My nap sez:

I'm at a bizarre summer camp luncheon where my old co-workers are. Lori-Ann is cooking; she expects huge tips to pay her back for all the hallowe'en candy we ate.

later I'm on a pathway walking with my dad. it feels like a land-locked False Creek. I'm carrying a backpack full of miscellaneous clothing, and I keep finding more - mine - as we walk.

later drongo is looking for old-people music. I collected up a bunch of mine - I kept them stored on mismatched socks - and went to A&B sound to scan them in on the ATM - there was some trick to doing that. I couldn't figure it out, and besides, the A&B staff might figure out my piratical intentions. I find gordon in a back room. He is organizing a jukebox full of old-people music he'd dug up. He is wearing a strange dark green kilt, and sometimes has a beard, sometimes doesn't. "Hi drongo! I'm not an elite music hax0r like you." I hand him my pile of mis-matched socks. He gives me a kiss on the cheek and begins to rifle through my socks. They make noises as they were stiff record covers, not limp cotton socks. "All right!" he says, trying not to laugh. "Cher!"

  1. My family and I were living in a houseboat, which was scheduled for demolition. I helped my father pile up boxes of explosives in the bathroom and the spare bedroom.

    My Lego collection was layed out around the explosives, and you just know it was going to get vaporised at the appropriate time (8:00pm if I remember rightly). I had exactly an hour to re-arrange the collection so that only stuff I didn't want was going to get nuked. This was a very confusing task, but an all-too familiar one; in my waking hours I have been tidying and re-arranging boxes of Lego a lot recently.

    I had to stop my brother taking a bath in the explosive-filled bathroom in case the steam set off the explosion. Then we all his in the living room, behind a sofa - waiting for the boom.

  2. There was a manager who was very excitable. No-one wanted to be in meetings with him on his birthday, because he would shout out "GEEK!" at us all the time.

<-- | -->

My job interview was at six A.M., after it I attended my regular job. Everyone was asking me where I had been and what I was doing... I couldn't tell them I was leaving.

Soon the day came - I had been elected president of an independent country within the US, but was to be beheaded for being a traitor. Everyone was collected around me, perhaps 10,000 people. I knew it was inevitable, but I also had to pull the lever of the guillotine myself. It wasn't that I feared dying; I feared not seeing what would happen afterwards. While looking around and seeing those people's faces I fell in love with life all over again - knowing that soon it would be over.

on the road with a travelling band of women entertainers. my father is driving the van. We had been at this house for months and had to leave quickly. Why, I don't know. Packing was horrible. Things were everywhere. Everyone was done long before I was, but I kept finding things everywhere, and not only my things. Pants, underwear, shirts, bathroom supplies, everything was messy.

I went into the bathroom and found that no one had taken their toothpaste/deoderant/shaving supplies/shampoo/towels. How appalling.

I'm trying to get dressed, but everything is soooo heavy, can't get clothes on! uh oh. Radio announcers walking around the house with my father, me hopping around with one leg in stocking, trying to avoid the advancing radio people.

Van leaving! It's sitting outside Anna's house. oh no! Someone complains that I'm always the late one but I'm not. Some other man in charge congradulates me on cleaning so quickly. I told him I did not want to dance anymore, and that doing cleaning duty would be just fine with me (made me feel like less of a piece of meat). He said that would never happen because I was one of his best girls.

In the back of my mind, I was wondering what exactly it is that I did for these people.

Cut to a math equation that said:

Sometimes you get none =
And sometimes you get none

-+--------------------------+- (alien writing below this, unreadable to myself)

cut to Rain falling in front of a large house in what seemed like Coon Valley.
Some voice speaking to me about the meaning of the equation, I have no body. Neither does the voice.




{Looks through eyehole in front door. The front light is failing to illuminate the visitor. Reluctantly, I create an aperture.}

    "Paul! Uh, what... can I do for you?"
Vacuum cleaners. The man is after vacuum cleaners. Do we have any?

Well, er, this is the one we use in our day-to-day (month-to-month more likely given the hygenic tendancies of the tabhouse inhabitants) cleaning duties...

No, no it won't do at all.

Do we have anything more '50s? Chrome-plated? No. There is, however, another in the solarium - it doesn't work. Excellent! he claims, its sucking power is of no interest to him, only the amount of luxes it generates.

No, please don't open the dust bag in here, no, don't empty it in the trash until the garbage strike resolves please. What do you mean there's not enough room inside?

Yes, I'm aware that they haven't removed VAXbong yet. Why would they have?

"Now that I've gotten fired my mother asked me:
'What are you going to be doing with yourself?
Ready to take things a bit more seriously?'
Hell yes. Going back to UVic to finish my history degree and maybe a minor in teaching.

But first, I'm going to army of vacuum robots."

Your typical Dalek shell, of course, attracts immediate security scrutiny. The ordinary household vacuum cleaner, however, can pass unhindered and unreported even when its location is less-than-fixed.

A couple of motors in the foot... remote controls, a hidden camera... and here's the kicker: Boba Fett-style grappling hooks concealed in the handle. Four or five of 'em! Retractable! Then it could pull itself into air ducts.

By the way, would we be interested in attaching an antenna to our roof? What? We don't have access to the roof? Well, he has a transmitter... no, it couldn't reach our house, but it could reach here from a friend's office downtown, and he has established other alternate communications means between the office and his house. So using these, with the antenna he could call us!

Without using the phone system!

That's very... um, interesting. Interesting!

Say, I didn't wake you up, did I?

An interesting exchange under the most optimal of circumstances. However, try it when you're firmly in stage 1 REM sleep from start to finish, interrupted dream resumed before the door was shut, you can understand the more-than-slightly surreal spin my friend's reaction to his new medications produced in me.

I might have discounted it all as mere whimsy, but the vacuum cleaner -is- gone.

in our last episode... | p_i-logs | and then, all of a sudden...

I drop my stash of supplies behind the small hill's bushes and produce my pack of cigarettes and a lighter from my front right pocket. Extracting a cigarette from the pack, I embrace it in my lips and ignite the lighter. A 7" flame results and I take a drag of my cigarette. Minutes pass. Headlights can be seen coming down the road, and upon noticing this, I dispose of my smoke and fall into position. Grasping my night vision binoculars close to my eyes, I observe the charcoal black Ford Excursion XLT rolling down the private road.

The vehicle pulls up to the driveway, and as the 44" Super Swamper Boggers turn right, the xenon headlights move their field of projection accordingly. The hum from the 7.3L Power Stroke diesel V8 slows to a pulsating sound as the brake lights emit brilliant reds and the sound of friction and rubber on the rocky asphalt resonates through out the air, reminding me that I'm closer than I think I am. The driver steps out of the vehicle as does the bodyguard from the other side.

I pick up my rifle and activate the night vision scope. The driver moves to the driver side back seat door and opens it. A short, stocky man steps out. I zero in on his head with my scope. I pull the trigger and the stagnant air remains so, interrupted with a small "pff" from my 10" silencer. Silently, my target falls to the ground, and I think "piece of shit". I pick off the remaining driver and bodyguard and make my way out of the large mansion's property.

I hop into my Ferrari 360 Modena (my dream car) and haul ass away. Pushing a button, I activate the CD player, and Wild Out by The LOX fills the small sports car.

"Every check I deposit is just another murder in the closet" -- The LOX, "Wild Out"
Oh, how truly annoying.

Around three in the morning, I woke up, carefully moved the blankets so as not to disturb kanon, tiptoed downstairs, and proceeded to do a good deal of reading in my linguistics textbook.

I made noodles; I sliced up a green pepper; I sat at the kitchen table for hours doing homework.

I'd gotten nearly all my Syntax homework done when it occurred to me that I was doing it in purple. Purple, of course, is unacceptable, and so I put the pages in the freezer to ... to ...


At once, I realized I was dreaming, and with that, I awoke, rather peeved that all my "work" had been for nothing.

Have you ever had that dream where you see yourself standing in sort of sun god robes on a pyramid with a thousand naked women screaming and throwing little pickles at you?

Why don't I ever get to have that dream?
You can keep the pickles.
I needed to catch up with Hue, the professor I work as a teaching assistant and grader for this semester. I had just graded a huge stack of papers, and I needed to get them to him, because if I didn't get them to him before he left, the world would end.

He was moving fast and deliberately, like an NPC in Zelda 6, and he started going up some stairs in a large building I didn't recognize. I ran to follow him, but he took a sudden turn and entered the elevator. I had to backtrack to the elevator due to my own sheer momentum, but it was too late - I missed the door.

Frantically, I tapped on the up button over and over. Eventually another elevator came, and I went inside. It was very large inside, with a cocktail bar and big-screen TV, and there were a few dozen other people on it. It was also very old-fashioned in that it had an operator, a gangly young man with reddish-brown hair and a beard, much taller than I, but he was missing his left leg and a good portion of his body above it (replaced by a very obvious fiberglass prosthesis).

Rather than operate the elevator, he just wanted to talk about God. I told him I was in a big hurry and there is no God. He took major offense to that - he cornered me with a vengeful, violent look in his eyes. I kept telling him I was in a major hurry and that any God who eternally punishes people for temporary sins, especially such "sins" as being an infant who dies before being baptized, is either a major hypocrite or a literary device which exists as an attempt to recruit others into a violently virulent religion. He kept coming towards me, and wielded a crowbar, so I started kicking his fiberglass prosthesis.

The elevator still wasn't moving, and I realized Hue had only gone up two floors anyway, so I kicked the elevator operator hard. This made him stop caring about my religious beliefs, but as I ran for the door, he operated a remote control, and the elevator started moving.


He was punishing me.

"You idiot! The world is going to end!" I shouted.

The operator and the other passengers didn't care, and they only lounged around, talking about God.

The bastards.

I had four seemingly unconnected dream like things, almost one-acts of sorts:

First I'm in Algebra 2, this girl from private school who I had met a week or two ago, she says to me giggling "You look nice", I ask "why?", she says "I like you." Next.

I'm watching what seemed to be The Matrix, the Agents are forcing Morpheous to put the goo that Neo came out of back into Cypher's head. It didn't fit the plot at all, but was weird. Next.

I'm sitting in study hall, working on the computer sitting in nothing but boxers but nobody seems to notice. I laugh, and it fades. Next.

I'm reading the Daily News when suddenly the headlines change to say "Asian Fetish", I go to read the articles, but the pages are totally blank. Frustration. Beeping...

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.