World's Only Rational Man

INT. LIVING ROOM – DAY

ANNA and BETH, two hot young things, are on the sofa playing a video game.  Each has a different bag of Doritos; one, the classic Nacho Cheese, the other Cool Ranch.

Anna:  “Die!

Beth:  “You die!”

Something drops onto the coffee table:  BAG OF NEWEST DORITO FLAVOR!

ANNA and BETH:   “Ooooh, new flavor!

WIDEN SHOT:  A third hottie, CATHY, stares sternly.  Her lips begin moving, but her voice only starts a second later, like a badly-dubbed martial art flick.

CATHY:  “You will fight for them!”

(Her voice sounds exactly like a homicidal male maniac from Mortal Kombat.  Or, even better, George Takei having a blast.)

Anna and Beth exchange looks.

BETH:  “How does she do that?”

WIDE SHOT:  Center of living room.  Anna and Beth are back-to-back like duelists.  Each has her bag of Doritos in one hand, a single chip in the other.

CATHY:  “Begin!”

The duelists stride away, turn…and hurl their Doritos like throwing stars!  Each then catches the other’s chip in her mouth.

A beat, as they lock gazes.

MEDIUM SHOT:  Center of living room.  Four chips sail into view, two from each side.  They fly off-screen.

CLOSE ON:  Beth.  She casually catches both chips, one-two.

CLOSE ON:  Anna.  Likewise.

MEDIUM SHOT:  Middle living room.  This time a total of eight chips fly, four each way.

CLOSE ON:  Beth.  She catches them one-two-three-wait the fourth is a purple Dorito!  She catches it with lips and tongue and quickly examines it.

BETH:  “Shiny!”

She chomps it with gusto.

CLOSE ON:  Anna.  She likewise catches them, one-two-three-four, but on the last one her eyes fly wide, a shocked expression.

MEDIUM SHOT:  Between Beth and Cathy.  Beth smirks as she holds up a bag of THIRD DEGREE BURN Doritos.   This, as Cathy speaks with her badly-dubbed voice in an Asian male’s accent.

CATHY:  “Burn!”

CLOSE ON:  Anna.  A beat, to admire her furious glare.  Then she throws 8 chips in less than 2 seconds.  Her speed is so superhuman she exchanges Doritos bags between each throw and every chip is a different variety.

CLOSE ON:  Beth.  Likewise.  In fact, they may be so fast that with every throw they’re also changing jewelry, hair clips, and other bits of bling.  It’s hard to tell.

MEDIUM SHOT:  Center of room.  Swarms of Doritos suddenly dart in both directions.  As increasing numbers fly off-screen,

SFX:  crunch crunchcrunch CRunchunchcrUNCH UNCHCRUNCRRRNNNNCHHH…

…you know.  The sound of 100 gargantuan preying mantis brides, married in a mass ceremony, simultaneously consummating marriage with their 100 hard-headed husbands.  There’s probably an app for that.

WIDE SHOT:  Living room.  A beat, showcasing glares between Anna and Beth that would be Kryptonite’s…er, Kryptonite.

Then each does some weird mystical but awesome hand-wavy thing with her chip hand, before hurling the Dorito.

MEDIUM SHOT:  Center of living room.  Two Doritos fly in from both sides and hit each other in mid-air.  They instantly disappear and a bag of Doritos Collisions appears in their place, hovering.

WIDE SHOT:  Living room.  Another beat, as Anna and Beth super-Saiyan their glares to OVER LEVEL 9000!

They’re also dual-wielding chips, which they undulate about in a super-sexy Saiyan manner.  They throw!

MEDIUM SHOT:  You know where.  Two brand new bags of Doritos Collisions hover in mid-air.

WIDE SHOT:  C’mon.  A beat, as Anna and Beth glare the glaringest glares that will ever be glared in glaring history.

Then Beth crouches slightly as she reaches behind her back.  Anna tenses, eyes narrowing.  Beth whips her arm around…

MEDIUM SHOT:  Living room center, duh.  A single Doritos Locos Taco arches serenely across the POV and then off-screen.  SFX:  The sound of an entire taco being deep-throated within a split second.  Can’t describe it, wouldn’t know.

MEDIUM SHOT:  Between Anna and Cathy.

ANNA (cheeks and eyes bulging):  “NOD FAIH!”

“CATHY”:  “Acceptable because funny!”

MEDIUM SHOT:  Center living room.  A beat, then a Doritos Locos Taco rockets from Anna’s side and passes off-screen like a missile.  SFX:  Like just before, only more so.  But maybe with a big GULPING sound too, since Beth must clear her throat in order to ready herself for…

…the two warriors rushing toward each other and meeting at center-screen, dual-wielding Doritos Dinamitas!  They clash!  DOUBLE Blade Lock!

ANNA:  “Doritos be mine!”

BETH:  “Mine!”

They test each other, perhaps exchanging quips and double entendres which escape me at the moment.  And doubtless the conflict forces each into movements and postures exactly as titillating as is permissible by the FCC for a SuperBowl broadcast…

FADE TO BLACK.  A beat.

CUT TO:

INT. – LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

Yes, apparently the fight lasted for hours.  The house looks like a tank-flattened war zone.  Empty Doritos bags are everywhere; one is even draped over the head of the household cat.

Anna and Beth are slumped on the sofa:  disheveled, spent, but still damn sexy.  The prized Doritos bag is between them.  Cathy places both their hands on the bag.

CATHY:  “Perfect Draw!”

As the weary champions claim their prize, ENTER two more hot young things, DORY and EMMA.  They REACT to the Doritos.

DORY and EMMA:   “Oooooh, new flavor!”

A beat.

CATHY:  “You will fight for them!”

Anna and Beth’s heads sag.

CUT TO:

MEDIUM SHOT:  It’s the center of the living room, people!  Geez!

Two teams, four babes, back-to-back in duelist positions.  As they stride away a SLOW FADE begins and a word appears:  DORITOS.  Then beneath, in smaller font,: You Will Fight For Them!

SFX:  CATHY/KOMBAT PSYCHO/GEORGE TAKEI ON AMPHETAMINES (off-screen):  “You will fight for them!”

FIN

It took decades, but I finally entered the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest, by far the world’s greatest contest of bad writing. My entry:

The jar was oozing, and the ooze was jarring: a dank fetid oleaginous slime that slapped and slithered across the bourgeoisie marble countertop like loathsome Gerber’s Lovecraftian Puree…

Admit it:  that prose is foul.

Just…not very rapidly:

(Hat tip: powerline.)

As there’s no avoiding politics if you spend any time with media, you should be familiar with the greatest political speech of all time.  Every single politician constantly tries to slide “if-by-whiskey” arguments past you.  But none will ever compare with the speech  by Mississippi pol “Soggy” Sweat, Jr., in 1952.  On the fervently argument question of whether or not the state should legalize alcohol:

My friends, I had not intended to discuss this controversial subject at this particular time. However, I want you to know that I do not shun controversy. On the contrary, I will take a stand on any issue at any time, regardless of how fraught with controversy it might be. You have asked me how I feel about whiskey. All right, here is how I feel about whiskey:

If when you say whiskey you mean the devil’s brew, the poison scourge, the bloody monster, that defiles innocence, dethrones reason, destroys the home, creates misery and poverty, yea, literally takes the bread from the mouths of little children; if you mean the evil drink that topples the Christian man and woman from the pinnacle of righteous, gracious living into the bottomless pit of degradation, and despair, and shame and helplessness, and hopelessness, then certainly I am against it.

But, if when you say whiskey you mean the oil of conversation, the philosophic wine, the ale that is consumed when good fellows get together, that puts a song in their hearts and laughter on their lips, and the warm glow of contentment in their eyes; if you mean Christmas cheer; if you mean the stimulating drink that puts the spring in the old gentleman’s step on a frosty, crispy morning; if you mean the drink which enables a man to magnify his joy, and his happiness, and to forget, if only for a little while, life’s great tragedies, and heartaches, and sorrows; if you mean that drink, the sale of which pours into our treasuries untold millions of dollars, which are used to provide tender care for our little crippled children, our blind, our deaf, our dumb, our pitiful aged and infirm; to build highways and hospitals and schools, then certainly I am for it.

This is my stand. I will not retreat from it. I will not compromise.

Admit it:  this cannot be beaten.

So apparently Bernie is planning a speech to explain his “Democratic Socialism”. Let me first explain it to Sanders.

Democratic socialism would be between everyone who votes for it, i.e. voluntary socialism. But if you use the democratic process to force, say, 49.9% of the population into socialism is different.  If everyone is required to participate, like it or not, then what you have is National Socialism.

National Socialism. Hmmm.  Wonder if anyone’s ever used that name before?

Haven’t been posting for the best of reasons:  wasn’t sure any message of mine adds value for you.

But today, should any of you be Kindle owners, Amazon has a deal.

The Stress of Her Regard for a buck ninety-niner!

Tim Powers is one of the best fantasists…

…y’know, those ellipses were totally uncalled for. That statement was already perfect.

Tim Powers is one of the best fantasists.

The Stress of Her Regard is far from my favorite Powers book. It is merely terrific. The “worst” of Tim Powers is better than almost anyone else who’s ever written.  “Nuff said.

Oh, except that I pray you’re all both doing well and doing good!

Cloud chambers have come a long way since 1911.  A co-worker was viewing this.  The action starts around the 1:40 mark.

I see the Obama/Iranian mullahs deal went through.  Don’t know any details, and can’t sacrifice my hard-won zazen with any kind of de-ignorantization process.

So this time, I just hopped over to the Jerusalem Post.  Knowing no specifics of the deal, I assumed that the Post would not be happy.

The Post is not happy.

Its final form is roundly opposed in Israel— by the government, by its opposition, and by the public at large.

Not unexpected.  But this means Israel’s foes should all be happy.  Right?  Like the Saudis.

…the Saudi official…feared it would instead allow Iran “to wreak havoc in the region”.

“We have learned as Iran’s neighbors in the last 40 years that goodwill only led us to harvest sour grapes,” he said.

Er…apparently things are…complicated?  Meaning I’m losing interest.  Anyway, it’s not like the mullahs have the resources to-

The end of sanctions is worth hundreds of billions to Iran.

Whoa.  That ain’t chump change.

Y’know, if I had hundreds of billions of income pouring in, I think I’d become a thermonuclear power and amass a few hundred megatons of detonation capacity.  It’d be irresponsible not to.

A co-worker here at Argonne just had a hilarious idea:  Iran should use that new wealth to pay off Greece’s debt.  Just to mess with everyone’s head.  Funny as that would be, I think they’re going to build nuclear detonation devices as quickly as possible.

Because they love the Orion Drive so much.

Worked on that G.K. Chesterton essay, only to switch it to a back-burner.   But his observations remain jaw-droppingly prescient and very worth your while.  We’ll return someday, hopefully.

Meanwhile I am hoping…praying…to resume writing, and more seriously than ever before.   There are three big projects in mind.  In reverse order of (current) importance:

#3:  An e-book.  Title?

RADIOACTIVE BABOON ON CRACK:

ATOMIC ANECDOTES OF A NUCLEAR NOMAD.

Long-suffering visitors will remember “atomic anecdotes” from the Fukushima days.  Possibly even the legendary-but-true R.B.o.C. himself.

There are many more such tidbits from my run-down but quite roomy memory palace.  “Anecdotes” could be a fun and sometimes hilarious work.  But to be truly memorable it needs numerous light-hearted illustrations.  Like a heavily-sedated, highly radioactive baboon.  In a diaper.

Obviously such images are crystal-clear in the mind’s eye; the trick is transmitting them down the nervous system, out of the hand, and onto the page.  IE, I’m a terrible artist.

(I did mention “heavily-sedated”, right?  Because when that job was assigned my thought wasn’t “Oh no!  Radioactive baboon!”  It was, “Baboon on crack?!”)

Next!  Project #2:  full-length movie script.  Title?

 The Mark of Cain.

Can’t share the story twist here, as it’s easily filchable.  Stolenable?  Confiscationish!

Anyway, not only is it a grade-A “high-concept”, it’s perfect to torture the protagonist, a Christian (or is he?) attorney.  Which makes this an attempt to merge a C.S. Lewis classic with a big-budget Hollywood thriller.

I believe the word for that is “ambitious”?  (Not a term ever applied to me before.)  Thus the creative muscles need lots of work prior to tackling this.

And so, #1.  It is…believe it or not…a stand-up comedy routine.  I’ve not done stand-up for 16 or 17 years, so much more than writing discipline must be regained.  Health, appearance, voice, timing, presence, etc. etc.   Ugh.  Stand-up is probably the most difficult Performance Art of all.

(And it’s certainly the scariest.)

But that’s where I am.  Until yesterday I’d forgotten how important it was to me, 18 years ago, to discover if God has a sense of humor.   (SPOILER ALERT: He does.)

So that’s it.  I’ll go ahead and assume your forgiveness for not providing the usual pedantic, high-falutin’ essay.  On, literally, What’s Wrong With the World.

Oh wait!  I didn’t share Project #1’s title.  Let’s just drop a hint and let you guess.  And since the hint is one of the two sexiest songs ever recorded…you’re welcome.

All the best guys!

G.K. Chesterton’s What’s Wrong With the World (pub. 1910) is epic, astounding, and hardly ever wrong.

This morning I started Part III: Feminism, or, The Mistake about Woman. Chesterton does the ol’ “compare and contrast” with regards to Female Suffrage: “should women be allowed to vote?”

G.K. in 1910 A.D. doesn’t venture an opinion; though (SPOILER) he obviously doesn’t think it will make people happier. But the thought of women voters is trifling to him, compared to other modern horrors.

Mr. Chesterton explores new ideas as a cartographer does a river. And Chesterton has a definite preference: he turns upstream. He wants to–he must–discover sources. And so he shrugs at suffrage–a single point in the river–and rather concentrates on everyone’s journey up to that point. His interest is in the nature and origin of the travelers.

He also ignores downstream of the point. He doesn’t opine on how the voyage would change if women did get the vote.

So…how does Chesterton’s thinking hold up at this point in the river, 105 years later, and after a century of women voters? Has Female Suffrage made people happier?

I’d intended to jump right in, but rusty writer is rusty. More precisely, rusty editor is rusty. And the author being parsed is the G.K. himself. So I’d better rest up.

But feel free to jump on in to WWWtWPI, comment below, and steal my thunder.