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Jack Mangan’s Deadpan #106: Three Stories508 comments to Jack Mangan’s Deadpan #106: Three StoriesLeave a Reply |
   
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Copyright © 2012 Jack Mangan's Deadpan - All Rights Reserved |
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Jack Mangan’s Deadpan #106: Three Stories508 comments to Jack Mangan’s Deadpan #106: Three StoriesLeave a Reply |
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Copyright © 2012 Jack Mangan's Deadpan - All Rights Reserved |
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Where did she get it?
Did she bring enough for everyone?
It’s ok if we don’t hit the goal. A valiant effort hath been made.
‘DiBella shook his head and smiled. He didn’t have a partner just now and he didn’t want to dance. All the same, old Sam was right. Dancing had a limited shelf life. The sell-by date was already stamped on most human activity. Someday his mother’s generation, the largest demographic bulge in history, would turn eighty. And Henry’s choice would have to be made yet again. How would it go next time?’
The Erdmann Nexus by Nancy Kress
I have the bit between my teeth.
I just never got the hang of making noises like a horse.
‘There was a thunderous rattling clattering mechanical roar behind him. He ducked instinctively. A Sea King helicopter roared out over the cliff-top, flying low, heading out into the bay.’
Listening for Submarines by Peter Higgins
‘Look, Barnes told him, still with that strange expression on her face, and he approached me, peered into my face. Yes, he said happily, the tear ducts work perfectly.”
Sleepless Years by Steve Utley
‘I think that word “safe” was the trigger. I did the giggle of embarrassment and fear. I drank sweet water and then followed. We found writing, and here it is.’
Days of Wonder by Geoff Ryman
‘A young woman in a little black dress-accent on little-sashayed upto Richard. “I’m bored by lawyers and executives and our hostess tells me you’re a hotshot physicist. Can you dumb it down to weather girl level? I’m Ellie.”‘
GoingBack [in] Time by Laurel Winter
‘Nothing erases the past. There is repentance, there is atonement and there is forgiveness. That is all, but that is enough.
-The Merchant and Alchemist’s Gate by Ted Chiang
‘But then he muttered, “It’s just that … if at the end of the day, if I can save just one child….”
There was a long pause.
Then that sick young man dropped his gun, and screaming softly to himself, he ran up path and out of sight.’
If We Can Just Save Just One Child… by Robert Reed.
‘As the horizon slowly brightened, a cold misty rain began to fall. It splattered against tow lonely figures standing far apart on a rusty plain no longer home to anything merely human. Both had survived to gaze at another wondrous, mystical Martian dawn.
But the eyes that looked out over the dawn were no longer innocent.’
The Last Temptation of Katerina Savitskaya by Stanley Schmidt
*wonders if we’re going to have to write literary essays*
‘Eight seconds.
Still me memory did linger, bright and vivid as a rose petal, as a drop of blood, as even the fire to come. Held tight so the intoxicating sweetness of what had been could in some way still endure.
Somewhere.
Seven seconds.’
The Fourth Thing by Stephen L. Burns
‘She looked again at her drawings. The image of a mite that humanity hadn’t noticed for millennia. And the image of her own planet.
An image that Boeykens hadn’t noticed for days.’
Invasion of the Pattern Snatchers by David W Goldman.
Okay, time to dredge the bottom of the barrel, the true horror that is the knock knock joke:
Knock Knock!
Who’s there?
Police.
Police who?
Police let us in; it’s cold out here.
Knock Knock!
Doris.
Doris, who?
Doris locked, that’s why I had to knock!
Knock Knock!
Who’s there?
I love.
I love who?
I don’t know, you tell me!
Knock Knock!
Who’s there?
Tank!
Tank who?
You’re welcome!
Knock Knock!
Who’s there?
Yo momma.
Yo momma, who?
Seriously, it’s yo momma, open the damned door!
That was one crap joke too many. Some Haiku:
Burned poetry runs.
The green stanzas fall then the birds set a shadow.
Poetry clashes.
A smooth apple wakes.
Boats sometimes stop the papers.
Autumn startles truth.
Jungles catch children.
Greenly, lakes talk but breasts work.
A flower returns.
Huge, hard asses clash.
Men wisely turn apathy.
Earth moves the short cats.
A poison loiters.
A star works yet frogs break.
Leaden apples melt.
For some variation, a tanka:
A lemon sets leaves.
Burned girls admit huge shadows.
Fluttering ice plays.
Small water works for boats melt.
The children splash happiness.
Boats break but winds fall.
Softly blue, small green mud walks.
Wonder carouses.
Water admits poetry.
Heaven fairly bites asses.
That last line shows why computers are very bad at certain things.
Back to haiku:
rich mask scrambles, tame
boulders resonate, aching
diamondcutter flies
immoral sour hive
flailing, hungrily, unborn
joyless dumbfounded
loose idiotic
pygmies wailing, sadly, leaf
hovering, cackling
sobbing numbly, short
white masquerade vanishes
masquerade grumbling
fiercely adoring
ghosts embrace, dolphins howling
face roams, lithe barren
Read carefully marlodiane, you will be tested later…
This might also be a good time to admit that having a holiday without a plan is almost always a bad idea.
Here’s something cool:
http://www.undiscoveredscotland.co.uk/falkirk/falkirkwheel/
One for the list Ed:
The scrubbing street of the fisherman
The rusty-shuttered horses in flesh,
Trotting by the savagely playful saucebottle
For dreamt fishwives cover
With no more goosefield than the starfall
Which is supposed to be like Dylan Thomas.
I was shamed heartily
By the nannygoats of the fishwife
Scrubbing solemnly on the moonless goosefield
On thoughts of cobblestreets
Where birds lie lazily
And all the dogdayed farmhands live and hang
Dada:
the idea instead to And
being of monkey we instead
sceptical we a efficient so
And monkey poem we amuse
the Dylan born. And monkey
amuse random ourselves. was Dylan
Still better than going to work.
And quickly he goes dying
Into the jolly girls,
Raving while they cover
Impatiently in the beef-red street
And proudly the horses of the kings
Blaze hazily in praise of the bottle
Waiting while they rave
Mildly into the crowblack leaves
The lazy rodgered bird
Falling by the saucebottle,
With the savagely warm leaves
Kissing while the barge-booted washerwoman
On the blind goosefield rarely
Goes to speak against the moonless night.
I was drowned harshly
By the shame of the morning
Streaking quietly on the thin bones
On thoughts of horses
Where farmhands lie loudly
And all the barge-booted cobblestreets walk and live
shadows flow quickly
hissing necromancers fry
faintly, lustily
chameleon plucks
blazing clean jackknifes fret, dark
horseflies fly sadly
faintly fitful mean
deaf melodies forget, pigs
pause, melodies shine
childhood unshackles
bear retreating sweltering
charitable sad
rattling casket wails
patient shining burnt eunuchs
escaping mermaids
499
hahahahahahahahahahahahaha
Time for bed, night pan.
I did content for the Deadpan last week…
But this week I put my production skillz toward a Musically Challenged for Coverville…
Hmm, just missed the van…
Hi pan, how is everyone???
I was happy that our 2 Chicago baseball teams made it into the playoffs (or whatever they are called) because I hadn’t realized at the time that now Hugh has to watch EVERY fucking game.
Now I’m not so happy about it :)
and there isnt even any good eye candy cuz you see this really hot guy and then next thing you know he is spitting every 5 seconds.
whats with the spitting? So NOT sexy
Tell it like it is sista!
Ed – re: Falkirk Wheel – now that IS sexy!
Spitting and/or “rearranging the furniture…”
Yeah, I’d rather the White Sox weren’t in, personally.
Man.
I’m reading about tomorrow nights V.P. debate.
Expectations for Palin are so low, she could come away the perceived “winner” by simply being able to remember her name and by not drooling on herself … much.
I think I remember this scenario from a “West WIng” episode but I can’t remember how it turned out.
Three more episodes of Charlie Jade remain. After all the hype from Slice of Scifi, I must confess I was kinda put off after the first several episodes. But, I kept the subscription and every week it shows up on the DVR. Now, the story has gotten interesting, but I do think the presentation suffers from an amatuerish over use of camera tricks – kinda like writing a letter in Word and using a different font for each sentence because you’ve got 10,000 fonts available.
Anyway, I read up on the Wikipedia entry that the writing staff completely changed after the eight episode. I definitely agree it was a change for the better.
Sadly, after the final three, it looks like there will be no more Charlie.
[...] (17:36) that it had to be split up over two episodes of the Deadpan Podcast. The first part is in Jack Mangan’s Deadpan #106: Three Stories. Look for the conclusion of Episode 2 in an upcoming episode of the Deadpan. Jack cut it at the [...]