Jeff Mach's Blog, page 8
May 24, 2024
A Spirit Of Victory
Fear, aggression, courage, uncertainty; you could smell the strain in the air, see it in the stances of the warriors assembled within the small, harshly-lit room. Some were outwardly calm, some were openly agitated; there was not a little anxiety, and more than enough barely-controlled, very tense energy. Two lean, older soldiers were knocking back cigarette after cigarette; none of the other high-ranked officials paid it any attention, and none of the support staff were about to point to the “no smoking” sign, less out of concern for their jobs, more out of fear that the wiry longtimers would gut them like fish and leave their bodies where they fell, unheeded amongst higher priorities.
Up in front of the room, Lieutenant General Townshend was pacing, her swagger stick snapping back and forth, as if she were warming up to fight a lion, carrying nothing but a cutlass and a few anger management issues. And then it happened in a rush: the remaining stragglers streamed in; they were high-ranking officials themselves, but their heads were down, and they avoided her eyes. A wise move, since otherwise, her glare might have struck them dead on the spot. Everyone in that room was busy as Hell, everyone had vital work to do, everyone was working nonstop; but nobody should have been late. Then again, they’d probably been pulled into yet another meeting with yet another group of chowderheaded civilians who wanted to know that the military was going to put its collective bodies between them and destruction. And it would; every armed force in the world was throwing troops into this. They had to.
“Soldiers!” she barked.
Without exception, every person in the room felt themselves going ramrod-straight in their seats. These were senior officers, blooded veterans, and but was something in the Lieutenant General’s voice that brought them right back to boot camp. They listened like professionals, but inside, most of them felt hints of the now long-gone raw recruits they’d once been. This was not an ordinary briefing. Even the translators looked strained, as they murmured into microphones for the benefit of those for whom English was not a native tongue.
“If you’re in this room right now, recognize that the survival of the human race depends on you. You, personally and individually. You, yourself, right here, right now, live or die, everyone, you.
“Because it’s war. Not World War; bigger. And you know that. You’ve read the reports. You’ve seen the footage. A few of you have even been through some of the initial skirmishes and survived, and we salute both those of you who came back to give us vital information, and those who did not make it. Ordinarily, we’d take a moment to honor our fallen comrades; but today we will honor them in the truest way we know: by spilling an ocean of filthy extraterrestrial blood!
“The stakes here are no human ideology, no country. We have many things which divide us, and some of us have fought, sometimes bitterly. This is beyond borders, beyond ideologies, beyond even individual desire. This is the fight for the whole damn mudball. This is a fight with no rules except ‘victory at any cost’, and no reward but survival.
“You know what’s happened. Fermi’s Paradox be damned; we’d found them, another sentient species, starfarers, aggressive. They say the military doesn’t have respect for the diplomatic forces; well, all those here are experienced enough to know better, and we wish diplomacy had worked. But the last ambassadorial mission just ended. We recognize: there can be no quarter given between flesh-eating monsters and a Humanity that wants to survive and grow.
“I won’t talk around the problem. I’m no pencil pusher or bureaucrat. I’m one of you. We’re all Warriors here.
“There’s a lot we don’t know. We know they have spacecraft; we don’t know their capacity. We have only a limited idea of their offensive capabilities, their full speed, the workings of their armor. We don’t even know how many boots they can put on the ground. We could be facing foes whose technology is vastly superior to our own, whose numbers are far greater than our own.
“But we WILL fight! And we WILL win. Because we must win. Because when the chips are down, there’s one thing I know: it doesn’t matter what the foe is. The indomitable human spirit has no limitations! And that is the thing which drives us. It pushed us through the pain when we were just recruits, still teaching our bodies how to be the tools of the soldier mind. It pushed those of us who’ve seen combat—which is almost everyone in this room, and that’s no coincidence—to keep going, despite wounds, despite incredible danger, despite horrifying losses.
We would have avoided war, if we could. But we cannot. So there is one thing we can do, and must do, and that is press onwards. The human spirit cannot be defeated!”
* * *
The aliens never held postwar tribunals. Perhaps that’s not a part of their culture. Perhaps they simply felt all humankind was guilty. Perhaps they felt that there was no point in inflicting further injury upon a completely-subjugated populace. They were not unkind; they were likely more gracious than we would have been, had we won.
It turns out that the superior numbers, technology, and military capabilities were all on one side: ours. It was a plucky and relatively small group of alien forces, outgunned, outmanned (out-aliened?)—starving, desperate—who looked deep within themselves, screwed their courage to the sticking point, and overcame the outlandish invaders, despite incredible odds.
A mathematician could have told General Townshend, if she had asked:
The human spirit is infinite. But one infinity can be larger than another (“infinity” itself is smaller than “infinity plus one”, after all.)
The human spirit has never been defeated by humans fighting other humans, because that would be impossible. If two or more groups of humans fight, they all possess the human spirit. Obviously the human spirit cannot defeat the human spirit; to think otherwise is to be surprised if, in a three-dog race, the winner is a dog.
The alien spirit turns out to be slightly larger than the human spirit.
But that’s okay, because, in the end, the right side won the war.
At least, that’s what the aliens say. And since they’re now the only ones with communication technology, they’re the only ones you can ask.
So they (the aliens) all lived happily ever after.
__________
[I write things. You can find some of them on Amazon.]
The post A Spirit Of Victory appeared first on Jeff Mach Writes.
May 23, 2024
23 More Ways To Tell If You’re Actually The Villain
23. You know, you’re READING this. That’s a thoughtcrime right here.
You’re currently holding the bearer of these questions high in the air, grasping them by their throat, screaming “If? IF?!?”You believe that pain is the second-best teacher. You have no intention of telling anyone who the best teacher is; who needs the competition?The worst nightmare of your nightmares is being your nightmare.You make your Bloody Marys, not with real blood (that would be kinda cool) but with ketchup, and then you invite everyone over for brunch.You eat brunch.A bunch of idiots wearing masks and tights and calling each other by the most idiotic nicknames are perpetually running after you, shouting something about bringing you to justice, foiling your fiendish schemes, or returning their lawnmower. Sometimes all three.Your pet’s name is Rover, and he’s just the cutest, squishiest, most adorable Sphere of Annihilation ever.King cobras often bite you, not because they dislike you, but because they’re hoping to up their venom game.When you realize it’s the end of the world, you get slightly jealous that you didn’t start it.So you foil the evil plan in progress because YOUR evil plan is WAY, WAY BETTER.The last time you went down to the grocery store for a quart of milk, you ended up with the contents of the cash register, the watches and jewelry of the other patrons, and the sound of their lamentations wailing in your hear.Your “To Do” list starts with “First, steal one ‘To Do’ list…”You understand that friendship is the greatest treasure of all, which is why you stole all of it, locked it in a massive pirate chest, and buried it on a deserted island, just to be on the safe side.The post 23 More Ways To Tell If You’re Actually The Villain appeared first on Jeff Mach Writes.
May 22, 2024
13 MORE Signs That YOU’RE The Evil Twin
In Case You Needed Them… Here Are More Signs YOU Are Actually The Evil Twin From A Parallel But Opposite Universe
13. You began this list by cheating and removing the 13th item.
12. You’ve milked a Mi-Go.
11. Your pet hamster is out playfully eating Godzilla, after which she plans on drinking the Pacific Ocean for a few centuries.
11. You’ve made at least one attempt to sue ‘Monster’ energy drink because it tastes way too similar to you.
10. Your wardrobe is actually a Mimic, but that’s fine, because your cloak is also a Mimic, too. In fact, you’ve only got about three hours to convince them that you don’t taste good. This would be a good day to stop bathing in barbecue sauce.
9. You have an EXCELLENT relationship with your family, even the parts of it who habitually spend most of the time knocking squirrels out of trees with their breath.
8. Your other twin, for reasons which are utterly inexplicable, has pupils in some weird shade which isn’t a nice, comforting, glowing red, like the warm embers of the Library of Alexandria being slowly shuffled off into the sands of the desert as a warning to others.
7. You’re not the evil twin because THERE ARE SEVEN OF YOU.
6. Your nickname is an animal like “Tiger” or “Bull”, even though you’re a tax lawyer and need to call the secretary for a finger splint if you move a piece of paper that’s too heavy.
5. You collect beautiful rare things which you value over people, which is normal. However, it wasn’t until someone tried to explain the value of the object by comparing it to a person that you realized yes, some humans have value EVEN IF THEY AREN’T cobalt blue
4. When you try to see your reflection in the mirror, the mirror shatters pre-emptively, not necessarily because you’re not attractive, but because it has the sudden hope that maybe, just maybe, a glass shard will find your jugular. We won’t say why. Oh, Gods, what these mirrors have seen.
3. …and if it doesn’t shatter, you find yourself accidentally stepping through and becoming…exactly the same as you were before.
2. Even though you two look exactly alike, you are WAY more handsome.
You remember the Mimic we mentioned earlier? You’re dating her. Or maybe she’s dating you; we’re never quite sure how that works out.___________
[I write things. You can find some of them on Amazon.]
The post 13 MORE Signs That YOU’RE The Evil Twin appeared first on Jeff Mach Writes.
May 21, 2024
Largesse of the Empress Yllib’tor
The Empress Yllib’tor lifted a delicate manipulator appendage. It gleamed. Its covering of hundreds of tiny precious gems, each held in place by a bonding chemical whose secret was now centuries old, had taken two skilled artisans over an hour to apply that morning. It would likewise require a master jeweler an additional hour, at the end of the day, with great care and reverence, remove each and every one, soon after sundown. The human across from her had little way to understand conceptions of beauty among the Eando, but her anti-geriatrics must have been effective in other areas, for three centuries was old even for her species, and yet there wasn’t even a hint of tremor in her motion as, with a practiced but not careless twist, she lifted the kettle and poured him a glass of tea.
(The Dutch East India Company would not have approved of this use of the term, seeing as how the ingredients in his cup contained nothing which resembled leaves of camellia sinensis. But in Humanity’s admittedly-limited experience, we’ve never yet found a sentient species which doesn’t have some sort of social ritual developed around the preparation and consumption of a bitter herb with stimulant properties. Generally speaking, sentients show that they are friendly by not attacking you, not bearing weapons, and asking irrelevant or uninformed questions about your general well-being; and they conduct polite negotiations during the bodily absorption of energy-producing materials. Humanity has a certain edge, in that those who smoke cigars or pipes have a built-in moment for extra thought during which they inhale tobacco. It is said, uncharitably, that humans prefer to be a little smarter and live shorter lives. It is noted, with some surprise, that humans do not see this as an insult.)
“So this Democracy of which you speak,” said the Empress, “I’ve read a number of your books about it. I find it a fascinating concept.”
“I am certain that the Imperial System is the finest possible system on this planet,” said the diplomat, diplomatically. “I have a complicated mission. I am tasked with helping bring, er, knowledge of the democratic process to planets which have not previously experienced it.”
“You mean, all of them?” asked the Empress.
The Ambassador blanched. Ordinarily, a poker face is of some utility to an attaché, but there was no point, in this case. The situation was hardly a secret.
“It is true we were expecting to see more species in the Galaxy believing in, er, ah…”
“Freedom? Happiness? The unique benefits one can receive only from the particular form of governance most preferred by one’s own species?” The Empress made one of those tooth-motions which, to the best of the Ambassador’s knowledge, implied something like a smile, although apparently most other mammalian life-forms experienced the same sensation on seeing it: You are small and made of meat, and this thing is large and ate your kind once; RUN!
It was true that humans expected that many other species would have tried Democracy—or at least, something they could recognize—and in that assumption, homo sapiens was badly, badly wrong. More wrong than it could have conceived. In addition to serving passable stimulant-beverages, The Empress represented one of relatively few forms of government which they could understand.
“Rule by the Roundest”, for example, made no sense unless you lived on an extremely high-density, high-gravity planet, at which point, to human eyes, it still made no sense. “Government by the Ungovernable” suggested that if you took those misfits who most despised the idea of ruling, and made them rulers, you’d get better results than having a professional class of politician. It didn’t seem to run poorly, particularly since, 500 years ago, that species had introduced a rule prohibiting professional dueling with the confines of the Halls of Power.
There were a number of unexpected discoveries during the Era of Extraterrestrial Exploration. The number of aliens who lived on planets where humans could (with appropriate temporary lung and internal organ modifications) breathe and eat and otherwise co-exist with local biology? That was surprisingly large. The number who were unwarlike (or, at least, not utterly bellicose) and willing to speak with us? Another surprise.
The number who wanted the manifold benefits of democracy? Approximately none.
The Empress smiled again; the Ambassador really wished she’d stop.
“I understand you are returning to your adorable little planet soon.”
The Ambassador nodded. “I’m to give them all a full report. They want to know what progress we’ve made.” “And you say that your system of government is uniquely beneficial?”
The Ambassador’s nod was more eager now. “Yes! Government for the people, by the people! It’s what we all want!” “So all of the people decide on everything?”
“Technically, all the people decide to empower some of the people, who then are empowered to make major changes in what we do and how we use our manifold resources.”
“And the governed enjoy this?”
“They have more say under this government than under some sort of tyranny!” The Empress smiled that smile again, and some part of the back of his head tried to count the teeth. This was a serious mistake.
“I am truly fascinated. Your leadership is wise and makes excellent decisions?”
“Well, they’re not perfect, but they respect the will of the governed.”
“How important that is!” the Empress replied, without any apparent sarcasm. “One can only have so many soldiers. And there are so many who might covet a throne, were it poorly used. For myself, when questioned, I might note that I answer to the nobles, who answer to the army, who answer to those who work the land and the industries.”
“But serfdom is…is…no-one enjoys being a serf, is the problem, your Highness.”
The Empress smiled. “Serfs, if I understand your history, do not own that for which they work. Our creators own what we make, subject to Imperial tax and Imperial whim.”
“With respect, Imperial whim could cover quite a lot of potential hardships for those subject to it.” “…which is why some of our Emperors have not lasted very long.”
The Ambassador, sensing a battle with no winner, said tactfully, “I thank you for allowing us to distribute our materials among your people.”
“Oh, really, the amount of effort necessary to stop the curious from finding new sources of humor is quite disproportionate to the benefit of attempting to shield them from knowledge. They simply go around and find the most inconvenient knowledge. Starving people will eat your caviar; well-fed people realize that caviar tastes terrible, and we only consume it for the sake of form.”
(The term she used wasn’t literally ‘caviar’, but humans had decided to translate it as such, for the sake of not thinking too hard about what she was really saying.)
The Ambassador nodded. “I am certain that this is true,” he said, politely. With an experienced motion of his own, he consumed the last of his tea—it was bitter, so bitter—and made the appropriate diplomatic noises, which took a bit of time, preparatory to his leave-taking.
Finally, the Empress stopped him. “My friend, before you go, it is our custom to grant some gifts. Please—don’t reciprocate; should we ever visit you and yours, simply gift us in return.”
The Ambassador nodded; he’d known this protocol, of course, but he hadn’t planned to bring it up.
“First, for you, our native workers have studied the customs of your planet, and we have created for you, personally, a garment.”
The Ambassador prepared to be impressed by it—no matter what it might be.
It turned out to be a t-shirt—the most expensive t-shirt in the Universe, most likely, seeing as how few other races wore the things, and this one was made from the ‘silk’ of Imperial spinner-arachnids, bred ten thousand generations for the mellifluous softness of their thread.. It said, in English, “I visited the Monster Planet, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.”
He blinked. The Empress said, “I hope we properly understood the appropriate ceremonial wording.” He glanced over at her—those teeth, those teeth. If she was joking, he couldn’t tell.
“I shall treasure it forever, Empress.”
“And now, some of our native tea, that you may sip it always and think of us.”
A servant wheeled out a little wagon, on which there was a large, dense hunk of vegetable matter. The Ambassador tried not to wince. “Thank you again, O Empress Divine.”
“And finally, a little something for your very, very enlightened rulers.”
This time, the wagon was much larger—and flanked by armed guards.
Form often, though not always, follows function. This looked very, very much like a primitive missile. “The fins are purely decorative; we heard they were traditional.”
“The Ambassador stared at the lethal-looking object. “What is it?”
“It’s a bomb, of course. Like most civilized societies, we pride ourselves on our ability to defend ourselves. And we believe that our fellow rulers should have similar powers. This works with a certain levitation technology—you might or might not figure that part out, but if not, you could put it, or any duplicates you make, into a…is ‘suitcase’ the word I seek?…‘briefcase!’ You could put it in a briefcase, and it will vaporize, oh, approximately, a large city.”
The Ambassador had once been envoy to a species whose eyes were literally on stalks, as if they’d been drawn by some over-enthusiastic fan of early scifi films. He was quite sure that their eyes had never popped so far from their heads as his did now.
“Why…what…why would you give this to us?”
“My dear colleague, we are both of civilized species, are we not? Think of all the technology embodied in a such a complex weapon of vast destruction. It’s the single most compact item we could offer you if we wanted to bequeath to you some of our technologies.”
“But…the destructive potential…a city?”
“Or two, yes. Maybe three. With some aftershocks.”
“That…we…”
“You will take it to your leaders, won’t you? Otherwise, my species—my whole race, I fear—would be most mortally offended, and that wouldn’t be desirable in the slightest.”
“I…”
“After all, we are fascinated by this ‘democracy’ of yours, and its ability to make the wisest and most sensible choices. You’d like to bring it to our people; well, certainly, if that’s what they desire. Who are we of the Empire to stand in your way?
I mean, for us, something like this, why…if we didn’t have numerous checks and balances in place, it could wreak havoc. But your wise rule by the people, that will surely be proof against any possible misuse of this (if I might be so bold as to say) explosive treasure trove of knowledge, eh? Please. Bring it to your knowledgeable leaders, that they might, in their astute judiciousness, put it to best use.”
The Ambassador struggled for words; the aliens, meanwhile, were already loading it onto the ship. “You shall be missed,” the Empress said. “Do stay in touch, won’t you?”
The Ambassador, quiet now, gave a slow, stiff nod, and then walked, like a man condemned, towards the disquieting bulk of his ship, whose engines would take it, all too rapidly, back to Earth.
___________
[I write things. You can find some of them on Amazon.]
The post Largesse of the Empress Yllib’tor appeared first on Jeff Mach Writes.
May 20, 2024
The Comforting Lies of the Necronomicon
These are the comforting lies the Necronomicon tells you:
There are hideous Beings out there, beyond our ordinary understanding but not quite so far that they cannot touch us, cannot touch our minds, cannot assert their Realities into our dimension.
There are Secrets of the Universe, knowledge unlocked only from the foulest and most blasphemous notes, scrawled in the blood of a dozen different half-human hands, understood—even in part, even in fragments—only long enough to destroy anything that might ever have resembled sanity.
Mankind is inconsequential; within the multifarious facets of Existence are Things, part entity, part un-space, segments of fragmental ur-Creation, compared to whom the whole existence of our species, its tiny beginnings and its inevitable end, are so inconsequential that their destruction of all things we might know or want is the tiniest accident, the merest by-product of their most passing thought.
All around us, existing at odd angles we can neither see nor access, but always among us, are hideous warpings of the Tellurian, which we can just feel at the edges of our oldest, most terrified instincts.
But this is the ghastly truth:
There are many things we cannot know, things that cannot be known; but the extent of that which we can know is so broad and vast that our ignorance is the merest guttering candle in the inexorable blackness of comprehension, of no more true comfort to us than a glass of ice-water in Hell; that ice-water would not even count as a torment, for in less time than it takes to blink (if, in Hell, one had eyelids) the ice would have been turned to boiling steam, the water dried up so rapidly it might as well have never existed, the glass exploding into shards before the mind could recognize that there even is a glass.
The truth is, we hardly need Cosmic Horror to create Multicosmic Atrocity.
The truth is, there are so many perfectly knowable bits of nigh-infinite awfulness that we ought spare little mental sweat about that which can’t be named or comprehended.
…and that’s not the real problem.
In Lovecraft’s world, one must be misfortunate on a truly epic scale, or else deranged and power-mad to unprecedented extremes, in order to delve into That Which Mankind Was Not Meant To Know.
The truth is, all you need is a little motivation, and a little knowledge.
The truth is, there are more humans alive now than at any other point in history, and more knowledge available than Mankind has ever known.
The truth is, we only wish that the truest horrors are beyond our ken.
The truth is, the truth is out there, and we don’t have to go “too far” for it to wreck every hope and dream our species has ever had.
We only need a small fraction of us to go a few inches in order to wreak upon ourselves things next to which Damnation is a comforting fable.
The truth is, we already have.
[postscript:
The truth is, everything said here is the truth .
But it’s not the only truth.
The War for Reality is not truly lost. Stay tuned. Fight on.]
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May 18, 2024
The Ouija Board (Advanced Dungeons and Dragons)
Now, Dungeons and Dragons, if we recall
Tends, temporally, to somewhat fall
Between some Darkish and some Middle Ages
(With some Renaissance to round out the pages.)
So we admit we don’t look wholly kindly
On this board (invented in 1890)
Suddenly finding itself on the shelving
In treasure-rooms of dungeon-delving.
Now, adventures both mythical and mystic
Need not be wholly realistic
And a nudge to a calendar’s no fatal thing
(Unless you’re counting that Mayan ring…)
But here’s why we think the creator’s a reacher:
It’s not an artifact. No, it’s a creature.
You can hit it with your sword or mace
And I’ll curse you with bad luck and disgrace.
(Some would pay extra for some parts of all those
but let’s cut that part out, lest the wrong tale grows.)
What’s next, D&D? A tap-dancing chair?
Arsenic with legs? Sentient air?
We get it: Endless variation
But worrisome, in variation…
Of Mimics we’ll give later thought,
And for now, think not that a healing draught
Looks much the same as a glass of gin
(And is better at keeping your heart-pounds in.)
But a world where the living object thrives
Could coincide with humans having horrible lives
My kitchen table’s a table, I’m sure
And if it’s got teeth smiling at the floor…
…I don’t want to know. If half my gear
Can magically move, or think, or hear –
I hope they do it while I’m in drowse
Or I’ll burn them all, like in my vows.
What I’m saying is simply this:
If monsters give the Dungeon a miss,
They’ll change their ecosystem, bub,
And then you’ll find them in your pub.
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May 16, 2024
…but the Sphynx
…but the Sphynx
commissioned herself.
The Sphynx is older than the Pyramids.
Will we ever really get to a point where we can say, “Yes, this happened here, that happened there, and nothing was before it?”
I don’t think so.
Humans are too unpredictable.
And too many Shaman are also Tricksters,
too many Tricksters are also Shaman.
(And boy, it’s easy to be a Trickster when you’ve got several thousand years of Time messing about with all of your records. Nevertheless):
Tricksters are sometimes born, sometimes made,
and sometimes just wake up;
and the Spynx
commissioned herself.
I hadn’t intended so become a Shaman, but Isaac insisted.
And I listen to Isaac. So if you don’t want me to have the name, I’m sorry.
Someone who outranks me gave me that name.
Tricks make Tricksters.
Shaman are tricky either way.
But the Sphynx…
…commissioned herself.
Throughout most of her modern history, she was thought to be of the same strange provenance as the Great Pyramids. She’s certainly conveniently close enough.
But she is far older than they.
The Pharaohs commissioned the Pyramids.
But they only pretend to have commissioned the Sphynx.
(For the Sphynx…
…had another face, before the Pyramids rose.)
Who knows the Sphynx?
The Sphynx commissioned herself.
They gave her the head of a lion;
“Was she made for Anubis?
But the Sphynx is sacred to Horus.
To whom did she belong?”
We don’t know.
Perhaps she never belonged to anyone;
perhaps, like you, she just never belonged.
It doesn’t matter to her.
For the Sphynx,
the Sphynx commissioned herself.
___________
[I write things. You can find some of them on Amazon.]
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May 14, 2024
Front Matter For Another Book That’s Way More Interesting Than This One.
FORWARD:
“For a long time now, I’ve been aware that, like, I’m all right, but, like, the World is square.”
-Shel Silverstein
I. PROLOGUE. In which the Author explains that this is a Great Book, that it is a Book for the Ages, that the Author suffered for 80 years while writing this book but hopes that you enjoy his sophomore effort, published when he was only 17 years old. The Author keeps writing, but you’ve probably tuned it out by now. We sure have.
II. DEDICATION:
This book is dedicated to all the authors who were wise enough to dedicate their books to me, and dedicated AGAINST every other author in the entire world.
III. INTRODUCTION
This book was written during the years 1587 to 1843, when I was an itinerant fisherman on a very small bridge over a nonexistent river in Sheboygan, Michigan I trust I don’t have to explain further.
IV. EPIGRAM:
“In wine is wisdom,
in Everclear is efficiency.”
PUBLISHER’S NOTE:
We don’t take any responsibility for this trash, although tips are appreciated.
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May 12, 2024
13 Ogre Rules For Life
13. Rules are for puny, tiny, insignificant, smushy little annoy-creatures. Rules are for other people. These are “suggestions for life” and Life should feel grateful that we decided to enertain the idea of being part of it.
12. Life is nasty, brutish, and short, unlike Ogres, who are nasty, brutish, and really, really not short.
11. Give a man a fish, and he’ll have a fish. Eat him, and this is one less thing to memorize all around.
10. It’s not your fault. But if it is your fault, take the largest convenient club, say a tree trunk. and beat to death anyone who doesn’t believe you when you say, “Man dead. I no-no there”.
9. You’re not afraid of the End of the World. The End of the World better be afraid of YOU..
8. Unless the end of the World is a bigger Ogre, obviously.
7. (Everything is a bigger Ogre.)
6. Even very, very grown-up Ogres are afraid of the dark.
5. It’s okay to eat milk and cookies, especially if they’re inside of orphans at the time.
4. Also, Ogres would like to state their superiority to numbers.
3. They doon’t need such silly things.
2. For example, “2” is just a number.
And “1” is certain doom.13. Fortunately, we’re far too stupid to know what number comes after “1”.
[[[==My name is Jeff Mach (“Dark Lord” is optional) and I build communities, put on events, and make stories come into being. I also tweet a lot over @darklordjournal.
I write books. You should read them!
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May 11, 2024
A Fairy Tale Of The Future
My name is Jeff Mach (“Dark Lord” is optional) and I build communities, put on events, and make stories come into being. I also tweet a lot over @darklordjournal.
I write books. You should read them!
The post A Fairy Tale Of The Future appeared first on Jeff Mach Writes.
