Sunday, December 17, 2017

Silly Story Contributions Have Arrived!

     In response to this rather silly piece, two of my Gentle Readers have stepped up to the plate and taken mighty swings.

     The first is from longtime reader jb:

     It was a small cell. The food was horrible - there was no other way to describe it. He was charged with a felony reserved for terrorists. Poisoning the water supply. He desperately hoped his treatment had worked. The judge would be a woman, In a day and age where feminists ruled the roost, as it were, his hopes were slim. He was married to the world's worst shrew . . . or used to be . . . he thought back . . .
     Sweet basil, more specifically, the balanga plant, ground up and liquified, was the "magic." He knew of its restorative powers - lowered fever, digestion, bacterial infections and getting rid of intestinal parasites. He had pondered that, and wondered if there might be even more to it in larger doses.
     The larger doses had proved ineffective on his bride. He had sneaked them into various sauces he made - since he was also the "chef" of the household. Never took. So he began to experiment. Smaller doses did not seem to work either. His blender was on its last legs before he found the formula. Boil the results of the blender's work, and then reduce. He slipped that into the pasta sauce one night.
     He had never experienced the marital embrace on the level he did that night. She exhausted him. And then, did so again when he had managed to recover a bit. He remembered thinking to himself "This is insane!" - but he wisely, and to his great pleasure, refrained from saying so. He also remembered thinking - "Is this what Adam knew with Eve before the Fall?"
     Even being alone, he blushed just thinking about it. But everything had improved. Getting naked - yeah - that had become a bit of a dream, and one to which he desired to continue "dreaming" to no end, but everything else had become so much more "livable." His two sons had brightened to their mother's "new" mood.
     "Dad - what's wrong with Mom?" He managed to close his eyelids before he rolled his eyes. It didn't occur to him at the moment to say she had returned to her intended normalcy; nor did he want to give away his secret. "Guys - she's happy. Enjoy it!"
     As a Pastor and marital counselor, he had wrestled with the forces seemingly aligned against the union of man and wife. It was laden with all manner of sacramental realities - procreation - actually working with God to create new members of the Kingdom; the Eucharist itself, in which Christ takes His faithful into Himself, calling them his Bride - all of which Scripture specifically said the satan attacks. The tranquility - the peace that passes all understanding - he was simply amazed at what his somewhat clumsy efforts had produced. But after a few weeks, the thought hit - "Why not share this?" He thought of the old Stephen King story, written under a pseudonym, about the time the demons went on strike, and things starting to go right in the world.
     That thought created all the problems.
     No matter what happened, he would not implicate his friend and Church member. The guy had 6 kids, and the contract to supply the city's water supply with chlorine. He had shared his find with him. His friend was never under suspicion. He made sure of that! His mistake had been a posting to Facebook about the results of his find. He couldn't accurately measure the amount necessary for the city's water supply, but what he did estimate seemed apparent that it had the effect he had hoped. Men were returning to Church in numbers unimagined. Women were friendly again. A local columnist (a woman, no less - had written about the transformation. Civil discourse was as it was decades ago - before the present angst. Another wrote - albeit being of another generation - about it being a "step backward" into a much better time.
     Unfortunately, the changes it brought about had alarmed Her Honor the Mayor, an avowed lesbian, and one thing led to another, and now the biggest feminist in the entire state, although married, was his judge. His ministry was ruined, his counseling on the side likewise. His wife was back to her old self, and had managed to turn his sons' one visit to him in prison, into a family fiasco. She had converted them into hating him. All because he really loved his bride more than anything but His Lord.
     The irony was not lost on him.
     His lawyer understood he was damned if he did, damned if he didn't, and went along with his client's decision for a decision from the judge alone, sans jury. Both of them understood the dire ramifications.
     His lawyer came up with a rather unique suggestion. Prepare some canned pasta sauce with the balanga plant, formulation, and we shall give it to the judge to try before she makes her determination. "It's our only real shot" said his lawyer. His bail had been beyond normal, but his house had secured it. He went home and began his preparation.
     His lawyer hesitated for a moment before he presented the jar of sauce to the judge with the suggestion that she or her husband plan spaghetti as dinner. The judge was taken aback. His lawyer did not beg, but politely pleaded. The judge, against all hopes, agreed, and postponed her judgment until the next day.
     The news was electric. Feminist everywhere were denouncing the judge, the mayor was all over the local news denouncing the decision. But the judge, in an interview, defended her decision:
     "He did NOT poison the water supply. My husband convinced me of that fact last night."

     Our second contribution comes from longtime reader furball, a.k.a. Tim Turner:

JANUARY 27th, 2047
     Michael Whedon lurched up from his computer and raced past his cat to get to the bathroom before he yaked all over his $3600/month Silicon Valley's apartment floor.
     He made it.
     The pizza and beer he'd consumed hours before ejaculated themselves into his toilet in an impressive display of biological imperatives that Michael was ill-equipped to appreciate. His articulated op-ed sounded something like, "Blecccchhhh!" with numerous coughs afterward, as he tasted the acid flux of his tummy and kneeled in front of his toilet.
     But he'd done it! Even as he passed out and his head banged against the rim of the toilet, he smiled, thinking he'd proved that the Higgs Boson wasn't massless and *did* have a non-zero constant value in vacuum!
     Even in his sex-deprived, pizza-laden and drunken stupor, Michael - "Dweeb" to his closest friends - had the thought, "I *did* sort of cheat that co-sine, though, right?"
JANUARY 27th, 2053
     The latest poll results glared up at Gerry Martin from his data cube. There were numbers skewed for sex and political bias and party affiliation and values (whatever the hell those were) and heck knows what all that showed. . . he was gonna lose. In fact, he was gonna lose the Caifornia Senate race in Biblical proportions. Gerry took a moment to look up from his I-Pod 38 to look out the window of his limo and shiver.
     But such is the determination of men of faith, determination, money and corruption that, within weeks after reading an obscure scientific article by one Michael Whedon, G.M! had become the proponent of galactic (a metaphor) conquest!
     Gerry Martin, dapper (idiot) junior Senator from California, became the spokesperson for the "Enter Galactic Project," [sic and sick] and succeeded in securing a $1.3 trillion contract for intergalactic exploration.
January 27th, 2059
     $1.3 trillion has become $5.2 trillion. Nobody's really complaining because California fires and sexual scandals are garnering headlines.
March 18th, 2081
     The crew of the Far Horizons, the ship built on the drunken, deluded and defiled imaginings of Michael Whedon, and funded by the power-hungry sociopathy of Gerry Martin just 28 years before, zoomed towards destiny.
     Here's the thing: people do get what they deserve. There is an invisible hand. God might have a sense of humor, and boy, are you in trouble if he does, because that means he knows what you were thinking and you're gonna get it.
March 19th, 2081
     Every light and meter and metric and science-looking thingy on board the Far Horizons bleeped.
     I mean, they just went CRAZY!
     The captain looked in alarm at his instruments and then was sucking on an ice cream cone that resembled his memory of his mother's teats. The First Officer. . . well, imagine what you will of German sausages. It got worse from there.
     The Far Horizons had found and apparently penetrated a Higgs Boson - based black hole. . . and she didn't like it one bit.
     "Thus, milords, we can see that the crew of this ship, while - let's face it - are idiots - were just serving other idiots who, if they were left to continue their idiotic ways, would sooner or later destroy the universe!"
     There is a mist. You thought you figured it out and knew what was going on. Morgan Freeman kind of appeared, right?
     "SIRS! If I may! Allow me to speak for...
     ZAP! DEAD!
     smoking remains of Morgan Freeman.
     This is fairly serious.
     Paying attention to the date, are we, now? Ok.
     Look. It seems official. There's a pretty powerful-looking judge up there. And if that wasn't enough, Morgan Freeman is a little pile of ash on the floor, ok? These guys are serious.
     There's a jury over there. I can't tell who they are, but they look like a combination of pop-tarts, the thing Bill Cosby used to advertise for, and icky, bony, fleshy, wormy things that would leap down your throat and go for your intestines, lungs or bowels or whatever parts of your body that make you gag, ok?
     And they're pissed.
     "Milords!" says an incredibly persuasive robed figure suddenly striding in front of you: "THESE PEOPLE," and he points and turns at each of the crew members of the Far Horizons, "have destroyed the arrow of time."
     His voice drops into the mist of thought as the resolution of everything you've ever believed.
     "God's plan . . . " (the dramatic pause almost makes your heart stop) "IS time!"
     Who can argue with that? jees What?
     Turning to YOU - every member of the Far Horizons crew - he points a finger and says, "YOU broke God's law, you broke time!" He strides a bit and then turns to YOU - personally - one more time, and says, "You know that don't you?"
     Behind you, a guy you didn't pay much attention to during the voyage says, "Wait!"
     Now you know you're in some sort of weird thing because he looks like Elmer Fudd and he walks toward the angelic figure and says, "Ma'am? If I understand things correctly, you gave us free will. And if that's true, we can't be tried for anything we're doing, because we are being the creatures you created us to be."
     "You know that's not all of you all the time," says the creature from the bench.
     She then smiles such a beatific smile on you that you melt and remember every trip you ever made with a hopeful heart:
     "I know you didn't know where you were going. I know some of you were guided by greed, power and lust. But I know you - as a people - are guided by curiosity and wonder."
     "MILORDS!" shouts the guy that you know recognize is the son of a bitch that's trying to put you away forever.
     Pointing an imperious finger at the Elmer Fudd crewmember, the prosecutorial vision intones, "Free will is NOT a get out of jail free card! IF a man chooses to break a law, the argument that he is exercising free will is not a legitimate defense. The law was created before the man! It is its own sanctity. It IS the law and free will is no excuse! Instead, breaking it is PROOF that the man is a renegade and deserving of punishment!"
THEN March 29th, 1981
     Who could have imagined Elmer Fudd would . . .
     The prosecutor turned to the judge and said, "My Lord, it is obvious that these humans have transgressed the will of God."
     The Elmer guy stood there, crestfallen and shame-faced.
     The woman - that beatific vision that is more than I can ever express, describe, aspire to or comprehend, said:
     "I AM NOT SURE!" Then, she looked down with an imperiousness beyond measure at the little Elmer Fudd guy and demanded, "What were you doing when you embarked on this trip? Why did you try to undo the laws of everything God hath made?"
     "Ma'am," he said. "I was just checking."

No comments: