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June 20, 2005
Volume 2, Issue 20
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He'd always wanted to be a superhero. It didn't have to be a cool super power like flying, or shooting laser beams from his eyes.
The first time he did it, it was an accident. With a little concentration, he discovered he could do it at will. He quickly came up with a costume that hid his identity, (little did he know how superfluous that would soon be) and went out to make his name. Soon all criminals would fear THE CLONE!.
How was he to know that the clones were permanent?
"Be careful what you wish for", he thought.
Posted by: Gahrie at June 20, 2005 6:57 AM · Permalink
Yes, he knew it wasn't possible. It was crazy and improbable. What he was doing with it was wrong and immoral. But, if something like this could happen, who is to say what is moral or immoral? All our old assumptions can not stand before this. He didn't know how she had come to be alive; he just knew that she was. And he wasn't completely crazy. His incredibly stereotypical to the point of almost being insultingly gay friend had seen her too. It was all nutty -- especially the "Egyptian Princess" stuff. But there she stands. Flesh amongst the plastic.
Posted by: marc at June 20, 2005 7:41 AM · Permalink
We all stood facing the screen. I could see the vast rows of my comrades' perfectly-shaven heads, and below them, vast rows of barcodes on the backs of their hairless necks.
We heard the droning of Master Elbeege, as they called him. We heard his droning every day. I suspect he's not real.
I think thousands of years ago people were free to shut out drivel like this.
For in your time we have the opportunity to move not only toward the rich society and the powerful society, but upward to the Great Society...*
People were free. Is that possible?
Posted by: j.d. at June 20, 2005 7:58 AM · Permalink
I hate Mondays, he thought.
He entered the building and waited by the elevator. He should have taken the stairs but he was in no hurry to get started.
He stepped out of the elevator and headed for his cube. He turned a corner and was almost run over by two men in suits. They never broke stride.
Climbers, he thought using a term he reserved for especially self-absorbed members of middle management. Must be late for a brown nosing session.
He stared after the two senior directors wondering what they saw when they walked through this sea of cubicles.
Posted by: DocMac at June 20, 2005 8:55 AM · Permalink
At first I thought it was just Edna and me. I didn’t mind so much. In fact, I thought it looked rather good.
But Edna was mad as hell. “We’re going down there right away!” she screeched.
There must have been hundreds of others when we got there, though. Maybe thousands. Maybe more. I’ve never seen so many angry people in one place!
And talk about mob mentality! We may never find out who the asshole was at Johnson & Johnson who switched out all that shampoo with depilatory cream…
But we’re not going to stop killing people until we do!
Posted by: Jim Parkinson at June 20, 2005 9:05 AM · Permalink
22051443 stood in the vast drying room as his paint cured. Maybe he would get a second coat, with the yellow and black markings of a crash test dummy, along with implanted sensors to measure impact force at various points in his body; maybe he would simply be another department store mannequin, modelling men's suits, or (ugh!) swimwear.
He noticed the breasts on the mannequin next to him. Ah, female, he thought. A pleasant shape, appealing, perhaps destined to be a lingerie model. He felt an ache in his loins, and looked down to see... nothing. And he screamed, silently.
Posted by: hnumpah at June 20, 2005 9:09 AM · Permalink
I got here early so I could be close to the front when the doors open.
“Morning, Phil.”
“Hi, Frank.”
Yeah. I know most of these guys. Their names, anyway. I see them all once a week.
Hey, Sam!”
“Good to see you, Tom.”
We meet here every Monday morning. Some of us need chemo treatments and most of the rest are here for radiation. Cancer’s a bitch.
“Pete.”
“Good morning, Hank.”
I figure about half of us will get our treatments this week.
“Hello, Jack.”
“Morning, Roger.”
Say what you will about Canadian health care. At least it’s free.
Posted by: Jim Parkinson at June 20, 2005 9:14 AM · Permalink
I could not believe it.
There we were, all standing there massed around our lord and Savior listening to him Intently. I would say there was five hundred of us there.
He was speaking about how we all need to be kind and thoughtful of others. To be aware of what we do and how it affects others. To be aware that those around you have the right to be safe and secure from harm. To do on to others as you would have done to you.
That's why it was so shocking when the guy behind me goosed me.
Posted by: Kirbside at June 20, 2005 9:39 AM · Permalink
Proposed Slogans for Inspirational Poster QCZ-117
Alienation: Sometimes you can't fit in, no matter how hard you try.
Tokenism: Make sure the crowd isn't 100% white, okay?
Burnout: Sure, there's four hours left in the workday, but hey, it's five o'clock somewhere.
Awareness: Shaving your head isn't going to make you 'fit in' at a skinhead rally.
Etiquitte: It's the same as urinals: in a crowd of naked men stare straight ahead, never down or to the side.
Spontaneous Combustion: It could happen to anyone, any time, anywhere. So what the Hell-live a little.
Clone Soldiers: Execute General Order 66.
Posted by: Jeff R. at June 20, 2005 10:03 AM · Permalink
There he stood, a failure among failures, quite literally the blacksheep of the family.
The silver ones all thought they were better than him. They were smugly superior and condecending.
"It's not your fault.", they would say, "You were created that way. You must not blame yourself."
Fools. They had no idea of their own imperfection. By some fluke only he had seen the perfect ones, the golden ones.
The ones given a name, and that had a destiny. Sure the name was the same for all of them, Oscar, but that was better than the flames of the incinerator.
Posted by: Gahrie at June 20, 2005 10:03 AM · Permalink
The angry Plastic Army steeled itself for one final assualt on the Fortress of Peace. High above on the parapet, General Freedom saw each Plastic Man open his mouth in a silent scream.
"Steady, Wonder Boy," he said into his two-way communicator. He watched as the army moved closer and closer.
"Steady...steady...NOW!"
At once the canvas sheets fell, exposing a large, high-powered spotlight that began to melt the army in their tracks. General Freedom thought he saw pain and terror in each Plastic Man's molten--
"Billy, how many times have I told you? That magnifying glass is not a toy!"
Posted by: Shawn at June 20, 2005 11:19 AM · Permalink
Those wacky Greens! They'd really outdone themselves this time. For years, the Greens sounded dire warnings, insisting that the global temperature was rising unnaturally. But no one paid any attention. So the Greens took action. They gathered, tens of thousands of them, hoping that, collectively, their shaved heads might reflect enough sunlight to raise the albedo of the earth, and avert the impending disaster. It was a scheme just crazy enough to work.
Or was it?
They found that their plans were undone by two simple questions. "How long do we have to stand here?" and "Did anybody bring sunscreen?".
Posted by: No One of Consequence at June 20, 2005 11:42 AM · Permalink
Michael worked the third shift at the Soul Factory. “The graveyard shift,” he liked to tell people. Even after five centuries, that joke still made him smile.
It was his responsibility to make sure all souls were loaded properly into the insertion matrix.
It sounded trickier than it was.
At any rate, it sure beat working in Returns.
Tonight’s shipment contained the usual assortment of souls, some purer than others. There was also one exceptionally dark one. Curious, Michael checked the manifest: Destination: Dahmer, Jeffery L., Milwaukee, Wisconsin, USA.
Yup, Returns was going to have some fun with that one.
Posted by: copygodd at June 20, 2005 12:37 PM · Permalink
I used to be a long-haired hippie freak. Now, I have retired-marine hair.
I wear button-fly 501s. Black. I have a drawer full of black t-shirts. I wear black engineer boots, and a black leather jacket. I'm angsty.
I listen to one of those "X" radio stations. Most likely owned by clear channel. They play that hard, hard rock that survives the corporate filter.
When I circulate among my fellow humans, I don't see any who look like me. So many of the college bar patrons years my junior look the same to me.
I'm unique. Like everybody else.
Posted by: david at June 20, 2005 2:13 PM · Permalink
The beat went on and on and on, a perfect sine.
67T885GH-ZZU let the algorithm wash over him.
Although he really enjoyed the Live-8-bit concert, he contemplated his desire that there were better seating accomodations.
Posted by: Eric Blair at June 20, 2005 4:50 PM · Permalink
One clone per thousand has a mutation reversing the acephaly trait. Mutant clones are born with a fully-functional brain that rejects the cybernetic brain entirely, or assimilates it during maturation. These errors were a serious problem for the baby farms: nobody likes it when their sex-doll or manservant starts demanding its rights.
Three years ago, they inserted genes for albinism into the clone genome closely linked to the acephaly trait. Thus, most mutations hit both genes and are instantly identifiable among the other clones. By law, sapient clones have the same rights as anyone...
In practice, nearly all are destroyed.
Posted by: Jeff R. at June 20, 2005 5:46 PM · Permalink
I stare at the sea of faces. They all look the same to me.
I swear this used to be easier. Maybe it’s because I had a younger mind then. Maybe I found it easier back then to work on something until I had it right.
I think they changed things. I’m not positive, though. It’s been so long since I did this.
I’m pretty sure there used to be a lot more color. Now everything is almost monochromatic. That makes it harder, I think.
I can’t do this anymore. It used to be so much easier to find Waldo.
Posted by: Jim Parkinson at June 20, 2005 6:11 PM · Permalink
Eric Blair < 100 words. Again.
Posted by: Sekimori at June 20, 2005 6:26 PM · Permalink
End of day question: was it that I was the only one to immediately think of the "What am I doing here" bit our of Woody Allen's Everything you Always Wanted To Know About Sex (But Were Afraid to Ask) , or was it that everybody else couldn't come up with a punchline or a way to drag it into a full 100 word story, either...?
Posted by: Jeff R. at June 20, 2005 7:18 PM · Permalink
That was a good idea, Jeff. It never crossed my mind but I bet it would have been funny.
Posted by: Jim Parkinson at June 20, 2005 7:50 PM · Permalink