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May 20, 2005

Volume 1, Issue 8

Today's theme comes to us courtesy of a random word generator and Bill Gates. I used the generator to pull 100 random words out of the dictionary and then used Excel to generate 3 random numbers between 1 and 100. The words tied to those numbers became, through the mystery of magic and fate and electrons and stuff, our theme:

preadolescence, flew, readerships

Enjoy.

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Comments

Then Bill Gates can suckit, man.

Posted by: Sekimori at May 20, 2005 7:20 AM · Permalink

Charlie was a shy fifth grader who was no good at kickball. Because of this, he was considered one of the lower castes of the schoolyard. At home, he would post his thoughts anonymously on a chat board and received the acceptance he desparately desired. He enthralled his classmates, who loved to guess his online moniker's real identity.

One day, Charlie overheard his crush say she loves reading his online postings.

"Here's my chance," he thought.

"Hi. I'm WeaponBlazer820."

--

As Charlie's revelation flew throughout the school, he was taunted, teased, and beaten by his adoring audience. He never wrote again.

(100 words, counted manually. 104 with the new script, which counts words with an apostrophe as two words)

Posted by: Johnny Catbird at May 20, 2005 8:37 AM · Permalink

Madre de dios. Ok, we're still looking for any alternative...there's just not that many available.

Posted by: Sekimori at May 20, 2005 8:53 AM · Permalink

If you want, I modified the current script to accept apostrophes as part of a word. If you want, I can email it to you.

Posted by: Johnny Catbird at May 20, 2005 9:13 AM · Permalink

I need to get some sleep. I'm sounding like Johnny Two-Times here.

Posted by: Johnny Catbird at May 20, 2005 9:20 AM · Permalink

Zelda switched between gnawing on her eraser and her hair. She had her writer’s hat on, a fishing hat to which she’d pinned old campaign buttons she found in the garage. She was serious, although her drink was sugary soda and not acerbic whiskey. She was writing the article on a legal pad scrawled with notes from her interview. Her concentration was exquisite, perched porcelain eggs, her grandmother’s dusty shelves. Her task was Sisyphean: how to get the readers of her middle school’s newspaper to care about her uncle’s fascinating work on the flight patterns of the great blue heron?

Posted by: Betsy at May 20, 2005 9:31 AM · Permalink

"The nature of dragons is one borne out of constant challenge and the toughest love. To the untrained eye, it would appear that dragons care nothing for their young, but this could not be further from the truth.

Example: A mother dragon teaches her brood to fly by shoving them out of the nest. Remember that dragons build their nests high atop mountains, so the chances that a young dragon will survive are slim. Only through such drastic measures can the young dragon mature and grow into the magnificent creature that we dragonologists study and admire."

--Smendric's Guide to Dragonology

(100, according to OpenOffice)

Posted by: Shawn at May 20, 2005 10:16 AM · Permalink

Attn: Time-Warner Board of Directors

Coming next summer to the WB – Smallville: The Early Years!

Prequels are the next big thing (just ask George Lucas and Peter Jackson), and who are we to argue with success?

Smallville has enjoyed huge viewership, and the scriptwriting and acting have helped drive our network to new heights. I propose we continue the grand tradition we’ve started by exploring Clark Kent’s childhood in a new series targeting 10- to 12-year-olds.

One subplot will visit young Clark’s struggle with recurrent amnesia; this will allow us to introduce his superpowers without contradicting the existing Smallville storyline.

Posted by: Keiran Halcyon at May 20, 2005 11:24 AM · Permalink

There had been rumors of a new edition for months. Nobody admitted believing, but they were still on every lip, and swords and talons were sharpened, spells and speeches practiced in anticipation.

Then, one day, they came. First only a few, but still, clearly new-built reader-ships, not weathered and worn library vessels, and not staffed with nostalgists
or odd scholars, but a fresh audience of golden-agers, ready to bear witness. As they formed a flotilla hovering in the sky, the King and Queen came out to address the kingdom, and to speak the words of prologue.

"Once, upon a time..."

(100, according to wc and my finger.)

Posted by: Jeff R. at May 20, 2005 11:33 AM · Permalink

"Circulation is down". Billy wasn't a big-picture kind of kid, so he didn't grasp the full impact this statement had for the newspaper industry, but he knew what it meant in his own little corner of the world. The number of houses on his route had dwindled, and was likely to keep dropping. He might have to give up delivering papers entirely. "Blogs were to blame" was something else he'd heard. He didn't know what a blog was, but he began to wonder if they might not need a reliable delivery boy. This was something he would have to investigate.

(Well, that's 100 according to Word. Depends if 'big-picture' is one or two words....)

Posted by: No One of Consequence at May 20, 2005 11:51 AM · Permalink

“Are there angels up here on top of the clouds, Mommy?”

“Angels live in Heaven, Caitlyn. Now be quiet so Mommy can read her magazine.”

…

“The buildings look tiny, Mommy! You can’t even see the people.”

“Yes, Caitlyn.” She flipped past the next article.

…

“What are those men doing, Mommy?”

“Caitlyn, shush! It’s not polite to stare at people. Now Mommy is reading her magazine.”

…

“The buildings are getting really big, Mommy! Why are they getting so big?”

“Hush, dear.”

…

American Airlines Flight 11 destroyed the first tower. It made the cover of the next edition.

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at May 20, 2005 12:01 PM · Permalink

I was in the third grade and for some reason was allowed to fly with my mother to Detroit where her sister lived. It was 1968 and we were poor, so I haven’t a clue where the money came from.

The thrust at take-off from AVP pushed me back as the plane rattled; I make her laugh feigning fright. I recall looking at the clouds and thinking I could step out onto them and couldn’t fall through. I pictured angels doing it all the time.

Forty-some years later, it is one of perhaps six, maybe five, pleasant memories with her.

Posted by: Clyde at May 20, 2005 12:30 PM · Permalink

“Have you flown yet?” The question made everyone giggle nervously.

“I’ve flown three times,” one of the older boys – he was thirteen – boasted.

“Me too,” chirped in an eleven year old.

“Yeah, right,” another said, “you wouldn’t know what to do if you got a pair of wings.” He poked the boy next to him in the ribs.

The group was passing around a tattered issue of Flyboy magazine, stolen from Marty’s dad’s closet. The images of beautiful young men and women hurtling through the air both fascinated and confused them.

None of them had ever actually flown, of course.

(Word count: 100 - Microsoft Word)

Posted by: Geoffrey Barto at May 20, 2005 1:38 PM · Permalink

“… Captain Winkles’ space biplane looped the loop in triumph as the Baron’s space castle exploded. Ransome, the squat yet loyal navigator, could not suppress a hearty cheer for his captain. The Baron cursed as his zeppelin span out of control like a burst balloon, the escaping hydrogen gas tossing the ship at random across the galaxy. The brave captain set course back to Airstrip One, where a huge crowd of cheering citizens welcomed him home. He would soon receive the highest honor possible – a gold medal for extreme bravery.”

The editor glared at me as he finished the script.

Posted by: Steve Massey at May 20, 2005 2:29 PM · Permalink

"I found another."

"Really? Let me see." Professor Grainger leaned over and read the transcript as it scrolled by.

""Where you are going, there is no pain, there is no injustice, and you will have wings and can fly..." You are right! I wonder; do you think we could put together a grant application to study their religion?"

"Sure, I guess."

I watched the "father" stop "speaking." Soon the "daughter" would begin to ask questions. I did not want to watch.

I wish I had the courage to defy him. To not terminate the simulation when the "children" reach adolescence.

Posted by: Carthoris of Helium at May 20, 2005 3:19 PM · Permalink

The Menabonis wrote about birds. Here's the part about Charlotte, named for your grandmother who was about your age when she brought them the tiny sparrow.

I'm going to love baby Robin just as they did!

She dug up worms for Robin, sang to him, and took him out of the sunroom every day for him to feel the breeze on his fledgling wings.

The morning before we were to release Robin who was about ready to fly we all slept in, a little annoyed at his squawking to be fed. Only a loud thump on glass made me run to him.

People, this is only a little story and not a beautiful book, but please remember Robin and how we loved him to death.

Posted by: isabel at May 20, 2005 4:14 PM · Permalink

Tommy's route was too long, but he liked the money and couldn't give it up. The principle had been quite terse yesterday. "If youre late again, you are flunking sixth grade"! That's where he'd met Ogden. Odgen was in the office for a different reason. He had driven his third teacher to quit this year. Something about them saying Odgen was casting spells on them. Odgen had shoved a small leather book into Tommy's pocket before they'd led him away.
"Good spell book", Tommy thought, as he flew over the principle's house, dropping the newspaper right under the lawn sprinkler.

Posted by: JM at May 20, 2005 5:55 PM · Permalink

That's 100 by my manual count

Posted by: JM at May 20, 2005 5:56 PM · Permalink

"It's a little kid dressed like an angel," my editor snapped. "Readers like that."
So I shot out to Latimer, taking the back roads-hell, they're all back roads-to what would someday be described as a "compound," several trailers set back from the road, crosses painted over the doors.
Sure enough, it was a kid in a sheet, face straining like he was in ExLax withdrawal.
I raised my camera to shoot, and...he was floating about three feet in the air!
"Mommy, I flew!" squealed the little pud.
"Yes, you did, precious," hugging him.
I grabbed my cell.

Posted by: Kiril at May 20, 2005 6:09 PM · Permalink

The old man opened the door. “Yes?”
“Are you Billy Blast, Boy Spaceman?”
“Who wants to know?”
“I’m with the Galaxy Gazette, writing an article on your old mentor, Captain Cosmic’s, death fifty years ago.”
The old man grumbled, “After all this time….”
“Mr. Blast?”
“I was twelve!” Bill roared. “What was he thinking, dragging a prepubescent orphan into the depths of space? I had no business at the controls of a hyper-rocket. But it’s so cute, isn’t it? Until someone confuses the airlock controls with the radio.”
“Is that what--?” Bill didn’t respond. “Can I quote you on that?”

Posted by: David at May 20, 2005 6:44 PM · Permalink