Session January 27, 2018

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This went on for almost 800 years

By BG

Fashion Week became an institution in the garment industry in the late 20^th century when clothing designers presented their newest work each year. This went on for almost 800 years. Women became crazed at that time each year. It was an event that interrupted daily life and exasperated the male population no end. Finally, as the beginning of the third millennium approached, humankind had evolved enough that no clothing was necessary and Fashion Week ceased to exist.

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I experienced my first adult thought that day.

By MD

Here’s the thing: There’s no such thing as an “oddity.” I’ve been imprisoned in this museum for almost my entire existence and I can tell you – what might seem odd to you is as normal and natural as living and breathing to the odd one.

It started like this: When my inventor, a mad scientist type, began fooling around with elixirs, unguents, potions and remedies, he had no idea that one of his creations would be me. Among all the inert ingredients, my creator had unwittingly created life. Of course, it took both of us a while to realize it: me because I was too young, too fresh from the test tube, so to speak, and Dr. Mad Scientist because he simply wasn’t looking for it. But awareness crept up on me slowly, as I identified myself as a sentient being. I experienced my first adult thought that day. But my dilemma was, how can I alert my creator to this fact? I began by changing color – he didn’t notice. Next I tried bubbling and foaming – he thought it was the result of a chemical reaction. When I began to consume the test tube I came to exist in, he moved me to a cut glass bottle. And when I began to sing and chant, he finally realized there was more to me than met the eye. So he stoppered me into my cut glass bottle and carted me off to my present home – the Museum of Oddities. So here I sit, singing and chanting to my fellow “oddities” and again I proclaim, “There’s no such thing as an oddity.” But they don’t respond, and I’ve accepted my fate. But please don’t think I’m odd. There’s no such thing.

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Sam kept a slow fire going.

By RC

Sam kept a slow fire going. There was no reason to burn all the wood at once, and besides, a roaring fire seemed more fitting for a bunch of people, rather than one lone guy. It wasn’t so much that Sam was a social kind of guy, but he wasn’t the recluse type, either. Lately, he had been looking strangely at the deer which happened by his cabin, and the cute little raccoon that raided his food shed now and then. Oh, not for food—he had plenty of that laid in. It was just that he was lonely.

He had been alone when he had taken from the convenience store whatever food he could fit into his jeep. He had been alone when he had headed out of town on route 66—not another vehicle moving anywhere. And he had been alone when he went through Johnstown and headed up the hills. Not another person anywhere.

It was so beautiful here at the cabin by the lake, in the quiet of the forest. He could have had many years of happy times with someone, if there had been someone to have it with. Why was it that he alone, of all people, should have this rare genetic trait? Oh, maybe there were a few more like him somewhere on the continent, and a few on other continents, but he had been told by that specialist on diseases that he was one in a few hundred million. This was just before the specialist had collapsed onto the floor. Sam had never thought that he was special in any way, and now he wished that were really true. But—

What was that? A noise from without, but not the kind usually made by animals. Sam ran to his window and looked out. He couldn’t believe his eyes. There, coming down the road, was a truck, followed by a bunch of cars. He stepped to the door and threw it open, stepping out onto the porch. The truck had one of those magnetic signs on the door. It read, “Universal Studios.”

When the truck pulled up, followed by the cars, and people began emptying out of them, a man approached him with a big grin plastered across his face.

“I thought we’d find you here,” the man said with a loud, booming voice. “We wanted to interview the last man on earth.”

“Wha—what do you mean?” Sam stammered.

“Well, we know what Mr. Payne told you,” the man replied. “We wanted to get your impressions and thoughts about being the last man on earth. It’s been a great study, so far, watching you get out of town and hide yourself here. What can you tell us?”

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Cybernetics views the human mind-body system as a kind of machine.

By CT

Prof. Goodman was a proponent of the theory that cybernetics views the human mind-body system as a kind of machine. Therefore he wasn’t surprised when a new band, “Those Poor Bastards,” was comprised of steampunk robotics. Their lead vocalist decked itself out with surprisingly long hair and human hands. The guitarist wore an Indian head-dress and facial scarf with eyehole screens.

Prof. Goodman grimaced when the music began. It was awful. The name of the song seemed truly appropriate – “Sing it Ugly.”

 

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Civil war, assassinations and internal fighting racked the northern states.

By CC

Civil war, assassinations and internal fighting racked the northern states. Though my home town held many enticements for me, and I was loathe to leave it, life was just too dangerous to stay there. Lawyering was my profession and I figured there would be need for such work out west, but didn’t anticipate the evil that would follow me there. I found safety in disguise and soon felt more at home as a cowhand than I ever did in the courtroom. One autumn day when I came back to the barn I heard the voice of an old enemy raised in anger at my current boss. I knew the evil ones had tracked me down. When I rode off again, I took a good pack horse with me as I might be in hiding till things died down. But soon I was branded as a horse thief, and there was slim hope of hiring as a cowhand again. I decided to return to the northern states, but this time I’d hide in plain sight. Wild Bill Hickock’s show was passing through town at the time, so I hired on, and spent the rest of my brief life as a stage cowpoke, sleeping rough but still free and happy. I came to my end when a lady in fancy dress with a pretty 5 year old child at her side took out a pistol and shot me, seeing right through my disguise to the cad who had abandoned her in such a vulnerable state those many years ago. Little did she know why I’d run; that secret went with me to the grave.

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Here the local priest is performing the daily sacrifice on behalf of the King’s welfare.

By JS

Here the local priest is performing the daily sacrifice on behalf of the King’s welfare. It was difficult and the priest knew many would criticize him. After all, who was he to decide what exactly was the best welfare for the King? Hadn’t dozens of priests before him suffered the ax or banishment or worse when believing themselves to be arbiter of the King’s best interests?

Yet, the cowled man took the coffee cups, and, one by one, dumped their contents into the super-heated fire. Too much caffeine. It was destroying the King’s ability to sleep, and, therefore, the tranquility of the kingdom. Next, the bowls. The priest emptied each of every last Sugar Pop. While advertised as being “tops”, Sugar Pops were only top in the sugar they contained – more corn syrup, fructose, and refined sugar than any other breakfast cereal on the market. This excessive sweetness was not aiding the King in kindness or sweetness; it was turning him into a hypoglycemic wreck, and thus wrecking the kingdom. Into the ever-burning fire went the Pops.

The King’s subjects gasped! No coffee. No Sugar Corn Pops. Would the king sit for this as he had the infant sacrifices? The virgins sent to a watery grave? The warriors hearts cut out? Yes, all these he had applauded and glorified the priest’s unctions.

Yet now – caffeine and Pops – a dark cloud covered the King’s face and the priest, seeing this, broke out in a cold sweat.

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No-one seemed to mind too much, for no remedies were suggested.

By RMAF

The long-awaited yearly company picnic was being held at Free Spirits Park. In the company’s newsletter announcing the picnic, it read “Come one, come all, come casual-casual-casual, and we’ll have a ball!”

Everyone at their work thought Darvel and Marvel were womb-mates and twins, but actually they were roommates and engaged to be married. But memorable weddings were expensive and they didn’t make “big bucks” at the company. So everyone went casual but Darvel and Marvel, who dressed up in their very best clothes  and white flower boutonnières. They invited a liberal minister to meet them at twelve noon at the beautiful octagon gazebo for their surprise impromptu wedding ceremony. They gave all the members of their department kazoos so they could happily blow “Here comes the Bride” in unison as the two very happy guys stepped up into the church-like gazebo. No-one seemed to mind too much, for no remedies were suggested. There is a quote…”It’s a strange world and I feel it is getting stranger all the time.”