A Blog Novel about Time Travel
Meanwihle, inside the Pale Frown of the Universe…
“I think Obama’s honey-moon is over.”
The firmament arched like a vast emptiness like the emptiness between Matrimonions, the married onions that act as surrogate married couples for people in love who dont’ want to ruin that good feeling. My plan wasn’t working. banality might be insufficient, like a clown with an egg. Yet I couldn’t think of anything else to do.
Tags: 2012, aaron eves, app, boing boing, chris locke, cory doctorw, cosmos, david dineen-porter, dianne weist, end of the world, frown, hospital, how to play guitar, iphone, lawn, Michael J Fox, mission statement, nox dineen-porter, sci fi, science fiction, sf, toronto comedy, twitter
Meanwhile, back at the hospital, the two strangers who crashed into the clock tower on old city hall had just arrived…
Having waited for some time in the oubliet where the families of patients were abandoned, I decided to sing some more tunes to my fellow inmates. Numerous professionals of the hospital attempted to crush my burgeoning musical spirit, but I was resolute. I flashed my index finger and told them that they didn’t own me, that I was my own man, that I could do what I liked, and that I was a being composed of elements no heavier than iron. They were aware of all those facts, they told me, and wanted to see me in private. This was good news. I had probably won a prize.
I walked with two large men, both named Security Man (as far as i was concerned) to a small enclave near the emergency entrance of the hospital. I knew i recognized this hospital, i’d seen it before. THe torpidscraller I was using to track down my victims had it displayed on the packaging actually, as an indication of the kind of flashy memory you might be able to read if only you purchased this brand of torpidscraller.
There, at the entrance, I was enthroned in a regal chair with stately handcuffs attached to an imperious metal clasp. Restrained in grandeur befitting my status, I was again abandoned by lesser primitives of this backward world to consider my own nutrients in private. Good old Glucose, master of the blood.
Tags: novel
meanwhile, our friendly companion in his invisible shame-powered destiny-based suit searches for his missing friend, our protagonist (name deleted).
Shame. Shame. I had to find someone to shame. The suit’s power was running low, and if it ran out in its present invisible state, it would be stuck invisible forever. IT was not entirely a terrible proespect, but it meant that people would probably never understand how it was i was able to do all the marvellous things i could do, as they could not see the apparent explanation of the suit. Needless to say, taking credit for the work of a funny sci fi type suit was essentially one of the worst Sharms.
Tags: 2012, alex jones, hope, joy, mayan calendar, obama deception, sci fi, science fiction, time travel, winter
Meanwhile, back at the stuff …
Before me stood a white labcoat encrusted vision of awesomeness. His ignorance of my vanishing and my return meant he had no idea, no idea at all. He had walked directly into what clutches a man such as myself possessed, leathery and moist, and with gentle palpatations, fate was rubbing my facial features into a more pleased arrangement. If he thought me myself from an earlier time, then he would trust me, and i could isolate him, and slay him. This was too good to be true. Oh Tyra Banks, you are going to die. But how will that death affect me, and where was my Tyra Banks?
Tags: hope springs eternal
Meanwhile, the exact moment that Tyra Bank teleported away from (Name Deleted)’s bullet…
Somehow, the suit had saved me, in a flash I had seen the world around me dissolve into an ambigious cloud. Swirls of color filled my vision and sense not unlike being asked to help your friend move from one house to another flooded my body. Why had (name deleted) decided to kill me? Did it have something to do with my confidence?
Read the rest of this entry »
Tags: 2012, loss, love, obama deception, teleportation, winsomeness
Meanwhile, in another part of house…
“I’m calling from inside the house!”, said the voice. Just then, the operator broke in on the conversation.
Tags: 2012, alex jones, boobs, breasts, checkmate, chess chestmate, chestmake, chestmaker, obama deception, tits
Meanwhile, inside the Frowning Lad of Time and Space….
So this is what it was like to be dead. It wasn’t that bad actually. It was basically the same as being at a billy joel concert. Actually, since billy joel was a musician from 9 trillion or so years in my past, i had no idea whether that reference was amusing, but in my short stint in the 21st century i’m pretty sure i heard basically 30 or so people say that, and everyone around them laughed in the manner of the era, violently, through the lone oral cavity of the face. Imagine, laughing and eating in the same place. disgusting.
When last we encountered our hero, he was dead, in the sparsely populated afterlife of frown ejecta. The Grand Frown of The Universe has realized that he could not digest our protagonist because he was unable to give up his personality to become banal. Or so he thought! In actualityville, the mayor recently decreed that much of this is actually only perception, caused by the distant human descendant’s matrix of understanding, his paradigm, created by his socialization, and his various lamps which imbue young human descendants with the necessary social constructs to be totally useless to themselves and society, as Barhalluu the Wise intended. Due to these measures, one such socially integral force imbued by blaser (bland laser) was the force of self-doubt, or Doublington’s Force, named after Chauncey Doublington, the world’s first human descendant without self-doubt. His irritatingly self confident poncery caused his extensively planned murder, and in memory of this horrid blitheness, the very thing he most lacked was burdened with his name (as at the time, people’s names were vast megalithic monumental structures, akin to the first Earth Layer’s Pyramids of Giza, only seeping nomenclaturational greases and oils.)
Meanwhile, back in the city of Toronto, 2009…
Vast titanic breasts on an enormous nude chest have just emerged from the city centre, ripping up everything from Bloor and Sherborne to Queens Park Circle…
The man from the hyper-future, Tyra Banks, stands amazed at the chest unleashed by his powerful super-suit’s chestmaker. With him are the nerd he recently met, and soeone who looks remarkably simlar to (name deleted). But it can’t be him, can it? (name deleted) is sleeping, dreaming, even now inside the frown of the universe… then who is this man? What is his plan? And his span? Fan.
The dials and knobs on my suit dialed down and knobbed down to the minimum. I was again allowed to utilize my own bodily limbs to control my directions and motions. how pleasing it was to regain that lost control.
The night air swelled with the rush if heat of the heaving breasts on the now breathing chest, and with the cries and yelps of the hapless Torontonians who had, understandably, not predicted this occurance. Torontonians are notably terrible at predicting the emergence of body parts in the middle of their city, as their future history would bear out time and time again. Old Shafty-Cocks of 2140 really springs to mind.
Tags: comedy, david dineen-porter, galgravolt, hyper-historical vastness, novel, obama deception, sci fi, time gloop, triumph of the wines
Meanwhile, back inside the dream inside the frown
The dream ended.
I awoke to find myself lying on the ground outside the hospital where I realized i had been enfrowned. In my gripping lobe I gripped a sleek iPhone 3Gs, the tweet-shank newly bloodied by my frantic attempt to share my meaningless thoughts. I didnt’ feel any different, though my gas bladders were semi deflated. perhaps relinquishing a part of your identity to the meaninglessness of conventional life wasn’t actually bad. perhaps.. yes perhaps smalltalk was even acceptable.