindy now remembered, too. Cindy remembered how sad she was when she heard her brother was dead. And John remembered how much he wanted revenge against the killer of his father. They now remembered, and they weren't happy.

Special Presentation: "The Day," A Novel From 12 Years Ago (Part 3)

"This tran ... ission ... ot ver ... lear. I ca ... ly hear ... ou. Flu ... s no ... aething. If yo ... an hea ... e respo...ikly." The message from the other trailer on the two way radio came in with lots of static. Even the rest could barely be heard over the hum of the motor.

"What is wrong with this freakin' thing! I went through hell to get it to work and I still can't understand what they're saying!" John was flaming mad. He was pounding on the transmitter so hard that the table which the radio was on broke one of it's legs. It fell and the microphone was disconnected from the transmitter.

Zach was tilting his chair in the back corner. He was really calm. He talked to John smoothly. “Ugh, I keep telling you. The radiation from the explosion fried some of the circuits. And you probably just destroyed everything else in that puny, little box. You don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure that out. Sure, you may have to be one to understand it, but. . .Well, anyway, try to remember that."

"Grrrrrrrr. You bett-" Before he could finish his sentence John was flung into the air and hit the front wall of the trailer. Zach fell to the floor face first. Cindy's chair fell on her. The trailer stopped. John was pounding on the window that separated the drivers cockpit to the back of the trailer.” Hey, what the heck's going on here!”

A skinny teenager opened the window and stuck his head out. He had red hair and a face full of freckles, "Wow, I never knew how cool it was back here. Oh, um, we, urn, uhhh, had to stop because, um, mum, mum, oh, yeah, because we don't think that this is the way we came.”

John grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him through the window. He was so mad he was talking without moving his teeth. “What do you mean you don't know?! When I get hold of you I'm going to slap that smart little expression off your face."

Zach spoke up, "Hey John, don' t get too mad. That causes high blood pressure and high blood pressure will kill you. That's why hippies lived to be so old, cause they just wanted peace. No heart attacks for them, baby-"

"SHUT UP!!!" Right after he said that, John gasped and fell to the floor.

"JOHN!" Cindy yelled in horror

"Oh, dear," said the driver while rubbing his head from falling to the floor. “I wonder what happened to him."

When he opened his eyes, John found himself on a bed with a respirator hooked up to him. There was a man in a white robe getting a syringe ready to give someone a shot. He knew that he was in the backup trailer because that was the only trailer with a medical area. The white robed man must be a doctor. He saw Cindy next to the doctor.

"Look who' s awake. You're lucky you only had a slight heart attack. Your blood pressure was a smidge too high. Everything will be fine if you just stay calm,” The doctor talked softly, “Now we'll give you a special treatment right out of our science lab from back at the base. It will keep you from having a heart attack again. But it will take me about five minutes to get the serum ready." He started making some mixtures.

John pulled the respirator from his mouth. He pointed to the doctor, "You're the mutant on the team who lives in the magic fairy land, aren't you?"

“Don' t worry,” the doctor whispered to Cindy, "He' s just has some delirium in his head."

He faintly heard the middle-aged drivers voice. “We're out of cave finally.”

"Cave?" John asked.
“Yes,” Cindy replied, "When the driver said we didn't think we were going the way we came is because we got to the mouth of a cave we didn't see before but we took it anyway after you had that heart attack. And it took us about four hours to get out of it.''

"Hey, what does that sign say?" he heard one of the backup men ask.

He heard the drivers voice again, "Urn, Welcome to. . . San Francisco!"

"-GGGGHHHH!!!!!" John yelled so loud you could hear him miles away then he gasped and had another heart attack.

The doctor looked surprised, "And I never gave him the shot yet."

Again, John awoke. Yet this time he was on the floor of the trailer. But it looked different . It was darker, damper, and the only source of light was a dim bulb on the top of the trailer. It was smaller than he saw it before. He turned his head and saw a busted up radio transmitter next to a broken table. Then he saw two pairs of legs walk by. He knew where he was now. He started to stand up.

"Why am I down here?" He asked, "Why am I in this trailer, anyway?”
“Because,” Cindy answered, “the doctor already gave you the treatment while you were asleep. So because you didn't have a chance of another heart attack, we wouldn’t need you in the medical section of the other trailer, we put you here."

"Two heart attacks in one day," Zach added," You're making history, here, preppie." He turned to the front of the trailer, "Hey driver, what ' s wrong. I thought that San Francisco was a little less pure white. That's the only color I can see out the window. White. Are you sure we're not in the south pole or something. I mean, where are we?"

The dorky teenager stuck his head out, "Hey, just because I'm a driver doesn't mean I have to know anything about cars, anything about the land, or anything else that you learn after the third grade." He looked back to the windshield and continued his driving. Then he closed the window that separated the back of the trailer to the drivers cockpit.

Zach turned back to John and Cindy, who was holding John's hand firmly, "Where do they get these people. I think they made a wrong choice with this one even though he was a better driver than the others that volunteered.”

One hour later, the driver opened the window again “Uh, Mr. Terllingerian, I think you need to take a look at this. It is pretty interesting. But I would put on a jacket first."

“For one thing, my last name is not Terllingerian, it's Lecon. For another thing, call me Zack. And finally, this better be important." Zach turned toward John and Cindy. “Get your jackets."

"Oh, it’s very important, Mr. Terllingerian. We've come up to one of those thingies with trees and, uhhhh, rope." The driver replied.

"Your mind, perhaps?” suggested Zach while putting on his jacket.

"Yeah, I think that's what it's called." replied the driver, who was scratching his head.

"Yeah, it's a plank bridge. A pretty sorry looking plank bridge, at that ." was the first thing that John said when he saw the cheap looking bridge. It was just a bunch of wooden planks held together by a few ropes. Underneath it, there was an enormous gorge covered with icy-white snow.

Cindy looked confused, "Why the heck should we cross that bridge? Why didn't we turn back in the first place? Our main headquarters is in Washington State, and there are only three others in the country. I thought California was one of the most populated states in the U.S. So far there hasn’t been a single person for fifteen hours. How do you know that the bridge might not lead us to some magic pool that a dragon lives in. We don't know if that heads to a place with people in it. We don’t know where it heads at all. California doesn't ever have this much snow, ever. We don't know where the heck we are. We don’t know where we’re going. We’re lost,
for crying out loud."

"Duhhh, no we aren't. I saw a sign at the other end of the gorge." Buck-tooth Barry's words drove curiosity through all the guys there. He passed his binoculars to Cindy, who passed it to Zach, who passed it to John, who passed it to everyone else. They all looked at the ice covered sign at the other end. It read: Los Angeles-20 miles.

"Twenty miles to Los Angeles means twenty miles to the second headquarters- Finally, some good luck!" John’s words were fresh and excited.

"One problem," Zach saidIWTo even have a chance to get to Los Angeles and the other headquarters we have to have precise modem accuracy and speed to get to the other side of a dangerous-looking structure that could not sustain the extreme weight of our vehicles that obviously weighs more than the largest pachyderm ever times two.”

John was really confused, “Please explain that in English."

Zach sighed, “To get to Los Angeles we have to cross this gorge. And that bridge does not look too promising.”

After everyone huddled into the trailers, they started to the bridge. The backup trailer went across the bridge before the other one because if it went second it would fall because the other trailer loosened the boards. It (surprisingly) went across safely without even breaking one board. But the boards looked wobbly now. The teenage driver had to go across slowly and steadily (two things he couldn’t do well).

As they went across, one by one, the boards began to crack, break, and fall behind them. The bottom of the gorge seemed to take forever to get to. All around them there was a eery silence and nothing but the nothingness of white snow.

They were about half across the gorge they heard the driver's voice, “Uhhh, Mr. Terllingerian, I saw something in the air, and I think you might want to see this."

"Fine. Zach, bust the window." John said as he looked toward Zach. Zach nodded, cracked his knuckles, and made a fist. On both sides of the trailer, there was one foot by one foot windows that two pieces of glass with chicken wire in between. Zach got ready, flew his arm in the direction of one of the windows, and shattered the glass (both layers), leaving just the wire. He grabbed hold of the wire and tore it out. John stuck his head out to the icy chill.

Outside he saw a little robot flying with two pairs of mechanical wings flapping like crazy. One of its two hands had lots of sharp claws and the other one was like a built in laser gun. It was only about two feet tall. It's laser gun hand started shaking, and a bright red beam of light shot out of it, ready to slice through anything like a hot knife through hot butter.

"You guys should see this." John said to the other two. At the back of the trailer there were two steel doors. They were both stuck but if you could get the right door opened they would both open. So with all his strength, Zach kicked the right door. Not only did both doors open, but the right door was knocked out of it's sockets and fell to the ground way below. Zach and Cindy couldn't believe what they saw. The laser beam was almost touching the rope. The robot was going to slice the rope with them on it!

Immedietly Zach pulled out his PP7 gun and shot the robot. It's laser gun hand turned off and it spun wildly. "Gide that grappling hook and tie it somewhere.” Zach yelled. John threw him the hook and tied the other end to a bolted down bed. Zach twirled the hook over his head like a cowboy and threw it toward the front. It hooked on to a wooden plank about six boards away from where the others were. He just hoped to God that this would work.

"Okay, guys, hold on to something!” John yelled. Everyone grabbed something and held on tight.

"The door!" Zach yelled as he ran to close what was left of the two doors. But he was too late. The robot already sliced all the ropes and the whole bridge went falling in two pieces. Zach would have almost dropped to his death if he wasn't so big. He stretched his arms and legs so they were in all four comers, saving his life. His face was looking to the inside of the trailer, so he could see John and Cindy dangling. He also saw the transmitter almost about to hit him except for a small peg.

"John, the transmitter is about to hit me. Grab it!"

"I can't! It's too far away. Can you get it, Cindy?"

"No!”

The transmitter fell ... right toward Zach’s chest!

"Ohhhh. . .shoot!" That was the word Zach said right before the transmitter hit him and he fell toward the bottom of the gorge. . . if he hadn't grabbed on to the corner of the remaining door. He held on for deer life. The door broke from it's first hinge. He started climbing up with a strong grip. He was halfway up when the second hinge broke. He kept on climbing. He was almost at the top, ready to climb inside when the third and final hinge broke. He was falling to the bottom of the gorge with nothing to save him. He let go of the door, which flew to one side of the gorge. He was falling, falling until he reached his top velocity speed and hit the bottom of the gorge. Instead of hitting solid ground an dying, he hit the snow, and went down three feet from the top.

Back up at the trailer they all thought that Zach was dead. But they had problems of they're own. You see the weight of the trailer was pulling down the grappling hook, and the boards were just breaking. And it was just going down faster, until the last board holding them up broke. They fell down straight for Zach, who was still alive and could still feel pain. Zach tried to move but the walls of snow were so thick he couldn't move. The trailer came racing down strait for him. He said a quick prayer when the trailer hit the ground. Just to his luck, the open part of the tailer where the doors had been is exactly where Zach was. John and Cindy lost their grip and fell to the snow, but not as deep as Zach.

"Zach, you're alive!"

"Yes, now get me outta here!”

John and Cindy both pulled him out. Just then the trailer tipped back over. They got up and walked toward the driver's cockpit (which was tough because the snow was so deep) to see how the driver was doing. When they got there they were disgusted. Unfortunately, the teenage driver was not wearing his seatbelt.

When they turned away they saw the little robot that caused them to be down there. All of a sudden it's circuits seemed to go haywire. It s screws seemed to be coming looser. Then it just burst into flames. There was a big cloud of dust and when it settled, all three of them seemed to gasp in unison.

"No. How...how could it be? That's impossible!” John yelled in half surprise, half terror.

In the middle of the smoke they saw Irwin Pilo (a.k.a. Roboshmo) with a gleam on his face. Irwin was Zach’s arch enemy. They used to be comrades in mechanics until Irwin was kicked out because of his killer robots. He decided to get revenge so he killed Zach's girlfriend, the only woman Zach ever loved. Then Zach, out of anger, threw Irwin into a piece of his own machinery. He thought he got rid of him for good this seemed to discourage him.

"Hell, o you three, He turned to Zach and snarled, "Hello, Zach."

"You evil demon!" Zach jumped to Irwin, and went right through him! He landed face down in the snow.

"A hologram,” Cindy said, shocked.

"That's right. Can you do something for me? All you have to do is," he started to shrink into a bright, shining sphere about 1 foot in diameter, “look into the shiny ball.”

The sphere just hovered in the air. Then it cracked like an egg and out from it popped a big man. He had a black, tight-fitting costume and a red cape. His teeth seemed to be that of a sharks. His eye had a red glow. Half of his hair was in spikes and the other half was in a buzz cut. He had black and orange stripes on his face.

"Not you, again." John said.

Zach looked up at the man, "Who in bloody blue blazes are you?"

"I am Mocknock, lord of all Econick. And I'd like to congratulate you. No one has ever survived my hologram trap."

"What?

"Well, you see, you are in Los Angeles right now. It is not winter, either. It is summer. You're not only in the midst of Los Angeles, you're also in the midst of the freeway. Have a nice life.. .whatever is left of it.” Mocknock snapped his fingers and there was a bright light that flashed before there eyes. Then, like Mocknock said, they were in Los Angeles and on the freeway. Mocknock disappeared and in his place there was a big rig heading right for them. They jumped to the side of the road where the other trailer was.

"Are you all right? " One of the other guys said, "Do you know how we got here."

"I don't know," Cindy said, “but I think we should go to the headquarters.

Special Presentation: "The Day," A Novel From 12 Years Ago (Part 2)

It's 1999, 20 years after the one museum got robbed of all it's diamonds. The strange thing was that no one, including the people and the police, had ever seen any person that looked like Mocknock. Some of the government thought that there was no such person, or thing as Mocknock. They thought that the police were making it up. But about 99% of the government believed them.

On one moonless night a 30 year old, a 29 year old, and a 36 year old going by the first names of John, Cindy, and Zack were on their way to a big warehouse according to there assignment. They were in a secret agency that fought very evil bad guys. But where ever they went, they weren't alone. They were almost at the warehouse and they were getting their "stuff ready in their special trailer. Their backup was in another trailer. Everyone was all ready to go. They have driven half across the state of Washington to get here and they wanted to have a good fight.

Each of the three had their own special abilities. John was the leader because he. . .well. . .was the best one to be the leader. He had good aiming skills and he never backed away from a good fight. Cindy was good at adapting. She could change from one weapon to one she never used in her life in a snap. Also, John and Cindy were boyfriend and girlfriend. But other than that we still need to find out what Zack is good at. What he is good at is mechanics. He could build a mini spy camera from scratch in about 15 minutes. He also is the team's bulky strong man. He could make a hole in five-inch,solid steel wall with tree blows.

The only thing that they weren't happy about was that they were assigned with Flud Memon. Flud thought that he was the best person on the force. He's always trying to impress Cindy. He even likes to call himself "Flud the Stud.” He did not like the fact that John was Cindy's boyfriend.

When they got to the warehouse they were all ready. John had two one handed machine guns. Cindy had a automatic shotgun. Zach was not exactly going to be in the heart of the battle, but he always had his trusty silenced PP7 handgun just in case. Flud, who was with John and Cindy, had a laser cannon that strapped onto his shoulder.

“All right, Zack said, "I've noticed that people have noticed that other people have noticed strange activity coming from this building. And just recently I have picked up these blueprints that show that there is like a missile that has a forcefield around it."

"You fool.” Flud said, “Can' t you see that it's a government conspiracy theory." He paused for a second. “Or have they gotten to you too." All of a sudden Flud leaped into the air, as if he was going to pounce on Zack. But before he even laid a finger on him, Zack held his arm out in the direction that flud was jumping from. And of course, Flud's chest hit Zack's fist.

"OOF! " Flud hit the ground right when he hit Zack’s fist. Flud was strong, but Zack was always stronger. Flud disliked that it was that way. He also did not like that George Washington was so famous, that schoolkids had to tuck in their shirts, that the Swiss wasted cheese by putting holes in it, and that you can't go swimming in a pool full of JELL-0.

"All right," Zack said, ''I need you guys to shoot down the four forcefield generators and 1'11 plant the bomb right under the missile. Go in through the roof. Be careful, who ever is doing this must be a evil genius of some sort. But remember, you go in and you get out in fifteen minutes. That's when the bomb will explode."\

John, Cindy, and Flud went to the top of the building. They cut out some glass panels from the skylight and put a rope down the hole. They climbed down onto a high-up, empty storage space instead of going to the ground. They thought it would be safer.

While they were doing that Zack was moving under the whole warehouse. He looked on the blueprints to see where he was going. It was completely dark except for the light of a dim lantern that he had. When he found the place that was right under the missile he strapped a bomb that he made himself onto the main electrical source. He set it for 15 minutes and when he set the bomb, the time before it explodes was on a special watch he gave to the others.

Once Cindy saw that they had 15 minutes she aimed at one of the forcefield generators. But before she shot it something appeared out of nowhere. John and Flud saw it, too. It was like nothing they ever seen before.

It sort of looked a big, red tube that looked as if it were made of cloth. What amazed them more was that it opened up, like a curtain at a theater, and a strange looking man that had a cape (the red tube was part of the cape) came out. He had a big leather bag in his hands. Can you guess who it was?

It was Mocknock, alright. And he looked weirder than ever. His eyes glowed brighter than before and his hair was more gelled. And in his hand there lay a huge diamond.

"After twenty years I have finally done it! I've melted the last of all the power diamonds I have stolen. Now there is nothing that can stop me and world destruction!" He said in a sort of yell. He put the huge diamond down on a little table.

"Nothing that can stop him, eh. Flud said in a voice low enough so that only John and Cindy could hear him,ttWellC,i ndy, I'11 show you how a real man gets into the fight." And then he started to go down to the floor.
"Flud, get back here! Flud, you idiot!" Cindy yelled in a loud whisper, "Ugh! Will he ever learn?! She got ready to shoot the first generator (again) .

"Hey you! Do you want to make trouble?! Well, if you do, you found it right here 'cause I'm the worst trouble you could get into." Flud yelled strait to Mocknock. His fists were high in the air. As he yelled he walked toward Mocknock. He had a mad-type expression on his face.

Mocknock seemed to move his lips in a smile until you could see his pointed, razor-sharp teeth," Very well. HAPPY HALLOWEEEEEEEEEEN!!!!!" he said in a chanting voice. His smile turned into a pure evil grin. His red eyes glowed brighter than ever.

Flud looked really confused, "But it ain’t . . . Flud couldn’t even finish his sentence before Mocknock’s fist flipped him over in a powerful uppercut. As he laid motionless on the floor something appeared in Mocknock’s hand. What was it? It was a joy buzzer.

Mocknock raised his hand high, and then slammed it down at an uncontrollable speed. Flud seemed to light up right as the joy buzzer hit him. Sparks seemed to circle him just like sharks will circle a boat. Mocknock raised his hand up a little, and Flud went up too! The electric force was so strong to pick up something with it!

Mocknock circled Flud around his head for a while and pounded him on the floor for a while. John and Cindy stared in amazement, but after a while Mocknock got bored and threw Flud against the leg of a storage rack. Unfortunately, it was the one that John was on. The storage rack leg broke, and John fell strait to the floor.
He got up to see Mocknockws glowing eyes and pointed teeth. He was scared to even move. He didnw t usually back out of a fight, but he'd just seen this freak twirl Flud around like a dog on a leash with some crazy owner. He backed up to the wall still laying down.

"Well, well, well, what have we hear?" Mocknock began. An electric ball seemed to form in his hand, "You’ve made the biggest mistake of your life. I think I'll pulverize you...right after I give you the biggest shock of your life. And not only that, I'11...what the?" He looked up to see that Cindy had shot one of the generators when she found out that they only had 8 minutes left until the bomb set off.

"Good job, Cindy. Keep up the great wor . . . oooof f f f f f ! " John held his chest after a powerful punch. Mocknock ran toward the ladder that would get him up to Cindy but before he did John took out his mini machine guns and shot at some chains that were holding alot of oil drums. After the chains broke all the drums went flying and one hit Mocknock in the head right when Cindy destroyed the second generator.

Mocknock let a lion's roar come out of his mouth. Then he performed an uppercut in Cindy's direction. A replica of his arm that was made of complete energy came - and hit Cindy through the wall!

"I got you, Cindy!" Zach yelled as he caught her in his arms, "That was a huge fall. Did you destroy all four generators?"

"Um, not quite. But I did destroy two of them." she said.

Zach looked at her with blank eyes, No...No...NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!”

"Yes ...yes ... and, um ...yes."

Zach was getting serious, "Things couldn’t be worse. Half the generators to the missile are still running and the bomb is going to go off in four minutes and fifty-two seconds." Cindy looked at her special watch and, indeed, it pointed out 4.52, "And to make matters worse," he continued, "John and Flud are still in the warehouse!"

Cindy began, "I don't even know if Flud is alive." Zach didn't say anything for a few seconds. Then he hit a computer so hard it flew about ten feet and hit the trailer.

"I want complete backup,” Zack was now yelling at the people in the other trailer. “Half of you go through the front and the other half go around to the back door. Make sure John, Flud, and any hostages that are in there get safely out!" While he was yelling the backup team was getting their gear and other stuff ready.

Meanwhile, inside the warehouse, John was busy with Mocknock. He shot the third generator and aimed both guns at Mocknock, who was sprinting right at him. He closed his eyes, said a quick prayer, fired his guns, opened his eyes, and saw Mocknock with about 25 bulletholes in his chest and stomach area. With torture like that, he was surprised that there was not even a squeak of pain. In fact, he thought he saw a smile. Mocknock let the blood flow all over him. And flow it did! It covered his whole body from head to toe. It turned from red to silver, which ended up as liquid meatal (which is the meatal that can morph into different things).

John backed up slowly but tripped over Flud’s motionless carcass. While he was lying on the floor, the metallic Mocknock's hand turned into a huge mallet. John fired both of his guns, yet only two bullets came out of one of them and one came out of the other. He was out of ammo.

Just as the giant mallet reached the tip of John's nose, the meatal shattered off Mocknock like glass. Both John and Mocknock turned around to see the half of the backup group that went through the back with electric ball cannons. Then the front door busted open and in came the second half. John looked at his watch. 0.57. Time was running out.

Two guys picked up Flud. The half from the back were running toward the front. One guy pulled a grenade pin with his teeth and threw it at the last of the generators. The last generator disappeared in a small explosion and a puff of smoke. Then the guy ran out of the warehouse. John looked at Mocknock who grabbed the huge diamond and looked into John's eyes.

"You may have won the battle, but the war has just begun. He twirled his cape and turned into the red tube and disappeared. Just then Zach grabbed John’s arm and pulled him into the trailer with ten seconds left. All the trailers left and when they were about two hundred yards away the bomb (and the missile) exploded, leaving the group with alot of unanswered questions.

Special Presentation: "The Day," A Novel From 12 Years Ago (Part 1)

So, while I was visiting my home, I was going through some old papers of mine, ranging from drawings to school report cards. Interestingly enough, I had no qualms getting rid of the report cards, certificates of achievement, and other things of that nature, but when it came to my crappy little drawings, I couldn't let go.

Well, one of the things I found in this pile of stuff was a printed manuscript of my very first attempt at a novel. Yes, well before I was actually publishing books, I was trying to make the great American novel. Truth be told, I actually remember (vaguely) writing this, sitting at my dad's computer, type-typing away at some blue-screened, DOS-based word editing program.

And I was nine at the time. I want to stress that before you read any more.

Well, I was so tickled by finding this that I decided to share it all with you. In the next four posts, I will be showing off my creation in its completion (which is to say, its nowhere-near-completion).
Marvel at my use of surnames like "Mrufoon"!
Laugh as I use jokes ripped, word-for-word, from The Simpsons!
Gasp at how minor characters literally throw themselves at certain death!
Cry at the fact that my main character's personalities are as fickle as a quark!

Now, I wanted to keep this as true to source material as possible. Meaning, it reads as though it were a terrible fan fiction. So, instead of transcribing the piece (which would have been painful in and of itself), I scanned it using Adobe's text-reading features. It's not perfect, but I tried to iron the mistakes. Unless, of course, the mistakes were supposed to be there. In which case, you can just imagine a giant "[sic]" at the end of each of these posts.

Remember, I was nine. Don't judge me.

And now, if you can keep from ripping out your eyes, enjoy!


The Day
By: Andrew D. Schnorr

On the rainy night of March 26,1979, a police officer had a strange feeling that something very bad was going to happen at the museum he was in. Something very bad did happen. And it happened without warning.

All of a sudden a red cloth the size of a human in the shape of a tube appeared out of nowhere. It turned into a man wearing a red cape, but he was not a superhero. He wore black, tight-fitting clothes (with the exception of his cape).He had razor sharp teeth. Half of his hair was shaped like spikes and the other half had a buzz cut. He had black and orange stripes painted across his face and his eyes glowed red. All the policemen stared at him in amazement, wonder, and horror. They all thought their heart had stopped beating, or skyrocketed to an extremely high beat. No earthy thing could have done that. And no earthly person could want that hairstyle.

"Time to grab the goodies,” he said in a regular human voice. Then he started breaking the glass cases, stealing small diamonds, and putting them into a large, leather bag. In not very long he had every diamond except for one and it was the biggest one. He looked very pleased that none of the policemen did not attack him but he did not look surprised. Just when he was about to break the glass case of the diamond the museum doors swung open and a bunch of policemen came running in. Two of them that were around 21 came in before the rest of them. When they almost got to him he threw two small leather bags on the floor. They quickly expanded into one big sand pile. Two huge hands made out of sand came out! It grabbed the two policemen, took them under the sand, and the sand shrunk and disappeared.

"I'm going to kill you!" A much older man yelled. He had a mad look on his face.

"Kill me? I...don’t...think...so. You don't know who you’re dealing with. I am Mocknock, lord of all Econick. And you cannot defeat me." so said the man with the wild hairdo.

"OK Mr .Mocknock, the man who thinks he is so hot, C 'mon. Try me. I dare ya." the man said.

"Very well." Mocknock said. Something appeared out of nowhere; It looked like a titanium tube that was one foot long and two feet in diameter. It had a handle on one end and an opening on the other end. Inside the opening it was pitch black-"You chose your fate."

"And I chose it well!" the man yelled. He reached for his gun and was about to fire, but before he could Mocknock pushed a button on the handle of the thing and it sucked the gun inside of it!

"I see you are interested in my Suck-0-Matic," Mocknock said over the rumble of the vacuum-type tube. Then the man felt his feet move, but he was not moving them. He was being sucked into the Suck-0-Matic!

The man ran to the bathroom and shut the door behind him when he got inside, He locked the door and thought that he was safe, but then the door started rumbling, and popped out of its sockets! It flew into the Suck-0-Matic, and even though it was too big to get inside of it, it still went in and disappeared! The man stood in amazement for after the door disappeared the Suck-0-Matic devoured a seven foot tall lamp! And might I remind you the Suck-0-Matic tube was only one foot long!

But the man was not standing still anymore-He was being sucked up the Suck-0-Matic again! He held onto the doorframe to keep from getting sucked up. He held on as tight as he could. His shoes got sucked right off his feet! Then his socks, and then his ...

"All right! All right ! I give up. You have proven me wrong,” Mocknock said. The man calmed down. He let go of the doorframe. He still could not believe that he had beat this thing.

"Well.. ." he started to say, but before he could finish his sentence he heard only one single word.

"NOT!!!" Mocknock said. He quickly pushed the button on the handle of the Suck-0-Matic before the man could do anything about it. He was sucked into the Suck-0-Matic! Inside, it was like a slide that went nowhere.

"Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!" the man screamed as he slid down the long slide. That was why everything that went into it disappeared. But the man did not worry about that now. He had his own problems.

"Well that is taken care of. I might as well finish the job,” Mocknock said. He squeezed the Suck-0-Matic so hard it began to shrink & shrink & shrink. Before long it had vanished. Then Mocknock headed for the big diamond again. But one policeman tried to stop him.

"Oh, no you don’t!” the policeman said as he jumped on Mocknock's back holding on by putting his arms around Mocknock's neck.

"Oh, yes I do ! " Mocknock said. Then he started changing in a way that no one could imagine. It looked like there was fire inside of him and that it was coming out of him. In a short while of time he looked like one big statue of hot coal.

"YEEOW!!!” the policeman yelled as he jumped off Mocknock's back. Mocknock headed for the case. He put his hand on the glass, and it went right through! Wherever he put his hand it melted the glass! He cooled off his body before he grabbed the diamond so it would not melt.

After Mocknock took the diamond he walked toward the wall. He grabbed both sides of his cape. A policeman ran at him, ready to ram Mocknock into the wall.

"Sorry, but I'm in a hurry." Mocknock said. He took his cape, whirled it around him, turned into the red tube of cloth, and disappeared. Instead of the policeman ramming Mocknock into the wall, he slammed into it himself.

The only thing that Mocknock did not know was that the two 21 year old cops that were dragged under the magic sand both had younger siblings. But they were not brothers themselves. And the older policeman who was sucked into the Suck-0-Matic was a father. The one policeman who jumped on Mocknock's back while he was becoming very hot knew what he had to do. He told 10 year old John Mrufoon, the son of the policeman who got sucked into the Suck-0-Matic, about his father's fate. He also told a 9 year old girl, Cindy Flaco, a sister of one of the 21 year old cops, about her brother's fate. And last but not least, a fairly dark skinned boy, 16 year old Zack Lecon, the brother of the other 21 year old, was told about his brother's fate.

All three of the kids had something in common. They were all going to have the biggest adventure they ever had.

My Final Paper - "Behold, the Magnificent Phonograph"

So, we have a final paper in my summer class on technology and interactivity. I wasn't terribly worried. It's only a "final" paper in that it occurs after all others. In truth, it's only worth about 4% of our grades, and I get 2% just for turning it in. Still, I somehow managed to make mine twice the required length. There's two reasons for this. First is simply because the required length is only 1000 words (remember, this is a discussion-based class). Second, I actually had a lot of fun writing it. You see, we had a choice of three different questions to respond to, and the one I chose was, basically, to write a "scientific/logical explanation for the layman that outlines the particular interactivity with a technology we have not discussed. You can be creative, humorous, and a little absurd but must also be intelligent, articulate, and well-informed." We had to also show that we did the readings in the class, but instead of needing to cite them, we could be allusive or imitative.

Anyway, I chose to write something like this for the phonograph, mainly because I felt we didn't spend nearly enough time talking about audio technology, focusing heavily on visual technology (also, I really like this recording). I decided to write as though I were from ye olden days, and I feel I'm more than a bit imitative of Oliver Wendell Holmes, who wrote our first reading.

Anyway, I kind of let loose when creating this, but I actually enjoy the results. I hope you will, as well. And I hope you'll come to the realization, as I did when halfway through, that this must have actually seemed like a frickin' big deal at the time.

(P.S. While I kind of muddle with timelines in this piece, this is an excuse to use my "1890s" tag for a second time. Score!)

***

Like a fine perfume, spoken words, carried by the talented voice of Len Spencer, seeped out the glass panes of the appliance shop to my ears as I was taking a stroll downtown. People casually walking by turned, to perhaps glimpse the man that the sound must have come from. One person even looked at me, as though I were some sort of ventriloquist.

But no; the voice may have been projected, but it was not by my lungs. Instead, it was by a small box, no taller than my chest. This box was the phonograph, a most wondrous invention. Created by Thomas Edison, it may prove even more influential than his electric lantern. With this mechanical device, you can do what one would think is impossible: you can capture sound. What’s more, you can then repeat this captured sound whenever you please. With such an apparatus, we have the opportunity to interact with family, with ourselves, and with the world in an entirely new – and beneficial – way. If you don’t believe me now, or if you’ve never heard of one of these phonographs before, then give me a few moments of your time to explain myself.

I think it prudent to discuss the technical aspects of one of these contraptions. After all, without a proper understanding of the mechanics of today’s technology, it is no better than some possessed trinket. You can just imagine good old Aunt Mabel claiming it to be a work of the devil, can you not? But no, it is not some infernal handicraft, but rather a precisely-tuned instrument. Yes, I said “instrument”. Because, you see, the phonograph works in exactly the same way as any flute or drum.

Let us consider the humble mandolin. When a musician plucks at one of the strings, that piece of catgut would move back and forth. These vibrations disturb the air, much like a well-thrown stone will cause ripples in a pond. However, once these disturbances reach your ear, they then vibrate the inner recesses of your ear, acting as a tiny drum. This, then, causes you to hear the sound in your head. The same holds true with a piano (the vibrations being on the strings inside), the drum (here coming from the skin you beat) and the flute (the very body of the instrument being the tool of the vibrations). And so it is true with the phonograph.

Of course, the phonograph does not use strings. Instead, it uses wax cylinders no larger than a jar of peanut butter. This cylinder is placed on what can best be likened to a spit over a cooking fire. In this way, a crank allows the user to turn the cylinder like a suckling pig. A needle then rests on the cylinder, and attached to this needle is a large cone, similar to a horn or trumpet.

What makes this apparatus so extraordinary is that it can perform dual functions; recording sound and playing it back. When one fastens a small attachment onto the needle, it allows you to speak into the machine. You can input whatever you want, from a friendly greeting to a song to a dramatic reading of Melville. When the large cone catches the vibrations of your voice (themselves created by the movement of the muscles in your throat) it will itself vibrate slightly, enough to move the recording needle up and down. Like a master sculptor of miniscule stature, the needle digs into the wax cylinder, forming small grooves. Within these grooves is magic. Not real magic, mind you; otherwise Aunt Mabel would get her torch ready. No, it is a modern magic, one which captures the sound, exactly how it is, and stores it, as though frozen in time, ready to be played back. And to do this, you simply remove the recording attachment and turn the crank as normal. Now, it simply works in the opposite way; the grooves bump the needle up and down, causing the cone to vibrate in a way which will replicate whatever sound was frozen on the cylinder.

What are amazing about these cylinders are their authenticity and their longevity. A parrot, for example, can “record” a speech, but when you ask it to speak the speech back to you, it will do so in its own voice. The speech may be accurate in its contents, but it is not authentic in voice. A phonograph cylinder, on the other hand, will remember and present you with the speech exactly how was first said. Were you in another room, you’d think speechmaker himself was the one doing the talking. Additionally, while one’s memory of a speech can fade with time, a cylinder will reproduce it with as much accuracy one year from now as it does today. Think of it as an entertainer who will perform unlimited shows after only one payment.

But the use of the phonograph goes far beyond that.

People speak of photography as though it were the second coming of the Lord. I can’t go anywhere without seeing a picture print or stereoscopic image. People flock to these devices, saying that they will revolutionize the way we perceive the world. They will make travel unnecessary, and they will allow family on different sides of the country to know each other as though they were next-door neighbors. All through the “power” of images.

Well, of course people are attracted to this concept. Of all the senses, sight is our primary one. Before all other information is gleaned from a new object or situation, we evaluate it based on what we see. Unfortunately, this also makes sight our most superficial sense. Even though we are told never to judge a book by its cover, that is exactly what we are forced to do with photography: judge something solely by its appearance, rather than its merit.

I hear tell of people putting together moving pictures. They take a number of photographs, all taken in close sequence, and display them as quickly as possible. The effect is to create movement. Currently, the closest we can get to something like this is the zoetrope, but the thought it that we will eventually reach a point where a single pane will be able to display the moving pictures, without any spinning. Personally, I’m not waiting with very much excitement. I’ve seen chronophotographs; I know how systematic human beings work. But what good is it to know that humans move? Animals move. Machines move. And that’s what these moving pictures show us: that we are mechanical as a steam engine.

Sound, on the other hand, is what separates us from the machines, and places us closer to the pantheon of the angels. For it is in sound that the soul comes through, be it through the heavenly voices of a church choir or through an inspirational speech by the president. We may not use sound as our primary sense, but it allows us to pierce deeper into the very core of one’s being. Hence, once the phonograph is ubiquitous, we shall engage in a new culture, one in which we judge others not on the trifling appearances of their clothes and face, but on the very sound of their soul.

But these philosophical ramblings mean nothing if the phonograph ends up serving no palpable purposes. Which indeed, it does. In fact, I dare say that the phonograph shall be the creation which, more than any other man-made machine, shall serve to change the way people around the world interact with each other.

Consider the opera. While an opera can be an uplifting experience, the practice of attending one can be less than pleasant. The modestly-paid enthusiast must attend a show by himself - or at best with his wife - as he cannot afford to purchase tickets for his family and friends. When he reaches the theatre, he must find an uncomfortable chair in a sea of strangers. Later, when his hunger arises, he must get up and leave the performance to purchase refreshment. What a needless hassle! With the phonograph, he can purchase an opera cylinder for half the price of an individual ticket. He can then invite his dear ones into his living room, where he can sit in his favorite recliner. The opera can begin and end whenever he desires. If he takes a break, so does the performance. He may repeat a particular concerto if he desires. He has access to limitless encores. His house, not the big house, becomes the local center of attraction. What a marvelous situation, when a man need not leave his house and still has the choice between “Carmen” and “Madame Butterfly”.

This also presents new opportunities for musical artists. Because one phonograph may record off of another, a musician need only complete his piece once, and it can be replicated as many times as his heart desires. No longer need he perform on every street corner and evening café. He may simply sell cylinders for 50 cents apiece to the general store. In this way, we may need to add a course in our music lessons about proper salesmanship!

And yet, it does not end there. This technology will eventually make written letters obsolete. After all, why should one wish to waste their time writing – or reading – page after page of correspondence, when they may simply place a cylinder in their phonograph and communicate the way it was meant to be done: with voice. Say I wish to send a romantic note to my sweetheart traveling across Europe. I could simply write down a poem, put in the post, and hope she understands its meaning. Or – and I sincerely prefer this – I could actually recite the poem to her, to inflect the important points, to punctuate what needs be punctuated. And in hearing my tender tone, she will feel as though my arms are enfolding her. A slip of paper cannot do that. Should she reciprocate, sending me back a cylinder with her delicate voice, I could close my eyes and imagine her very presence. Indeed, communicating with the phonograph is just like having a conversation with your eyes closed. It is the closest two people on opposite sides of the world will ever come to be.

In fact, once one thinks about it, the phonograph becomes the perfect tool for people to interact with each other. But is it only a means to this end? Certainly not! Should you choose it to be, the phonograph can be a character in and of itself. As Len Spencer’s advertising recording states, “When your wife is worried after the cares of the day, and the children are boisterous, I can rest the one and quiet the other. I never get tired and you will never tire of me, for I will always have something new to offer.” If only every houseguest could offer as much! You’ll notice how it speaks, though, referring to itself in the first person, as though it were a living, breathing person. I have yet to see a camera do that! And it couldn’t, because nobody would believe it. But the phonograph, with its ability to use sound, the foundation of the soul, actually has the ability to pass as a contributing member of the household – one which never needs to be fed.

But was Aunt Mabel correct this whole time? Is the phonograph actually insidious? Shall we lose ourselves in this machine? Not at all; in fact, we shall discover ourselves! We shall go past the superficial details of photography and understand what it is to know the world with our eyes closed.

I think that within a few years, when the phonograph becomes as omnipresent as a bedspread, you will not have to read this piece again. By that time, I will have recorded it on a cylinder and distributed it to all of my readers (who, ironically, wouldn’t be reading anymore). In doing so, all the tones, the inflections, and the passion that I’ve lost in transcribing my thoughts to paper will be regained. Your experience would improve tenfold. This discourse could continue for an infinite number of pages, but I believe you should have a decent understanding of the workings - and the merits - of the phonograph. If not, then I urge you to go to your local appliance store and experience the phonograph for yourself; I think you will be hard-pressed to hold onto that stoicism. Steam power may make travel across the world easy, but it is the phonograph which will actually bring us all together.

Coming Into the Home Stretch

Two classes done with, three finals to go. I just had a final yesterday (despite not being in finals week). It was for my consumer behavior class, which I loved, and I think I got either a 95% or a 100% on the test.

Oh, here's an interesting tidbit: for my Star Wars DeCal final project, I ended up writing a Choose Your Own Adventure story. 80 pages, 27 endings, and many, many hours of work.

However, I think it was all worth it, as the course facilitator told me that he liked it so much (having actually laughed-out-loud several times), he's going to put it into next year's course reader. So, I asked what any Berkeley student would ask: "Does that mean I pass the class?"

His response: "B-."


(NOTE: I'm not going to put it up for download here. Not so much because I'm worried about copyright issues, but rather because it's a bit racier that the things I usually put on my blog. Case in point, I incorporated a lot of Pulp Fiction/Snakes on a Plane lines into Mace Windu's scenes, similar to this. [NSFW!])

April Fools Day Damage Report (UPDATED!!!)

So, April Fools Day has been over for a couple days now. I think it's safe to come out from your hiding places. I thought it'd be good to go over what I experienced on that most crazy of days.

But first, some background!

I used to hate April Fool's Day until 2002.

HATE it!

The reason for this is pretty straightforward. I've always been the fool. The April fool, as it were. I have memories of my father waking me up when I was a child, telling me in subsequent years that my bird, dog, grandmother, and mother had died during the night!

(Now, I'll be fair; I'm not sure if these memories are accurate - I don't remember very much about my childhood - but they're the only memories I have regarding the topic, so you better sort things out, Dad!)

And yet, despite all my efforts, I could never be the fooler. Imagine, if you will, a 10-year-old Andrew Schnorr walking up to you, saying in his choir boy voice (and this is verbatim):
"Say, how old are you?"
You: "Um, 25."
10-Year-Old Andrew Schnorr: "25? I thought you were 26......April Fools!"

...Had I a time machine, my first order of business would be to go back and slap myself.

Anyway, as I said, I didn't start tolerating April Fool's Day until 2002. The reason for that was because a website that I worked on at the time called UberNintendo.com (later changed to UberGaming.net, which doesn't look like it's been updated in nearly a year) had an April Fool's Day prank in which the entire site was replaced by a background repeating image of Dark Helmet (from Spaceballs) and the entire text (in size-72 font) of a short story called "Repent, Harlequin," Said the Ticktockman, which I consider quite influential to me. The story brought about my creation of the "Temporal Master," which in turn got me started on my Chronicles of Fate storyline, which is (er, will be) seven books plus a prequel. Pretty damn influential, I'd say.

So, yeah, I became okay with April Fool's Day.

However, I would say it's only after I came to college and became more entrenched not just in internet usage, but in internet culture, that I actually came to enjoy the mock-holiday. April Fool's Day is basically the day when all bets are off on the Internet. It allows for much easier and more creative ways of pranking people.

That's not to say pranks should be relegated to the net, though. There's plenty of fun to be had in the real world, especially after I've become better at fooling people. I've also become more aware (that is, paranoid) of any potential pranks that could be pulled on me. And that's key: staying one step ahead of the game.

...Now, let's take a look at some of the things I was involved with this year.

Joke #1 - In the Halls:
So, the first April Fool's Day prank I was involved in actually began one-and-a-half before the day began. It was actually a collaboration betwixt some residents and I. ...Okay, it was their idea; I have to claim limited liability for, y'know, the job's sake. The last thing I want is an angry resident telling the powers-that-be that I'm ruining their life. So, my involvement, although limited, was strategic.

Here's the premise: We chose a resident of mine who is a really nice guy, and also extremely involved (he's actually going to be an RA next year, and he's also campaigning for the ASUC). So, he's not around terribly much. Basically, we wanted him to think something bad had happened. Namely, he got robbed.

So, at least half the floor was in on it. While the resident was out at campaigning rally with one of his roommates, his other roommate was messing up their room, opening drawers, moving stuff around, and - most importantly - removing all three laptops from the room and putting them in someone else's room.

Now, where did I come in? I was the one who set-up the last domino in the rally. After giving my advice on how the "crime scene" should look (based on typical thief habits), I sent a text message out at 10:30pm. It was sent to the resident and his roommate, but I made it seem like a mass text message. Here's what it said:

"Hey everybody! Sorry about the mass text message, but we've gotten reports that there are trespassers in the halls. We haven't caught anybody yet, but we're working on it. In the meantime, remember to lock your doors when you're not in your rooms, and to not let strangers into the halls. Stay safe!"

See? It's mostly just nebulous information coupled with some advice. Pretty believable (especially more believable than the original idea that I should call the resident personally to warn him). And it's good advice to follow anyway, with or without trespassers in the halls.

As fate would have it, the resident arrived at 12:15am (making a legitimate April Fool's Day joke) and found his room messed up. Unfortunately, he thought nothing of it; he's a college student after all. But after his roommate (who I was worried wouldn't be able to keep a straight face) asked where all the laptops were, he became...I guess you could say desperate. But before he could go report it, everyone appeared and showed him how he got prank'd!

He may have had a minute heart attack, but he'll be fine. ;)


Joke #2 - On The Lobotomist's Dream:
So, as some of you may remember, last year my April Fool's Day activity on TLD was my coming out of the closet. Of course, it was promptly changed the next day, adding a single - yet vital - word to it, so as to avoid any confusion.

I wanted to be a bit more all-encompassing this time, something a little less in-jokey. And, truth be told, I had thought this idea up last November. So it wasn't just a spur-of-the-moment thing. Basically, I thought to myself, "What if this blog was actually about Lobotomy?" And the rest fleshed itself out quite well.

You can read the post a little below this one (or just click here). However, you're still reading that with about 20 of my faces staring at you. Hence, I recommend you read it the way it was meant to be read, and that means going to the Alternate Lobotomist's Dream. (I apologize for the funky formatting; even though the Google Page Creator is cool, they don't allow you to control the base HTML of the pages.)

The most tedious part of this was making it so you couldn't see any of my other posts. On Blogger, you can do this by saving them, one by one, as drafts. Do that 230+ times (and again to publish them again) and you have yourself some grade-A frustration. The rest was relatively straightforward, and quite fun.

Some fun facts:
-The picture of "Dr. Frank Corlin" is actually some random doctor that got arrested for buying sex with pain medication (or, um, selling pain medication for sex; whatever, it's all bartering). I found it on, like, page 26 of an image search of "old doctor".
-I actually learned quite a bit about Lobotomy when researching for the joke.
-I don't know if you can tell, but there are several places that I would have used italics that Doc C used bold. I don't know, using bold for emphasis just seems like an old-person thing to do.
-I'm not sure, but someone may have actually thought it was legit. Look at this one comment I got:

It's an interesting argument..."why alter all of the brain when you can create an effect with a localized solution." I think that actually has merit.
I suggest you pursue this argument in your defense and compare the two with brutal honesty.
Bravo

Now, this could have been someone I know continuing the joke (how could I tell; it's anonymous). However, if it was someone who did think I was for real, then that made my week! :D And perhaps I (or Doc C) will end up writing an argument to this extent.

THE JOKE'S ON ME 1: Okay, this is a little aside for things that happened that, while pulled by nobody in particular, came back to bite me in the butt. I kept my Alternate TLD up for two days. Why? Because I thought that nearly nobody had seen it on April Fool's Day. Why would I think something like that? Well, look at my Analytics report on visitors.
That's, like, a 98% drop in readership. I was livid! Why would people abandon me on Fun Day? It wasn't until I got the site back in normal working order that I realized the truth: when I switched the format of the site, I inadvertently deleted the Analytics measuring tool.

...*Facepalm*


Joke #3 - On Elderly Apple:
Oftentimes, comics (both the traditional and web- variety) will do something crazy for April Fool's Day. However, Elderly Apple's a tough nut to crack. How exactly does one do a "crazy" comic when the whole goddamn series is just one big non-sequitur?

So, I decided I should change my medium. Instead of my normal marker/colored pencil combo, I went with Photoshop painting and a picture (a real picture!) of an apple (you have to stay true to your roots, dawg).

But, even as whimsical as EA usually is, there is some logic to the madness. I decided to throw that out the window, though, when I created WAAAAAAAHHH!!!

There's three instances of the word "WAAAAAAAHHH!!!" that I put in the comic; one in the picture itself, one in the picture's title (which you see by holding your cursor over the image on the main page; if you never knew about that, you're missing out on some of the better jokes), and of course, in my comment.

(P.S. If you have a good memory, you may remember me using a similar phrase before...)

Interestingly enough, an enlarged version of this comic is my current desktop background.


Not My Joke #1 - Youtube:
I probably got Rickrolled a dozen times on April Fool's Day.

What's that, you've never been Rickrolled? Here, let me assist you. Enjoy.

In case you didn't know, that was Rick Astley singing his hit 1987 song "Never Gonna Give You Up." As far as internet "trap" pranks, this is probably safest, cleanest, most wholesome of them all (and trust me, you don't want to know about the others). Basically, you set up an unrelated link that tricks people into watching Astley's soulful performance.

So, Youtube decided to pick up on this. On April 1st, every single one of the videos on their front page went to a video of "Never Gonna Give You Up." They even had created an entire profile for it.

Good fun. Except now I have a cheesy 80s song stuck in my head. The horror.

Not My Joke #2 - Google + Virgin = Virgle:
Google is always decent with their jokes, but I really have to hand it to them for their work this year in creating a much broader, more interactive prank. As always, it was simple; when you went onto Google, you saw a little link for something called Virgle, which is a cooperative effort between them and fellow giant company, Virgin. To do what, exactly? Well, to colonize Mars!

You know what, it's too involved for me to explain. Here, just go read it yourself. Go on. I can wait.

Finished reading? Good. Now, if you went through the whole thing, you'll be able to see that there were introduction videos by the co-founders of Google and Richard Branson. Now, I really like Richard Branson; always have. However, the Google boys (especially the gray-haired one) desperately need to work on their public speaking abilitities.

Now, you'll also see that you could send in a 30-second video response as a sort of "application" to become a Virgle pioneer. Now, there were 300+ videos responding to this. Half of them were well over 30 seconds, and about 85% of them were either totally crappy or the people didn't seem to understand that the whole thing was a joke. I decided to join along. Here's my entry.



(Oh, and here's a copy of that flag.) The hope was that I would get a "At least he's honest" acceptance into the program.

THE JOKE'S ON ME 2: Unfortunately, things didn't go as smoothly as planned. For some reason (and I still cannot figure out why), there was some technical problem preventing my video from being used as a reply to theirs. So I went through all that work, blood, sweat, toil, and heartache for nothing except a 3-star rating from some random jerk (I would have given it a 4, personally).


Okay, that's all. This is by no means the full extent of all that occurred on April Fool's Day, but it is a healthy sampling. And to think that I used to hate this holiday, an opportunity to have so much fun...shameful. In any event, I hope you enjoyed your April Fool's Day shenanigans. From Doc C and all of us here, take care and God Bless.

Cop-Out: A Star Wars Short Story (Story 1)

So, I've decided that for my final project in my Star Wars class, I'm going to write a few short stories revolving around the life and times of my created character, Akker. (I'm also planning on asking my friend Alex to perhaps do a couple illustrations for it). Since I realize it will be quite the process, I wanted to get some of it done ahead of time. So, I'm working on it during Spring Break.

(Quick aside: While there are only a few [literally, like, three] RAs here right now [and nearly no residents], we're actually having a fun time.)

So, I just completed one of the short stories, and then I thought to myself, "Hey, why don't I show this on my blog rather than write something new?" So that's exactly what I decided to do. It may not make much sense by itself, as it's part of a larger thing, but whatever. I've included links for explanations to any Star Wars information.

Also, I apologize for any misspellings. I didn't even bother with a spell check. When you're writing a Star Wars story, it seems as though half the page is underlined in red.

............

The coliseum was abuzz with life. The first half of the events had been completed, and there was another hour before the second half began. The smells of roasting womp rat filled the halls. It was a salty smell, drenched in some unknown sauce. Just letting the aroma reach your nostrils made one’s mouth water.

“Beautiful…” Uthor muttered under his breath. Salivation was his friend, as those liquids would need to be replaced. And what better way to hydrate a mouth than with a pitcher of Uthor’s special blend Fizzbrew. The stout man mentally counted the customers standing in the line for his stand while pouring glass after glass. At this rate, he’d be able to get transit fare before the second half.

Suddenly, Uthor saw a somewhat short figure running up from the side. Normally, he wouldn’t pay any mind, but the figure, wearing nothing but a battle shirt and a few leg wrappings, was instantly recognizable. In fact, it was the reason he was able to get the gig here at the Arcopola Coliseum.

“U-THOR!” The figure shouted with a exuberant smile and index fingers pointing to the merchant.

“Akk-ER!” Uthor responded in kind before placing the One Moment, Please sign on the stand. He stepped away from his post and turned to his friend, “What’s going on?”

Akker quickly blew a few locks of hair from in front of his eyes. He then smiled at Uthor. “You’re betting on my match, right.”

Uthor was dumbfounded. “What are you talking about?” he said, “I never bet on the matches. You know that.”

“Nonononono. That wasn’t a question. You are betting on my match.”

“Why? I have Fizzbrew to sell.”

“Pah! You keep selling at gigs like this, you’ll never get anywhere. By the looks of it, the most you’re going to get by the second half will barely cover transit fare.”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Uthor, have you seen my odds for this match?” Akker asked as he pulled a small slip from who-knows-where in his battle skirt. He handed it to Uthor, who instantly recognized it as the event program. It listed all the matches of the day, as well as the betting odds for each. His eyes scrolled down the pamphlet until he reached an entry reading Akker the Fallen Jedi.

“…Twelve-thousand to one!” Uthor shouted in disbelief.

Akker’s sharp-toothed smile widened. “I know, it’s great.”

“What in Gret’s name are you facing?”

“I don’t know! I don’t care! Think about it, Uthor. Wager your stand, and if-”

“Wager my stand?!” Uthor tried to protest, but a claw-like finger was placed over his mouth. Akker cocked his head, which was his body’s way of saying “Shut up.”

After Uthor decided he wasn’t going to argue, Akker continued. “Your stand is worth, what, 5,000 Credits? You wager that, I win, and suddenly, you’re able that full-blown pub you wanted on Telos. Understand where I’m going with this?”

“Well…that’s quite an opportunity.”

“It may be your only opportunity, buddy. The only other time my odds have been above 200-to-1 was when they had that typo on the program for the Tatooine Slaughter.”

Uthor remembered that time, but didn’t laugh like he usually would. This cart was his only means of income. It was his livelihood. How could he just wager it, even if it was on one of the greatest fighter’s he’d ever known. He was never much of a risk-taker. He looked into Akker’s slate gray eyes, so full of confidence and excitement. Well, Uthor thought, what’s one more risk. “Okay,” he said aloud, “I’m in.”

Akker lit up like a supernova. “Great!” He rushed to the Fizzbrew stand, tore off the One Moment, Please sign and replaced it with the one that said, quite simply, Closed. There was some commotion amongst the customers.

“What are you doing?” grunted the Gamorrean standing in the front of the line, “I’ve been waiting here for ten minutes.”

“Judging by your looks, I’ll say it was a ten minutes not wasted.”

“What?! I’ll crush you, you little punk!” The Gamorrean grabbed Akker by the throat and began to squeeze.

And that’s when Akker’s eyes shot open.

They didn’t bulge like a man suffocating, but rather a man possessed. His mouth curled upward from ear to pointed ear, brandishing a multitude of demon-like teeth in a psychotic smile. Akker’s arms shot out and grabbed the Gamorrean by his garments. Akker quickly pulled in, smashing the Gamorrean’s face against his own. The Gamorrean yelped in pain. Akker briefly gave his arms some slack before pulling their faces together again. And again. And again. Before long, the Gamorrean’s face was smashed and silent, while Akker’s was covered in a yellowish blood. His bulging, bloodshot eyes closed, and a moment passed before they reopened, perfectly normal. He looked at the rest of the customers.

“We’re closed. Have a nice day.”

The crowd scattered without a word. Akker looked back at Uthor. “Okay, so remember, wager it all on me.”

“Gotcha,” Uthor responded. As his friend walked away, though, he called out, “Ak-KER! …What if you lose?”

Akker responded as he always did: with a smile. “I don’t want to sound mean, but it doesn’t matter whether or not you have the stand. If I die, your enterprise is essentially over. See you later!”

***

Uthor felt uncomfortable sitting here in the stands. There were drinks to be sold. Not that he could sell any, what with the betting office holding his stand in storage. Still, a merchant’s instincts are hard to quell.

However, now was the moment he was waiting for. His life was on the line in this upcoming match, and so he wouldn’t miss it for the world.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and other,” a voice boomed over the speakers surrounding the coliseum, “We have a special treat for you today. We’re sure you’ve heard of Akker, the Fallen Jedi, as he’s made his rounds on the Blood Circuit. He especially made his name with his antics during the Tatooine Slaughter. Well, let’s welcome him to the Arcopola Coliseum!”

The was a uncontrollable din within the coliseum as people cheered and jeered. Entering from a small door, Akker sauntered with his customary swagger. He blew kisses to one side of the audience while thrusting his hips at the other side. Uthor, unsure of how to act, simply clapped his hands a few times.

“Now, while on Tatooine, Akker’s betting odds were misprinted at 3,000-to-1. Now, you may have thought that our odds were also misprinted. We can assure you, they were not. However, if you think that you can make a quick fortune by betting on this fallen Jedi, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“What?” Uthor said, filled with a sudden sense of worry.

“That’s because Akker’s opponent is no mere fighter. We got something…special for him. And let’s see what it is!”

Suddenly, a large section of the coliseum floor began to open up, and an underground platform began to raise. Sitting atop that platform was the largest beast that Uthor had ever seen. While not an expert at animals, he recognized it as a drexl, the apex predator of Onderon. Its wings were lashed behind its back, presumably to keep it from flying away. The beast itself seemed to be dressed in armor, which struck Uthor as odd, seeing as a 25-meter beast shouldn’t even need such protection. And it was facing his best friend.

“Oh, no…”

***

“Oh, yes!” Akker said to himself. He could smell weeks’ worth or rotting flesh coming from the drexl’s teeth, but nothing fresher. This baby was hungry.

But it was also big. Too big to fight with his normal methods. No, simple bloodlust was ineffective here. He would, more than likely, have to go to his backup plan: the lightsaber.

“Say, Akker!” He heard the announcer say. He was a little surprised at first; announcers didn’t usually converse with fighters.

“Um…yeah?”

“This beast is too big to fight with your normal methods. Perhaps, as a fallen Jedi, you should use your lightsaber.”

“Ha! Great minds think alike, and all that,” Akker said, making no attempt to hide his sarcasm. He didn’t like how much they were playing up the whole “Fallen Jedi” angle. Made him seem like some sort of chump.

Suddenly, the drexl’s head came racing down. Akker jumped away just in time, so that the beast’s face slammed onto the sandy floor of the coliseum. Akker then took out his lightsaber and turned it on. It’s black blade hummed like a good Twi’lek masseuse. It would make short work of the drexl. With a deft movement, Akker swung the lightsaber upon the beast’s forehead. It should have split its skull in two.

…Should have.

And yet, here the drexl stood, its skull quite intact.

“…Huh.”

“It’s not going to be that easy Akker. You see, that armor is forged from Mandalorian Iron. Impenetrable, even by a lightsaber.”

“Hey now!” Akker yelled back, not sure where the announcer was located, “Thanks for letting me know after I got into the fight.”

“We don’t give 12,000-to-1 odds for nothing, Akker.”

“Well-” Akker began, but was cut off by a huge backhand slap by the drexl, which sent him flying. He slammed into the wall, sending dust and chips of cement into the air. This snapped him back into the present. Akker fell to his feet and stared at the drexl. He then closed his eyes for a moment before opening them as wide as possible.

And then he could see the beast behind the armor. Or rather, the Force which made up the beast. Appearing as though swirls of crude paint, he could see its every movement, its every tendency. As far as he knew, no other Jedi, fallen or straight, could see the Force like this, save for his dead master. Unfortunately, all he could ascertain was that he wouldn’t be able to get through the armor with any physical force.

Mental forces were a different matter.

For the past month or so, Akker had been experimenting with a new technique. Any Jedi worth their salt knew how to manipulate and move things with their mind. But what if you could do that on a molecular level. In theory, it’s simple: move two molecules away from each other. Do that enough and whatever you’re focusing on loses its molecular structure. Yes, in theory it’s simple, but it takes some work in practice. Akker, whose unique way of perceiving the force allowed him a better sense of the location of even individual molecules, had tested the technique on rocks and small lizards, turning them into nothing more than piles of goop.

A drexl…that would take a bit more work.

However, Akker was always up for a challenge. He ran around the coliseum, avoiding the claws and teeth of the enormous beast. Careful not to waste too much energy, he bided his time until the drexl’s head came straight toward him. Akker jumped into the air and landed on the faceplate of the drexl. He then focused. Hard. He visualized as many of the countless molecules comprising the drexl’s body as he possibly could. One by one in rapid succession, he pulled them from their place, sending them flying.

Akker heard the drexl shriek. He could feel it bucking its head to and fro. Barely. He was too focused on his current work to care about anything else. He couldn’t tell how much time was passing in his current state. It could have been second, it could have been a half-hour. All Akker knew was that, sure enough, the drexl was sinking to the ground.

After the last molecule was torn from place, Akker closed his eyes. He allowed his vision to go back to its normal capacity, and reopened his eyes. When he looked, he saw that the drexl’s indestructible armor was still intact, even if it was in a heap. Underneath it, he could see a sticky lake of purplish gel which was the drexl’s new form.

“Force…dissolution. That’s a good name for the technique,” Akker said to himself, smiling. He could barely even hear that, though, amongst the deafening chaos that had overtaken the stadium from his victory.

***

Argen Vise, the owner of the Arcopola Coliseum, was pacing back and forth. “I hope you’re happy, Akker. Do you know how many people placed a bet on you?”

“I don’t fight so people bet on me. I fight to fight.”

“People put novelty bets on you. They figured it would be good for a laugh. Instead, it’s like a lottery that everyone wins! There’s even some merchant I have to pay some sixty million credits to!”

Akker smiled when hearing that. He sat down in the most comfortable-looking chair and said, “Hey, I didn’t set the odds at 12,000-to-1. Whoever thought of that idea needs to be fired.”

“We’re all fired because of you, you know that! We’re bankrupt! We won’t have any money after paying off these bets. And it’s all because of you.”

“So? A man doesn’t just sit down and let himself die so you can make a profit. At least, I don’t. Like I said, I fight to fight,” he said, staring Vise square in the eyes. “Besides, your demise makes possible the opening of my friend’s new pub. I’m sure he’ll be opening on Telos fairly soon.”

“What do I care about your friend?”

Akker stood up and stepped gingerly toward the door. “Because,” he said with a toothy smile, “If you want to find me, that’s where I’ll be. And Uthor’s a nice guy. I’m sure when he sees you’re down on your luck, he’ll let you have a Fizzbrew on the house.”

And with that, Akker stepped out.