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Call me Grimace.
Thursday, May 20, 2004
I'd explain everything that happened over the past few months, but it would take a long time and I'm tired.
In the future, household pets are more intelligent. Genetic enhancements have endowed them with the ability to speak and perform simple, but more human, tasks. At a certain point, people figured dogs should walk themselves and maybe mow the lawn while they’re at it. Cat’s should clean their own litter boxes and take the trash out along the way. This isn’t Planet of the Apes level stuff. They weren’t forced into absolute servitude. Most animals are happier for it.
When my company first began running tests of its time travel thing, it was hard to pinpoint a precise arrival date. The first time the machine was used, they opted to send back a cat, instead of a human. Mr. Jumps’n’Pukes. That was the cat’s name. They sent him back not really knowing where or to what time. They were also unable to bring him back, something they were aware would happen but didn’t tell him going into it.
Grips the Fantastic is the company archeologist. Its his job to scout an arrival site. He’s responsible for selecting the exact time and location to which someone will be sent. If it’s a safe trip (into the recent past) he’ll just go himself and have a look about, kicking what looks like needs it. If its very far in the past, he’ll actually conduct a full archeological dig. It was on one of these digs that he discovered something alarming. A rock with a picture of Mr. Jumps’n’Pukes carved into it. I had seen the rock when he first arrived, but I didn’t understand the significance of it.
Apparently, Mr. Jumps’n’Pukes ended up in ancient Europe (hard to be certain exactly where), where a band of nomadic humans discovered him and worshiped him as a god (he was, of course, a talking cat). He indoctrinated his followers with long complex parables, which they passed down through the ages, first verbally, and then in songs and stories. The discoveries at the dig site led Grips on a journey around the world (and through different eras), as he pieced together the cat’s legacy.
He recited a song for me that he had uncovered somewhere in England. Keep in mind, this is a legend that had been passed down for hundreds of years before ever being documented by written language, so it may not be entirely accurate:
That asshole Grips
Made me clean out my litter box
And sent me back in time
And left me here
And the cobbler made for the girl
A shoe of great dryness
I’m going to
Indoctrinate these freaks
With long complex parables
That they will pass down
But her other foot
Was still nude and moist
They will follow my teachings
And years from now
They will destroy all those assholes
at that company
And the cobbler cried
And made for her a second shoe
A shoe of great dryness
A shoe of great dryness
In the future, household pets are more intelligent. Genetic enhancements have endowed them with the ability to speak and perform simple, but more human, tasks. At a certain point, people figured dogs should walk themselves and maybe mow the lawn while they’re at it. Cat’s should clean their own litter boxes and take the trash out along the way. This isn’t Planet of the Apes level stuff. They weren’t forced into absolute servitude. Most animals are happier for it.
When my company first began running tests of its time travel thing, it was hard to pinpoint a precise arrival date. The first time the machine was used, they opted to send back a cat, instead of a human. Mr. Jumps’n’Pukes. That was the cat’s name. They sent him back not really knowing where or to what time. They were also unable to bring him back, something they were aware would happen but didn’t tell him going into it.
Grips the Fantastic is the company archeologist. Its his job to scout an arrival site. He’s responsible for selecting the exact time and location to which someone will be sent. If it’s a safe trip (into the recent past) he’ll just go himself and have a look about, kicking what looks like needs it. If its very far in the past, he’ll actually conduct a full archeological dig. It was on one of these digs that he discovered something alarming. A rock with a picture of Mr. Jumps’n’Pukes carved into it. I had seen the rock when he first arrived, but I didn’t understand the significance of it.
Apparently, Mr. Jumps’n’Pukes ended up in ancient Europe (hard to be certain exactly where), where a band of nomadic humans discovered him and worshiped him as a god (he was, of course, a talking cat). He indoctrinated his followers with long complex parables, which they passed down through the ages, first verbally, and then in songs and stories. The discoveries at the dig site led Grips on a journey around the world (and through different eras), as he pieced together the cat’s legacy.
He recited a song for me that he had uncovered somewhere in England. Keep in mind, this is a legend that had been passed down for hundreds of years before ever being documented by written language, so it may not be entirely accurate:
That asshole Grips
Made me clean out my litter box
And sent me back in time
And left me here
And the cobbler made for the girl
A shoe of great dryness
I’m going to
Indoctrinate these freaks
With long complex parables
That they will pass down
But her other foot
Was still nude and moist
They will follow my teachings
And years from now
They will destroy all those assholes
at that company
And the cobbler cried
And made for her a second shoe
A shoe of great dryness
A shoe of great dryness
Friday, February 27, 2004
Grips the Fantastic arrived two days ago. Ahead of schedule, as I see it. He dropped in around 9:00, as I was sitting down to eat a plate of fried rice. Normally running into Grips would be a joyous occasion. Normally, he’d rush in the door and kick over a lamp, or maybe open the fridge and kick a six pack. Normally he’d be laughing maniacally for an hour or so before he could calm himself long enough to say hello. Normally, anyway.
Instead, I met an almost childishly frightened Grips at my door. Looking back over his should as I greeted him, he scurried into my home, slamming and locking the door behind him. He must have caught the scent of my fried rice. He slipped past me and ran to the kitchen where he devoured my dinner like he hadn’t eaten for days.
He opened large a duffle bag he’d dragged in with him and produced a data stick (this is a popular storage device used in the future. It looks almost exactly like a tiny tree branch. It smells like steaming cabbage). Grips handed me the stick and, without saying a word, stumbled over to my couch and passed out.
He’s been asleep there ever since. I don’t have any way of reading what’s on the data stick, so that’s been a problem. I rummaged through his bag, looking for clues (or maybe a stick reader, which is itself a slightly larger stick) but found nothing but dirty clothes, a baseball, and a rock with a picture of a cat etched onto it. Maybe I’m wrong, but I think something bad has happened in the future, or will happen here.. in the future… I’ll learn what I can when Grips wakes up.
Instead, I met an almost childishly frightened Grips at my door. Looking back over his should as I greeted him, he scurried into my home, slamming and locking the door behind him. He must have caught the scent of my fried rice. He slipped past me and ran to the kitchen where he devoured my dinner like he hadn’t eaten for days.
He opened large a duffle bag he’d dragged in with him and produced a data stick (this is a popular storage device used in the future. It looks almost exactly like a tiny tree branch. It smells like steaming cabbage). Grips handed me the stick and, without saying a word, stumbled over to my couch and passed out.
He’s been asleep there ever since. I don’t have any way of reading what’s on the data stick, so that’s been a problem. I rummaged through his bag, looking for clues (or maybe a stick reader, which is itself a slightly larger stick) but found nothing but dirty clothes, a baseball, and a rock with a picture of a cat etched onto it. Maybe I’m wrong, but I think something bad has happened in the future, or will happen here.. in the future… I’ll learn what I can when Grips wakes up.
Wednesday, January 28, 2004
I know it seems like I've been away for a while, but that's a matter of perspective. I was skipped ahead for a number of days that were considered pretty much worthless. Checking in on the time I skipped, however, I consider the company's assertion incorrect. A lot has happened this past month.
Truly a month rife with news.
My buddy Grips the Fantastic is coming in a month or so. Great guy, Grips. Always kicking things.
Truly a month rife with news.
My buddy Grips the Fantastic is coming in a month or so. Great guy, Grips. Always kicking things.
Monday, December 15, 2003
A few hundred years ago, people had names like John, Alexander, Thomas, David, and so on. It seems a reasonable thing to assume that many people will still go by these common names a few hundred years from now.
In the nearer future there are still new and interesting names. But despite what aspiring sci-fi authors and late-night MMORPGers may think, there aren't a lot of Zs and 4 syllable names. People aren't called Zebulatron or Quorpitole. They don't name their little girls Vrohillius or Priptozonia. There are some weird names though. There was a kid who lived on my street named Viagra Johnson. Mean little fucker.
Anyway, this is just an FYI. When you're composing your first Little House on the Prairie: The Next Generation fan-fiction and you find yourself at a loss naming the evil planet-shitting overlord from the galaxy beyond time, just call him Mort or Peter. Naming him Professor Grimtulus Verzasterfly doesn't make him a more effective character.
In the nearer future there are still new and interesting names. But despite what aspiring sci-fi authors and late-night MMORPGers may think, there aren't a lot of Zs and 4 syllable names. People aren't called Zebulatron or Quorpitole. They don't name their little girls Vrohillius or Priptozonia. There are some weird names though. There was a kid who lived on my street named Viagra Johnson. Mean little fucker.
Anyway, this is just an FYI. When you're composing your first Little House on the Prairie: The Next Generation fan-fiction and you find yourself at a loss naming the evil planet-shitting overlord from the galaxy beyond time, just call him Mort or Peter. Naming him Professor Grimtulus Verzasterfly doesn't make him a more effective character.
Friday, December 12, 2003
In the future, people don't go shopping the day after Thanksgiving, they go shopping two days after. You people are just suckers.
Monday, December 08, 2003
In the future, McDonalds will offer a new product called McSlop. Composed of every available ingredient in the resteraunt, the mix is blended into a fine paste and eaten with a spoon. Each McSlop value meal is served with 86 salt packets. Thats enough to poor two packets on every bite. Within months it becomes their most popular item. Everything else on the menue is eliminated. Other fast food chains soon follow. Wendy's with its Sloop, Burger King with Flame Grilled Slop, Taco Bell with its Slopolada and so on.
Eventually, most people are eating nothing but slop. Asses balloon to previously unimaginable sizes. Countless diseases are attributed to slop intake, the most common being slopidia. In one year alone, McDonalds loses out in 843 law suits. Every major chain resteraunt catches some of the fire.
When companies start going under, one by one, a panic grips the nation. A hefty generation, forced to carry on without their slop, rises up in rebellion against a government that denies them their salty joy. Using money gathered in successful lawsuits against fast food companys, the rebellion insists that the government find a way to keep the fast food companies afloat.
Their demands are not met. They threaten with civil war, but are all so sluggish and lazy that nothing every really happens. Most of that generation vanishes. In its wake, a new generation springs up. Cleaner ways of living are adopted. The entire structure of modern civilization revolves around community athletics, orgarodent meat, and porn. Lots and lots of porn.
Eventually, most people are eating nothing but slop. Asses balloon to previously unimaginable sizes. Countless diseases are attributed to slop intake, the most common being slopidia. In one year alone, McDonalds loses out in 843 law suits. Every major chain resteraunt catches some of the fire.
When companies start going under, one by one, a panic grips the nation. A hefty generation, forced to carry on without their slop, rises up in rebellion against a government that denies them their salty joy. Using money gathered in successful lawsuits against fast food companys, the rebellion insists that the government find a way to keep the fast food companies afloat.
Their demands are not met. They threaten with civil war, but are all so sluggish and lazy that nothing every really happens. Most of that generation vanishes. In its wake, a new generation springs up. Cleaner ways of living are adopted. The entire structure of modern civilization revolves around community athletics, orgarodent meat, and porn. Lots and lots of porn.
Thursday, December 04, 2003
Nothing new today (nothing new tomorrow either, I happen to know), so I'll post a nice bit of reader mail I just received.
Hey Grimace (love the alias)!
Janine from research said I might run into you in one way or another. I started doing past jobs about a week after you left on your big trip. This is actually my second trip, but I came back later the first time, so in about 6 months you'll hear from me again, but I won't know that I've already heard from you, because it will be the first time for me.
They sent me back to pick up some of that coffee that Tweezers likes because they stopped making it a few years ago. He's really old ansd says that this year was a good year for it. Whatever, its an excuse to get out of the office. And hey, have you watched Honey yet?! What lucky timing for both of us, am I right?!!
Well, I've got to go. I get frustrated using these space age computers. Not sure whenthey're going to bring you back, but hopefully soon. We're short a player on the company softball team.
Later (or sooner),
Frank from accounting
P.S. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Don't drive anywhere on January 26th. You're going to hit a squirrel and feel really bad about it for few days.
Hey Grimace (love the alias)!
Janine from research said I might run into you in one way or another. I started doing past jobs about a week after you left on your big trip. This is actually my second trip, but I came back later the first time, so in about 6 months you'll hear from me again, but I won't know that I've already heard from you, because it will be the first time for me.
They sent me back to pick up some of that coffee that Tweezers likes because they stopped making it a few years ago. He's really old ansd says that this year was a good year for it. Whatever, its an excuse to get out of the office. And hey, have you watched Honey yet?! What lucky timing for both of us, am I right?!!
Well, I've got to go. I get frustrated using these space age computers. Not sure whenthey're going to bring you back, but hopefully soon. We're short a player on the company softball team.
Later (or sooner),
Frank from accounting
P.S. Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Don't drive anywhere on January 26th. You're going to hit a squirrel and feel really bad about it for few days.
