The Air Vent

(This is fiction.)

I was 6, my brother was 10, and we had the whole house to ourselves. Grandma and Mom were at the restaurant getting it ready for the morning crowd. The crowd wasn’t very large, maybe 10 to 15 people at the most, but it was enough to keep the business alive. Those who came, came for the biscuits and gravy.  Grandma was known for her famous biscuits and gravy in at least a three county radius.

We would have about 4 hours in between being checked on through the day to fill with whatever adventures I would device for us to do. The restaurant was just a stone’s throw away from the house so we could not get to crazy.  My brother being the oldest was in charge of me, and I being of little attention span was in charge of figuring out what we were going to do that day. Luckily my brother was game for whatever I could come up with, even if that meant being Barbie’s best friend for an hour.

The house was old, with creaky wooden floors and yellowing wallpaper peeling at the corners. Grandma was frugal with the air conditioning, so the house would heat up slowly throughout the day. She seemed to have it down to a science when to pop the air conditioner on the give just enough relief to the dwellers as to not turn them into melted pools of human laziness. In the older houses the air vents were in the floors as oppose to the ceilings of modern structures. The air would kick on with a ticking noise, and then a grunt from the house as if it was so inconvenienced by the thought of cooling off it’s occupants.  Then with a strong whoosh the floor would blow sweet cooling relief strong enough (in a 6 year old’s mind) to float on to the heavens.

We would grab one of Grandma’s good top sheets from the bed whenever we hear the telltale ticking and run to the nearest vent. My brother and I would duck ourselves under the sheet, holding all four corners down between us as the air would start it’s travel from unknown origins of the inner house workings and into our sheet. The sheet would fill with air encasing us in some sort of air igloo. Our skin would goose bump with the cool air and I would watch the sheet rise as it filled. We had about 10 minutes to cool down and exchange stories in our air tent. My brother’s would always be about pirates or dragons or cars, typical boy stuff. Mine would be about princesses, my future jobs, and how to care and raise unicorns. We would listen to each other’s stories with faked interest if we had too. That was the number one rule of the air tent. No fighting. We couldn’t waste the time with fighting.

I loved the days of staying at my Grandma’s. It felt like we had a freedom there not afforded to most kids our age. I was allowed to let my imagination take over and fill our days with adventures and games.

When we got older, Grandma sold the restaurant when her old bones wouldn’t let her stir the batter to make those famous tri-county  biscuits anymore. My brother and I stopped playing in the air vents eventually. Now when we would visit Grandma we would sit at the dinning room table with the adults and listen to adult topics like changing car batteries, the weather, and stories of the restaurant regulars.

However, whenever the air would kick on in the house, I would look at my brother, and he at me, and we would smile.

The Robots And The Writer

The Robots just suddenly arrived.

They landed on Earth in droves, tall…about 8 or 9 feet in height, dirty metallic bodies, 3 wheeled tank like contraptions on their legs for movement, 3 tentacle-like arms with 6 tentacle-like appendages and on each one, claw like hands and fingers.

They came and they conquered. They conquered in a mere 72 hours.

The entire world in only 72 hours.

After they conquered and killed all the leaders of the world, they kind of left everyone else alone.

Sort of.

The robots made everyone stay inside their dwellings whether it be a fancy million dollar home, an apartment complex, or  a hobo’s cardboard box. It had been about two weeks of the house arrest.

Twice  food rations were left on the doorstep. Apparently the Robots thought our diet consisted of nothing but Spaghetti-o’s. TV was cut down to one channel that just played the same five movies over and over; A Christmas Story, Groundhog Day, Porky’s 3, Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure, and Casino. No one could make heads or tails of the selections or whether their was a theme or message to them. Some thought it might be a some secret symbol of the robots intent. Radio was down to one frequency, 104.1 FM. This station only played Frank Sinatra, but luckily it was his whole catalog and not just five select songs like the TV.

The internet, shut down.

After pretty much everyone in the world could quote Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure from start to finish, an announcement came over the TV and Radio:

“Greetings, people of Planet 279. You will be hearing this broadcast in your native language since you choose to complicate your race with such nonsense as separate languages. Tomorrow will begin your sorting. I will assume, you 279ings do not know what a sorting is, so I will explain. Each one of you will be individually interviewed on your worth to this planet and to us, your new masters. If your skills are deemed worthy, you will live to serve us. If your skills are deemed inadequate, you will be killed on the spot. We have already eradicated Rappers, Weather Men, Fruit Snack Packers, Walmart Customer Service Employees, Mark Zuckerburg, and Network TV Executives.   One of our kind will be knocking on your door sometime between 8 am and 5 pm to begin your evaluation. That reminds me, we need to add all cable installers to the inadequate list. Do not try to run. Do not try to resist. Do not try to fight. Do try to cooperate. Do try to answer the questions truthfully. And if you are deemed unworthy, do try to die quickly and without crying. That is all.”

And then Casino started playing on the TV again.

I was a novelist. I don’t know what Robots would want a novelist for…especially based on their taste of movies, but I couldn’t give up hope. There had to be a place for someone with my skill set for them. I didn’t have to write novels, I could write about anything…be a reporter, keep records, or something. My youngest daughter, who was 6, pulled on my pants.

“Daddy, I’m scared!” she said with big teary eyes.

“Oh,” I said as I brushed her long blonde bangs out of her eyes and kissed her on the forehead. “Don’t be. Daddy will be okay.”

“But Daddy,” she responded, tears running down her cheeks. “Who will pack the Fruit Snacks now?”

I gave her a hug and said, “I don’t know, honey. I don’t know.”

—–

Eight AM came quickly the next day, and you could see the robots lining up along the suburban street. The had enough robots for one to stand outside each and every door, and at precisely 8, a unison single knock hit the aluminum doors, followed by a metallic warning;

“You have 30 seconds to answer your doors. 30, 29, 28, 27, 26….”

I opened the door. The faceless machine looked at me, and it pushed me aside as it bent it’s large frame down to fit through the opening. Once inside it said,

“Are you Planet 279 inhabitant also known as Frank Baum?”

“I am, and it’s called Earth, not Planet 279,” I responded weakly.

“What you know of as ‘Earth’ is no more. You are now an inhabitant of Planet 279. If you are deemed worthy of service you will be given a new name. Your new name will be 279.0943783749894590834590349.”

“Wow, I don’t know if I could remember all of that,” I said a little worried.

The robot responded, “It will be branded to your forehead. No worries.”

“Oh, great.”

The robot pulled out a clipboard. “Please answer these questions, briefly and completely or you will be eradicated. Please answer the questions truthfully or you will be eradicated. I will be monitoring your heart rate and your brain wave patterns. You will be recorded. Let us begin. For the official record, what is your Planet 279 name?”

“My Earth name or the bar code you just gave me?” I asked.

“You have not earned your worthiness, therefor you currently do not have your official citizenship of our planet. Your ‘Earth’ name please.”

“My name is Frank Baum.”

The Robot checked something off on it’s clipboard. “This is just for show by the way, it seems to make you Planet 279-ers feel more at ease. What is your current occupation?”

“I’m a novelist. I write books.”

The Robot put down the clipboard and raised what looked like a big scary laser gun.

“What is that for?!” I screamed.

“Eradication,” the robot replied.

“Why?! For being a novelist?! What the hell? Do you Robots not read? Or think that the people who will survive this won’t want to read?”

“You will be eradicated because all of the books have all ready been written,” the robot replied coldly.

“What?!” I laughed. “How can that be?!”

“Our writers have written all the books there ever will be, every subject has been written about. There is not a story that hasn’t been written that we already don’t have a book for.” The Robot raised it’s gun to my head.

“Wait!” I yelled. “How can you be so sure? What if I come up with a story that hasn’t been written yet. Then you have to keep me to write it for you.”

The Robot said and did nothing for a moment. “I will download all the books into my database. If you think you can come up with a story that I don’t have a book for, then you may live.”

The Robot raised one of it’s arms and shook for 30 seconds and then said, “Ready.”

“Ok,” I thought a moment. I had to come up with something incredibly wild and out there. “Do you have a book about an octopus with 6 dog’s heads that falls in love with a squirrel after terrorizing the citizens of Alabama?”

The Robot holds up a Kindle and says, ‘Yes.” On the Kindle is story entitled, ‘Bang The Squirrel Slowly.’

“I’ll be damned!” I said as the Robot raised his gun again. “Wait! Do you have a story about an octopus with 7 dog’s heads that falls in love with a squirrel after terrorizing the citizens of Japan?”

The Robot once again holds up the Kindle and displays: ‘Bang The Squirrel Slowly II: A 7 dog headed octopus falls for the orginal squirrels Japanese half sister.’

The robot raises it’s gun again. “It is futile. All books have been written except for 5. You will be eradicated.”

“Wait? What?” I stammer. “All but five? Originally you said all books have been written. Now your saying five haven’t. What five?”

The Robot lowers it’s gun. “The sacred five. They have been turned into movies. We show only the scared five on television.”

A dumb look has to cross my face. “Are you saying Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure is one of the sacred five?”

“Yes.”

“And there is no novel form of the movie?”

“Yes, only a screenplay. ”

I scratched my head, “Well then I’m your man to do that!”

The Robot raises his gun and fires. The laser hits me square in the chest knocking me back. I fall as I feel the burning of my heart and lungs inside my chest. I see the Robot standing over me. It bends over to my face. I can barely see it’s head as my eyes darken with death. I hear the robot say,

“We have already spared Steven King for that.”

~Fin~

—–

Editor’s Note:

I awoke from a horrible dream drenched in sweat and drool the other night. Of the dream I don’t remember, I only remember the echoing of these words as I arose from REM state, “We have already spared Steven King for that.”

Thus was the inspiration for that stupid story.

🙂

Adding F*cking To Famous Quotes Or Bringing Them Into Modern Times

Old:

The most exciting phrase to hear in science, the one that heralds new discoveries, is not ‘eureka!’ but ‘that’s funny…’ – Issac Asimov

New:

The most exciting phrase to hear in science, the one that heralds new discoveries, is not ‘Fuck!’ but ‘that’s fucking funny…’ – Issac Fucking Asimov

——

Old:

And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your country can do for you — ask what you can do for your country.

My fellow citizens of the world: ask not what America will do for you, but what together we can do for the freedom of man. – John F. Kennedy

New:

And so, my fellow Americans: ask not what your fucking country can do for you — ask what you can do for your fucking country.

My fellow citizens of the world: ask not what America will fucking do for you, but what together we can do for the fucking freedom of man. – John Fucking Kennedy

—–

Old:

When hungry, eat your rice; when tired, close your eyes. Fools may laugh at me, but wise men will know what I mean. -Lin-Chi

New:

When fucking hungry, eat your fucking rice; when fucking tired, close your fucking eyes. Fools may fucking laugh at me, but wise men will know what I fucking mean. -Lin-Fucking-Chi

—–

Old:

To the man who only has a hammer, everything he encounters begins to look like a nail. -Abraham Maslow

New:

To the man who only has a hammer, everything he encounters begins to look like a fucking nail. -Abraham Fuckslow

—–

Old:

Watch your thoughts; they become words.
Watch your words; they become actions.
Watch your actions; they become habits.
Watch your habits; they become character.
Watch your character; it becomes your destiny.

– Lao-Tze

New:

Fuck your thoughts; they become words.
Fuck your words; they become actions.
Fuck your actions; they become habits.
Fuck your habits; they become character.
Fuck your character; it becomes your fucking destiny.

—Fuck-Me

—–

Editor’s Note: I didn’t know if this would come off as funny…but fuck it.

Chicken Nugget Or Celebrity?

The Game Show Network called me up and asked  if I would be willing to create a new game show for them.

I said I would be delighted.

I thought I would run a sample by everyone to see what you guys think. So here it is, and it’s called:

Here is how it is played. I show you a picture, you tell me if it’s a celebrity or a chicken nugget.

Ready…

Set…

Deep Fryers On…

Let’s play!

Round One

Celebrity or Chicken Nugget?

Celebrity or Chicken Nugget?

Round 2

The Celebrity is on the Right or Left side?

Speed Round

Answers for the speed round: 1 – Celebrity 2 – Chicken Nugget 3 – Chicken Nugget 4 – Chicken Nugget 5 – Celebrity 6 – Celebrity 7 – Trick Question: Half Chicken Nugget Half Celebrity

Bonus Round

Name that Celebrity.

Name That Celebrity.

(Side Note: I fully expect this post will end up in the Freshly Pressed section.)

Guide To Pasta

Some helpful hints to successfully getting the most from your pasta experience.

Tip #1

Pasta tastes much better if it’s cooked. You can eat it raw, but it will be very crunchy. If you go the raw route, I suggest using a red sauce.

Tip #2

If you decide to cook your pasta, do not glue it in the shape of a sun on a piece of construction paper first. If you go with the glued pasta make sure it’s a non toxic glue.

Tip #3

Pasta is very versatile. It can be used as either a main entree or as a side dish. I would not recommend using it as both in the same meal. Example: Spaghetti and Meatballs with a side of Macaroni and Cheese would be a bad combination.

Tip #4

After cooking the pasta, be sure to drain the water off before adding any type of sauce.

Tip #5

There are many types and shapes of pasta. Here is my guide know which is which:

Spaghetti

Macaroni (no cheese)

This is a picture of Macaroni having sex. I didn’t mean to include this picture. It’s from my personal pasta porn collection. Sorry, but hey grow up…where do you think pasta comes from?

Tubes or Tubey or Tubies. If one of your friends calls them Penne then they are just being pretentious.

Multi-colored Rotini. Don’t eat the green ones, the have turned bad and are spoiled.

Bowtie Pasta

Ravioli

Mini Ravioli

Yum! Enjoy!

Canceled Posts For This Week

Editor’s note: It is with much delight that I will have to cancel some of this week’s posts by the following staff writer’s:

Blogger: Toodles and Muffin
Title: Choosing Your Toddler’s Toys By Race
Editor’s Comments: Borderline offensive. I am afraid if we run this article not only will we lose followers, but will be sued by every minority on the planet. Also I don’t believe that Hindu One Legged Dwarfs is a niche that would require six paragraphs of specialized toy options, nor do I believe any of those toys actually exist.

Blogger: Cooking With Kitty Kitty Kat Kat
Title: Strawberry Pop Tart Crusted Steak With Blueberry Waffle Shrimp Pasta
Editor’s Comments: I understand the need to be creative and different, especially with as many recipe/cooking blogs there are, but fusing dinner and breakfast like this is not only a crime against humanity, but illegal in all the states in the central time zone. Besides sounding totally unappetizing, the wine pairing of Prune Juice Chardonnay makes me a little queezy.

Blogger: The Angry Peanut Farmer
Title: I’m Angry About Peanuts
Editor’s Comments: This is the tenth article on angry Peanut Farming. This blog has 5 followers and I’m pretty sure 3 of them are not even real, but are actually minor characters from the old Bugs Bunny Show. I actually recommending dissolving this blog and finding a new angry ranter. You know, someone who is angry about missing socks, red lights, and Thursday Night Football.

Blogger: Christopher De Voss (The Zombie Journals)
Title: Interviews From The Mime Convention
Editor’s Comments: I get it. Handing in 14 blank pages because you interviewed mimes may seem funny, but is unpublishable…and lazy. Your about 10 seconds away from joining the Angry Peanut Farmer.

Blogger: Life With Grandma’s New Hip Replacement
Title: Cute Adult Diaper Stories
Editor’s Comments: Didn’t read it. Not going to read it. Not going to approve it for publishing. I would actually like a family Blogger on staff under the age of 80…and with an actual family.

Blogger: Single And Lovin’ It!
Title: Just Knock On My Door, If You’re Breathing I’ll Marry You
Editor’s Comments: I think your missing the point of writing a woman’s single column with this one here. I realize, through your resent posts: My Eggs Are Dropping, Someone, Anyone, Please Fertilize Me and Anyone Know If There Is A Male Order Husband Service, Preferably One Where They Don’t Know English At All; that you might be a tad over the single life. However, this post was unreadable and writing 76 frowny faces does not really count as writing at all. 😦

I expect better next week.