All posts by taylor

Icarus’ Yearbook

Keep reaching for the stars! Miss ya man.
– Odysseus

My dad’s gonna be out of town this summer and he’s leaving his chariot at home. One last joyride maybe?
– Phaeton

Thanks for introducing me to Theseus. He’s a great guy, I’m pretty sure we’re gonna get married.
–  Ariadne

Aim for the heavens. You’re sure to make it some day.
– Hermes

Remember all the times we got high? Man you sure loved to get high bro. One day I bet you’ll get higher than anyone!
– Theseus, Original G

One day you’ll go far, young friend. Ride the wind to your destiny.
Have a great summer never change!
– Homer

Turns Out Lycanthropy Really is a Curse After All

When we discovered the spell that let people turn into animals, of course everyone had to try it.

We all missed the obvious problem, though — you can’t fit a human intelligence into an animal brain. There just aren’t enough neurons or lobes or whatever. Trying to squeeze something so big into something so small, parts are going to get lost.

Let’s just say the term “bird-brained” took on a whole new meaning after that congregation in Hoboken decided to spend a few days as doves.

Actually, for a lot of people it wasn’t that much of a problem. Sure, the people who turned themselves into dogs came back with the mental acuity of five year olds, but they were also incredibly happy and loyal to their families and friends.

Some animals didn’t even seem to cause a problem. Chimpanzees, obviously, but people could also transform into crows or other more intelligent birds without much problem besides losing a few IQ points. The few who tried out elephants were perfectly fine. Some people who turned into dolphins actually seemed to get smarter.

It wasn’t all sweetness and light, of course. Afterwards, more than a quarter of the world’s population was below the level of mental retardation. Even those who weren’t, sometimes came back bad. There are more than a few who turned into leopards or tigers and came back as stalking serial killers. Most who became gorillas came back with anger management problems.

And then there’s the guy who turned into an ant. Everyone was expecting him to come back basically brain dead, but unfortunately that wasn’t the case. What happened instead was horrifying.

House of Cards

OK, so, there were these three guys, see? Two twins and their younger brother.

So, the twins. Identical twins, and I mean completely identical. Only way to tell ‘em apart was to get way up close, ’cause you see, each of ‘em had only one good eye. The other one was glass. Funny thing was, one was missing his right eye and the other his left. A little too coincidental if you ask me, but anyway say you manage to get close enough to their faces, you could know who was who.

‘Course, they never let anyone get that close to ‘em. And anyone who did ain’t fit to talk about it.

Creepy bastards, too. You know how some twins got that “sixth sense” about each other, can tell what the other’s thinking or doing at the time, right? These guys had it like no other. Sometimes it seemed like they were the same guy just in two different bodies, y’know? One of ‘em would be off doing something and the other would know everything before he even heard about it. Nobody knew their real names. They both went by “Jack.” To confuse people, I guess, but it’s not like it mattered since you couldn’t tell ‘em apart anyway. And of course people called ‘em the One-Eyed Jacks.

You see where this is going, eh? Yeah. If they’re the One-Eyed Jacks, that made their brother the Suicide King.

Alright, you gotta understand, this guy, even though he was the younger brother, he was big. The Jacks were scrawny types, they were the schemers and talkers of the operation. The King was the muscle. And he was an animal. He fought like he wasn’t afraid of dying, and I guess he wasn’t ’cause a lot of the time the fights would end with him shooting himself in the head.

Yeah. “A lot of the time.” He did this more than once. What, you think people called him the Suicide King ’cause it was cute? Yeah, after he shoots himself in the head he just lies there ’til things settle down and then he just gets up and walks out at his leisure. I don’t even wanna know how he discovered that particular talent.

Nah, it’s all true. How the hell could I make this shit up? Remember that rash of robberies all across the country few years back, three-man teams, two of ‘em always got away but the third always ended up taking his own life? Sure, they said it was “copycat crimes” but who the hell would want to copy that?

You’re laughing. You don’t believe me. Well, maybe so. Hell, I never met these guys myself, could be all a ghost story far as I know. But let me tell you, I don’t hang around with no twins no more.

The Case of the Totally Unnecessary and Gratuitous “Dick” Puns

I’m a dick. A private dick. The best damn dick in this whole town, if I do say so myself. I’m the one who put Vito Romana behind bars. Didn’t make many friends by doing that, neither. But a man’s gotta do what he’s good at. And I’m so good, people even call me Dick, though that’s probably because my name’s Richard. It might also be because when I’m on the case I can be a real…well…you get the picture. I tell ya what, the jokers never stop laughing.

One Thursday morning this dame walked into my office with legs that went all the way up and a dress that didn’t quite go all the way down. I could tell right away she was trouble. Dames like that always are.

“I’m looking for a dick,” she said, the words floating on her sweet breath like the bloated, week-old bodies of mob victims bobbing to the surface of the river.

“I can see that,” I said. I glanced out the window. The rain-slicked street outside was bustling, as usual. Not even rain can stop a city. It just keeps on going, like a train bearing down on the broad strapped to the tracks.

“Is that some kind of joke?” she asked, raising an eyebrow — an eyebrow as perfectly sculpted as the Venus de Milo. It was the kind of eyebrow you only see in the movies, and not even then.

“Well sweetheart,” I said, lighting a cigarette, “maybe I’m jumping the gun, but since my door says ‘Private Detective’ and you came in, I guessed you ain’t lookin’ for a massage therapist. Simple detective work.” I smiled and exhaled a lungful of smoke, the taste of ashes in my mouth.

“Enough dicking around,” she said (I grimaced), “My husband’s been murdered.”

That got my attention — but I was cautious. Half the time some dame came in with a murdered husband, she was the one who did it and was just trying to divert attention. And she wouldn’t think twice about offing you, too, if you got too close to the truth.

“Sounds serious,” I agreed, “How’d it happen?”

“Poison,” she said, one perfect tear — too perfect if you ask me — dripping and falling to the floor impossibly slowly, only to shatter like a window shatters when it’s blasted with a tommy gun.

“Go on,” I told her.

She took a deep breath. Deep like the ocean, seemed to me. Deeper than a woman’s heart, for sure. “It had to be poison,” she said, “One minute he was eating his favorite dessert, spotted dick…”

It was gonna be one of those days.

How Terminator: Salvation Should Have Been

(Author’s Note: I have to give credit to my friend Emmett for this too, because this is based on a conversation we had.)

Terminator: Salvation was a pretty cool movie, but I think it would have been a lot better if John Connor didn’t know that Kyle Reese was his father. Mainly because they could have included this scene:

After destroying one of Skynet’s major factories, JOHN CONNOR and a group of soldiers — including KYLE REESE — are celebrating by getting completely wasted. While babbling about being the chosen one and gesturing furiously,  John accidentally drops a picture of his mother on the table. A soldier picks it up.

Soldier: Hey, who’s this?

John: Nothing, that’s no one, give it back.

Soldier: She’s kinda hot, dude. Do we need to tell your girlfriend about this?

John: That’s my mom, you assholes, now give it back.

Soldier: Whoa! That’s your mom? Lucky!

Kyle Reese takes the picture and looks at it for a long while. He then looks up at John with all seriousness.

Kyle: I’m gonna fuck your mom, John.

John: Dude, shut up.

Kyle: No, seriously.

John: She’s been dead for more than 10 years, dickhead.

Kyle: No man, you know that time machine we found in Skynet’s lab? I’m totally gonna use that to go back in time and bone your mom.

John: Seriously. Shut up.

Kyle: I’m gonna go back in time and you know what I’m gonna say to her?

John: Oh God no. Kyle, don’t say it.

Kyle: “Cum with me if you want to live.”

Three Sixteen

The LORD will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore. – Psalm 121:8

That was written in chalk on the sidewalk as I left my apartment. I didn’t think too much about it at the time. It’s really not that uncommon around here for some church group to write Bible verses on the sidewalk for passers-by to see, though they usually pick more well-known ones.

On the way to lunch I passed a few more. I noticed “Make me walk in the path of Your commandments, for I delight in it. – Psalms 119:35″ on a small wall along the sidewalk and smiled at the irony of “Hast thou found honey? Eat so much as is sufficient for thee, lest thou be filled therewith, and vomit it. – Proverbs 25:16″ scrawled outside the McDonald’s I ate at. I was a little puzzled as to how they managed to write “But lift thou up thy rod, and stretch out thine hand over the sea, and divide it: and the children of Israel shall go on dry ground through the midst of the sea. – Exodus 14:16″ in the crosswalk of a busy intersection, but I had to admire their dedication. All these verses spread so wide, perhaps it was some sort of city-wide event all the churches had decided to do.

My amusement ended when I saw “Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal. – Matthew 6:19″ spraypainted on the front of my office building.

“Hey, you guys see what those Jesus Freaks did?” I asked Jen and Paul as I came back to work. They looked at each other and shrugged.

“They spray painted a Bible verse on the front of the building. Strange that you didn’t see it, they must have just done it right before I got back.” We all shook our heads. The neighborhood sure was going to shit these days.

Seeing “And it came to pass, as they still went on, and talked, that, behold, there appeared a chariot of fire, and horses of fire, and parted them both asunder; and Elijah went up by a whirlwind into heaven. – 2 Kings 2:11″ painted on the hood of my car didn’t improve my mood any, especially given the heavy traffic I had to sit in on the way home and the strange looks I got.

But when I saw “And he was afraid, and said, How dreadful is this place! This is none other but the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven. – Genesis 28:17″ painted on my door, it was the last straw. Furious, I called the police. The bored attendant took my statement and said they’d send someone in the morning. Clicking on my E-mail, a message popped up — “Cease from anger, and forsake wrath: fret not thyself in any wise to do evil. – Psalms 37:8.” Unknown sender. I hit delete and went to bed, fuming.

The next morning I woke up to find that they had broken into my house overnight. Every possible surface was covered with Bible verses.

I began to go through all the rooms, marking down and noting all the verses I could find. Whoever did this was meticulous. All of the verses were there. Except one. The one that you’d most expect to find.

All the verses written except one. All the surfaces in the house written on…except one. My body.

It was clear now what had to be done. I went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife (“Jesus wept” carved in beautiful ornate script on one side, “- John 11:35″ on the other).

Walking into the bathroom, I stood in front of the mirror, shirtless, and began to write.

“For God so loved the world…”

Some Things Never Change

“Hey, look!” called out the kid, prodding a small paper bag with his foot. The old man walked over and picked it up carefully.

“Now there’s a symbol I haven’t seen in years. ‘Trillions served.’ That was more than the population of the planet at its height. Damn fine achievement.”

“What’s this?” asked the kid, picking up a cup made out of a strange, squishy white material. Inside was a dark brown liquid.

The old man took a sip and smiled wistfully. “The nectar of the gods,” he said.

He passed the cup to the kid, who took a sip and winced. “Gross! It’s so sweet!”

The old man smiled sadly. “We used to drink that poison by the gallon. But now let’s see what’s in the bag. Those health nuts always used to say that there were enough preservatives in this ‘food’ to last a hundred years. Maybe they were right.”

He opened the bag and pulled out a small cardboard container filled with thin yellow sticks. He offered one to the kid, who took it and sniffed it cautiously.

“It’s a funny thing,” mused the old man, “I never ate here before the war. I always preferred the competitors. But hey, everything changes.”

He popped one of the sticks into his mouth, chewed, and grimaced. “Well, some things stay the same,” he sighed. “The food here still sucks.”

A History Lesson

Humanity had its first official contact with extraterrestrials in the mid 21st century. Apparently, they had been monitoring our television broadcasts for decades, watching our culture and waiting for us to show that we had something worth contributing to the intergalactic community.

What finally got them was a certain beer ad created in the late 20th century. They had been interested in the invention of beer for quite some time, it being apparently unique in the galaxy, but it wasn’t until they saw this commercial that they really felt they had to try it.

Unfortunately, when they got here they landed in St. Louis. Sorely disappointed at the quality of the beverage they found, they destroyed the city and were just about ready to blow up the entire planet as well, until a small group of alien exiles who’d been living in Germany radioed them and told them to give beer a second chance.

The expeditionary force headed over to Berlin, was greatly overjoyed at what they found and proceeded to get completely trashed. Humanity will never forget the events of that infamous night, the so-called Überverrücktefremdebetrunknenberlinernacht.

The next day the aliens met with the UN, bringing premium alcoholic beverages from across the galaxy. Pretty soon all the delegates were wearing lampshades on their heads and the treaty had been signed that made Earth a member of the Galactic Federation. The rest, as they say, is history.

Though I’m pretty sure they just say that because everyone was too drunk to remember what happened.

When You’re in Bed, You’re Dead

I don’t sleep anymore.

It started out innocently enough; I was experimenting with modafinil. You’ve heard of it, right? That stuff they give to fighter pilots to keep ‘em awake for 40 hours? I thought I’d get myself some and try it out, see just how long I could last.

At first it was fine. I stayed up all night for a few days, wasn’t tired at all. Sure I started having these weird periods of disorientation and times where I’d black out for a few minutes but it was worth it for all the extra free time I had.

But then I started seeing the shadows. You know those shadows you sometimes see out of the corner of your eye but when you turn your head they’re gone? Yeah well, they don’t go away when you’ve been up for three weeks straight. They didn’t really act like they noticed me or anything, though, they were just doing their own thing. I couldn’t really figure out what they were, until that night.

It was about 5 AM or so and I was taking a stroll to watch the sun come up over the city. I passed by this bum asleep in an alley and for some reason he caught my eye. When I looked back at him I noticed those shadow things were all around him…and not just all around him, all over him. When he woke up screaming I realized what they are.

They’re fuckin’ nightmares.

Since then I’ve figured out I can sort of control them, sort of bring them to me by thinking negative thoughts. So that’s what I do at night now. I keep the nightmares away from people by drawing them to me. There’s an orphanage near my house and I usually hang around there keeping them away from the kids.

The only problem is that they don’t actually go away. I can keep them away from people, but then they just hang around me. And they’re angry. They can’t do anything to me when I’m awake, but…

I don’t know what I’m gonna do. I haven’t slept in four months, and now the back alley doc I used to buy the modafinil from got arrested. I’ve only got a few days’ worth now. I don’t want to think about what happens when I run out.