- 7 Posts
- 7 Comments
2·11 months agoI saw him snap up a pencil the secretary dropped one time like he was doing a slight of hand routine. Just snatched it out of the air as it fell from her hand, twirled it and handed it back with a wink. I couldn’t believe what I saw- but… now I think I can.
“Eric! My man! This isn’t a cosplay thing is it? That’s a pretty sick glow you got going on. Are we good?”
He lightly reached for my hilarious keychain airhorn and rolled it into tight foil ball between his hands and let it fall. The coal embers behind his eyes faded to a hurt but angry stare before he turned away and blinked furiously at the nearest wall.
“Freaking airhorn? …you weren’t supposed to see that.”
“I get that, I get that, but- just to make sure- was that… what was that?”
“It’s the family thing. I have it under control you just can’t do-” He shifted to kick the remains of the airhorn towards me but stopped and just swatted it with his foot. "Sorry… Like my dad, you know… "
Eric had never spoken to me personally about it, but it was pretty well known that his father was killed by a train under extremely mysterious circumstances. His body was never found, but neither was most of the train. I always thought it was a bomb thing and maybe his father was- well, apparently that wasn’t it.
“Like your dad how, exactly?”
“He fought runaway trains. You know, when they get a soul and go all crazy and attack humans. Or whatever- cars, planes, boats, but it started with trains, Casey Jones- you know my great great whatever grand dude. That guy.”
If I hadn’t seen him float an inch off the ground and glow red I might still not believe him. But I actually knew what he was talking about. I tripped with his crazy ass cousin a few years ago and he told me the exact same story, but of course I didn’t believe his cousin then.
“Holy shit- Ronny wasn’t even making it up. So- trains? You’re a Casey Jones, what scion? …Casey Jones Scion… that’s a thing- hot damn.”
“Yeah- but you can’t tell people, they’ll think it’s a Grateful Dead thing and just about acid and the trains have been gaining ground with that narrative for years. It’s really about winning hearts and minds… and smashing trains.”
“The smashing part I think I get- not sure what about hearts and minds but sounds like you’re on it. Sorry about the airhorn, that was dumb.”
“Yeah- don’t ever do that again.”
“Is that what I think it is?” Z took a step back.
“Yup- look- double pod, this is going to set a record. They’ll bid their own clones for a twin.” R touched the eerily florescent protrusions lightly, quickly recoiling from the heat.
“Yeah- if our sloppy containment system doesn’t break down when that thing becomes not one, but two freaking stars! Are you kidding me? Freaking sunflower seeds!? The cloud orchids almost cracked the phase inverter!”
“Cloud orchids get into everything. A sun grows in a nice, tight package. No problem.”
“Dude… look at it- they’re already fusing hydrogen, this is bad. I’m serious- you need to call somebody.”
“No way, not until it’s big enough to make a claim. I’m- oh… wow- that’s getting a little spicy- hehe.” R laughed nervously as one of the pods crackled. “Uh- that’s supposed to happen. I’ll just set the meta-locks while it does its thing.” The pods continued to sizzle aggressively.
“O-Okay- I’m gonna go…” Z stared fearfully at the pods as he backed away. He bumped a table and dislodged a mug from a high shelf. It crashed to the floor, startling R, who jerked and accidentally jammed a button before he’d latched the enclosure. The containment system announced its displeasure with an instant cacophany of flashes, beeps, and grinds.
“Oh, hell! No… No!” R struggled futilely with controls he understood very poorly. He looked back at Z, who had frozen in shock. “Man- uh- I hit the polarity- uh- thing… I think this is bad now… little help?”
“Eh- eeeh- uuh.” Z stuttered helpfully. Despite his fear, he knew the recovery process for an preforced polarity breakdown in his sleep. His parents insistence on traditional matter-farmer education had annoyed Z as a child, but times like this proved its value. He deftly adjusted the overunity bearing gap and swaddled the quaternion generator with one finger. The rickety containment system reluctantly accepted his repairs and the hammering alerts ceased hammering. “Holy shit man, that was close.”
“Is it okay?” R reached for the latches. Z smacked his hand away.
“Dumbass! We’re calling the bureau.” Z said.
“You can’t! This is a golden ticket!” R begged, he reached again for the latches. Z aimed to slap his hand but only glanced it. R’s hand caught a latch and it lifted. The enclosure popped open, jarring the delicate pods inside. They tilted too far off their stalk and bobbled a bit. Z and R held their breath.
The smaller pod bumped the larger and made a dull thud, far too deep to come from something so small. The larger pod deformed, the oscillations of a spherical wave grew violently and battered the smaller pod. It finally broke open, a delicate bead of light breaking through a membrane. It flashed, R and Z covered their eyes and then felt the sudden waves of heat and pressure, then silence.
After a long beat, Z opened his eyes. The worktable and containment system were in ruins. R finally stopped screaming and opened his eyes, then went back to screaming.
“DAMNIT!!! DAMNIT!!! IT’S GONE!!!” R lamented loudly.
“Yeah, and you’re lucky to be alive. Your freaking twin stars combined and collapsed and went nova… in the basement, on taco night. Good thing they were still pods.” Z said.
“Oh, the taco trees are blooming? Well- that’s nice.” R replied.
I actually liked the title ‘gofer’. When I applied I thought it meant something about digging and I was looking for something physical to help keep me stay fit- but apparently it’s just about ‘going for’ stuff. Even so- being a ‘gofer’ can be pretty gratifying. People trust to you to get-it-done, and it feels good when people rely on you.
But in all candor- it feels somewhat less good when faeries, babadooks, baba yagas, and elemental spirits rely on you. Not saying they’re not ‘people’… but when you’ve quite literally and spiritually had your soul pulled out of your anus by HR over a client’s complaint- you develop some biases towards non-mortal beings.
They hired me because I knew what they were, not despite it. The interview was a disaster- I was a little hung-over and I knew I was bombing so I just gave up and said “Dude, your tail-fur is caked with unicorn blood… just inject your venom into my kidneys and get it over with.”
He dropped his illusion and hired me on the spot. I’d never seen a Djinn smile before, but he walked me straight to HR and introduced me as “the new gofer seer”. He did say something vaguely concerning about the fate of the last gofer seer, but I was just happy to have a job offer.
I’d dealt with these types since I was little. I’ve watched apparitions disembowel one another on episodes of sesame street- it’s everywhere if you have the sight. So hearing a client threaten to devour my ancestors reproductive organs over a boilerplate soul exchange contract doesn’t even rock my boat.
The thing that really pisses me off though? Anti-maskers… and I’m not talking about C19- actually, that too- but if you think some entitled Karen wailing about their freedom to spew viruses on mortal strangers is bad- try explaining to a 7000 year old demon-lord that they’re not allowed in the moral-realm without a freshly peeled human face-skin covering their soul-cursing countenance.
They gave me a medusa-head to use for emergencies, but I hate even taking that thing out of the case and I’m pretty sure it only works on Greek heroes so usually I just rely on my wit and that talisman that makes me look like whatever supernatural monsters fear most- which is usually just another supernatural monster from the accounting department.
7·11 months agoJAMA Surgery - new band name, called it.
HOST “Fleet Adrmiral Duck, in all candor- was there ever a time you doubted the temporal alignment would seal the rift?”
DUCK “Quack”
Applause and laughter
HOST “Oh my- yes indeed and it’s fantastic you can remain humble about it. We owe you all so much.”
GIRL “I sealed the rift with my brain rays!”
Audience awwwwwwwws, light laughter
HOST “Yes you did, dear.”
GIRL “But I wish the monsters hadn’t eaten my soul and left me with a cold, dark emptiness- unbound from humanity. I think I’m becoming something else, something angry at humans, something hungry.”
Dead silence
GIRL “I hope it’s not contagious.”
Nervous laughter
DUCK “Quack”
Confident laughter
HOST “That’s right, she’s just having a hard time with the spotlight. She’s got a great road ahead.”
OLD MAN “That duck’s just a duck, you know. It just quacks. It’s all in her head.”
Audience gasps
HOST “Well yes of course, Fleet Admiral Duck commanded our little heroine here to-”
OLD MAN “No, no- she just says that. She just likes the duck. This is all her. I’m just here because I’m her great grandfather and I’m the only one she won’t kill with her brain rays when I tell her ‘No’. That’s all that happened. Sent her up in a spaceship and pointed her at the alien mothership and told her they were meanies and wham-o, melted all their brains.”
HOST “Could she do that to us?”
OLD MAN “Oh yeah, and you should be very worried about the hunger thing- I don’t even know what to make of that.”
DUCK “Quack”
Audience laughs hysterically
AUDIENCE MEMBER: “Yeah, Admiral- you tell 'em!”
OLD MAN “What? He didn’t say- wait… Kiddo- are you doing this?”
DUCK “Quack”
Audience laughs hysterically
OLD MAN “Kiddo?”
GIRL “Sorry- I’ll stop. Can we go get some fetal tissue and a cloning lab?”
OLD MAN “Uh- how about ice cream?”
GIRL “No, I said what I want.”
DUCK “Quack”
Audience laughs hysterically
“Whaddayaloookigat?”
“Hi… uh, hi… you were in the bottle? Are you okay? Was that painful, with the smoke?”
“I don’t know, I guess- is there coffee? Let’s get coffee… and bacon… and that forbidden thing…”
Two hours later at a Waffle House in Minnesota
“What was the forbidden thing?”
“Not forbidden anymore apparently, don’t worry about it. So what do you want- make with the wishes. No reincarnation or infinite wishes and if you try to ‘free me’ I’ll kill you immediately.”
“Damn- thanks for the honesty- I was thinking about freeing you actually.”
“No you weren’t… let’s get wasted while you decide on what ironic hell you create for yourself.”
“Are you an alcoholic?”
“Yes.”
“I wish you weren’t an alcoholic.”
“Goddamn good Samaritan wannabe asshole… That totally counts as trying to free me! You know I have to kill you now!”
“No, no, wait- I’m just saying I wish you could drink in moderation, you know- make patrying a hobby not an addiction, but you can still want to drink a lot, but you know your limits and all that.”
“Dude… what is wrong with you? Do you not want a yacht or a harem or something?”
“I just always wanted a Genie to party with. I don’t really even need the wishes. But you know- I don’t want to feel like I’m an enabler so I’m trying to walk a fine line here.”
“Dude… I… can I just go back in the bottle and we can pretend this never happened?”
“I don’t think so. I like my idea. I wish we were friends.”
Whooshing Genie Magic Sounds
“Hi buddy, want to get hammered!?!”
“Hell yeah!”
I’ll concede in general alien puns are not ‘good’ by human standards, but that’s mainly a consequence of human beings being so bad a puns that we’ve made it the lowest form of comedy. In languages exceeding 100 million symbols puns can be high art.
Only freshmen xenoanthropology students call alien puns ‘bad’. A seasoned student of alien cultures recognizes a pun is a complex interface of language structures and content, and understanding them can lead to deep insights into the alien mind.
Take the RadFlies for example. A classic hive-mind species that utilizes hyper-chromatic, rhythmic, tonal, and chemical formats for communication. Their communication structures for ‘poo’ bears some resemblance to the structures for ‘travel’ and use the same chromatic and chemical ranges as actual excrement. In addition, some ‘pronunciations’ can approximate the sound that accompanies the bodily process.
To a novice, this seems trivially humorous, but a deeper analysis of the RadFlies cultural mythology reveals a rich tapestry of intersections between poo, travel, and an array of historically iconic and symbolic references to the linguistic structures for both. Their creation myths and philosophical foundations are deeply intertwined with both poop and travel, which to an insect hive-mind are as spiritually significant as love and compassion are to humans.
Focusing on understanding the basis for alien puns rather than dismissing them as weak humor revolutionized every field of xenocultural studies, and has even facilitated peace and understanding among seemingly incompatible alien minds. But- you can still laugh, because it can be pretty funny. Just be cool about it, that’s the key understanding alien cultures.