Herr D's CFLs

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    Herr D

    Sometimes it’s a great idea to go to do fun things when no one else is there. No crowds, no hassles, just you and the family having a good time . . .


    Of course, you and the family will always have your own unique hassles . . . like needing a special amusement park, having to go at three in the morning to not have witnesses . . .

    *Thanks again to JR for making that laundromat background.


    Herr D

    Sometimes the wrong ringtone can be VERY upsetting.


    . . . Well, their GPS had malfunctioned while they slept, so that wasn’t quite such an over-reaction . . .



    Herr D

    *In honor of times feeling well-loved, well-remembered, J.

    I like to believe that all over the universe, everywhere that there are beliefs in higher powers, that there is belief in angels.


    Of course, we’ll never go EVERYWHERE, so I can go on believing that, right? http://www.heromachine.com/wp-content/legacy/forum-smileys/sf-smile.gif


    Herr D

    Tran’s Sylvania made the cover of Hunan Muscle Car 3rd edition. The mouthpiece under the dash can be used to power the car off Tran’s breath. That was a custom feature, unavailable by catalog order. She posed with it in her asbestos driving suit.


    *Also posted for possible inclusion in Kaylin’s one-slot challenge. It’s actually a remake, unusual for me, of the same concept with a different slot.


    Herr D

    No one is sure how or why it first happened, but Gray Bob appears randomly at crises and blunders his way to help when he can. He told his sometimes photographer, Robert Grace, that he believes he is “only here to help, and can therefore, only appear when help is needed.” He explained to Ellen Grace, Robert’s wife, that his powers are mental and that he can only fly like Dumbo, when holding a feather. He apologized to

    [name withheld by parental request] for “flying higgledy-piggledy,” explaining that he was personally taught to fly by a balloon someone had let go and that that should explain the “rude noises” as well.


    He says that he can’t unlearn a lesson or remember what he looks like when he’s human. Hopefully the city’s insurance premiums don’t go up too high . . .

    *flying blog contest


    Herr D

    *flying blog contest

    “Landing, she expected to be painful, but it turned out to just be noisy and disorienting.” –approximate quote from upcoming completion of ‘Zephyr’ in Writer’s Room, uncertain date.



    Herr D

    [door opening]
    “Who are you?”
    “Captain Kovacs? I’m John Stibbs? Here to represent Jonah Johnson in his lawsuit against you?”
    “What lawsuit–against me?”
    “Against this precinct, sir.”
    “What for?”
    “Religious discrimination, sir. Mr. Johnson is a member of The Amber Missions Church.”
    “You can’t be serious–we’ve had no dealings with those fifty nitwits!”
    “Forty-seven, sir. And yes, actually, you have. Mr. Johnson twisted his ankle avoiding the broken glass on the steps of the station as he came inside. We will be suing for ten thousand dollars.”
    “Some religious example; a petty lawsuit for personal gain of a cult member. I thought they weren’t supposed to HAVE any money.”
    “The settlement will go to a trust to recruit forty-seven more members and educate them in the Church’s ways.”
    “He could have put shoes on. Why did he need to come inside the police station anyway?”
    “You posted a reward for information on a case requiring visiting the station. And you publicly promised amnesty to the first guilty party to turn themselves in. Both actions required entering the police station. And his religious beliefs require remaining barefoot.”
    “You mean the foundation vandalism case? Let me see that!” [snatches folder, starts reading and turning pages]
    “As you can see, he has forty-six signed confessions from the perpetrators, a checking account giving me signatory power, and a list of disreputable contractors he advises not to use for the repairs.”
    “What in the name of–“
    “He claims that his church discovered a type of meditation that allows them to cross dimensions and spread their religious teachings where no other church can even send missionaries. He says he needs me to handle payment of the fair market value for all the damaged foundations and help file the missing persons reports. Gave me a nice retainer, too.”
    “Let me get this straight, Stibbs. Mr. Johnson is willing to give evidence and a statement that all forty-six foundations were damaged in attempts to leave our dimension, he’s got money to pay damages, he’s suing us for dirty steps, and he’s claiming his ‘church’ members are all missing?
    “And he’s waiting in Interrogation Room D, sir.”
    “Hah! That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard! Did the officer on duty call a shrink?”
    “I’m not sure, Captain Kovacs. I do know that they handcuffed him to a chair and locked him in. Deplorable.”
    “Don’t you take that tone with me, you ambulance-chaser! You know he’s a nut even if it’s your job to pretend he’s not.”
    “Do YOU have any evidence he’s not at full mental capacity?”
    “Yeah, I do! First off, he can’t count! There are forty-SEVEN statements here, not forty-six. Second, how did they fill out a confession for leaving this dimension when they’re missing?”
    “Well, they wrote their intentions beforehand–wait. Forty-SEVEN?”
    “Is Mr. Johnson’s in there?”
    “Um–yes. Yes, there’s one in here for him, too. It says his ‘personal lee line–‘”
    “Ley line. A belief of theirs.”
    “Whatever. It says his ley line runs through the interrogation rooms, and that he’s sorry about the lawsuit? Why are the lights flickering?”
    “We’d better go see this client of yours. Stibbs, I hope your fee doesn’t keep him from getting a good shrink!”



    Herr D

    “Dr. Francois LeBlanc?! They gave that nut a doctorate?”
    “Well, it’s honorary. He IS an innovator . . . ”
    “Yeah, yeah–so tell me what happened with Blanko and the demolished Oncology Wing.”
    “He finished the laser targeting system–”
    “That project for the military? Blow up the–”
    “–bunker under the building but leave the building intact, that’s right.”
    “He did this on the hospital grounds?”
    “He had that trailer right outside the construction, remember? Anyway, he reasoned that he could reset the parameters and zap one cell or one cell’s nucleus instead of an entire room–”
    “So he spent the weekend making red sugar capsules, real easy to dissolve when wet, and then he rigged a miniature air-powered machine gun with a chain of them so he could fire them precisely and wired the whole arrangement into the targeting computer.”
    “What did he put in the capsules?”
    “A cocktail of various growth hormones, recombinant DNA, and mitochondria samples he stole from Oncology Research.”
    “He had this really old greyhound and thought he’d figured out a way to de-age it.”
    “Oh, come on. Instant youth treatments? He actually thought he could repair all the old cells?”
    “Apparently so. Anyhow, that’s not nearly what happened.”
    “So he blew up the dog?”
    “No, that’s the weird part.”
    “THAT’S the weird part?”
    “He replaced basically the entire dog’s body in seconds, thanks to that machinery. But he messed up the program. The turntable under the animal kept the right speed, the cells got worked on in about the right sequence, but he didn’t specifically program in just the dog’s anatomy. The computer’s fuzzy logic routines blended the anatomy of all the species of all the research samples. The red food coloring got adopted somehow, and now most of the clone is red.”
    “Well, the cells were basically cloned around and into the dog as bits of it were torn away by the laser and projectile impacts. Then it got loose.”
    “It could move after that?”
    “It ate most of a security guard, killed one patient with a bite to the gut, burst into the samples room, and started sniffing. A quick-thinking orderly noticed it was only eating cancer samples. He dumped a bunch of them on the floor and locked it in. Then he wheeled every patient he could get to up to the door and back to their rooms until they tranked the clone.”
    “Why on earth would he do that?”
    “The creature only tried to get at the patients who had cancer. It’s being hailed as a new diagnostic tool.”
    “What blew up the Oncology Wing?”
    “Armed security shot a tank of oh-two trying for the creature.”
    “Naturally Blanko isn’t being held responsible for any of this.”
    “No. The guard and the patient the creature killed both had inoperable terminal cancer. The guard wasn’t supposed to be working. He’d lied about being fit for duty to try for his pension.”
    “And that’s enough to keep Blanko out of trouble?”
    “No. One of the patients the orderly wheeled up for sniffing was the mayor.”
    “OH COME ON!”
    “I know, Dave.”
    “I make a mistake and I miss a promotion. You make a mistake and get no raise. HE steals and goes Frankenstein on us and gets an HONORARY DOCTORATE?!”
    [Dave exits, slamming the door]
    “I guess I’ll let someone ELSE tell him we’ve been elected to clean the creature’s cage. I hope it’s at least over the formaldehyde sickness . . . ”




    Herr D

    Herr D

    Clarissa was SURE she could work magic. So when she developed a crush on Matt, a local janitor, she took up concrete sculpture in her first attempt to make him fall madly in love with her.
    Unfortunately, Matt was in a hurry to finish up that night, and moved a little too fast . . . Clarissa is now convinced her magic doesn’t work, and she has been unable to remove these mysterious plastic shards from her wardrobe no matter what she tries.



    Herr D

    I heard a buddy of mine say he was going to create a NEW piece. An eye that would instantly evoke fear in any it looked at. I warned him that perfecting art could destroy his life. He laughed.


    He’s in the cardiac wing of the local hospital. I gotta go check on visiting hours . . .



    I have to award you one of my patented ‘Certificates Of Geniusness’ for your Creators Club Poster entry. That, sir, is just brilliant!
    (Presents Certificate Of Geniusness)


    Herr D

    [four out of five pupils dilate in surprise] Well, thank you! Blending in with the Men in Black is an old trick of mine. This IS my favorite deck of MiB cards. The blue eyes, the charcoal suit, etc.


    Herr D


    At the third annual Bumble Beach Sand Sculpture Finals, one of the champs paused before finishing her “Sandhenge” during her last trip for a pail of water. Her swimsuit is the Sargasso Special, and the matching barefoot lobster sandals were custom-made by a businesswoman who disappeared recently in Hawaii. The hand trowel and pail she found herself at local stores and painted to match.


    I think she did well.


    Herr D

    “Break” was an ordinary terminal brain cancer patient until an experimental implant eradicated his malignancy, boosted his adrenal gland to superhuman levels, turned his skin a peculiar bright yellow, hardened his body to metallic levels, lowered his metabolic requirements to rodent levels–
    –and messed with his head a little bit . . .

    *blog brute contest

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