Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Battlefloof Galactica (floofinition) – Franchise of stories centering around how animals escaped their original dying solar system and came to be on Earth.
In use: “The first episode of Battlefloof Galactica introduced viewers to the original thirteen warrior cats, dogs, birds, and other animals, and their leader, Galactica, a turtle who conceived of a floofship to escape their solar system and find a new world.”
He was recovering from his surgery. Blood, of course, kept seeping into the bandages. They told him that would happen.
The surgery’s grogginess was finally gone by the next morning, but he was surprised by how much the surgery limited him. His movements were slow and tentative. Talk about a damn anchor. He felt pain, too, dull, throbbing, and steady.
They’d given him pain killers. He read the label and all of its warnings. Taking hydrocodon ACET 5/325 might make him drowsy or dizzy. “Do not drink alcohol with this drug.”
Well, that was that. He preferred a glass of wine or a mug of beer over some pain relief. Besides, if he took the hydrocodon, he wasn’t supposed to drive. He’d been driving since he was fourteen, beginning on the back-country roads of western Pennsylvania over fifty years ago. Not drive? That was unacceptable. He kept his red Camaro convertible clean and polished. Forget all of his education and work success; driving was one of the foundations of who he was, driving, beer and wine, and rock and roll.
That was him.
Leaping out of the recliner, he looked wildly around the dark room.
Where am I? How did I get here?
Hunting for the ship’s control panels — they should be — there — he swung left to right and searched his mind for the moment’s handle.
Calm fell into place, followed by recognition that he was in his den. He’d fallen asleep watching television, but had set it to time off after an hour.
Relief swept him. Trudging down the hall to go to bed, he muttered, “Unstuck in time, Mister Vonnegut? More like unmoored in reality.”
Slipping, sliding, easing, hiding,
it comes, it comes
bringing warmer clothing out and pushing big rain clouds about
it comes, it comes
pasting new colors on leaves and stripping branches bare,
it comes, it comes
before you know it, you look around, and it’s not coming,
Fall is already here.
Yeah, just thought I’d share my view of the placid Pacific today off of the Oregon coast. Not bad, let me tell ya. I can use to this.
The wine is 14 Hands red blend, btw. Marvelous.
He’d meet you with twinkling green eyes, a smile tugging his lips up, and a hand as large as a baseball mitt. Leaning forward, he’d announce, “Pleased to meet you. Hi, I’m Bent.” He always made it seem like meeting you was a special treat for him.
His full name was Bent E. Thompson. The E. was forever just a letter, and wasn’t fronting a name. A man so tall that he was always stooping through doorways, he’d never been in the military but he was as straight and hard as an iron fireplace poker.
Everyone agreed that Bent was as straight as anyone they’d ever met. Yet, after he passed, his swindles, frauds, and schemes started coming out like roaches sneaking out after the lights are turned off. It paralyzed people with disbelief. “Not Bent. Really? I don’t believe it. I’ll never believe it.”
Yet, the proof kept coming out. Funny enough, though, was the epitaph that Bent himself had chosen: “I’m Bent.”
Everyone was always wondering if it was a confession.
Michael Seidel, writer 