Baffle House

I always like my time at Baffle House. Everything is pretty there. I always eat 17 baffle burgers and then wash all the dishes in lieu of payment. I like to eat with Baffle Washington, the owner of Baffle House. He can eat every baffle burger in a flash. Sometimes we scarf down food until we see double. At 4 am, the Baffle Host locks the doors so we drive around town shooting video. I have video of Baffle Washington chucking Bricks from an overpass. No one was hurt in the making of my film. So to recap:

Crystal Vision

It had been over a decade since Kyle last had a crystal vision. At the time he was living in Central Park writing poetry and selling tin-cans to the natives. Though prized as local color, he had not been able to provide for himself financially. Kyle became a businessman, employing raccoons to lift loose change from vending machines in exchange for acorns and shiny buttons. The second crystal vision came much as the first did, quickly and without notice. Kyle entered the trance as he handed a large raccoon a brass button. A giant eagle-headed man appeared before Kyle and spoke in a thick cockney accent. "Kyle! You bastard! Why haven't you replied to any of me message? I've called six times, me joiner! Answer the stinking phone!" Just as the Eagle headed-man finished insulting Kyle's promptness to answer calls, he vanished as if he had never been there at all. Kyle stood motionless as he stared into the sky where the messenger had been, still holding tightly onto the button, which the raccoon bit at. Somewhere far off, a phone rang and Kyle returned to reality. Jumping up from his cardboard box he released the button from his grasp, much to the rodent's pleasure, and dashed off towards the sound of ringing. The man with crystal visions shot like a bullet across the park, knocking over dogs and small children as he sailed toward the unanswered phone, his unanswered destiny. The sound of Kyle's destiny had been coming from a young lady's purse. The woman was beautiful and had the most gorgeous smile Kyle had ever seen. The vixen screamed and smacked Kyle as he plunged his hand deep into the purse. As the woman yelled for help, Kyle found the phone next to a pack of cigarettes. Yanking the phone free, he answered, "Hello? Hello? Are you there?? Hello?" A group of security officers armed with tasers rushed towards Kyle. A particularly fast officer made it to Kyle first, thrusting the taser into his gut, at which Kyle immediately buckled over as the phone dropped from his hands. As more officers crowded around poking Kyle with high-voltage tasers, Kyle could faintly hear the pre-recorded message from the phone which laid inches from his face. "Hello Ms. Vanderblume! We just wanted to remind you that your next appointment with Dr. Smoot is tomorrow at 4:15! Remember to brush so you can keep those pearly whites, pearly white!"

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The Voodoo Shaman

The Voodoo Shaman stood wise and tall like the mighty oak. The feathers from his headdress touched the sky like little fingers which tickled the heavens. His name was Pongo-Motassum and he was the wise one. He had been raised by vampires, but did not bear the curse of the nosferatu. He wore only a headdress of golden ostrich fathers and a long flowing velvet cape. Running and crashing through the brush of the jungle floor he was indeed a mad-man, quick as light from the sun. He spoke no longer the words of man, but instead screamed unrecognizable words to beasts and plants. Every morning he challenged the wildlife, calling in his strange tongue, taunting the beasts. “MEGASSO CHA GOLMBA!” he cried to the boar and the boar did fight him and Pungo did best him. “CHUY DOL SEEMA!” he called to the bear and the bear did fight him and Pungo bested him also. “EM CHUNGA BULOSSA MONTE!” cried Pungo to the mighty beaver and the mighty beaver did fight him and Pungo did bite and gnaw his foe into submission. And once he had beaten his oppponent, Pungo’s vampire elders descended from the lilac branches to feast on the dish which lay helpless on the jungle floor. Like machines, the elders drank blood as Pongo watched from a distance, for Pongo was no Vampire.

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Randolph Pentagardner

Randolf Pentagardner wanted desperately to have seven daughters simultaneously by seven women. “They must at least,” he thought, “be born in the same cut off time for fall eligibility to enter school.” He imagined the throng of beautiful daughters. All half German-English and the other half a medley of world culture. His head spun: “I’ll have a coca-cola commercial of diversity for a family!” The girls he would groom from the earliest conceivable age to be a perfect basketball team. He had thought for a while of adopting but he needed filial love to inspire the girls to professional level athleticism. Randolf turned his home into a basketball gymnasium. He had the ceilings raised appropriately. He hand painted the 3 - point line as well as a precise portrait of Zwanfano, the deity from outerspace who had inspired him with his passion in a prophetic series of nights experiencing open visions of his beautiful daughters executing a perfect triangle offense. Zwanfano had brought in his legal representative to assure that he would recieve 3% of any profits Randolf accrued from merchandising. “A small price to pay!” Randolf thought as walked the streets of New York City. He would go to bars for the next three months to carry out his mission. A glimmer of remorse entered Randolf’s heart when he thought about Zwanfano. “Will the basketball team of my daughter’s eclipse the joy I had with Zwanfano?

Head to Rapid Transmission for analysis and review of Science Fiction

For a science fiction read you can't put down, buy Joseph Hurtgen's cyberpunk romp, Tower Defender