It appears wordpress.com is on fire – which means, when you tried to load this post, it was either slow, or didn’t reach you at all.
I apologize, and Billy Winnipeg has been dispatched to WP headquarters to get those kiddy fiddlers straightened out.
In the meantime, here’s a promotional still from Blue Thunder, an old ’80s TV show. I feel it summarizes everything my children will ever need to know about the years between 1979 and 1990.
Were you aware that Cary Grant was seriously considered as the first James Bond?
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MvTeq2jUyDs]
Tonight’s episode is going up Thursday night, and Friday’s is going up on Saturday. I apologize, but, between sleepless nights due to our pod-host, a delayed FlashCast, and the oddity of wrestling scripts that involve two different timelines, I need an extra day.
I’d rather put out a polished product than hit a deadline with a flop.
In the meantime, have you listened to last night’s FlashCast? Monday’s tale of fear? Are you ready for a Blackhall and Coffin crossover?
In 2008, scientists at the Audubon Center for Research of Endangered Species found themselves the proud surrogate-parents of Mr Green Genes, above.
They modified his DNA to see if a gene could be introduced harmlessly into an animal’s genetic sequence.
To track where the gene went, they decided to use one that glowed under ultraviolet light.
The particular gene in question, known as green fluorescence protein, is likely to express itself in mucous membranes – hence his freakish mouth and ears. – The Daily Mail
This was just the beginning of a larger plan, however, and the center has recently built on the research with a follow-up: Son Of Green Genes.
“When we saw Kermit we all cheered because we knew then that the genes were passed on,” Dr. Dresser said. “Using this trans-genetic model we are hoping to save a lot of these endangered cats by transferring genes that are good genes.” – neworleans.com
That’s right, there’s now a modified breed of cats that will freak out anyone who happens to wave a UV light near them – but so what?
Well, I largely bring it to your attention due to it’s inherent neatness, but also because Dr. Dresser, mentioned above, is, in my opinion, the closest thing we have to a modern mad scientist.
I realize it isn’t the same as having eerie samples in jars, but she maintains a gene bank!
And have you ever heard of a frozen zoo? Inside several metal containers, scientists have preserved the DNA from hundreds of exotic animals. It’s all an effort to save the species from extinction. – neworleans.com
– and, do you recall that disturbing-looking crane-feeding costume I discussed a while ago?
That whole project was the work of Betsy Dresser’s hand!
Oh, go ahead and laugh – but, one evening you’ll be out on a midnight stroll with a loved one, gazing at the ponderous moon and exchanging naughty words, when you’ll hear it in the distance: a tiny mewl.
Seconds later, you’ll be inundated by thousands of glow-in-the-dark attack-kittens, deployed by swarms of specially trained whooping cranes.
Within moments you’ll be gone, devoured by a multitude of rough-tongued mouths, but, somewhere in the distance, Betsy Dresser will be recording the results, and preparing a submission for another research grant.
[audio:http://traffic.libsyn.com/skinner/FlashCast009.mp3](Download/iTunes)
Prepare yourself for a discussion of slash fanfic, Sharktopus, Threedayfish on sexaholics, the shared universe, tiny monsters, and Ingrid’s Breakfast.
Mentions this episode:
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If you have comments, questions or suggestions, you can find us at http://skinner.fm, call our voicemail line at (206) 338-2792, or email us text or mp3s to skinner@skinner.fm.
FlashCast is released under the Canadian Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 2.5 License.
Not to pull the sausage-making curtain back too far, but, while attempting to pad out my cliché-list for yesterday’s episode, my search turned up the suggestion below.
Wow, Google: zing!
Yale: The size of a horse or a hippopotamus, with the tail of an elephant, and a black color. The horns are about 2 feet long. – images & text from Dave’s Mythicals
It’s funny – once you start digging into it – how many “mythical” creatures look a lot like normal animals, as if seen by someone busy running away in terror.
Welcome to Flash Pulp, episode one hundred and thirty-five.
Tonight we present, Influence, Part 1 of 1
[audio:http://traffic.libsyn.com/skinner/FlashPulp135.mp3]Download MP3
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This week’s episodes are brought to you by the free audio-novella, Boiling Point.
Find out more at http://neilcolquhoun.com
Flash Pulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age – three to ten minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings.
Tonight we tell a chiller tale, regarding Clifton Wade – a man who finds himself in a tenuous situation.
Flash Pulp 135 – Influence, Part 1 of 1
Written by J.R.D. Skinner
Art and Narration by Opopanax
and Audio produced by Jessica May
Clifton Wade leaned against the exit, his eyes locked on the ground, and the sliver of light that was the only illumination in the tiny room.
His breathing seemed to bounce from the ceramic tiles and close walls, in perfect time with the metronome tapping of the dripping sink. He whimpered in the darkness of the bathroom, his left hand solidly locked on the brass knob, and his right on the white, plastic, light switch.
Flooding the room with fluorescence was tempting – so much so that his fingers were sweating. He knew, however, that he couldn’t; if he flicked on the glowing tubes, he would be unable to tell if a shadow passed over the far side of his meager barricade.
Fearful tears stung his eyes.
There was little he agreed with his Mother-in-law on, but now, as he wished himself invisible, her words rose to taunt him.
“Cliffers, you should have that doody-mouth washed out with soap.”
In the apartment beyond, a latch rasped, and the sharp click of a suddenly-released handle brought his lungs to a halt. He brushed aside the pink bathrobe, hanging down the back of the door from a white hook, and pressed his cheek to the cheap plywood.
At first there was nothing, but, after a moment, a dragging tread began to shuffle across the carpet, approaching his hidden position.
The glimmering thread, at his feet, dimmed – grunting snuffling filled its place, and he clenched against the urges of his bladder. Long seconds were measured by the ever-leaking faucet.
With a final snort, the sounds moved further along the hall, and the faint sheen returned to the tiles.
He knew it was only a brief respite.
* * *
It had started an hour earlier, while he’d been sharing a breakfast of bran flakes with his wife of twenty years, Vanessa.
“Maybe we could consider looking into a nice place for your mom to go to? I don’t mean like a home with meanie nurses and rude neighbours – I could get a second job and swing one of those fancy golf villas in Florida? Like that pamphlet we got in the mail?” he’d said.
“Oh dear, sweetie! How in the heck can you even start talking like that? Mama doesn’t know any place but ours!”
“Honey-bunches, when you first asked if she could move in, you said it was just going to be for a bit.”
“Darnit: “The keys to patience are acceptance and faith. Accept things as they are, and look realistically at the world around you. Have faith in yourself and in the direction you have chosen.” Mama sent me that quote – I don’t remember who it was by, but it’s on Facebook – and she’s absolutely gosh darned right.”
“I have shown patience – but she… she always tells us what to do. I don’t like spending my evenings watching The Bold and The Beautiful. I don’t want to learn to knit! I don’t like that she picks out what we wear! I don’t think it’s appropriate that she makes me a packed lunch every day for work, and that it always includes stuff I repeatedly ask not to have! I don’t like bananas, however much potassium she may think I’m deficient of!”
“She’s just trying to do what’s good for you.”
“Honestly, honey, I love you, but – she kind of scares me.”
“Jeepers! You’re impossible when you’re like this. Let’s wait till Mama’s here, she always knows best, she can talk some sense into you.”
“Oh, #### off,” he’d replied.
It had just slipped.
Vanessa wasn’t a child – she didn’t say “I’m telling” – but he knew she’d thought it. He could read it on her cockamamie face.
* * *
There was a knock
“Mamas gotta number two. Please don’t be in there much longer, Cliffers. Poopy, or get off the pot, as they say.”
Clifton decided he had no choice but to face his fear.
Picking the knife up from the counter, he blew a kiss towards his wife’s punctured corpse. Her body was smeared in a mixture of Mr Bubble and blood, and lay awkwardly on top of the rubber-ducky patterned bath-curtain which she’d ripped down as he’d chased her into the tub – but he could see none of it in the dark.
He turned the door handle.
Flash Pulp is presented by http://skinner.fm, and is released under the Canadian Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 2.5 License.
Text and audio commentaries can be sent to skinner@skinner.fm, or the voicemail line at (206) 338-2792 – but be aware that it may appear in the FlashCast.
– and thanks to you, for reading. If you enjoyed the story, tell your friends.
We’re all familiar with Real Dolls at this point, right?
It’s got to be a sign of the decline of civilization – crazy technology, letting us do crazy things like build constructs to have sexual relations with.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f59N37xH0Ng]
I do, however, remember hearing – back in the old, pre-Real Doll, days – a story about a fellow who actually went about BUILDING his own pseudo-woman.
He had a social issue, not being a fan of females in general, but he still felt all of the old familiar urges, so, like most socially inept geeks, he took up a hobby to keep his hands busy; in his case, it was sculpting.
Pygmalion loathing their lascivious life,
Abhorr’d all womankind, but most a wife:
So single chose to live, and shunn’d to wed,
Well pleas’d to want a consort of his bed.
Yet fearing idleness, the nurse of ill,
In sculpture exercis’d his happy skill;
I should mention, this was before we had rubber and latex, so his groping was straight on hard marble.
Art hid with art, so well perform’d the cheat,
It caught the carver with his own deceit:
He knows ’tis madness, yet he must adore,
And still the more he knows it, loves the more:
The flesh, or what so seems, he touches oft,
Which feels so smooth, that he believes it soft.
Fir’d with this thought, at once he strain’d the breast,
And on the lips a burning kiss impress’d.
Like a lot of people courting an inanimate object, he spent a lot of time playing dress-up. Still, his general preference was to have her naughty bits hanging out.
Thus like a queen array’d, so richly dress’d,
Beauteous she shew’d, but naked shew’d the best.
What makes Pyg’s tale so different from that of the modern marionette-fancier is that, one day, while getting another round of flesh-on-mineral heavy-petting in, he was visited by his own version of the Blue Fairy, and his stonework bride became real:
He kisses her white lips, renews the bliss,
And looks, and thinks they redden at the kiss;
He thought them warm before: nor longer stays,
But next his hand on her hard bosom lays:
Hard as it was, beginning to relent,
It seem’d, the breast beneath his fingers bent;
He felt again, his fingers made a print;
‘Twas flesh, but flesh so firm, it rose against the dint:
The pleasing task he fails not to renew;
Soft, and more soft at ev’ry touch it grew;[…]
At this the waken’d image op’d her eyes,
And view’d at once the light, and lover with surprize.
This, of course, will never happen for the Real Doll groupies – not, at least, without another half-decade’s worth of artificial intelligence advancements, and some minor robotics research.
(All quotes are from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, published in 8 AD.)
Update: The ladies have informed me that, while there are many days they would be willing to record – Christmas, Groundhog Day, St. Patrick’s, etc. – the night of the Academy Awards is not one of them.
I assume their rampant cussing every time Collin Firth doesn’t win something will have no effect on the rest of the week’s schedule.
To those who sent something in – I greatly appreciate it and we’ll use it all, happily, on Tuesday.
To those who didn’t – please do, the contact information remains below.
If you’ve been sitting on the fence about getting a comment in for FlashCast, now’s the time. We have a few things lined up for tonight’s episode, but there’s always room for more delicious feedback!
Call our voicemail line at (206) 338-2792, or email us text or mp3s to skinner@skinner.fm.