Friday
Hello – welcome to Friday morning, and the Bettie Page video that’s been weirding me out for three days running:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f1Z1V11b8OI]
Category: Uncategorised
Flash Pulp 128 – The Absent Idol: a Collective Detective Chronicle, Part 1 of 1
Welcome to Flash Pulp, episode one hundred and twenty-eight.
Tonight we present The Absent Idol: a Collective Detective Chronicle, Part 1 of 1
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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, the Collective Detective finds itself investigating the loss of an Internet icon.
Flash Pulp 128 – The Absent Idol: a Collective Detective Chronicle, Part 1 of 1
Written by J.R.D. Skinner
Art and Narration by Opopanax
and Audio produced by Jessica May
The 2nd of January
Welcomebot: Welcome To #CD-Chat, Harrisment!
FrameScalpel: I’m not saying most of her fans were following her for the right reason, but, honestly, her ability to cut clips in a way that fit her music was fantastic. She was like a combination of Thelonious Monk’s sense of timing, and Banksy’s sense of humorous visuals with a message.
MitchSlap: – and there was also her overdeveloped rack.
Harrisment: Stick it, Welcomebot.
Frame Scalpel: Hey Harris. Just explaining to MitchSlap why IdolChan was so great.
Harrisment: I was kind of under the impression it was the amount of cleavage she showed in her video blogging.
FrameScalpel: Screw you guys.
Harrisment: Ha, kidding, kidding. Lady like that wouldn’t continue to have the following she does if she hadn’t had some talent.
MitchSlap: I’m sticking with my theory that she’s actually a fake personality Spike Jonze used, but, seriously, at this point don’t you think the only reason anyone remembers her is because of the mystique of her disappearance?
FrameScalpel: No.
Harrisment: I do think that’s part of it, but Scalps has a point. She’s still the person I start throwing out links to when I find someone who’s under the impression that the vidder-community is all crappy dance music layered over badly edited anime-clips.
FrameScalpel: WTF
Harrisment: Hah – I don’t mean YOUR badly edited anime-clips.
FrameScalpel: …
Harrisment: Joking. You know I’m a fan of your work.
MitchSlap: Whatever – how far into your search have you gotten?
FrameScalpel: Well, I’ve been through all of her email addresses, her twitter account, and her Facebook communications. She had thousands of followers, and chatted with nearly anyone who’d send her something, but everything was routed through an encrypted anonymizer service, which I have yet to break, and I can’t find a single message that I can trace back to a meat-space friend. I still have no leads as to who she really was.
Harrisment: Well, don’t take it too hard, if you did know who she was, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I’m between tasks at the moment, I can lend you a hand, if you’d like?
FrameScalpel: Sure, I’d appreciate it.
MitchSlap: Well, if you ladies are going to spin your wheels on this, I may as well crack the case for you. Send me what you’ve got.
* * *
The 5th of January
To: framescalpel@thecollectivedetective.com
From: harrisment@thecollectivedetective.com
Subject: IdolChan Clue
Hey,
I think I may have found something. I was watching video #23 – the one in the park? – and I finally caught a break: there’s a moment where she’s busy talking about how little respect she gets from idiots on youtube, and a guy with a dog jogs by. She mentions how cute the mutt is at 2:36, then she swings her phone around to record its passing.
If you look closely, you can catch a glimpse of the city skyline over top of the trees. I know you were thinking she was from New York, because of her accent, but that’s totally the Transamerica Pyramid – she’s got to be from San Francisco!
You weren’t around in the channel, so I passed the info onto Mitch. He seemed to think he could make some use of it, although, of course, he wants to play king and keep his hunches to himself. Still, who knows, that tool might come up with the next piece. I’m going to see if I can figure out which park she was recording in – the timestamp says it was around lunch on a Tuesday, maybe it’s somewhere near where she was attending school?
I feel like we’re getting close.
Harris
* * *
The 8th of January
To: harrisment@thecollectivedetective.com; mitchslap@thecollectivedetective.com
From: framescalpel@thecollectivedetective.com
Subject: Just Got Back
Hi, sorry about taking so long to reply.
First the greyhound was late getting into San Fran, then I had to figure out the stupid local transit. Five hours on a bus had me cranky, and maybe a bit confused, and I accidentally got on the wrong trolley.
After I finally got everything figured out, I had to walk another half-hour to her house. It looks a lot like the street view, but it seemed bigger, and a little more run down, in real life.
I’d imagined a lot of possibilities before I knocked on the door – I mean, it’s been years since IdolChan’s last video, so she’d be in her late twenties now – but the old woman who answered wasn’t what I’d expected.
I knew the address was right, I’d been staring at it long enough to have it permanently burnt into my brain, but all I could come up with when the lady answered the door was “Hi, is Lara here?” and she says “Speaking.”
I nearly fell over – but the woman had IdolChan’s eyes, and it was then that I realized that she must have been named after her mom.
We talked, and I explained about the search, and how Mitch had plowed through reams of yearbooks to find her. That’s when I started cluing in to how little Mrs. Dunning knew about the level of fame her daughter had, and has, online.
Even after my story, I’m not sure that she really got it.
Actually, at first she seemed pretty weirded out by my even being there, but, once she realized I wasn’t some crazy from the Internet, she wanted to talk about things. Eventually she showed me around the house.
The last room she brought me to was Lara’s.
It’s a time capsule, really – it’s got all these stuffed kittens on the bed. I admit, we both ended up crying.
The theories are wrong. She wasn’t Spike Jonze in disguise, she wasn’t killed in a car accident, she wasn’t kidnapped, and she wasn’t hired away by MTV to do video production.
Mrs. Dunning explained to me that she’d been sad for a long time after the move from Brooklyn, that she’d never really made any friends once they’d re-located – that she was lonely.
On her 18th birthday, with her ‘net down, and leaving only a short, soggy, note for her mom, she grabbed a bus and jumped from the Golden Gate.
After a while, we both dried up, and I just kind of drifted out the door. As she said good bye, Mrs. Dunning seemed to take a little comfort in the fact that, online, IdolChan’s legend lives on.
I’m going home now, but, if it’s all the same to you guys, I’d like to leave this case open indefinitely.
FS
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.
Confessions of a Paranoid Internet User
Have you heard about the new Roman Catholic confessional iPhone application? It’s creating quite a stir.
From switched.com:
The app, which markets itself to “those who frequent the sacrament and those who wish to return,” offers a guide to the confession, and keeps a password-protected log of users’ sins.
Now, while I’m no longer a practicing Roman Catholic, I’ve long felt that confession was useful as a sort of proto-psychiatrist’s couch – although the confessor may not be getting sound psychological advice, often just the act of talking to someone about the things we keep hidden can be helpful in relieving a burdened mind.
That said, my first response when I heard about this application was to flip into Collective Detective mode.
Let’s say you’re a good RC, and you’re tracking your confessions, saving up those sins for a rainy Sunday. You’re a stiff-collared fellow, but the flesh is weak – you’ve occasionally relieved the supply shelf at work of excess sticky pads, and, in an effort to avoid using contraceptives, you often conduct a little five-finger shuffle after the lady of the house has retired.
It’s not like you’ve ever murdered anyone, but you like to keep an honest chronicle of your minor-misdeeds, and you track your habits meticulously.
What you don’t know, however, is that each time you update your log of immorality, your confession goes straight from your fingers to AngryCoder69’s database. One day you get an email: “I know about the stapler you stole. Buy my new game, Mr Muncher’s Mixed Up Mulberries, or I’ll be in touch with your office.”
Sure, that may sound far fetched, but what if we tighten the noose a little? What if it’s “pay $200 to this anonymous paypal account, or I’ll inform your boss about what a fun time you had last Tuesday, while visiting with Ms. Schmackelheimer in the server closet?”
Pigeon Holes
Like many people with a recognizable surname, I sometimes get questions from people regarding a non-relative – in my case, B.F. Skinner.
While I do find his work in behavioral conditioning interesting, I’ve always loved another of his inventions, and wish it was the one that had made his (our) name famous.
From the wikipedia:
[During WWII] [t]he US Navy required a weapon effective against the German Bismarck class battleships. Although missile and TV technology existed, the size of the primitive guidance systems available rendered any weapon ineffective.
What does a psychologist best known for working with animals have to do with missiles?
The project centered on dividing the nose cone of a missile into three compartments, and encasing a pigeon in each. Each compartment used a lens to project an image of what was in front of the missile onto a screen. The pigeons would peck toward the object, thereby directing the missile.
That’s right, the war could have been won with kamikaze pigeon pilots, if anyone had been able to take the idea seriously. Despite some apparent success in training and testing, the project was canned – but that wasn’t the only animal-weapon the military was dealing with at the time.
Again from the wikipedia:
Bat bombs were bomb-shaped casings with numerous compartments, each containing a Mexican Free-tailed Bat with a small timed incendiary bomb attached. Dropped from a bomber at dawn, the casings would deploy a parachute in mid-flight and open to release the bats which would then roost in eaves and attics. The incendiaries would start fires in inaccessible places in the largely wood and paper construction of the Japanese cities that were the weapon’s intended target.
After some testing, including an accident in which the Auxiliary Army Air Base in Carlsbad, New Mexico, was set on fire, the batbomb was also shelved – in favour of the “simpler” solution of dropping atomic weaponry.
More Scheduling Hijinks
First up, I wanted to note that the Mad Gasser of Mattoon, mentioned in last night’s story, is/was a real thing.
I also wanted to point out that “Mattoon” is one of those words that’s just fun to say.
Mattoon.
Next, I wanted to let everyone know that the episode that’s scheduled for this evening will be delayed until tomorrow, and Friday’s will be posted Saturday. I apologize for jiggering with the schedule, but it’s really the fallout from having recorded FlashCast on a Monday – we’ll be releasing the next FC on Sunday, and that should put us back on our regular schedule.
Flash Pulp 127 – Mulligan Smith and The Bystander, Part 1 of 1
Welcome to Flash Pulp, episode one hundred and twenty-seven.
Tonight we present, Mulligan Smith and The Bystander, Part 1 of 1
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This week’s episodes are brought to you by the Flash Pulp Facebook page.
As the movie Freaks once said: Gooble Gobble, Gooble Gobble, One of us, One of us!
To join us, click here.
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, Mulligan Smith, PI, finds himself out in the cold.
Flash Pulp 127 – Mulligan Smith and The Bystander, Part 1 of 1
Written by J.R.D. Skinner
Art and Narration by Opopanax
and Audio produced by Jessica May
Regardless of the dusting of snow, a small crowd had come to gather outside 240 Maple, most of them having been drawn in by the blinking red bubble-lights of the four police cruisers parked along the road.
Mulligan, his hoodie zipped tight against the chill, watched as the KOCC reporter wrapped her story. Once the cameraman had barked out a quick confirmation that the transmission had completed, and even as the onlookers’ retinas were still aglow with the directional light’s after image, the one man crew, and the correspondent, hopped into the bright-blue news van and gunned the still idling engine.
The PI had used his rubber-necking of the brief broadcast as an opportunity to eavesdrop on the whispered conversations that shot amongst the bystanders, but his time had been largely spent listening to the spouting of an old man whose hat would’ve better served a Cossack. The pseudo-Russian had gone on at length, in a stage whisper obviously intended for more than just his wife, that if there were this many police on hand, they certainly must have the flasher in custody.
Despite the bumper-to-bumper parking, Smith had his doubts.
With his excuse for silence gone, he struck up a conversation with a wispy haired fifty-something, whose face was lost deep in her massive parka.
“Funny what some people will do,” he said.
“Yeah, guess so,” she replied in a thick Wisconsin accent. “Must be a real perverted-type.”
“Usually I’d agree, but I’m not so sure this time.” Mulligan took a step closer as he spoke. “Generally a pervert can make do just jumping out of the bushes at a park, or trawling bus-stops – by the time they get around to breaking and entering, it’s not just to share a brief view of their pride.”
“Oh?” replied the parka. “Then what happened here?”
“My guess is that the culprit is seeking attention. They probably don’t get much of it in their regular existence.”
“That’s not what the news-lady said, and everything I’ve read in the paper has made the flasher out to be a goddess in a gas-mask – a little beauty with some sort of weird fetish.”
“Yeah, well, these stories have a way of taking on a life of their own, and legends spring up. Have you ever heard of the Mad Gasser of Mattoon?”
“Uh?”
“The Mad Gasser might have been a person running around Virginia and Illinois in the ‘30s and ‘40s. See, supposedly there was this fellow with a spray gun – the old type that looks like a bicycle pump with a can stuck to one side and a nozzle at the far end – and he’d creep about in peoples bushes until they were sitting around at home watching TV, or whatever – then he’d user the sprayer to try and gas them through cracked windows, or even nail holes.”
“Gas? Did anyone die?”
“Nope, a few folks got sick though.”
“Are you saying you think she used something on her victims and that’s why she wears the mask?” the woman seemed pleased with the idea.
“No, the mask is just so she doesn’t get caught. What I’m saying is that the police chief in Mattoon actually ended up declaring the whole thing a hoax – likely just the product of hysteria, and maybe some chemical releases from a nearby factory.” Smith shrugged. “I don’t know what the reality was, but, as I mentioned, these things tend to collect their own mythology. Maybe claiming you were awoken in the middle of the night by a supple, nude, twenty-year-old makes for an easier confession than the reality of having the bejesus scared out of you by a, uh, stout mother of four, whose children are all college-aged.”
The woman’s eyes grew large, but Mulligan went on.
“Truth be told, I’m actually working for the first victim. Seems he feels his original description of the assailant may not be the most helpful thing in the world, but he’s got too much pride to go back to the police for a second round of red-faced recounting.”
“Why does he still care?” the ex-Wisconsinite asked, her voice now a squeak. “It’s never happened to the same person twice, has it?”
“Well – never mind that if this were a crime committed by a man, the outcry would be triple what it is – the basics are that my client, despite the fact that the increasing media coverage is handling this almost like a case of prankster-ism, spends most nights waking up in a sweat, and now has to get out of bed to check his door locks a dozen times an evening. I do understand a bit of where you’re coming from, though – a guy with that much money rarely has a kind word for the help, and if he’d been more honest in the first place, his pride wouldn’t be in such a bind.”
“How did you know?”
“Well, first off, I actually bothered to look into who’d temped in the house when, and if, each victim’s main cleaning lady was unavailable.” He wanted to be stern with her – he knew he should be. He damned himself for smirking. “You were the only coincidence. If your employers had paid you more heed while you were busy dusting their shelves, they could have recognized you themselves – but then, my suspicion is that if those men had been less inattentive while you were tidying, you wouldn’t have felt the need to make your nocturnal visits.”
He’d thought the woman would break down crying at the news, but she seemed increasingly happy just to be noticed.
He decided he’d actually allow the interview when the KOCC lady called later – it was the least he could do after getting the aging mother fired, and he suspected she’d enjoy the spin he’d give her saga.
He let out a short laugh before continuing.
“Anyhow, it didn’t help that you were pretty easy to spot in the background of the last incident’s news footage. Those boots are pretty tall, and your coat is pretty long, but, if people were paying a little more attention, it’s definitely noticeable that you’re not wearing any pants.”
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.
One Possible Ending
The other day I heard an interesting tale regarding the island of Sardinia, which, frankly, had me thinking of Mother Gran. After doing some poking around, I came across some great information on Andrew Collins’ page on Sardinian Mysteries, from which all of the following quotes are taken.
Have you heard of an Accabadora? After reading this, you may be glad you haven’t – but let me say, the Eskimos have nothing on the Sardinians.
There would only ever be one accabadora in any one generation. Each would serve the local community until their own death, a successor having already been appointed and prepared for the role. Justification for the existence of the accabadora was offered in the fact that only a woman can bring life into the world, so only a woman can take it away.
I’m not sure what the resume for applicants to the role would look like; must have a strong arm, powerful thighs, an iron stomach, and an overwhelming hatred of the aged and sick?
[…] a mature woman who was appointed by a community to apply euthanasia to the old and the infirm. It is something she would carry out with the utmost precision using a cudgel made from a section of a tree branch from which extends another branch, the whole thing cut to form a hammer-like weapon similar in appearance to the Irish shillelagh stick. Another means of inducing death used by the accabadora was strangulation, either by applying pressure to the neck or by placing the victim’s neck between her knees
Regarding "The Hoodie-Footie"
I have no idea how prevalent these things are – for all I know they’ve already reached a Slanket-level of popularity – but I feel like someone needs to make a stand before it’s too late.
No.
Not only do you like like a sexualized three-year-old wearing this thing, it’s also just one more step towards being dropped into an expandable terrycloth sack at your birth, which you’ll wear for life, and eventually be buried in.
FlashCast 006 – Apples & Oranges
[audio:http://traffic.libsyn.com/skinner/FlashCast006.mp3](Download/iTunes)
Prepare yourself for ideas, Antiques Roadshow, séances, The Running Man, bathroom talkers and Joe Monk.
Mentions this episode:
- Ray from Walker Journals
- Barry from Mr Blog’s Tepid Ride
- The Elg Herra (Part 1 – Part 2 – Part 3 – Part 4 – Part 5 – Part 6)
- FC04 – Hospital Rec Room
- FC05 – The Family Theremin
* * *
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.
Lucky Charms
I was aware of gris-gris as a concept related to Voodoo, but some recent research turned up a bit of surprising info.
Gris-gris, also spelled grigri, is a voodoo amulet originating in Africa which supposedly protects the wearer from evil or brings luck – wikipedia
Which sounds superstitious, but somewhat reasonable when dealing with a world where certain nations continue to believe in items like The Evil Eye, etc.
The next bit from the wiki-article is a little misleading, however.
Originally the gris-gris was adorned with Islamic scripture and was used to ward off evil spirits (djinn) or bad luck. Historians of the time noted that they were frequently worn by non-believers and believers alike, and were also found attached to buildings. – wikipedia
You might get the impression from this blurb that the amulets were an archaic tradition that fell out of fashion hundreds of years ago – not so.
Can you guess what ranked in Senegal’s top three contraceptive methods for 1982? I’ll give you a hint: the other two were herbs and abstinence.
According to a 1982 survey, gris-gris were one of the top three methods of contraception known to women in Senegal. […] Over 60% of women reported having knowledge of such methods; modern and “effective means of contraception” were not well known, with the pill the best-known of those, a little over 40% of women reporting knowledge of it. – wikipedia