Archive | Skwibby fiction

The void loves you

The caption is perfect if you imagine it being narrated by Werner Herzog.

comic about fiction

Herzog continues to read: “The orange sky, like the creeping shadows that threaten to engulf our fictional protagonists, is a visual clue that this never happened beyond the void of imagination.”

If this cause a full-on existential crisis, watch Herzog talk about a deranged penguin (best started at 49 seconds in):

Alltop doesn’t find certain death funny at all.

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The Bellerephon Problem

a monkey riding a goat

Bellerophon rides Pegasus to do battle with the Chimera

After murdering his brother for eating all the Cheetos, Bellerephon was exiled from Corinth. (A city famed for its Elvis impersonators and epic combovers.)

Then his luck turned. After avoiding the mechanized Probe-a-trons sent by the King of Corinth (aka, Dad) to finish him off, the plucky psychopath found refuge at the city of Tiryns, one of the Mycenaean strongholds of the Argolid. (This means they had a fortress AND indoor plumbing.)

Bellerephon wasted no time getting busy. And so, he was soon accused of attempting to rape the King of Tiryns’ wife, Antea. But the King of Tiryns did not want to kill our “hero” (we are legally obligated to use that term, even though “protagonist” would be more accurate). You see, our “hero” and the king had already shared a meal together, and the gods frowned on the killing of houseguests. (Though not brothers, apparently.) Instead, he sent Bellerephon on a suicide mission to kill the Chimera.

Scraped together from bits of DNA in the lab of Dr. Zeus, Father of the Gods (and a thorough maniac) the Chimera had the body of a goat, the tail of a serpent, the gonads of the Epherian bull, and the head of a lion. Oh, and it breathed fire. It enjoyed terrorizing the villagers of Lycia when it wasn’t violating unsuspecting she-bovines.

Thanks Zeus!

Athena, who in addition to being a god, was the CEO of a major multinational that dealt in common sense, knew that this was an excellent chance to destroy the Chimera. (They’d wanted to move into the Lycian market for years, but their sales force kept getting incinerated before they could ink a deal.) She helped Bellerephon to saddle and tame the mighty Pegasus. (In addition to being able to fly, Pegasus was flame retardant.)

Even this marvellous steed could not save them from the fiery breath of the Chimera. They were doomed. DOOOOMED!

Then Bellerephon had an idea. Using Pegasus as an ersatz dive-bomber, they approached the Chimera, and at the last moment, he threw a massive chunk of lead at the beast’s mouth. Its flaming breath melted the lead, which blocked its airway, and the creature was killed!

And instead of being killed for his attempted rape of Antea, he was lauded as a hero! (Not just a “hero.”) Oh, the sexy parties. The gold. The women. The giant swollen mellon that was his ego.

That’s when he decided to run for public office.

The End

The Fridgularity Buy my latest novel, which is the mythic tale of a chimeric fridge. Available in all formats in all the usual places online:

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Alltop is more of a gorgon-slaying humor aggregator.

One of the Magi Explains About the Myrrh

three magi at night
Everyone keeps giving me shit about my gift to Jesus the Son of God and the Messiah, King of Kings.

“Isn’t myrrh basically perfume for mummies?” these ass-clowns keep asking me. “Is that an appropriate gift for a BABY?”

Look, first off you have to realize that I planned to bring gold.

But Caspar called dibs on that. Fair enough, I thought, he is the “Keeper of the Treasure” or whatever those freaky Chaldeans call him. I don’t know. Those people have some weird habits. Every heard of doing the Chaldean Donkey? But they have lots of gold, and Caspar is wealthier than Croesus.

So I thought, no problem. I’ll give Him some nice Frankinsense. That stuff rocks. I would wear it every day if it didn’t make me smell like a Babylonian prostitute. But then I found out that bastard Balthazar already had a pearl-encrusted, gilt box filled with the stuff.

“WTF Balthazar? I was going to give The Messiah Frankinsense.” He just flipped me off. That Balthazar is an Indo-Parthian twat, and a show-off to boot. Pearl-encrusted, my ass. We said one gift.

I was happy to represent though. I mean, of the three magi sent from The East, I was the only one who was a real magi. I went to Zoroastrian High, did my undergraduate degree at Azura University and my doctorate at the prestigious Zoroaster School at the University of the Great Whore of Babylon (a party college, but the program is well respected.) Without me those tools, who are kings and members of the high caste, but who never finished their basic studies, wouldn’t have even found Bethlehem. I mean, they couldn’t even identify their own asses, let alone the Star.

Myrrh, for those in the know, is one of the most holy of essential oils, which is why those decadent Egyptians use it for their mummification rituals. And yes, it’s a little bitter, but really, I have to object to the freakin’ hymn:

Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume
Breathes a life of gathering gloom;
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying,
Sealed in the stone cold tomb.

It’s about salvation, not just death and dying. It’s meant to represent that he was going to help us rise above death again. AND it’s got freakin medicinal values. Suck on that gold!

But I must admit, I probably shouldn’t have given it to him in a Lamb’s Bladder. That was taking the symbolism too far.

The End

Give the gift of satirical fiction …

Alltop loves a good lamb’s bladder cup. Originally published in 2010.

It’s morning in the Singularity

cyborg at sunrise

Bob was not a happy cyborg.

He’d had to skip is plasma bath and neural detox that morning because his dick of a boss, a narcissistic self-sustaining photosynthetic artificial intelligence named TODD-bot, needed him to come to work early. And he was late. (Clearly his autonomic clock was in need of some debugging.)

But the early morning sunrise was suffused with peace. Bob watched the local star come up, even though the TODD-bot would rag him mercilessly for the wasted microseconds. (Approximately 300,000 of them, assuming it was only his internal alarm clock that was on the fritz.) His Nazi-3000 Hyper-Optics were capable of discerning all wavelengths of solar electromagnetic radiation, but Bob especially enjoyed the colors that his original eyes would have seen, if he still had them.

He remembered the simple joy of bacon and eggs for breakfast. That first sip of coffee. As if sensing this memory, his cybertronic neural implants signaled his FEED mechanisms, and injected protein slurry into his InCavity. His tastebuds were long gone, so he could only imagine how nasty it was. (And god help anyone who had to smell what came from his OutCavity.)

A Canada goose honked in the chill morning air, and Bob felt that old familiar despair. His implants had anticipated that already, and his morning protein slurry had been dosed with antidepressants, antipsychotics and for good measure, a shot of Nazi-3000s patented Assault Dopamine for Children (it’s “ragerrific”.)

Then, Bob was intensely aware of the weapons array sticking out of his trundle, looking like a toilet plunger, and all thoughts of the sunrise were erased. What kind of idiot designed something with a toilet plunger sticking out of it? he thought, really grooving to the Assault Dopamine for Children.

He would find the humans that did this to him, and . . . he couldn’t help himself. Bob felt himself utter the hated words:

Ex-ter-min-ate!

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Discover a friendlier AI in The Fridgularity, as it takes over the Internet, and locks all of us humans out of it. Oh, and it has access to the world’s nukes, but still. Friendlier. Honest.

Available on Amazon Kindle for $6.99.

As robots go, Alltop is pretty funny. Excellent dalek pic by Johnson Cameraface on Flickr.