Tag Archives | satire

Apocalypse Cow

apocalypse cow

Never get out of the boat. Absolutely goddamn right. Unless you were going all the way. Kurtz got off the boat. He split from the whole fuckin’ program.

And me? I was off the boat the same time as Kurtz. Sure, I’d been obeying orders, but my mind was gone. I was in fields of green and clover. With milkmaids.

Oh man, those bullshit milkmaids…

But I had a job to do, and there would be no welcome, supple fingers pulling on my teats when we got to the end of the river. Only charcoal briquettes.

The barbecue … the barbecue.

Sink your teeth into some my beefy long fiction!

Alltop is the catastrophic cattle baron of humor. Originally published on Name Your Tale, 2009.

E-nnui

Robot and sky

Toto the Bio-Sphere Demolition-Bot wondered what it was all about. Did life really mean anything? There had to be more to existence then the senseless destruction of countless inhabited worlds.

Maybe it was time for Toto to settle down. Find a nice Species Eradication-Borg and construct a family of Cybertronic Death-Bots equipped with plasma field generators.

Or maybe he should write a novel.

Maybe you should READ a novel? Got a few from which to choose!

Alltop is also feeling a little blue. Originally published December, 2008.

Disquieting Postcards I’ve Recently Received from My Future Self

aliens in switzerland

Dude!

Recognize the handwriting? Yeah, it’s me. More precisely, it’s you, circa fifteen years from now. Good news — you’ve finally lost that twenty pounds! Too bad you had to amputate your right leg to do it. At least it means our BMI is low enough to keep us out of the local “Fat Reduction Centre.” The less said about those, the better. I hope you like the card. This is a picture of our home town after the alien invasion. Cool, eh?

M.

— P.S. Don’t sweat the aliens. They’re good for us.

* * *

Dude!

You again. Okay, first things first. If I know me, you’re having your doubts about how legit these postcards are. You’ve probably even noticed that the postmark is today (your time). Here’s how it works: Some day soon you (previous me) will invent time travel. It’s limited to flat objects no bigger than a postcard and no more chemically complex than a postcard. Actually, it’s limited to postcards, but you’ve invented it. (Will invent it, rather.) Way to go. Oh, and there are still some overheating problems, so I can only send one postcard each day.

Or it’s a hoax. Ha ha.

Now, there’s something you need to remember for tomorrow — don’t have dinner with Susie from accounting. I know you’ve been looking forward to it, but just trust me. Crap, I’m running out of room. Promise me. Whatever you do, don’t go out with Susie. And especially don’t sleep with her. Really.

M.

— P.S. Seriously. BTW, this is a pic of the Ruins of Manhattan.

* * *

Dear Asshole:

You still went out with her, didn’t you? I can tell because I (you) still have Susiecular Herpes. Yes, I know you’ve never heard of it. That’s because in about five years you’ll be first person ever diagnosed with it. When that happens, you’ll be sorry you didn’t listen to me. Okay, let’s try something simple. You probably still don’t believe I’m future you. Here is a prediction that will convince you: Next week, you are going to narrowly escape death. Don’t freak out. Don’t worry about it. You escape it. I’ll write again after that’s happened, and then we might be able to make some progress.

M.

— P.S. This is a picture of Our Glorious Leader. Yes, that’s an accordion. All the aliens play them.

* * *

Mark,

Listen, I know you’re an ornery bastard, but what’s the point in sending these notes if you insist on manhandling the timeline? By spending the entire week in your apartment, you’ve seriously messed things up. For starters, you didn’t get the promotion you had coming. Which means no trip to the Mayan Riviera this (that) winter. Which means you never meet our wife. And before you ask, the reason I can still remember her is because I’m writing these postcards from within a Grubenstorbian Bubble. I can see with infuriating clarity the repercussions of your actions (or in this case, milquetoast inaction). If you are going to be a complete dick-wad about it, I’m going to stop sending these notes altogether. You know, it’s almost like you’re trying to sabotage your future. (Which pisses me off for obvious reasons.) I loved Sheila! She was very understanding about the Susiecular Herpes, even when the virus mutated and turned our boy Chad into Balzrog the Destroyer. Crap, I’m almost out of space again.

M.

— P.S. This is a picture of the on-ice celebration when the Leafs won the Stanley Cup for the first time in more than sixty years. But you’ll never get to see it now, you bastard. Who could have guessed your vacation in Mexico was so critical to the timeline?

* * *

Dude!

Hey, more good news. I’ve used all the null-time I’ve had in the Grubenstorbian Bubble to invent an adaptive energy field that will act as a perfect prosthetic for my missing leg. It looks as though I’m hobbling around on thin air; freaky, but who cares? I think this is the last note that I’m going to send. The Bubble is almost out of entropy, and I’d like to get this prosthetic to market as soon as I can. Just promise me you won’t bet against the Leafs, okay? And in case you do finally believe me, for God’s sake, don’t try to track down Susie or Sheila, or act on anything else I’ve told you okay? This whole thing was just one big bad idea.

M.

— P.S. This is a picture of the first Transnormative Human. Freaky, no? Get used to it. They’ve survived your non-trip to Mexico.

* * *

Dear Early-Twenty-First-Century Wanker,

Okay, you win. I guess it really is impossible to improve yourself through time travel. Once again, you’ve screwed me over. The minute I left the Bubble, I was arrested by the Fat Police for Transtemporal Violation of the Fat Laws. Look, remember when I said “The less said about the Fat Reduction Camps the better”? What that didn’t mean was: “It would sure be a great idea for you to write a short story about FRCs and send it off to some shitty science fiction e-zine.” I would have noticed and warned you if it hadn’t taken years for the issue to reach print. I don’t know who to curse (more), you or the glacial pace of the publishing industry. It hardly matters, they’ve got me now. Still, even Our Glorious Leader can’t take away my new invention. And I may just survive the Slorg Diet. At any rate, I won’t be able to send any more notes from where I’m going, so I just have one more thing to say: Play these every week: 3-15-27-29-44-46

In time,

M.

— P.S. Wish you were here.

The End

 

Not into time travel? Read some of my long fiction before your future self returns to warn you about them!

Originally published by AE – The Canadian Review of Science Fiction in their first issue, October 2010, and it was one of the Million Writers Notable Stories of 2010. Alltop once married its own great-great grandparents. Postcard image by Franco Brambilla.

William Shatner’s Inaugural Address

(After Winning the First Post-Two-Party Presidential Election)

william shatner, president

Friends, Americans, Countrymen! Lend me your ears. I come to bury our two-party system, not praise it.

I stand before you today, not as a conqueror, not as pop icon, but as your President. An American president.

Now, what I say next is not said with malice, but I bet you few, pathetic, angry, angry Republicans left standing now regret amending the Constitution so the Governator could be eligible, don’t you? Eh? Just a little bit?

Come on, a robot against Captain Kirk? It’s insulting!

Our new system will have to adapt, to find new worlds, to boldly go where no POTUS has gone before. I gotta’ tell you, this is more fun than pantsing George Takei.

They told me to be Presidential, so I should say that I intend to bring our country together. No more petty infighting between two groups that basically represent the same interests. We can look forward to petty infighting amongst dozens of groups, which represent the same interests.

My party, the Federation Party (or the Star Trek Party as it’s known to the Twitterati) is open to all Americans. It is a cooperative party, an optimisit party, which is why WE are forming a government. If we can cooperate with the Star Wars Ascendancy Party of America and the American Stargate Association, then we can cooperate with anyone. Even Ralph Nader.

I’m looking forward to working with my Vice-President, Mark Hamill. He looks easy to control. I like that. I’m not sure about Richard Dean Anderson. The agreement is that we’ll make him the Secretary of State, but I’m not sure he’s up to it. I think we should give him Transportation or Energy where he can do less damage, but the agreement was State, so what the hell.

This is my inaugural address, so I should give you some kind of indication of where I plan to take the country in the next four years. Space, naturally. If I don’t do something space-wise the fanboys are going to crucify me. Seriously, the only reason I’m not wearing a Starfleet uniform to this thing is that I threatened to turn everything over to Hamill if they made me wear it.

So Mars, definitely. And whatever new gizmos we can come up with. Personally, I want a phaser that will allow me to stun Leonard Nimoy’s cryogenically preserved head whenever he starts to go on a policy rant. He helped me run a great campaign and he’s gonna be a terrifying Chief of Staff.

But today is all about me!  And America. Yay America!

And for all you Canadians, filled with pride there is finally a Canadian-born President of the United States, I have some good news and bad news. First the good: the border crossing is going to be much easier. You won’t need a green card to work in the USA anymore. And I’m going to insist to the CRTC that you get to watch American Super Bowl ads.

Bad news? We’re gonna’ need Alberta. And the Winnipeg Jets, for some reason.

The End

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