Tag Archives: Science Fiction

Dec 05 2015
Leave a comment
Character Profiles

Character Profile – The Mighty Potentate

shutterstock_135453842

REAL NAME: If he wanted you to know it, you’d know, pitiful human.

OFFICIAL TITLE: The Mighty Potentate

ALSO KNOWN AS: The Mightiest of Potentates, His Potentositude, His Potentosity, the Potent One

BIOGRAPHY: In the beginning, there was only the Vek.

HOW HE BECAME THE MIGHTY POTENTATE 

They began as gray beings, approximately five feet tall, with skinny bodies, oversized heads, and large eyes.

Billions of years ago, on their home world of Vekto, this species rose from the primordial ooze and remained in a dark age period for countless millennia until one Vek discovered and developed a dastardly and devastating technology:

VAPORIZATION.  The ability to turn a being into a misty cloud that eventually evaporates into nothingness.

Yes, with his vaporization cannon, this being declared himself the Supreme Overlord of Vekto.  He did so with the best of intentions, demanding that all must abandon violence, greed, and corruption seek peace and prosperity lest they be vaporized.

It would become to be known as the “peace through vaporization” initiative.

Indeed, Vekto became very peaceful when that being vaporized everyone, becoming the last vek in existence.

After languishing alone for thousands of years, this being grew lonely and thus turned his attention to developing a new species – clones similar to the original vek, except he made them green and two feet taller so that he could easily kick their asses should they get out of line.

He called them “Vek 2.0” and made one very important improvement over those surly Vek 1.0 beings.  He manipulated their genetic code to remove all genitalia and butts.

This being was a firm believer in the concept that sex had been the downfall of the Vek 1.0, that their constant wars were little more than chest puffery designed to attract quality mates.  Remove genitalia and remove all violence.

Thus, as the only Vek left with a wang, he embraced his title, “The Potent One” or “The Mighty Potentate.”

He wasn’t wrong about his new creations.  Without sex to confuse them, the Vek 2.0 embraced lives of education and higher learning, creating vast wonders unimaginable to the human brain.

They expanded past Vekto, contacting lesser species who, despite their primitive genitalia, were at least open minded and willing to learn the ways of peace and prosperity from the Vek 2.0.

Together, the Vek 2.0 and the new species they discovered united under the banner of “Rakan” a vek word that means “peace through vaporization.”

With over a hundred billion planets, citizens of the collective live highly productive lives, making new advancements in the arts and sciences daily, thanks to the fear that their ruler, the Mighty Potentate, will vaporize the shit out of them if they fail to do so.

But the Mighty Potentate is not without regrets. After vaporizing the Vek 1.0, he made a pact with himself that he’d never vaporize an entire species ever again, though he doesn’t let his subjects know that as he does not wish to lessen the power of his vaporization threats.

Still, this means that the Milky Way, Andromeda, and all points in close proximity thereto, are allowed to run wild, filled with the worse beings around, who do nothing but commit acts of violence and indecency all day long.

Referring to this section as “The Undesiredverse,” (i.e. the garbage planets he does not want), the Mighty Potentate does what he can to keep them contained and out of the Collective.

INVOLVEMENT WITH BOOKSHELF Q. BATTLER

A fan of scripted media, the Mighty Potentate streams a lot of TV shows when he isn’t potentating.  In the late 1990’s, he noticed a horrifying trend, that the humans were embracing reality television – programs in which morons are followed around by cameras that record them acting like morons.

The Potent One decided this could not stand and for years, searched for a human writer whose writing skills were such that he (or she) could be counted upon to produce a novel of such high quality that humans would be convinced to abandon reality TV altogether.

When he accidentally clicked on the Bookshelf Battle Blog, the Mighty Potentate declared Bookshelf Q. Battler to be the “Chosen One” and dispatched his emissary, Alien Jones, to assist BQB in his blogging efforts.

Since you’re not a citizen of the Rakan Collective, you’re not required to shout, “ALL HAIL THE MIGHTY POTENTATE” when you see the Potent One, but it could lessen your chances of getting vaporized.

Tagged , , , , , ,
Nov 29 2015
1 Comment
Mighty Potentate Transmissions

Introducing the Undesiredversadex

STANDBY FOR A TRANSMISSION FROM THE MIGHTY POTENTATE

shutterstock_135453842

ALL HAIL THE MIGHTY POTENTATE!

Greetings pitiful 3.5 human readers.

You are all directed to take a peak at undesiredversadex.com and make Bookshelf Q. Battler aware of your thoughts and/or criticisms. I have decreed that no one shall be vaporized for offering their comments, opinions, etc.

That is all.

END OF TRANSMISSION.  POTENTATE OUT.

Tagged , , , ,
Nov 28 2015
1 Comment
Undesiredverse

Undesiredverse Question – Men and Women

In Chapter 15 of Undesiredverse: Wanted , we meet Zumani, Roman’s ex-wife or current owner, depending on whether you ask Roman or Zumani.

Zumani is a belladonna, a member of a species of hot supermodel type purple space babes.  Assassination is the number one industry on Belladon (I’m changing the name from Belandria’s Dawn), given that these ladies are able to so easily dupe idiotic men with their…assets.

As we learn in this chapter, a year prior to the events of this story, a cultural misunderstanding occurred.  Zumani asked Roman if he’d like to “tie the knot.”  Roman, an Earth human, took that to mean “get married.”  He loved her so sure, why not.

But “tie the knot” means something very different in Zumani’s culture.  She took Roman’s assent as an invitation to literally tie a damn rope around his neck and drag him to a priestess who performed a ceremony and declared Roman to be Zumani’s slave.

And thus we learn the lowly state of men on Belladon.  There aren’t any natural born males on Belladon.  The belladonnas just kidnap other worldly males and force them into servitude.  Men have no rights at all.

Throughout the story, Zumani never calls Roman by his name.  She just calls him, “property.”

As our story unfolds, Zumani becomes one of the many ne’er-do-wells on the hunt for Roman, hoping that by capturing him, she’ll be able to restore her honor.  After all, a good Belladonna never loses her “property.”

To me, this is funny.  SPOILER ALERT – I only expect Zumani to make one more appearance in “Wanted” but if people become interested enough to see the story continue into a series, I forsee further awkward situations.

Maybe Roman will try to buy himself from Zumani.  Maybe Zumani will protect Roman because, “Hey!  You can’t kill my slave!  He’s mine!”  Or maybe, just maybe, Zumani will learn to have one of those so-called “equal” relationships with our hero.  Ehh.  Doubtful.

My question for you, 3.5 readers is, why is this funny?  Let’s face it.  Reverse the situation.  A race of dudes that enslave women.  That’s like a twisted horror film.  But an alien chick chasing a dude around the cosmos because she believes she owns him…that’s kinda funny.

At least I think it’s funny.  Maybe you don’t.  If it isn’t funny tell me why.

 

Tagged , , , , , , , ,
Nov 28 2015
2 Comments
Undesiredverse

Undesiredverse Question – Is Age Just a Number?

For the 3.5 readers paying attention, there was a big reveal in Chapter 20 of Undesiredverse: Wanted.

In earlier chapters, we saw Roman, our hero:

  • Punch a dude in the face in a rave club
  • Flirt with a space hooker
  • Fight a duel with an old friend
  • Take on 6 henchmen at once
  • Kiss yet another space hooker (I’m worried he might have a thing for space hookers)
  • Hang in the air from a hook attached to a ship piloted by Alien Jones
  • Fight a robot controlled by a highly evolved and super evil artificial intelligence on top of a ship as Alien Jones flies it all over the place.
  • Dive through the air without a parachute to save an alleged space hooker (though it kind of looks like she’s not a space hooker)

All the work of a young man, wouldn’t you say?  (I know.  There are too many space hookers in this story)

Ahh, but there’s the rub.  In Chapter 20, we learn that Roman is 65 years old.  In the future, humans start taking a drug called Rejuvatrix at age 25, which allows them to retain a healthy, 25-year old looking body for the next 275 years, a 300 year life span in total.

  • Plot wise, it makes things interesting.  There are older, wiser humans but you might debate whether or not they are because they still look 25.
  • But then again, perhaps “maturity” is a relative term.  In theory, most people don’t really want to slow down.  They just do because their bodies are telling them to.  In other words, your 65 year old grandpa would probably fist fight a robot on top of a space ship and kiss space hookers if he wasn’t sleepy all the time.
  • An extended adolescence is created.  0-100 is considered youth.  100-200 is middle age.  200-300 means you’re elderly.  But again, to confuse things, from 25-300, you look like you’re 25.
  • By the time we figure life out, we’re too old to do jack about it.  It amazes me that we expect people to choose their life’s path at 18, an age when they have no idea who they are, what they are capable of, what they’re good at and not good at, and most importantly, what would make them happy?  We need Rejuvatrix so we can all take a century to just go out and find ourselves.
  • For the 3.5 people reading the story, did it change your view of Roman to learn that he’s 65?  He certainly doesn’t act like today’s 65 year old.  In fact, when Alien Jones showed him a picture of what I (Eduardo Ricardo aka BQB) will look like when I turn 65 (a future event for me, or a past event for future Jones, if you sit down to do the math)…Roman freaks out at an image of what a 65 year old looked like in the early part of the 21st century.

 

 

Tagged , , , , , , , ,
Nov 26 2015
Leave a comment
Undesiredverse

Undesiredverse: Wanted – Chapter 22

Jones wasn’t wrong. I needed to quit huff. It gave me heart palpitations. Made me sweat. Wore me out. I wasn’t about to tell him all that though. I didn’t need another lecture from my little green mother substitute.

Quit huff? Sounds easy…until you realize that for an addict, giving up halminotrin is like giving up water, air, or a spot of the old slap and tickle with a tri-breasted space babe. Don’t even get me started on the quadruple sets. That’s almost too many.

I’d scored a new inhalator and a huff slab from my host’s warehouse. I sat on a cot and stared at them. They were inanimate objects and yet it felt like they were calling me, luring me, drawing me in, making me feel like I couldn’t do anything else until I got some of that good stuff into my body.

No. I pushed them away and laid back. I freed my mind and let it wander. Unfortunately for me, it never failed to make three stops on memory lane:

1. Me, as a little boy, staring helplessly as a man that looks exactly like my father shoots my mother, then ransacks the house, looking for my sister and I. I’m confused as there is another man who looks like my father lying dead on the floor. I sit there for what feels like forever until a man with a handlebar mustache takes me away.

2. That man leaves me with Master Ashakti, who trains me in Umquai, the greatest of all shai martial arts. Best part of Umquai? It turns you into an all out bad ass fighting machine. Worst part? It also turns you into a depressed nihilist. “Everything in life is fleeting so stop caring.” That way of thinking makes you a good killer but a useless being. It also led me to killing someone I wish I hadn’t, so much so his dead eyes haunt me in my dreams. Sometimes I care too much. Not all that nihilism rubbed off on me. I wish it had. I could sleep like a baby.

3. Handlebar Mustache Man returns when I’m a man, recruits me to his unit and my incompetence leads to first woman I ever loved being killed.

What you need to understand, noble reader, is that other than to explain why I’m a hopeless junkie, these recollections have little to do with the story at hand. If you’re moved by my words, maybe one day I’ll explain how it all ties in together.

As for Handlebar Mustache Man? He is a recurring player from my past who still makes the occasional cameo in my present. I’m torn as to whether or not that’s a good thing. I try not to think about it.

Scratch that. I try not to think about any of it. Thus far, huff is the only substance I’ve discovered that allows me to do so.

I sit back up. The inhalator and the white, gritty halminotrin slab are still there.

And the dance begins.

The thoughts that get me in trouble:
No one has a right to tell me to stop. No one but me could ever possibly understand what I’ve been through.

I need it. I deserve it. I’ll be fine. Of the 97.5 percent of huff/rejuvatrix mixers who die horrible deaths, I’ll be one of the lucky 3.5% who survive.

I’ll just have a little bit.

OK. I’ll have a lot. But I’m going to quit tomorrow, I swear. And since I’m quitting tomorrow, I might as well live it up with one last huff.

F%$k it. I need to sleep. Stop debating yourself and huff that shit already.

I grab a bottle of water from the table by my bed and pour it into the tray. I break off a few crumbles, smash them up and drop in the dust. I swirl the tray around, mixing it all together nicely. The tray goes in. The switch is turned. The little motor chugs. Mask on face. I do look like a fighter pilot with sleep apnea but who gives a shit?

I’m like a stranger in my own skin. Lighter than air. No cares. No worries. I’m the nihilist Master Ashakti always told me to be.

There’s even a unicorn bringing me a cake on its back. Mmm. Don’t mind if I do.

Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,
Nov 25 2015
Leave a comment
Undesiredverse

Undesiredverse: Wanted – Chapter 21

Jones ran a Health-Metrix Scanner over Mystery Woman. She had a penchant for shiny things and with all of the blinking lights involved, she was too busy staring at them all to repeat anyone.

“Running her vitals,” Jones said. “Skeletal mapping…organ mapping…checking for abnormalities…”

Mystery woman went crosseyed as Jones held the device between her eyes. He then ran it over the top of her head.

“…recording brain waves….and…finished.”

“About time,” I said. “What’s her deal?

“Based on the information in this report,” Jones said. “And after conducting a critical analysis of all variables at play…”

I was hooked on every word coming out of the little dude’s mouth.

“…and taking into consideration all relevant medical data.”

“Enough already!” I said. “What the hell is she?!”

“A completely healthy adult human female.”

I slapped my forehead. “I could have told you that.”

“But you didn’t,” Jones said as he held up his scanner. “And besides, now we have scientific confirmation.”

“So she’s definitely not a mongo?” I asked.

Mystery Woman turned to Jones and mimicked me. “So she’s definitely not a mongo?”

Jones pressed a button on his scanner, turned the lights back on, then handed it over to the woman.

“Here, play with this,” Jones said.

Mystery Woman took the device and repeated, “Here, play with this” but with a sense of childish wonder, as though she were staring at a work of art. She was healthy and she liked blinky lights. That’s all we knew about her.

“So you’re not able to discern any medical reason why Sourcemind wanted her?” I asked.

“Not at all,” Jones replied.

“Why is she bald?” I asked. “Does she have that dark age disease? What was it? Prancer? Dancer?”

“Cancer,” Jones said. “It was no laughing matter. There was a time when heart disease, cancer, and driving your vehicle into oncoming traffic while texting your girlfriend were the top causes of human death. But no. She does not have cancer. She just does not have hair.”

“Do another scan,” I said. “She can’t be completely healthy. She’s a hooker, for Christ sake, she’s got to have something. Your doo dad is malfunctioning.”

“It’s state of the art and accurately calibrated, thank you,” Jones replied.

“So she doesn’t have the clap?” I asked.

“Nope,” Jones answered.

“Syphilis?”

“No.”

“Gonorrhea?”

“No.”

“Warts?”

“No.”

“Arzorkial lesions?”

“No.”

“Zamenzium itch?”

“No.”

“Tullux sores?”

“No.”

“Upper Crimombolite Fungal Fusion?”

“No.”

“Saturn’s Ring?”

“Rekolakian Crotch Rot?”

“No,” Jones said. He was getting testy. “Roman, I don’t have time to listen to the results of your last physical.”

“You’re going to stand there and tell me that a working girl doesn’t even have a case East Pamalorian Cooter Flies?”

“I’m going to stand her and tell you she’s not a working girl,” Jones said.

Mystery Woman waved the blinky gadget around and giggled.

“Yes she is,” I said. “I found her in Izok’s harem.”

“She may have been there,” Jones said. “But she wasn’t working there.”

“And how could you possibly know that ya’ big green nerd?”

Jones coughed to clear his throat, then quietly mumbled, “Because she hasn’t, you know.”

I didn’t know. The look on my face made that clear.

“The petals are still on the rose,” Jones said.

“What?”

Jones rolled his eyes.

“Her factory seal has yet to be broken, so to speak.”

“Stop talking in riddles, man!” I shouted.

“SHE’S A VIRGIN, DUMBASS!”

Jones was too loud to be ignored. Mystery Woman looked at me and on cue, screamed, “SHE’S A VIRGIN, DUMBASS!”

“You are?” I asked. Why I expected anything other than the “You are?” she asked me in return I have no idea.

Jones handed her a tongue depressor. She didn’t find it as interesting as the scanner, but she checked it, ignoring our conversation again.

“How is that even possible?” I asked

“Not everyone gets it on with anything that moves, Roman,” Jones said.

“Oh what do you know about it you asexual freak?”

The look on his face. Jones rarely got mad but when he did. Wow. He walked away.

“Aw, come on, Jones,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

Without looking back at me, Jones extending the middle of the three fingers on his right hand at me before leaving the room.

“What are you looking at?” I asked Mystery Woman.

You know the rest.

Tagged , , , , ,
Nov 23 2015
1 Comment
Undesiredverse

Undesiredverse: Wanted – Chapter 20

There was a slim, steel rod in my ear canal. Whatever. Do your worst with that one.

“Do you even have medical credentials?” I asked.

“Shut up,” Jones whispered as he slowly removed his instrument from my orifice. Yup. Have at it. I don’t care anymore.

“This just seems like something that should be done in a hospital…”

“You’re going to end up a mongo yourself if you don’t stay still,” Jones admonished me.

Moments later, the procedure was complete and I was free to sit up. Guzzy’s sick bay was fully stocked. Clean. White. Sterile.

“There,” Jones said. “You’re all swapped out. Can you hear me ok?”

“Yes.”

“How’s your lip?” Jones asked.

“Sore,” I replied as I reached my hand up to touch it only to have it slapped away.

“Don’t touch,” Jones said. “The stitch needs to heal.”

“How do you even know how to do all this?” I asked.

“I’m a hundred thousand years old,” Jones answered. “I know how to do everything.”

A hundred thousand years. Such an amount of time is unfathomable to me and yet there are many species with seemingly endless lifespans. Humans have only been on Earth for about 200,000 years, just to put things in perspective.

I stood up and unbuckled my pants.

“Voss,” Jones said. “How many times must I tell you we’re just friends?”

“Shut up, Shorty McNoPants,” I said. “It’s that time of the month.”

“I’m not an expert on humanity but I thought that was a female thing,” Jones said. He may have been joking or serious on that one. I couldn’t tell.

“Not that,” I said. “Rejuvatrix.”

Rejuvatrix. The magical, miracle drug that humans begin taking when they turn twenty-five that allows them to remain looking like they are twenty-five…for the next 275 years. Three hundred had become the average human life span thanks to this pharmaceutical wonder. Still a drop in the bucket compared to some species but nothing to sneeze at either.

“No,” Jones said. “Do it yourself.”

“Aw come on, man,” I said. “I can never find a vein.”

I usually went to a clinic for it but needless to say, I couldn’t ask Guzzy to pull his flying department store to one.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to yourself, do you?” Jones asked.

I sat back down. “No, just hurry up and do it and spare me the PSA.”

Jones wasn’t about to do that. In retrospect, I can see that he was to good of a friend not to. He’d switched his Sen Pen with a brand new one off of Guzzy’s tech rack. He got me one too.

He set his to levitate and then ordered it to display a holographic photo album. He swiped and swiped and swiped until he located a picture of a geeky looking doofus with dark hair and some odd whatchamacallits over his eyes.

“This is Eduardo, an old friend of mine,” Alien Jones said. “I first met him nine-hundred and eighty-four years ago, when he was in his thirties.”

“What are those things on his face?” I asked.

“Glasses,” Jones answered. “Genetic modification wasn’t what it is today and vision problems were common back then. Humans wore special, medically proscribed pieces of glass to help them see.”

“That is some dark age bullshit,” I said.

“It gets worse,” Jones said.

He swiped to another photo. It was of the same man but…different. He was mostly bald, except for tufts of scraggily gray hair on either side. His face was all weird. I don’t even know how to explain it. There were creases in his skin. Wrinkles. I’d never even seen a human who looked like this before.

“What the shit?!” I shouted. “What the f%^king shit!?”

“Here is what Eduardo looked like at 65,” Jones said. “The same age you are right now.”

“Liar!” I cried.

“Truth!” Jones said. “This is what a sixty-five year old man looked like a thousand years ago! Back then, a man your age was considered an elder, a man at the end of his life! Today sixty-five year olds are thought of as carefree youths. None of your peers even expect anything out of you until you turn a hundred! You have no idea how badly people like Eduardo would have loved to have had access to Rejuvatrix and what are you doing? You’re throwing this gift away!”

“I am not you drama queen,” I said. “I’m not listening to this anymore.”

“You’re huffing your life away,” Jones said. “Halminotrin and sofraris, the active ingredient in Rejuvatrix do not mix well together. They’re duking out a heavyweight prize fight in your system as we speak and mark my words, the halminotrin is working.”

“I feel fine,” I said.

“Everyone huffed does,” Jones said. “Until their hearts explode without warning. You need to either quit huff and learn how to deal with your problems like a normal being, or you need to quit Rejuvatrix and revert to your natural age but…good luck picking up females when you look like Eduardo.”

I folded my arms.

“You’re a lecherous poonhound…”

“I am a ladies man,” I corrected him.

“A degenerate pervert,” Jones added. “Either way, being dead or being able to find a mate are two fates you wouldn’t care for. Stop huffing. Cold turkey is the only way. I’ll stand by you and monitor your vitals and…”

“Oh God, oh ok Mom, forget it, I’ll do it myself…”

Jones sighed. He rummaged through a cabinet until he found a vial filled with an amber colored ooze. He filled a fresh needle.

“Drop trou and present your cheeks,” Jones said.

“I bet you say that to all the humans,” I said as I let my pants down and bent over the examination table.

“This is the last time I do this,” Jones said as he moved behind me. “I won’t help you kill yourself.”

“Yes Mom.”

“I mean it, I don’t want to….YEESH!”

“What?” I asked.

“How you humans can stand to have one of these things I have no idea,” Jones said. “Disgustingly primitive.”
I felt a slight pinch on my right cheek and voila. I was good for thirty days.

With terrible timing, Mystery Woman walked in, munching on an apple. One of Guzzy’s relatives’ found her a blue jumpsuit to change into. It match her eyes, which were wide with bewilderment at the site in front of her.

Jones popped out from behind me. “It’s not what it looks like!”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Mystery Woman repeated.

Tagged , , , , , , , ,
Nov 22 2015
Leave a comment
The Writer's Battle

The Writer’s Battle – Are Readers In Control?

Happy Sunday, 3.5 readers.

Bookshelf Q. Battler here.

1371251154

I just read this CNN article in which George Lucas says he’s “done with Star Wars.”

“You go to make a movie and all you do is get criticized,” Lucas told Vanity Fair. “People try to make decisions about what you’re going to do before you do it. It’s not much fun. You can’t experiment. You have to do it a certain way.” – CNN

ON THE ONE HAND – I see his point.  The great part of the Internet is that nerdy fans can comment and discuss their favorite movies, TV shows, books etc.

The downside is that its a great environment to make a lot of back seat drivers.  “No!  Those two characters can’t fall in love and WHAT?!  You’re going to kill off so and so and WHAT that guy changed his mind and he’s no longer a bad guy now?!”

Hollywood listens to all this mumbo jumbo.  Sometimes that turns out well when the fans know what they are talking about.  Other times it falls flat when a director or actor or someone puts the kibosh on an idea that’s a little out there, beyond the norm, that would have paid off big time but they didn’t want to draw the fans’ ire.

Probably the most recent example I can think of is the latest Avengers movie in which Black Widow kicked ass all throughout the film and fans were like “Joss Whedon’s anti-woman!  He didn’t give her enough to do!”  Boo.  Bad nerds.

ON THE OTHER HAND – The CNN article linked to above went on to say:

“The issue was ultimately, they looked at the stories, and they said, ‘We want to make something for the fans,’ ” Lucas said, presumably referring to Disney, which purchased Lucasfilm — including the “Star Wars” franchise — in 2012. “People don’t actually realize it’s actually a soap opera, and it’s all about family problems; it’s not about spaceships. So they decided they didn’t want to use those stories. They decided they were going to do their own thing, so I decided, ‘fine. … I’ll go my way, and I let them go their way.’ ” – CNN

Pbbbhhht.  Well, true – Star Wars does have a lot to do with that damn dysfunctional Skywalker family…BUT, did we really need that Sound of Music-ish scene in Attack of the Clones where Anakin and Queen Amidala prance around in love in the field?  No.  More lightsabers and space ships please.

Revenge of the Sith was pretty solid, and when I was younger, I enjoyed The Phantom Menace and Clones mostly because I was just happy to see Jedis back on the screen.

But let’s be honest, those films were more about loading up on as many quirky, merchandisable characters as possible just to sell kids toys.

There’s nothing wrong with that.  Bills need to be paid and that’s what these new films will do as well BUT I have a hunch that it will be done in a way that fans will be like “that was badass!” and “wow what a badass toy!”

The nerdy adults will be anyway.  If your kids are yelling “badass!” they probably need a time out.

I get Lucas’ frustration though.  It must suck to create this wonderful universe, bring it to the big screen, become the modern day father of science fiction and then be told by your fans that you, the creator of your own universe, are doing a bad job of running your universe.

That’s probably how Darth Vader felt when those pesky rebels started calling for rebellion.

SIDENOTE:  One other example of fans taking over that I’ve seen lately comes from The Walking Dead.

SPOILER ALERT – REPEAT: SPOILER ALERT 

Did you notice there’s a spoiler alert in effect?  OK don’t say you weren’t warned.

Glenn may or may not be dead.  The writers of the show have made it look like he totally is, but also left it open to a possible interpretation that he might not be.

Fans have been up in arms on social media, complaining that they have to wait to find out, how dare the writers toy with their emotions like this and so on.

I’m going to channel my inner Uncle Hardass and say, “get a job, hippies!”  Hell, I love that show as much as the next guy.  I’ve invested a lot of time into it.  But when it appeared that Glenn died my reaction was “Awww, that’s too bad…*pause for 5 seconds* OK I better brush my teeth and get ready for bed.”

Seriously, who has time to worry about the fate of a fictional character?  JOBLESS HIPPIES WHO NEED A JOB AT THE SALT MINES, THAT’S WHO!!!

Wow.  I’m becoming an Uncle H. clone

What say you, 3.5 readers?  Who calls the shots, readers or writers?

Personally, it’d be a great problem to have.  I only have 3.5 readers and none of them have started calling the shots yet.

I suppose when I reach the point where people are like “We want more Yeti!” or “Alien Jones is like a hairless ALF, you hack!” then I’ll know I’ve made it.

Get bossier, 3.5 readers.  Actually, please don’t.

 

Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Nov 22 2015
Leave a comment
Undesiredverse

Undesiredverse: Wanted – Chapter 19

Guzaffo’s Star Bazaar. It was a massive flying warehouse filled with merchandise that my old friend took to every port, peddling exotic goods to wide eyed local yokels. Much of it was either legal or illegal, depending on which port he was in. Officially, customs officers on every planet required him to sign declarations that he’d only sell items that were legal on whatever world he happened to land on. Unofficially, bribes went a long way in the Undesiredverse, so far in fact that most reputable law schools offered students entire courses on how to make them effectively and efficiently.

I first met Guzzy years ago, when he was bleeding out under a tree and crying out for help. As you can imagine, he didn’t simply yell, “HELP!” It was something like, “Oh wretched fate! Why you have gripped me in your clutches most foul? Will anyone, anyone at all come to the aid of a being in this, his most desperate hour?”

We were on his home world of Xerpathia, fighters on the same side in the War of the Four Hemispheres. It broke out like this:

  • The ruling party of Hemisphere One declared that marrying your sister is not only perfectly acceptable, but required by law.

  • The Hemisphere Two politburo decried that ruling to be the pits. Even though Hemisphere Two was far, far away from One, Two’s politicians loudly pontificated that it would only be a matter of time before One’s outlandish ways would cross the ocean and before everyone knew it, they’d all be marrying their sisters like a bunch of obnoxious perverts. They sent troops to conquer Hemisphere One in the hopes of putting an end to sister marriage immediately.

  • The folks in Hemisphere Three weren’t particularly interested in marrying their sisters, not due to any moral qualms but rather, because they felt that their cousins were where the real action was. An Ambassador for Three made a deal with representatives of One to form a pact against Two with an understanding that both hemispheres would become and remain safe havens for all forms of incestuous marriage.

  • Meanwhile in Hemisphere Four, the citizenry despised marriage in all its forms. “Hit It and Quit It” was their motto. That’s not even a joke. It’s emblazoned on their flag. The tribal elders of Four found themselves in a precarious predicament – side with Two and at least retain one form of marriage on their home world, or see their dreams of one day obliterating the institution altogether wither and die with One and Three coming up with new ways to bind people together. The polyamorous elders decided a truce with Two to at least retain the status quo was their only option.

Guzzy was traditionalist Two-er through and through. “Marry Someone You Had To Be Introduced To!” those brave Two-ers cried on the battlefield as they laid waste to those pesky Ones and Threes.

I was a bought and paid for mercenary and was, like so many lost souls, talked into joining a fight that wasn’t mine with a generous, steady paycheck. Unfortunately, I huffed it all away. Jesus. Come to think of it, that war introduced me to the stuff.

Like his Xerpathian brethren, Guzzy was a muscular, six-armed cyclops. His face consisted of a nose, a mouth and one colossal monstrosity of an eyeball. It made a creaking sound whenever it moved and being followed by a cyclops’ eyes is one creepy experience. Why did that war have to happen, anyway? Related or not, how anyone in their right mind would want to marry a Xerpathian is beyond me.

On that day so long ago, I patched Guzzy up as best I could and dragged him by two of the three arms on his right side. I’d of picked him up but he was too heavy. Xerpathians know how to hit the gym.

Since then, Old Guzz had really moved up in the world. He wore a finely tailored black cloak adorned with a golden medallion. All six hands had two-three rings a piece.

His ship was on a steady course and his crew, which consisted of hundreds of his old world relatives, puttered about performing odd jobs. Guzzy was in his element as he barked orders at them.

“Those sycronic multameters require a sensitive touch, Bovo! You can’t simply cram them up any old…Hey! Corastmere, who told you to touch that flavensol? It’s worth more to me than you are! Put it back!”

“Osho vo volo volo tee keerama, Guz?” a worker asked as he walked up with a crate filled with smelly rotten fish heads.

“Throw them away?” Guzzy replied.

“Gepo.”

“Why would I throw them away, Vrash?”

“Epto bek, tee keerama!

“Yes I’m aware they’re smelly rotten fish heads,” Guzzy said. “They’re a rare delicacy on M’ak Slor! I can get three hundred thousand credits a pound for them there. Take that back and keep it out of it the freezer. The smellier the better.”

“Aspppttt bokwallat!” Vrash said rather rudely as he stormed off.

“Oh really?!” Guzzy shouted. “Another outburst like that and you’ll be on the unemployment lie, Vrash! I don’t care if you are my favorite aunt’s son!”

Guzzy looked at me and rolled his eye. He took a seat on a crate and wiped the sweat from his brow. I took a seat next to him.

“Ahh family,” my old pal said. “They were the first to accuse me of turning my back on Xerpathia and the first to beg me to help them when our world became unbearable. I try my best to lift them up from their lowly stations in life and they treat me as though I were the underc rust on their boot heel.”

“Are they cool?” I asked.

“What?” Guzzy asked. “Oh yes. Certainly. They’re backward hill people who don’t even believe in translator chips. They just think everyone should speak Xerpathian. They haven’t the foggiest notion who you and your friends are.”

“Good.”

“I on the other hands have half a mind to turn you in to the Cabal and buy a planet of my own to retire on,” Guzzy said.

We looked each other over. It isn’t easy to win a staring contest with a cyclops. I flinched first.

“Ahhh, I got you!” Guzzy said. “No, you are safe and welcome here…though I fear I must insist on bidding you a fond farewell upon our next port of call…”

“Ureq?” I asked. “Guz, we need to get to Earth.”

“You needed to get off Malostet,” Guzzy said. “You’re off. The conundrum is solved. Surely you cannot expect me to put myself at any more risk by smuggling you through eight more ports?”

“You could just skip your stops and take us directly to Earth,” I said.

“Do you have any idea how far in the red that would take me?” Guzzy asked. “Absolutely not.”

I clasped my hands behind my head and leaned back. “Well Guzzy old boy I don’t know what to say. I’m happy to chill for eight days but I do need to get to Earth one way or another and I’ll need some kind of incentive to forget some of the more interesting war stories I could tell Mrs. Sarki.

Guzzy’s eye grew wide. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

It was a low card, dealt from the bottom of the deck, one I regretting pulling on a friend but I was in a bind.

“So be it then,” Guzzy said as he rested his top right hand on my shoulder.

Jones and Mystery Woman walked in.

“Roman, we need to swap out our implants,” Jones said. “In fact, Guz, if you could spare some supplies…”

“My ship is your ship,” Guzzy said. “Take what you need. Jambri!”

One of Guzzy’s relatives turned around.

“Fah?”

“Show our guests to their quarters.”

“Mosh bi,” Jambri said as he waved all of his hands, bidding us to follow him. Jones and Mystery Woman did. I hanged back a moment.

“Voss, when will you ever learn the only one you need to look out for in this world is yourself?” Guzzy asked. “Risking your life for some prostitute you just met at a shai bordello…”

“I don’t know what it is, Guz,” I said as I watched Jambri pick a candy bar off a shelf and offer it to Mystery Woman. She sniffed it, licked it, then proceeded to bite into it with the wrapper still on. Jones educated her on the proper way to eat junk food.

“…but there’s just something about her.”

Tagged , , , , , , , ,
Nov 21 2015
2 Comments
Undesiredverse

Undesiredverse: Wanted – Chapter 18

“GUZAFFO SARKI

MERCANTILE LICENSE #775-4198B210Y”

So read the words stenciled across one side of the metal container my compatriots and I were hiding in.  Over a hundred joja birds kept us company.  Filthy, stupid, chubby fowl with big googly eyes.

They’re good eating though.  Better than chicken.  I didn’t want to tell Mystery Woman that though.  She found one of them to be particularly likable, picked it up, and was stroking it like a pet. 

Jones and I stood near the door, straining over the constant clucking sounds to hear what was going on outside.

My old pal Guzzy was a pseudo-intellectual, the type of being who never fails to use ten words when two would do.  He laid it on thick.

“Officers!”  I could hear him saying outside.  “You honor this humble star wanderer with your presence.  Oh how I thank you for your brave, fearless service.  To what twist of fate do I owe this auspicious pleasure?”

“Cut the shit, Sarki,” one officer said.  “We’re looking for a two humans, one male, one female, and a Vek.  You seen ‘em?”

“A Vek outside the Rakan Collective you say?”  Guzzy asked. “Unusual.  Unheard of even.  No I should say I have not encountered this dastardly trio you speak of, but know I shall be praying to the heavens that you find these reprobates and bring them to justice immediately and without delay.  Why, to think such ruffians are out on the streets, offending decent citizens with their odious mischief makes me so…”

“Shut your hole dirtbag,”  the officer interrupted.  “What you got on board?  You got documents for all this shit?”

“Why of course, officer,”  Guzzy replied earnestly.  “I am certain a thorough inspection by a highly trained security professional such as yourself will determine that everything is in order.”

“Yeah?”  the officer asked.  “Maybe the boys and I’ll will just have a little look see…”

“Of course, officer,”  Guzzy said.  “Let it be never said that I stood in the way of law enforcement.  Oh and while you are here, will you accept this donation to the Paragon Security Officer’s Charitable Giving Fund?”

A brief pause.  “A cred chit?”

“Yes,”  Guzzy said.  “In the amount of a hundred thousand credits.  Untraceable liquid cash.  Oh, I hope that’s acceptable.  I left my Sen-Pen on the flight deck so I can’t access my personal account at the moment but I have unwavering faith that a respectable individual such as yourself will get it to its intended destination posthaste.  Surely you’d never do something deplorable as pocketing it to utilize for your own selfish purposes.”

“Huh,”  the office said.  “All right, boys!  We’re done here!  Move out!”

“Yes,”  Guzzy said.  “Perhaps that is for the best.  While there is no end to the joy you bring me with your visit I would feel utterly reprehensible were I to monopolize your time any longer.  Go forth and shine the light of justice on…”

“Quit while you’re ahead, dumbass,”  the officer said.

“Quitting, good sir, quitting,”  Guzzy replied.

I heard the sounds of footsteps clanking across the metal floor, then silence.  Moments later, only one set of footsteps clanked our way.  Then there was a knock on the door.

I opened up the slit.  One and only one enormous eyeball peered in.

“Voss?”  Guzzy asked from the other side of the door.

“Yes?”  I answered.

“The coast, as they say, is clear.  Wait until we’re past the orbital shield  and then you and your fellow vagabonds may feel free to roam about the vessel at your leisure.”

“OK,”  I said.

“Oh and Voss?”

“Yes?”

“Consider my debt repaid.”

Tagged , , , , , , , , , ,
← Older posts
Newer posts →