Happy Birthday POX!
11.13.2010
11.04.2010
10.24.2010
Magic Gumball
Magic Gumball
Gingham’s Magic Gumball
By Luke J. Morris
She was lying.
“But I love you!”
Lying again. He’d always suspected it, but now he knew. Knew, without a doubt, that she had never been honest with him, not once, for years. It was intoxicating. “What were you doing with him, then?”
“Nothing! We’re just friends.”
Another lie, this one almost too easy. A week ago he would have believed her – he’d have convinced himself she told the truth, because he wanted to believe, wanted to quash his doubts. He had robbed himself of that luxury now. He had no more doubts. But the payoff was worth it.
“Get out,” he said.
She cried, falsely, and left.
He got to the lab early, before the technicians could bother him. The formula, the materials, the product, he needed all of them, he couldn’t let this get out, couldn’t let the –
The phone rang. Answer it? They knew he was there, of course. “Hello?”
“Gingham. Glad you’re in. Could you stop by my office?”
“Kinda busy today, John. What do you need?”
“I need your feedback on something.”
Not a lie, not entirely. They were going to question him. “Be up in a bit.” Dr. Gregory Gingham hung up the phone and started to twitch. He needed a fix something bad. He opened his supply closet and pulled a glass bowl from the back shelf, reached inside for a small rainbow-striped ball, and popped it in his mouth. Then he sunk into his desk chair and relaxed and let his mind fly.
So many lies for such a small world.
John Silecki enjoyed the finer things, and his office showed it. From the black leather couch on one side to the solid oak bookshelf on the other to the polished mahogany desk in the middle, the room screamed ‘expensive taste’. He offered Gingham a cigar. Cuban. The doc shook his head and sat down.
“CIA is on me, Greg,” Silecki said. “They want results. What have you got so far?”
“Making good progress. We’re narrowing down the ingredients, working to get the formulas just right. Sodium pentothal was an effective solution, John; one-upping it isn’t exactly a walk in the park.”
“I know that, dammit! Just… give me what you have.”
Hiding something. Hmmm... “What do they want this for, John? Don’t their old solutions work?”
“I don’t know that, Greg, you know I don’t. We’re just here to serve the customer.”
A lie. Silecki knew everything. Someone must have found a way to beat the old methods, to lie to the government undetected. They couldn’t let that pass, of course. But they also couldn’t let John Q Public know what they were up to, so they contacted a small but productive branch of Introchemical to do the work, gave the company unlimited funding in return for non-disclosure agreements for all personnel involved. A small group, at that. Probably planning to use us as guinea pigs for our own drug, Greg thought. “Well… we do have something. Not sure of its efficacy yet, but – ”
“It’s ready for human testing?” Silecki leaned forward, elbows on his desk, teeth biting into his cigar.
Greg sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Maybe. We’ll want to be careful with it, though. I need to run a few more tests first, to make sure it’s not lethal.”
Silecki rubbed his temples and closed his eyes. “I can only hold them off for so long, Greg. Another week and they’ll have their own people in here supervising your work.”
You mean, you’ll tell them to. “Not to worry, John. I’ll have test samples ready by the end of the week. Probably have to work ‘round the clock to do it – ”
“Yes, yes, fine! Sleep here, for all I care, just get it done.”
He wasn’t lying about that. Good. Dr. Gingham smiled grimly as he walked out.
Midnight came. The security guard sat in his booth upstairs, pretending to keep an eye out for intruders. He was actually cheating at online poker, but Gingham wouldn’t complain.
The project had reached its final stage. He emptied his glass jar of product into a plastic baggie and tucked it in his jacket pocket. He took what raw materials remained and flushed them, making sure to jumble the labels in the lab. The formula he had stashed tightly into his brain; he destroyed all physical copies and wiped his hard drive. For information security purposes, they hadn’t wanted him to post any data on the network. He laughed at the irony.
He waved to the guard on the way out. “See you in the morning,” he lied. As he started his car, he popped one of his magic gumballs. The colors melded with his mind, and everything became clear. His hands and his feet and his wide-opened eyes guided the machine toward the highway. He could drive all night now. He would.
They’d wanted a new ‘truth serum’. They expected a new and improved drug to pry facts from their victims’ mouths. But he had done them one better. Approaching the problem from the other end, he had found Truth itself, cracked its head open, and spilled its mindstuff for he and he alone to enjoy. He knew the curse that came with the blessing: no one could deceive him, yet he would never again know the bliss of ignorance. He didn’t care.
Dr. Gregory Gingham was a junkie. And he was a god. He floored his accelerator toward life, toward liberty, toward death, toward Washington. He laughed at all the liars as the sun rose on an honest new day.
10.09.2010
10.01.2010
9.10.2010
8.29.2010
7.05.2010
6.23.2010
Oil Can
Oil Can
Once upon a time there was a woodsman who chopped down trees in a forest with his axe. He gained no great wealth from this, but it was his livelihood and indeed what he felt he had been created to do. So- as if by compulsion- he set off, each day, to the wood; small axe in hand. His axe was infamously small, much more so than his fellow woodsmen, however it was also infamously precise and effective on trees. In fact this woodsman out preformed all other woodsmen combined each day in spite of the puny nature of his trusty axe. This feat made the other woodsmen very jealous and bitter toward their over-achieving colleague, and one day they decided to offer him a challenge that they knew would test his mettle. Far to the west there lay a thick and dark forrest that had been overgrown for as long as any of the woodsmen could remember and none of them dare venture off into into this remote place for fear of not coming back. Legends of the most dreadful and debauched creatures were rumored to go about their devilish business in this forrest. Tales of wanton cannibalism, sadistic torturing and perpetual blood orgies kept enough fear in every man woman and foolhardy child far from this most unholy of places. For they knew that should they enter, their soul would be crushed, their body slowly undone, their mind driven into fear crazed lunacy, and no other person would ever see them again. And so the woodsman, with nothing but an exceptionally small axe and a song in his heart ventured off to this forbidden forest. He did so gladly and with an expectation to inspire his fellow woodsmen to have the courage to face any challenge no matter how high the risk, for he believed that there was no horror so great with which his mind could not handle. The woodsman could now see where his path met the mouth of the forest and was swallowed into the foul blackness of the thick trees. The woodsman tried to imagine the sort of beast that would choose to live in such a dark and rotten place. The creatures his imagination came up with were not comforting and so the woodsman decided that he should try to think of something else, but this was not easy to do. Thoughts of turning around and giving up came up, but the woodsman convinced himself that he was just being foolish, there was nothing in this woods that he hadn't seen before, he assured himself. Besides, why should he go back? He thought. The other woodsmen hate him, the maidens want nothing to do with him or his small axe, and all his work goes unnoticed. In a way he felt like this challenge was not a trap set for him, but an escape from the dull drudgery of dealing with the irreverent and ignorant characters of his village. If no one back home wanted to appreciate his labor, perhaps something in this mysterious wood can find use for him, even if it is just for a quick meal. The edge of the forest was now at his feet and without a moment of hesitation the woodsman continued across the threshold and into the brittle underbrush that lurked within. He was never seen again, but some people think he was raped and eaten by an evil goat- of course those people didn't like him because of the whole axe thing, they probably made that up. The reality was -no doubt- much worse.
Moral of the story: If life is good, don't go fucking it up by venturing into dark forests
6.06.2010
6.05.2010
5.31.2010
Home Again...
Home Again
Today Alan came home to see a trap door leading down into the depths of the netherworld on the floor in the middle of his sitting room. This mysterious door was left open and emerging from it was a skinless hellhound which barked fire and drooled asparagus pee. Alan had never in his memory confronted such a nasty beast and was certainly not expecting such an encounter to take place in his own home. As the hellhound snarled and dripped its oozy juices all on the carpet; Alan went through his mental rolodex of emotions searching for what could be an appropriate response to address the current situation. Fear was too obvious an emotion and Alan had experimented with fear all too frequently in his day to day life and was probably what held him back from accomplishing his goals. Sadness seemed like a good way to go and it fit the mood set by being eaten alive by a hellbeast - that is- if one had opted out of going for fear. Why go out on a sad note?- Alan thought. It was at that point that that he became deeply aroused, as if something ignited in his core. Yes, Alan decided that he would hump this hellhound back into the firey dark world that it sprung out of. Then Alan would follow that beast to its home and go on a raping spree of all the demons and ghouls in its neighborhood so that all of hell would know and fear Alan's mighty shaft. This was a very pleasant thought for Alan to enjoy as the crazed beast approached, Alan loosened his belt, readying himself for the battle that was about to begin. The skinless monster came right up to Alan, then continued walking past him, down the hall, to the washroom, and helped itself to Alan's toilet where it proceeded to quench its thirst and -no doubt- rinse out that asparagus pee taste. Poor guy must have just been thirsty, and he came such a long way. Look at him lap up that water like he had not had a drink in years. The creature seemed to touch Alan's heart and -in a way- bring something to his home that had been missing--company. Alan named the wretched nightmare, Gus, and he dressed Gus up in a furry coat when it got cold outside and Gus ate up all the mean kids in the neighborhood and when there were no more mean kids, Gus ate the nice kids and when there were no more nice kids... well that is a whole nother story for a different time. Needless to say, Gus and Alan had a great life together and it was filled with many adventures.
5.30.2010
Easter Sundae
Easter Sundae
Once a week the houses are all empty and the dwellers have left to gather down the street at a large building and join hands and sing praises to their favorite god or goddess. Mozark found that it was at this time when the empty streets and quiet ally ways called out to him and asked for his company on yet another glorious day that he could share with the whisper of his feet and the earth below him. Today was most disappointing, however, because one of the gatherings of worshipers decided that today was a good day to leave their big building and find more people that would go there with them next week. Mozark pretended not to see them approach and sped up in the opposite direction, but the herd of smiling heavy-set suit-wearing solicitors shot into full sprint powered by bacon grease, sugar, and song. As it was, Mozark was a creature who would avoid nonsense but he would run from nothing, so the flock finally found themselves face to face with their target. Mozark grinned and nodded his head as the leader of the group went on and on about how amazing the book he held with both hands in front of his own throbbing liver was. He flicked the beads of sweat off his red brow and told Mozark about how this book had magic abilities and would make even the worst person whole and happy. These people were ruining Mozark's quality time with the sky and the grass; he heard the breeze whisper suggestions of homicide so that he would give her his full attention. He knew that destroying these people would be easy, but if he tore them apart life would become more complicated for him. So Mozark reached into the earth and snatched up a fat hairless mole-rabbit that he had heard rumbling below his feet. The heavy-set suit-man stopped talking and his minions gasped in chorus as Mozark held forth the pink-skinned rodent. "My earth-goddess has commanded me to share with you the meaty fruit from her filthy womb" spoke Mozark. "Go ye back to your place of worship and eat of this ground nugget and gain ye all the knowledge and power that the universe has to offer." Without hesitation, the leader of the group dropped his book to the ground and seized the fetid mud hopper. The crowed pranced all the way back to their meeting hall with cheers of rejoice and songs of triumph for they knew that soon they would have all the answers. Mozark watched the people shrink to the horizon and heard the sounds of silence fill his head again. He took up the book that the man had dropped in exchange for the rabbit of knowledge and Mozark tore from it the first twelve pages and rolled from those twelve pages a miraculously tall mound of marijuana cigarettes. He took just one for his walk and left the rest for the next passers by so that they too would feel the vibrations below their feet and power in their hands should they need to find something to distract any obstacle that may come between them and their perfect day.
Humpty and Weasel
Humpty and Weasel
Mozark poured some old coffee into an empty glass and began to chug. The drugs had made him slow and apathetic and they must be dowsed with the wet black energy so that he may once again use his supernatural powers. The coffee was stale and bitter, but it would be enough to at least get the bones warm and the fingers itching for things to do. Just then, a scream from outside. Mozark raced to the window and saw the neighbor boy wobbling on the south wall about to lose his balance. What was that fool doing up on that wall? Mozark had -- just last week -- warned Little Patrick not to play on there; yet here he was and soon to realize why he was forbidden to dance his merry dance on top of a 12 foot wall. Mozark's dogs were ravenous. Howling at the wind and digging trenches all day stokes the belly's appetite. They were fed a beef carcass once a week, but -- as it was late in the week -- the carcass was beginning to smell, the thought of a fresh slab of meat drove electric sparks out their whiskers. The mud caked claws impatiently pawing at the base of the wall. The saliva flowing out of the hungry maws. The pup's eyes stretched wide as the wobbling stopped and the little one fell down, down, down. thud. The screams lasted for only two and a half minutes. Then it was just the happy clapping sound of wet jaws amidst heavy breath. Mozark inhaled the sweet morning air and the sunlight kissed his radiant face and the power of the universe entered his soul.
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