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The Investigation

Doc crashes through the door and slumps against it choking for oxygen. He is pouring sweat.

Timbot is agitated. Tang is oblivious, lost in his tablet. I offer Doc some water.

He eventually begins breathing close to normally and he tells me what has happened to him.

He tells me, quietly, that his license has been suspended pending an investigation into his shift-section. Everyone in his section has been put on paid hiatus until the investigation is completed.

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Clean-up on Level Zero

Joe, two levels down from me, is trying not to appear to be eyeing the tit-mags. From my vantage point, however, he is quite obviously not reading the copy of Transworld Skateboard but staring — possibly open mouthed and drooling — at "Juggs". Not that I can blame him, Transworld is largely a sausage festival on wheels.

"Joseph here, is perusing the sexuality and photography periodicals." I announce. "He appears to be interested in primate mammalian females with giganticism of the mammary glands."

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Storytime at the Crash.

Tang slept late on the cloud room floor.

When he awoke, he didn't know where he was.

His cloud must have gotten blown off course in the night.

Tang dropped his anchor. He dropped his ladder. He climbed down to investigate.

Tang stepped down onto the top of a very high mountain.

Nearby, on the top of the very high mountain, sat a small man in a cave.

Tang waved to the man. "Excuse me," He began "Can you tell me where I am?"

The man did not look at Tang, but held up one hand. The man said "Yes."

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Gaggleplexy. This is the new term that Doc is using to describe the state he is in. He sits there, legs crossed, eyes crossed, testicles crossed. He is urgently grunting in extreme pain. We do not raise an arm to assist him. We can't, physically - we're goofed out and thinking this is the funniest thing we've ever been too paralyzed with mirth to do anything about.

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Fragment B

“Hello?” I think answering the telephone is the only time I ever use that word. Dead silence. “Hello?” Maybe one of those telemarketer robots or maybe student loans finally found me. I’d better hang-

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After a bit of a hiatus - more drivel to share. :-) I thought about NaNoWriMo but since I haven't written word 1 yet, I may as well wait for next year. -G

“Gaslight. Patchouli. Dogbreath. Smoke hung in the air, crystallizing and vanishing into an unseen alpha channel zero. Silent. Still. Blue light played on skin radiating flickering ads for cigarettes smoked in cars riding on ferries along a man-made canal through an amusement park driven by a man drinking expensive vodka.”
- Bette R.Oblique, It Make a No Sense (1972)

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While he showered that morning, Jarvis decided to become a science-fiction character. In that moment his decision became a reality. Everything that he did was done as a science-fiction character would do it. He shaved his whiskers like a science-fiction character. He dressed himself exactly as a science-fiction character would dress himself. He ate his bowl of Cheerios in the manner made popular by characters in science-fiction stories.

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No Sleep for the Dickhead

Unsuccessful link to the underworld of breast implant homing devices. Tang rolled the sentence over in his mind playfully. Glowing, he prodded it a bit. Distasteful Mennonites clamber to attach nanotype influence transmitters to the biofeedback fluid within. No deal, squeals the life-boat department minister. This funbag is protected by hardwired bylaws.

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Runt the Humpus

Split to the other side of the cube. The place where entire worlds are born. This is a strange, seemingly barren landscape, where they earth is clad in neutral, metallic plates – seamlessly interlocking to form a even, softly reflective surface. At the epicenter, this formation spans to the horizon.

It is here, on this windswept clinical plain, that Gerald stalks the Easter Bunny.

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Title Here

The Transrapid Personnel Booth was empty.

“Hey, Schiller?,” I poked my head into the VIP lounge, beads dancing around my ears. “Schiller? The room was empty. Contrails of blue smoke traced vertical lines from cigars along the bar. Beer dripped from a tall glass onto the carpet below.

Outside, in the hallway I leaned against the wall and stared stupidly into the middle distance of my mind. Ok, time to go to work.

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