Not How I Remember It

Today I was over in a section of town I don’t normally visit, and I was surprised to see a Media Play there. I’d thought they’d all closed down! This one seemed perfectly fine though, the lights were all lit, the shelves were stocked, and there were plenty of customers mulling around. While there I noticed a new “Beatles Ultimate Collection” that had just come out, and since my collection of Beatles music is embarrassingly lacking I decided to pick it up.

There was something weird about the songs though. They were all a little…off. The music was right, but the lyrics were all different. “Yellow Submarine” was “Orange Submarine,” “Here Comes the Sun” was “There Goes the Sun” and “Think For Yourself” had become “(Don’t) Think For Yourself.”

I checked the box, trying to make sure this wasn’t some sort of weird cover band or something. But no, for the most part it said “Songs written by Lennon/McCarthy,” with the usual exceptions of course.

About this time it started getting bad. Instead of the friendly fireman and barber on “Penny Lane” they were singing about the violent prison guard and sadistic butcher. Next, John Lennon advised me that “All you need is blood. Blood is all you need.” “She Came in Through the Bathroom Window” was, of course, suitably disturbing, but the worst of all was “I am the Walrus.” This time around, it made sense. And trust me, it’s better if you don’t know what the words mean.

History 616

Excerpt from the journals of Robert Witherstone, archeologist.

July 12th, 1894

We made our first excavations into the structure today. Amazingly, it seems to be a library, stretching on as far as the eye can see. I don’t see how a library of this size could have been lost without any record of its existence, unless it perhaps it is the hidden hall of some ancient Indian tribe. If so, this discovery could be a breakthrough in anthropology, finally giving us a written record of the history of this continent before colonization! I have taken a few volumes back to study and attempt to decode them.

July 12th, 1894 (later)

I have made an amazing discovery — the books are in English! The first one I opened turned out to be a history of the American Revolution. Something’s not quite right about it though. The book claims the war ended at the Siege of Yorktown when George Washington ate General Cornwallis. Perhaps this is a mistranslation from an original, different work written in another language, because this can’t be what the author meant to say.

July 13th, 1894

Read more of the books in the library today. Most of the books on science seem fairly normal, but the fiction is perverse and terrible. Worst of all are the supposed “histories.” I found a volume detailing the colonization of Africa, but rather than referring to the cannibalism practiced by the savages there, it described the Europeans as cannibalizing the Africans they killed! All of this is most unsettling, and I am not sure what to think. I am normally the type of man to laugh at silly superstitions, but the fact that today is Friday the 13th does not help my unease. I will continue to examine the volumes contained here in an attempt to get to the bottom of this.

July 16, 1894

Lord have mercy. I do not know what sort of unholy place we have found, but it has to be destroyed. Today I found a Bible (if, indeed, you can call such profanity a Bible).

The familiar stories were replaced with grotesque and disturbing tales of sadistic violence, culminating in the most awful blasphemy of all. The author of this monstrosity wrote the story of the Lord’s Supper as literal rather than symbolic. Christ order his disciples to literally kill him, drink his blood, and eat him. We have set up a fire in the center of the structure and are burning all the books we can lay hands on. We have also set up explosives to collapse the cave in the morning so that nobody else can stumble on this blighted place.

July 17th, 1894

We collapsed the cave today. Jones was injured in the blast. He is conscious, but his leg is too hurt for him to walk. It is slow going having to carry him.

July 18th, 1894

Returned to the University today. No doubt it is my addled nerves still in shock from the horror I discovered, but something about the students makes me uneasy. I do not like the look in their eyes; it seems alien in some way. While they commonly use strange slang and colloquialisms with which I am not familiar, it recently seems to have gotten even stranger, so much so that I sometimes cannot even tell what they are talking about.

Doubtless I am still in shock from the events of the previous few days and this will pass.

July 19th, 1894

I spoke with Jones’ doctor today. He is a nervous man, continually licking his lips and grimacing. His manner is overbearing, his breath is terrible and his teeth are unpleasant. But I digress. In any case, he told me that Jones’ injuries are much worse than they had appeared at first. Apparently he had a great deal of internal injuries as well. They are not sure if he will pull through.

July 20th, 1894

Jones succumbed to his injuries today. The funeral arrangements are being made.

July 22nd, 1894

Jones’ funeral was today. The preacher was very strange. I’m not quite sure what he meant when he said Jones’ soul was “swallowed up” by the Lord. I did like his point that Jones would be “a part of us forever,” though.

Although there was one good thing. As strange or flippant as it might be to mention, the food at the reception afterwords was fantastic.

Still a Lot of Walking to Do

The afterlife’s not quite how you learned in church. There’s no final judgement, no splitting off into Heaven or Hell. Oh, there’s a Heaven of course, but not many people go there right away. There’s still too much work to be done. Only the most perfect can be allowed in, of course, or else it wouldn’t be Heaven. But there’s still hope. After you die, you pick right up on where you left off. Only all the distractions are cut out and the journey is all that’s left. No need to eat or sleep, just pure self-improvement, discovery and enlightenment.

The journey’s different for everyone, based on whatever someone’s strengths or weaknesses are. The greedy have to learn to share, the selfish have to learn to put others before them, the paranoid have to learn to trust. And of course the hardest of all — everyone has to learn to love themselves. Truly love themselves, not what passes for it in most peoples’ lives. After all, how can someone who doesn’t think they deserve Paradise possibly deserve Paradise?

Don’t think it’s easy though. There’s no map and there’s no guarantee you’re even going the right way. Most people are still wandering. If it’s taken you 70 years and you’re not ready yet, what makes you think you’ll get there in the next 70?

Hyperspaced

The discovery of faster-than-light travel came about in much the same way as most great scientific discoveries in the universe: as the result of a night of drunken debauchery. After an overly dramatic space battle wherein they completely destroyed the armada of their mortal enemies, the X’th’qulikans, the crew of the battleship Crybabyslobberpuss proceeded to get totally smashed. After waking up, they discovered that they were a few dozen light years away from their original location.

Unfortunately, they had somehow managed to park themselves around the X’th’qulikans’ home planet, and so their important discovery was not reported for centuries until an eccentric collector bought the disk containing the Crybabyslobberpuss’ starship data from a X’th’qulikan caffeine addict whose great-great-great-great-grandfather had fought in the war and had handed down the disk as a family heirloom for generations until this X’th’qulikan in question really needed his next fix at any cost.

But I digress.

It was soon discovered that the secret to faster-than-light travel was the simple extension of one of the most widely known facts in the universe. Just as you might find yourself lying in a strange gutter (or bed) on an unfamiliar side of town (or even in an entirely different town) after a raging bender, it turns out that starship crews who get completely blackout wasted tend to find themselves in entirely different sectors of the galaxy after waking up the next daycycle. Nobody is really able to discern the method of actual travel — the inevitable meddling with the ship’s controls by the drunks leaves any computer data completely undecipherable.

Of course, this method of transportation is incredibly unreliable as the crew really has no idea where they’ll end up. Which is where another well-known fact about drunk people comes into play: they love fatty, fried foods. The crew almost invariably awakens somewhere near a franchise of McGarbilax’s 25-Hour Diner, guaranteeing that they will, at least, be near some semblance of civilization.

The discovery of faster-than-light travel came about in much the same way as most great scientific discoveries in the universe: as the result of a night of drunken debauchery. After an overly dramatic space battle wherein they completely destroyed the armada of their mortal enemies, the X’th’qulikans, the crew of the battleship Crybabyslobberpuss proceeded to get totally smashed. After waking up, they discovered that they were a few dozen light years away from their original location.

Unfortunately, they had somehow managed to park themselves around the X’th’qulikans’ home planet, and so their important discovery was not reported for centuries until an eccentric collector bought the disk containing the Crybabyslobberpuss‘ starship data from a X’th’qulikan caffeine addict whose great-great-great-great-grandfather had fought in the war and had handed down the disk as a family heirloom for generations until this X’th’qulikan in question really needed his next fix at any cost.

But I digress.

It was soon discovered that the secret to faster-than-light travel was the simple extension of one of the most widely known facts in the universe. Just as you might find yourself lying in a strange gutter (or bed) on an unfamiliar side of town (or even in an entirely different town) after a raging bender, it turns out that starship crews who get completely blackout wasted tend to find themselves in entirely different sectors of the galaxy after waking up the next daycycle. Nobody is really able to discern the method of actual travel — the inevitable meddling with the ship’s controls by the drunks leaves any computer data completely undecipherable.

Of course, this method of transportation is incredibly unreliable as the crew really has no idea where they’ll end up. Which is where another well-known fact about drunk people comes into play: they love fatty, fried foods. The crew almost invariably awakens somewhere near a franchise of McGarbilax’s 25-Hour Diner, guaranteeing that they will, at least, be near some semblance of civilization.

When We Were Jung

“Got any spare change?” asked the Bum as the Truck Driver pushed passed him into the bar.

“The usual?” asked the Bartender as he entered.

“What else?” grunted the Truck Driver, sliding onto the stool. “I don’t know why you work in this dump,” he said, shaking his head.

“We all have to pay the rent somehow,” shrugged the Bartender, mixing up the drink.

“Tell me about it,” sighed the Truck Driver, “But you could do so much more! You’re the Wise Old Man for God’s sake! Couldn’t you have been a professor or a therapist or something?”

“I was self-taught,” sighed the Bartender, “No degree, no fancy title. But hey, you’re not exactly the Playboy Millionaire either!”

“Maybe not,” admitted the Truck Driver, “The Fool got there first, somehow.”

“I heard it was the Trickster,” said the Bartender. “He decided to become a Con Man, then he and the Fool worked together, did some embezzling and fraud, made millions. Of course, then he got arrested and the Fool got to keep all the money. Been living it up ever since, doesn’t give two shits about anything.”

“Hell, man,” laughed the Truck Driver, “why couldn’t that have been us? Ah well, at least I’m still doing what I was meant to. Driving a truck is sort of like being a Wanderer. I get to travel a lot, anyway.”

“Things sure have changed,” sighed the Bartender. “Have you seen the Mother and the Child recently? Now that’s sad.”

The Truck Driver nodded. Back when humanity was young, the Child was all sweetness and light, instead of the snotty little shit he was today. One could almost forgive the Mother for turning from the strong, supportive parent she once was to the henpecking, controlling woman she had become.

“What we need is a Hero to come along and set things right,” the Truck Driver sighed.

The Bartender smiled wistfully. “Every day I wish it more and more. It’s such a shame he was killed back in World War II.”

Not for everyone

Everyone said I was crazy, that it was a dumb idea, that I’d regret it. My friends wouldn’t stop calling my phone, sending text messages and showing up on my stoop at odd hours, begging me not to do it. My boss fired me, saying “I don’t want someone like you working for me!” as he drank his 100 proof whiskey, straight from the bottle. I stood fast on my position, I was going to do it, and there was nothing he could do to stop me. “Get out!” he bellowed at me, before he started sobbing uncontrollably. “You’re dead to me! Do you hear me!? YOU ARE DEAD!” I left, but my will was stronger than ever.

The next day, I carried out my plan. My sister drove me down to the dealership, pleading, begging me not to as we drove. The car slowed to a stop as I opened the door. At the last minute she grabbed the back of my shirt, tears flowing down her face. I shrugged her off and walked into the dealership, her car peeling away, leaving nothing but skid marks and a broken heart. I stepped into the dealership and walked straight up to one of the agents. I looked him straight in the eye and said “I’d like to buy a Smart Car.”

You know that scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, where the evil Nazi henchman’s face melts off? Well that didn’t happen to the sales agent, but his lip curled a little bit and I noticed sweat breaking out along his thinning hairline. “H-h-h-here are y-y-y-your pap-pap-pap-PAPERS, just f-f-f-fill them out, a-a-a-and I’ll run a c-c-c-credit check” he stammered nervously. I handed him my drivers license and walked out of the room as fast as he could without trying to look obvious. I looked at all the Smart Cars they had in the show room. I admit that at this point, I was having my own doubts about the whole idea. I vividly recalled the sleepless nights of weeks past, up until six AM, tossing and turning, thinking about what might happen, weighing my options. I banished those dark thoughts from my mind just as the agent returned. His eyes were stained, evidence that he had most likely been sobbing uncontrollably in the back room for the last ten minutes. He handed me my license and opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, only unintelligible grunts. Sensing his question, I said “I’ll take the red one, with the leather interior.” He nodded again and scurried off. Thirty minutes later, the agent, his boss and a nun come out of the back room. The manager tries to reason with me. The nun falls to her knees, praying for my salvation. I shrug past them, grabbing the car keys and I drive off the lot.

The drive home is short, too short to second guess myself, too short to turn around and redeem myself. Light after light, turn after turn, white knuckles gripping the steering wheel, fingernails leaving permanent impressions. I get home and back into the driveway. The neighbors come outside to watch. Steven Robinson starts to cross the street but wimps out under my withering glare. I open the garage, grab the tuba case, and return to my new car. The rear hatch glides open silently as everyone watching gasps loudly. No time for pleasantries now. I grab the tuba and try to shove it in. No luck. Silently, I close the hatch and walk back inside my house, feeling every pair of eyes staring at the back of my neck. A perfect walk of shame.

I should have known.
I should have listened.
Tuba players shouldn’t buy Smart Cars.

King of Hearts

The King of Hearts is called the Suicide King because he’s sticking a sword in his head. Seeing as he’s also the King of Hearts, you’d think that means that he killed himself for love.

Actually, he made everyone else kill themselves for love.

When he was born the doctors and nurses said he was the most beautiful baby they’d ever seen. Now of course they always say that, but this time it was true.

As he grew older, women loved him. His mother’s friends always talked about what a handsome young man he was, and of course, mothers’ friends always do that but this time they really meant it.

He became a teenager, and girls threw themselves at him. He always won best-looking contests, he even did a little modelling. Women everywhere went crazy for him. They left their boyfriends or their husbands or even sometimes their girlfriends just to be with him.

There was only one problem. He was aromatic and asexual. He had no desire for sex, and no capacity for romantic love. He could never return their feelings because they were feelings he could never feel.

As he grew older, he became more and more beautiful and soon it wasn’t just girls who loved him. Even men fell in love with him. Gay, straight, it didn’t matter. When he smiled at you, or even looked at you, you loved him and wanted him in ways you’d never loved or wanted anyone else.

Of course, he could never feel the same way about you.

And so, his admirers began to kill themselves.

Not all of them, of course. But the heartbreak they felt when they realized he could never love them was the worst pain any of them had ever felt. Many just couldn’t cope. Even those that didn’t kill themselves were never truly happy again.

Ironically, the King of Hearts was lonely.

He couldn’t have friends. It was just too awkward to try and be friends with people who felt so strongly towards him when he couldn’t return or even understand their feelings. Not to mention, so many people he knew killed themselves. He was afraid of even trying to get too close in fear that they’d die on him.

And so, eventually, one night, this man, the most beloved human being, this person who nobody could hate and everyone adored, died of a broken heart.

The next day everyone who’d ever met him killed themselves.

And that’s why the King of Hearts is the suicide king.

Icarus’ Yearbook

Keep reaching for the stars! Miss ya man.
- Odysseus

My dad’s gonna be out of town this summer and he’s leaving his chariot at home. One last joyride maybe?
- Phaeton

Thanks for introducing me to Theseus. He’s a great guy, I’m pretty sure we’re gonna get married.
-  Ariadne

Aim for the heavens. You’re sure to make it some day.
- Hermes

Remember all the times we got high? Man you sure loved to get high bro. One day I bet you’ll get higher than anyone!
- Theseus, Original G

One day you’ll go far, young friend. Ride the wind to your destiny.
Have a great summer never change!
- Homer

Turns Out Lycanthropy Really is a Curse After All

When we discovered the spell that let people turn into animals, of course everyone had to try it.

We all missed the obvious problem, though — you can’t fit a human intelligence into an animal brain. There just aren’t enough neurons or lobes or whatever. Trying to squeeze something so big into something so small, parts are going to get lost.

Let’s just say the term “bird-brained” took on a whole new meaning after that congregation in Hoboken decided to spend a few days as doves.

Actually, for a lot of people it wasn’t that much of a problem. Sure, the people who turned themselves into dogs came back with the mental acuity of five year olds, but they were also incredibly happy and loyal to their families and friends.

Some animals didn’t even seem to cause a problem. Chimpanzees, obviously, but people could also transform into crows or other more intelligent birds without much problem besides losing a few IQ points. The few who tried out elephants were perfectly fine. Some people who turned into dolphins actually seemed to get smarter.

It wasn’t all sweetness and light, of course. Afterwards, more than a quarter of the world’s population was below the level of mental retardation. Even those who weren’t, sometimes came back bad. There are more than a few who turned into leopards or tigers and came back as stalking serial killers. Most who became gorillas came back with anger management problems.

And then there’s the guy who turned into an ant. Everyone was expecting him to come back basically brain dead, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case. What happened instead was horrifying.

House of Cards

OK, so, there were these three guys, see? Two twins and their younger brother.

So, the twins. Identical twins, and I mean completely identical. Only way to tell ‘em apart was to get way up close, ’cause you see, each of ‘em had only one good eye. The other one was glass. Funny thing was, one was missing his right eye and the other his left. A little too coincidental if you ask me, but anyway say you manage to get close enough to their faces, you could know who was who.

‘Course, they never let anyone get that close to ‘em. And anyone who did ain’t fit to talk about it.

Creepy bastards, too. You know how some twins got that “sixth sense” about each other, can tell what the other’s thinking or doing at the time, right? These guys had it like no other. Sometimes it seemed like they were the same guy just in two different bodies, y’know? One of ‘em would be off doing something and the other would know everything before he even heard about it. Nobody knew their real names. They both went by “Jack.” To confuse people, I guess, but it’s not like it mattered since you couldn’t tell ‘em apart anyway. And of course people called ‘em the One-Eyed Jacks.

You see where this is going, eh? Yeah. If they’re the One-Eyed Jacks, that made their brother the Suicide King.

Alright, you gotta understand, this guy, even though he was the younger brother, he was big. The Jacks were scrawny types, they were the schemers and talkers of the operation. The King was the muscle. And he was an animal. He fought like he wasn’t afraid of dying, and I guess he wasn’t ’cause a lot of the time the fights would end with him shooting himself in the head.

Yeah. “A lot of the time.” He did this more than once. What, you think people called him the Suicide King ’cause it was cute? Yeah, after he shoots himself in the head he just lies there ’til things settle down and then he just gets up and walks out at his leisure. I don’t even wanna know how he discovered that particular talent.

Nah, it’s all true. How the hell could I make this shit up? Remember that rash of robberies all across the country few years back, three-man teams, two of ‘em always got away but the third always ended up taking his own life? Sure, they said it was “copycat crimes” but who the hell would want to copy that?

You’re laughing. You don’t believe me. Well, maybe so. Hell, I never met these guys myself, could be all a ghost story far as I know. But let me tell you, I don’t hang around with no twins no more.