Suspected Alien Device Found


       (Dexter, New Mexico, Aug. 13, 2343)– Archeologists sifting through a late 20th century landfill site here near Roswell have discovered possible evidence of a past extraterrestrial presence on earth.

Archaeologists remain locked in debate over the possible purpose of a strange object recently discovered in New Mexico, but they have thus far been unable to reach consensus.

“We don’t know, at this point, exactly what it might be,” said a clearly excited Adolf Bingham, the archeologist in charge of the Dexter dig. “We’ve never seen anything like it before on earth. Nothing in our records even hints of such a strange mechanism.”

Well preserved by the arid climate of New Mexico, the gumdrop-shaped device appears to be made of an otherworldly, greenish-blue, plastic-type material, lending further credence to theories of its alien origins. Plastic manufacturing has been banned from this planet for more than three centuries.

An insignia of some sort is emblazoned on what finders believe to be the front of the object. The marking resembles a partially-eaten apple, which has left analysts espousing a variety of theories.

“Some of us think it might have been a juicer used to process an alien fruit resembling our apples,” Bingham ventured. “Others believe it may have been a vacuum cleaner.”

“We haven’t dared to attempt disassembling the device,” Bingham added, “but we have noted several small apertures its exterior, indicating that limited attachments were possible. We may know more once we get inside.”

An obvious handle atop the artifact supports the vacuum cleaner theory. However, the device weighs more than 17 kilos, limiting its portability, unless it had originally been equipped with wheels.

“Another theory is that the makers of this device were significantly bigger than humans,” Bingham said. “It’s entirely possible that this object served as nothing more than a decorative, albeit gaudy, paperweight on some Amazonian alien file clerk’s field office desk more than 200 years ago.”

       The paperweight theory is currently the leading contender, according to a reliable source involved in the archeological analysis.

 

 

If you got a cheap laugh from this story, consider buying the book Truth Is An Amusing Concept. You’ll get dozens and dozens of cheap laughs  (only 1.253768844221106 cents per page — see? cheap!). The print edition makes an excellent bathroom reader, sure to delight guests at your next party.

As an added bonus with any purchase, you’ll get that inner glow and sense of well being that comes with helping an old man retire. Everybody wins.

 

Steampunk Sculpture or Alien Artifact?

It began with the DirecTV guy, Mike.

During the course of troubleshooting our equipment, he set every receiver in my house to the History Channel. That’s how I caught the tail end of an American Pickers episode and learned of the Forevertron.

forevertron
The Forevertron — artwork or a transportation device left behind by crash-landing aliens?

 

It was a steampunk fan’s dream – on steroids. The Forevertron is 50 feet tall, 120 feet wide. And weighs 600,000 pounds. It was created by lifetime scrap metal collector and artist, Tom “Dr. Evermor” Every.

Sure. That’s what they want you to think.

More likely, the real explanation for its presence is something more like this …

 The Wanderlust came down hard — not as hard as it might have, considering that it was a starhopper.

A big boat like that has no business chugging through a planetary atmosphere at 5,000 feet, but the captain was looking for signs of intelligent life on, of all places, Earth.

 When the Firefly Drive, never intended to be used for anything but parking, suddenly quit under the strain of that gravitational proximity, the ship had nowhere to go but down.

The pilot was good. He headed for a dense pine forest and brought the ship’s nose up as much as he could. Slicing through nearly a mile of standing timber brought the ship to a gradual, smoking halt, turning what would have been complete destruction into mere cataclysmic damage. The trees slowed the ship, but they took their toll.

The Wanderlust had found its final resting place, a scenic Earth locale known as North Freedom, Wisconsin. Fortunately, the hopper had been cloaked when it came down. The incident was neither seen nor apparently heard, raising the question: If an interstellar spacecraft crashes in the woods when no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?

Nobody came to investigate.

The crew took stock. Miraculously, none had perished in the crash. The front third of the Wanderlust had been turned into scrap metal. Navigation, life support and communications were gone. The first two no longer mattered; the third did. The aliens had no ride home and no means of calling for one.

On the plus side, the planetary atmosphere that had flooded the ship when its nose was destroyed was breathable, and it looked as though the local flora could provide edible grains for the distinctly birdlike aliens when homegrown supplies were depleted.

Much of the ship’s equipment remained functional. The transporter showed promising signs of life, but its range was limited to the typical distance from orbit to planetary surface.

The crewmembers knew the drill. They got to work.

 Yes, the Wanderlust would fly no more, but the crew could re-purpose its surviving equipment for alternative transportation. What they couldn’t salvage, they could find in stealthy visits to Terran landfill sites.

Within a surprisingly short time, they had constructed a device that, with a little help from lightning, took them to their nearest outpost.  The device remained behind, mysterious, and nameless, until Dr. Evermor claimed it as his own.

shuttlecraft
Giant bug sculpture, or badly damaged shuttlecraft?

Meanwhile, back in reality (or as close as I get) …

Holy Sith! The Forevertron incorporates such exotic components as a pair of Thomas Edison dynamos, a giant telescope, and the Apollo 11 space capsule decontamination chamber.

Dr. Evermor’s Sculpture Park is only a little more than 100 miles west of me? A must-go day trip went on my calendar. Even Mary, my decidedly anti-science fiction wife, agreed to join me, once she had seen a few Forevertron photos.

Matthew, my 8-year-old grandson, who thinks a trip to the supermarket is a never-ending journey, was the toughest sell. He spotted what he thought were a TARDIS and a Dalek in the photos, so he was in.

crewmembers.jpg
More scrap metal artwork, or likenesses of the alien crew?

Two weeks later, under cloudy skies and a promise of sun to the west, we sallied forth. We wandered about the countryside near our goal for a bit — but we finally found the park, not visible from the highway, hiding behind a surplus store and what appeared to be a junk yard.

We were not disappointed.

Well, Matthew was a little bummed when we couldn’t find a Dalek, and the TARDIS he had seen in the photos turned out to be an old English phone booth — no phone but still bearing instructions for dialing numbers in Ireland.

Thanks, History Channel — and Mike.

Donald, the Teenage Toddler

Here’s a little ditty to help cheer you through the holidays. You all know the melody.

trumpxmas

We’ve had Andrew and Millard and Chester and Theo
Richard and Gerald and Ronald and Geo
But will you recall
The worst President of them all?

Donald, the Teenage Toddler
Had some very tiny hands
And if you ever saw them
You would scoff at his demands

All of the Teenage Toddlers
Laughed at him and called him names
They never let poor Donald
Spout his many brainless claims

Then one rigged election day
Voters seemed to say
“Donald, though your hair’s a fright
Won’t you march us to the right?”

Now teenage toddlers love him
And they tweet it out with glee
“Donald, the Teenage Toddler,
You have set our hate so free.”

The Pedestrians

In the beginning, well, a long time ago, anyway, were the Anabaptists; and the Anabaptists begot the Mennonites; and the Mennonites begot the Amish; and the Amish begot the religion known as the Pedestrians.

The Amish split from the Mennonites during the late 17th century over disagreements in, among other things, the practice of foot washing. The Pedestrians left their Amish brethren in early 19th century, following another podiatric dispute. While the Amish condoned the use of horse and buggy, the more conservative among them felt that if God had intended humans to travel recklessly about on wheels, He would not have given them feet.

pedestrians onlyWanting to move beyond buggy range of the wild Amish, yet mindful of their only sanctioned mode of travel limitations, 13 Pedestrian families trekked south in 1815 and settled in a area north of Freeland, Maryland. The settlement is known to its residents simply as “home,” although today’s tourists commonly call it the “Pedestrian Zone.”

The community, now numbering approximately 2,000 souls, has survived if not flourished. Current members of the faith are all direct descendants of the original 13 families. Converts are not accepted, and outsiders, “Yankees,” to the Pedestrians, may not live among them. Contact with the Yankee world is not encouraged. Largely self-sufficient, the Pedestrians produce their own food, clothing and shelter. They school their own children, tend their own sick and field their own semi-professional football teams.

By Pedestrian law, no wheeled vehicles are permitted within the community: no cars, no wagons, no rollerblades, no baby buggies, no rolling suitcases. Horses are used to pull plows, but they may not be ridden. All travel within the community is along a network of footpaths.

The paths are intentionally wide enough to accommodate only one walker. Whenever members of the faith traveling in opposite directions meet on a path, one must step aside and initiate the traditional Pedestrian exchange by saying: “Good day, my friend, what’s afoot?” The other must respond with: “We are, my friend; we are.” Both then continue on their opposite ways.

The faith has not been without problems. Although the foot is revered in Pedestrian teachings, it is not worshiped. Foot fetishism is strictly verboten. Any member who appears to be growing overly enamored of the foot must face the dreaded “Circle of Toe Jam.”

In this interventional procedure, the transgressor is placed in the center of a circle of back-facing chairs. Following a long, hard day in the fields, the Pedestrian elders enter the room, remove their boots and position themselves on the chairs so that their legs are propped on the chair backs with their feet dangling toward the center of the circle. Thus surrounded by a veritable forest of hideous and odoriferous appendages, the errant member quickly loses all lust for the foot and is allowed to leave the circle.

More trouble looms on the horizon for the Pedestrians. Tiptoeing among the faithful is a growing faction which believes that if God had intended for His children to lumber ungracefully about on their feet, He would not have given them toes.

Adapted from Truth Is An Amusing Concept

Adventures in Writing

Take a word chosen at random and write something about it. Simple? Maybe not.

EVIDENCE

The evidence was obvious and overwhelming, at least to me.

Poor John “Buddy” Boddy’s braincase had been cracked wide open by a baseball bat wielded by none other than Jonathan “Jack” Mustard, legendary gridiron great turned sportscaster The murder took place in the observatory of Buddy’s Hollywood Hills party home as he peered through his 150mm Maksutov-Cassegrain during the wee morning hours. The dumbbell never saw it coming.

I was sure that I had more than enough evidence to take Mustard off the air for the rest of his life; but Buddy’s body was missing, and the other five overnight guests hadn’t a clue. I knew that I had no choice but to roll the dice and play the game if I was to come out a winner.

Who am I? My name is Victor Plum. I’m a billionaire software designer, and I’ve got “game.”

Let’s start with the party guest/suspect list. In addition to myself and Mustard, we’ve got Kasandra Scarlet, leading lady and consummate casting couch cover; Jacob Green, a man of murky occupation who, a couple of hundred years ago, would have been a highly successful snake oil salesman; Diane White, a child film star whose grip on the present is tenuous, at best; and Eleanor Peacock, a woman so filthy rich she can only marginally relate to lifeforms beneath her caste.

cluecharacters

We had all received the party invitation, which had included an intriguing addition. Buddy had scribbled a note to each of us that he feared for his life and hoped that his true friends could help.

“True friends” was a stretch. To me, Buddy was, at best, a frequent associate; but who could resist a note like that?

We all arrived fashionably late and were met with enthusiastic greetings by our host. Dinner and drinks filled the night. We all asked Buddy about his strange note. He had no real evidence to support his fears, only a sense of being watched and a vague feeling of dread.

As the party wound down, we all bid Buddy good night and retired to our rooms. By morning, he was gone.

While the others buzzed about the shocking but not unexpected development, I quickly gathered my evidence. I knew that Buddy was dead, but I wanted to make sure I had what I needed to implicate the killer.

I had been around the board enough times to know that jumping into a room and announcing the perpetrator right up front would not work, so I bowed to tradition and let Scarlet take the lead.

She quickly sashayed to the spa and declared that Green had done the deed in that very room with a wrench. She couldn’t have been more wrong.

Buddy was about as handy as a thumbless Tim Taylor. He had wrenched his back several years ago attempting to do a cartwheel after six margaritas, but any wrench Buddy had owned was left behind when he moved from his old mansion to his new home in 2008.

Green was livid at the accusation. Buddy was his best bud, he said — an unquestionable quid pro quo kind of guy. He wasted no time in naming the real culprit. Without a doubt, he said, White had offed Buddy by whacking him over the head with a lead pipe in the library.

I stand corrected. Scarlet could have been more wrong. Not only was Buddy’s home too new to incorporate lead plumbing, the library had been remodeled into a theater not long after video had replaced print as the world’s primary source of entertainment.

White, although she said that she was flattered by being cast in such a central role in the intrigue, could not claim credit. She nominated Peacock for the honor, adding that she believed Peacock clubbed Buddy to death with a baseball bat whist he was spying on the neighbors from his observatory.

Whaaat? Right location, right weapon, wrong perpetrator. Had she actually seen something?

Peacock frostily replied that she would not dignify the accusation with a response.

It was Mustard’s trip to the plate. The man sputtered something about Buddy having no enemies and expressed complete amazement that any foul play could befall the man.

Mentally, I rubbed my hands together in glee. Everyone had taken a shot, so my turn had come.

I dismissed the clueless Scarlet and Green in short order — no wrench, no lead pipe, no library, no supporting evidence. White was another story.

I questioned her and was able to determine she had only seen a shadowy figure in the observatory with Buddy when she looked out her bedroom window during a bout with insomnia. The baseball bat was pure conjecture because she had seen one in the hallway umbrella stand when she arrived for the party but it was no longer there. “Evidence” like that would not hold up in court.

I pounced.

I produced the bat, decorated with Buddy’s blood and Mustard’s fingerprints. Solid evidence establishing the bat as the murder weapon and Mustard as the culprit. Then, I led them to a large trunk in a storage room just off the observatory, opened the lid and produced another essential piece of evidence in the case — Buddy’s body.

Mustard was still proclaiming his innocence as the cops cuffed him and took him away. I knew he would. Despite all the evidence against him, Mustard did not kill Buddy. I did.

Back in my office, I removed the incredibly lifelike mask I had worn to the party and resumed my true identity — Professor Plum. Yes, I had killed Buddy for the sole reason of framing Mustard and taking him out.

I knew that Mustard, as an ex-jock, could not resist the urge to swing that bat sitting in the hallway when he arrived for the party, leaving a nice set of fingerprints. The rest was easy.

Victor Plum had been my first victim. I had primed Buddy’s paranoia by following him for weeks.

Next on my list is White. She came a little too close to derailing things this time. I’m not going to give her a second chance.

Nothing is going to get in the way of my master plan. In the end, nobody in my game will have a first name.

The Bad War

This is a special, unedited “guest blog” written and typed by my 7-year-old grandson, Matthew. His devotion to Doctor Who exceeds my own and has outlasted his previous fixation with Thomas the Tank Engine.


matthewandtardis5Chapter 1
Once upon a time there was a fire. They almost died but then someone came for them. He said “SUPERBOY WHAT EVER MY NAME IS TO THE DAY!” He said he doesn’t remember what he usually calls himself. The Mysterious Hero saved the people from that fire. The Mysterious Hero can fly, Run 100 miles per hour, and can even have laser vision! Then… what we all been waiting for. The Doctor & Clara lands the TARDIS (Time Relative Dimensional In Space) at London 2020 Time is 3:30 Clara was so amazed she couldn’t say a thing. “Impressing.” Says The Doctor. “What time is this?” asks Clara. “London 2020.” Says The Doctor.

Chapter 2
The Doctor sees a DALEK chasing a CYBERMEN. The Doctor whispers to himself “That can’t be good… That cant be good at all.” “What?” Clara asks The Doctor. “There’s going to be incoming trouble later.” Says The Doctor. The Mysterious Hero sees The Doctor “Hello. What brings you here? And why are you standing by a blue box??!” asks The Mysterious Hero. “Well. This isn’t just a plain old blue box. This is a time machine. I call it The TARDIS. T A R D I S stands for Time Relative Dimensional In Space.” Says The Doctor. “No Way! Your so silly it can’t be a time machine. Its not possible to have a box that is bigger in the inside.” Says The Mysterious Hero. “Your Wrong. It is possible. Take a look.” Says The Doctor. The Mysterious Hero opens the door & then he could not believe his eyes. “B-B-But.. Hhow?!” says The Mysterious Hero.

Chapter 3
Magic.” Says Clara. “Magic.” Says The Doctor. “Oh and one thing. What’s your name??” asks The Mysterious Hero. “My name… is The Doctor.” “Doctor what?” asks Mysterious Hero “Just The Doctor” Says The Doctor “But Doctor who?” asks The Mysterious Hero “I told you The Doctor” says The Doctor.

Chapter 4
Mysterious had to stop asking and had to see that if he is actually a timelord. So he made tests “Hmm.. Speak a different language.” Says The Mysterious Hero “őíň ıįåç Ţ ŹŲćă ŢŦ” says The Doctor. “Now. Prove me that it’s a time machine. Take me to the same place just in the date that is 100,20,33” says The Mysterious Hero. “Ooooh I cant do that. Earth doesn’t live forever. Neither will you.” Says The Doctor. “What about.. 1995 but same place.” “Sorry I cant. If I do then I will see myself from the past. I have different faces.” Says The Doctor. “Fine.” Says The Mysterious Hero “Doctor. Your forgetting about me again.” Says Clara in a stressed way. “Yeah sorry about that Clara. Everyone stay here, its safe nothing can get in. There’s some enemies I need find.”

Chapter 5
Said The Doctor. The Doctor leaves The TARDIS and locks the door. “Lets see where are you little monsters.” Says The Doctor when The Doctor gets far away from something comes to come steal it and destroy it. “THE TARDIS IS DETECTED! YOU. TELL THE BOSS THAT WE DETECTED THE TARDIS!!!” Says DALEK “YES SIR.” Says CYBERMEN (That got Dementedetated. (Pretending it’s the daleks upgrade) ).

WE WILL WIN! WE WILL WIN THIS TIME DOCTOR! THIS TIME!! THIS TIME!!!!! THIS TIIIIIMMMME!!!!!!!!” Says DALEK (5 Minutes Later In The TARDIS) “AGHH!! WHY IS THE TARDIS MOVING SO MUCH!? DOES IT ALWAYS DO THIS!!!??” Asks The Mysterious Hero. “NO IT DOESN’T AGH!!” says Clara.

Chapter 6
The Doctor heads back to The TARDIS. He sees that The TARDIS is gone. “Oh no you don’t.” says The Doctor as he pulls out his sonic screwdriver and turns it to Land Here mode. (Meanwhile in The TARDIS) “Well that’s good we landed and stopped shaking” said Mysterious Hero & Clara. The Doctor unlocks the doors and opens doors then he asks “Are you two alright?” “Yeah were fine.” Says Clara and again The Doctor save the day.

The End

Tornado Adds Real Twist to Car Market

Sales of the Great Big Motors Corporation’s Tornado have skyrocketed since the world’s first production monster truck began rolling off the GBMC Beijing assembly line in early January.

“The popularity of the Tornado has exceeded our wildest expectations,” announced a beaming Gus Guzzler, GBMC founder and CEO. “We can’t make them fast enough to keep our dealers in stock.”

The car industry had scoffed when GBMC was founded less than a year ago, but it’s paying attention now. When falling gas prices sparked a renewed interest in larger vehicles, established car manufacturers had cautiously responded with an incremental increase in the average size of its models.

Guzzler, who had made billions in the lucrative nightcrawler rental market, saw an opportunity and pounced on it like a deranged banker on a real estate derivative. GBMC and its “Bigger is Better” battle cry were born.

GBMC_Tornado

Like its namesake, the Tornado is an environmental disaster. Its fuel efficiency is measured in gallons per mile. GBMC touts the official EPA rate at 1.5 gpm, although it cautions that “your gallonage may vary.” Proud Tornado owner Facebook posts put the current, unsubstantiated record at 3 gpm “with only a little engine revving.”

GBMC balances its fleet to meet federal fuel efficiency requirements with its GoCart model. That diminutive, single-seat vehicle, powered by a .3-liter engine, has a smaller footprint than a Tornado spare tire.

Every Tornado comes with a complimentary GC strapped to its bed. The GC is not sold separately.

In-your-face, anti-environmental Tornado standard equipment includes an acceleration-triggered smoke injector built into the tailpipe. The thick, oily black plumes belched by the Tornado when the injector kicks in adds all the dramatic flair of a Reavers raider in hot pursuit of a Series 3 Firefly at atmospheric altitudes..

“Owners are extremely pleased with this feature,” Guzzler reported.

Among Tornado exterior options are light bars, chrome running boards and flare launchers. Vertically challenged buyers might want to consider an available escalator as an aid to reaching the driver’s seat. If the standard Royal Blue finish is not appealing, the Tornado can be special-ordered in camo.

Guzzler noted that owners have shown amazing creativity in customizing their Tornadoes. He added that GBMC has proven it can match virtually any request made.

“We’ve been more than ready to add things, including legally questionable ones, to make our customers happy,” Guzzler declared.

The Tornado interior is plushly appointed. Heated leather seats are derived from the soft skins of baby animals, including several endangered species. An eight-speaker Bose sound system comes complete with a country-western and heavy metal mp3 library.

Cigarette lighters and ashtrays are installed on driver and passenger doors. The entire cockpit is trimmed in rare Brazilwood.

Giddy with the success of the Tornado, GBMC has big plans for even bigger models.

“By the second quarter of next year, we will launch our new top-of-the-line Hurricane,” Guzzler promised. “Watch for additional announcements. The Hurricane is going to blow you away.”