Alright so I'm not updating this as regularly. I should be. I am missing out on so much material by not updating these last bunches of days.
I've been a little obsessed with podcasts. Mostly this Mental Illness Happy Hour one. You guys should check it out. Whoever checks back here, I mean!
I've been a little obsessed with podcasts. Mostly this Mental Illness Happy Hour one. You guys should check it out. Whoever checks back here, I mean!
The midget caught his balance on the sink and turned around on one foot. It wiped its face with both hands and had to catch its balance again.
“Listen up,” It said, looking straight up at Space Cowboy who was tall in comparison. It was a midget afterall. He slipped on the slippery floor and regained his balance by latching onto Space Cowboys pants. Taking a seat on the floor for a second, he redid the velcro on his shoes, pulling them as taut as they would go.
Space Cowboy reached across his body with his sweaty right hand facing out, and the creaturelike man cowered in fear. He shook his head and helped him up.
“I’m just trying to tell you what happened.” The midget whistled between his gaping tooth gap. “I’m trying to tell you why I’m here! See that?!”
On the other side of the door, a prism shaped ball opened and released three critters. Their large marble shaped eyes flickered against their dark black bodies. The Intersteller Diner stood sentry by the black hole. It’s parking dock pooped out a stream of cars, while a different stream of flying vehicles entered intravenously from the same orifice.
“They are all coming for you. They know what you did.”
“What I did? What did I do?”
“You opened the gate. They come out of the gate. They go back into the gate. They come for you. They know you opened it.”
Space Cowboy sneared indignantly. “Anyone could have turned that key.”
“You pulled the sword out of the stone. Do you… still have.. the key?”
Space Cowboy pulled the key out of his inside suspender pocket. It looked boring and unimportant. The brail like etchings on the flat top were the only distinct markings. It didn’t even glisten in the bobbing overhead light.
“Let me see,” The creature purred and snatched the key. He turned it effusively in his grubby little hands, like a squirrel packing nuts into its cheeks. “You will not need this any more. I will take it back for you.”
Space Cowboy snatched at it and the creature recoiled. It pushed him away with one hand and stretched the elastic waist of it’s pants with the other, dropping the key inside. Space Cowboy reached for his gun, sighed, and let his hands rest at his side.
The ship continued to move, tacitly walking into an ambush. If it had a tail it was between its legs. The sentries stared from the windows.
“Do not worry about the key, do not! You must prepare your brain for this planet. It must adjust. There is a prisoner mentality here. It may rub off on you if you are not mentally prepared.”
Space Cowboy took a couple of potshots at the cops on the wing, the hot laser missiles striking uselessly. The creature hid behind what looked like an old fashioned gas stove. It gestured at the cops on the wing, who proceeded to reapply their makeup and board. Space Cowboy eyed them carefully, unsure of whether or not he should hide his space weed that was sitting openly in its incubation station. He opted for the lazy route. The men walked past him to the control station at the front of the ship and inserted long pronglike fingers into its mainframe.
The face of the autopilot on the screen transformed into a gelatinous mess. It was replaced by a police badge, and the screen became a navy blue.
Space Cowboy’s brain catalogued everything that could happen. They’re not going to imprison me, he thought. There’s no reason for them to.
The ship was sucked in a quick gush into an interplanetary highway. It whistled on a fixed route, the hull relieved that it was finally at peace. Space Cowboy made a feeble attempt to escape into the bathroom, mumbling under his breath that he had to use it. He wasn’t much of an actor.
They showed Space Cowboy to his new apartment, which was festooned in an area that used to be the planets jail. The wardens office was still marked “Warden’s Office”, and the warden still sat behind the door. His looming silhouette ellicited fear from all of the tennants, who normally chose to walk the opposite tunnel although it was nowhere near as nice as this one. The squeek of the dinner cart accompanied by the squeek of its oversized attendants feet echoed through the hall.
“If it’s perfectly fine,” Space Cowboy said to the liason robot showing him to the dank cell shaped room with the etchings of gated cells still imprinted into the walls. “I am going to go look for another different room, somewhere else.”
He started to walk away and his path was blocked by an oversized robot facing the wrong direction. It reached its arms out and blocked the whole tunnel.
“This is your room.” The slightly friendly robot repeated with an even keel. It was a used car salesman of a robot. It’s face was incapable of emotion, although its legs walked with a street smart swagger.
“You can cook on this.” It showed Space Cowboy the kitchen. A quessadila maker sat on a counter, surrounded by peeling white paint. It looked like an ancient relic. Or one of those things people buy on QVC and then never use.
“This is the quessadila maker. You can cook other things on it, as long as you do not mind grill marks. It is a grill.”
“I’ve seen a grill before and this isn’t a grill.”
Space Cowboy poked his head out of the kitchen and saw the facsimile TV. He picked up the remote and pressed the buttons, they stretched and clicked the way buttons are supposed to. The TV flashed on with images of violent protest and then powered back on. It functioned like an electric razor that hasn’t been charged enough. He pressed the button again and it flashed on again. It just as quickly went off. Each time was a quick glimpse into madness.
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