fanfic anything- Seasonality Six issue 5
Thanksgiving Eve Mini-Marathon
I had to restart my computer while i was about halfway through writing it, which really pisses me off. Now i am going to have to recreate my start up banter from memory. The Insomniac’s Word of the issue is anypnia, which should not be confused with the last word of the issue, ahypnia. Actually, go right ahead and confuse them. They mean the same damn thing. Do you realize that in 20-40 years, people will pay good money just to read this? Parents will say to their children “John wrote this when he was a young man.” “Wow,” the children will say, “he was an idiot just like us.” “Funny how we base our entire lives on his teachings, huh?” the parents will solemnly reply. But on to our story. This story is the first i conceived, the idea that started the whole series. So expect it to be
pretty terrible. It is pretty much a rant. The snow blanked London on what would have been Thanksgiving Eve, if it had been America. I am not sure how the weather is there this year, but even the ever-crappy Western New York weather has been fairly non-petulant. But in Reality-918, the universe in which i just made up to house my stories, it was cold enough for a snow storm. I wonder if i will manifest a snow storm by writing this. We shall see. Advertisements grossly overuse sex, i mean semantically. Food is not ‘seductive.’ We are a stones throw away from having sensual law firms and erotic Vix’s vapo-rub. I also hate that commercial where they imply a woman has a sexual relationship with Joy dish cleaner. But i am digressing. Out of the snow, a vaguely human shape form. Or human form shaped, if you prefer. With his button nose and his 2 eyes made out of coal and whathaveyou, Frosty the snowman shuffled his way down the street. Thumpyity thump thump, thumpity thump thump look at Frosty go. That is my favourite
part of the song, so i had to throw it in here somewhere. Written across Frosty’s magic hat was the word ‘EMET.’ The evil programming director for the BBC, meanwhile, was leaning back in his chair, his feet on his desk. “What unspeakable horror can i unleash on viewers this fortnight?” he wondered aloud. “Maybe i can produce a reality show in which street urchins are trapped on an island and forced to kill each other for food. Top drawer! I will have to ring it up to Mr. Stiverson, bags I,” he continued, strangely misusing a common British expression. Just as he picked up the receiver on his rotary phone, the snowy mass known as Frosty appear at his door. “How’d you get past me au pair, you bona fide juggernaut lorry?” the director demanded. “Let’s just say that i put her in the, um, that i came here on business,” Frosty said, not because he was covering something up, but because he was rather confused. “Business! Business means money...for me!” I must be reading too many 60s comics, that is a textbook case of supervillain logic. “Perhaps it is better described as privacy, you see I think that I am entitled...” “Stop right there!” the director upjected. Yes, i do know the word is objected. “You come in ‘ere, talking all about you want to give me some money, and now you start talking about entitlement like a bloody loony. I am afraid I will have to call the guards.” He reached for the phone. “Just give me one moment to explain me, now, to clarify my arrival,” Frosty said, ‘grabbing’ the director’s hand with his nebulous paw. Sniveling as he was, the director made no attempt to stop Frosty from regaling his history. “You see, i was created by, that is, i am in fact...where was I? My father made all his money out of trains.” “Your father was a snowmn himself, I seppose.” “No, no he was a fictional Rabbi, and a human in general though. I am by nature a golem. That is to say, an artificial man powered by the Torah. I quite naturally upject to being in a Christmas program, as I celebrate myself Hanukkah.” “Oh, I see. Well, you certainly present an incoherent yet agitating story, and I will sure to bring it up at the next...eat this, you icy abomination!” The director turned the thermostat to its degree absolute, laughing maniacally. Quickly, the slow moving automaton began to melt. “I will see you pay for whatever,” the dissipating snow being said. But the director only basked in the thought of the profits from using age-old Christmas specials. Suddenly, i swore off the word ‘suddenly’ from ever being used again. But meanwhile, in the actual story, a pillar of water arose from the puddle of snowman, like in that terrible movie The Abyss. But unlike the creature in that James Cameron disasture, this one was quite malignant. Yes, i know it is spelled disaster. “It was silly to think that melting you would stop you, in retrospect,” the director said. “After all, if a mass of snow can be animate, why not water? But, on the other hand, what can animate water do to stop me? Get me wet?” This was, in fact, exactly what Frosty did. Of course, he also got the lamp wet, which proved quite painful to the director, what with the electricity and all. Just that moment, Santa Claus entered. The danger of electrocution over for some reason, Santa turned the thermostat to its lowest position. Much like in the Last Action Hero, when Arnold electrocutes a guy with a wire and than uses it as a rope for that kid. “Get down,” Santa said, breaking into a little GIF-like dance. Somewhat short of 1000 words, John tried to think of what happened next. Santa used his cold gun, while still dancing, to return Frosty to his frostiest. Cthulhu entered the office. After looking back and forth at Frosty and the dancing Santa, he said “Excuse me, wrong floor.” and exited again. “I thought he was supposed to be around 900 feet tall,” Frosty said. Santa Claus just smiled and turned away. And we were singing...
John...bye, bye Mr. Don McLean guy...DRK
I had to restart my computer while i was about halfway through writing it, which really pisses me off. Now i am going to have to recreate my start up banter from memory. The Insomniac’s Word of the issue is anypnia, which should not be confused with the last word of the issue, ahypnia. Actually, go right ahead and confuse them. They mean the same damn thing. Do you realize that in 20-40 years, people will pay good money just to read this? Parents will say to their children “John wrote this when he was a young man.” “Wow,” the children will say, “he was an idiot just like us.” “Funny how we base our entire lives on his teachings, huh?” the parents will solemnly reply. But on to our story. This story is the first i conceived, the idea that started the whole series. So expect it to be
pretty terrible. It is pretty much a rant. The snow blanked London on what would have been Thanksgiving Eve, if it had been America. I am not sure how the weather is there this year, but even the ever-crappy Western New York weather has been fairly non-petulant. But in Reality-918, the universe in which i just made up to house my stories, it was cold enough for a snow storm. I wonder if i will manifest a snow storm by writing this. We shall see. Advertisements grossly overuse sex, i mean semantically. Food is not ‘seductive.’ We are a stones throw away from having sensual law firms and erotic Vix’s vapo-rub. I also hate that commercial where they imply a woman has a sexual relationship with Joy dish cleaner. But i am digressing. Out of the snow, a vaguely human shape form. Or human form shaped, if you prefer. With his button nose and his 2 eyes made out of coal and whathaveyou, Frosty the snowman shuffled his way down the street. Thumpyity thump thump, thumpity thump thump look at Frosty go. That is my favourite
part of the song, so i had to throw it in here somewhere. Written across Frosty’s magic hat was the word ‘EMET.’ The evil programming director for the BBC, meanwhile, was leaning back in his chair, his feet on his desk. “What unspeakable horror can i unleash on viewers this fortnight?” he wondered aloud. “Maybe i can produce a reality show in which street urchins are trapped on an island and forced to kill each other for food. Top drawer! I will have to ring it up to Mr. Stiverson, bags I,” he continued, strangely misusing a common British expression. Just as he picked up the receiver on his rotary phone, the snowy mass known as Frosty appear at his door. “How’d you get past me au pair, you bona fide juggernaut lorry?” the director demanded. “Let’s just say that i put her in the, um, that i came here on business,” Frosty said, not because he was covering something up, but because he was rather confused. “Business! Business means money...for me!” I must be reading too many 60s comics, that is a textbook case of supervillain logic. “Perhaps it is better described as privacy, you see I think that I am entitled...” “Stop right there!” the director upjected. Yes, i do know the word is objected. “You come in ‘ere, talking all about you want to give me some money, and now you start talking about entitlement like a bloody loony. I am afraid I will have to call the guards.” He reached for the phone. “Just give me one moment to explain me, now, to clarify my arrival,” Frosty said, ‘grabbing’ the director’s hand with his nebulous paw. Sniveling as he was, the director made no attempt to stop Frosty from regaling his history. “You see, i was created by, that is, i am in fact...where was I? My father made all his money out of trains.” “Your father was a snowmn himself, I seppose.” “No, no he was a fictional Rabbi, and a human in general though. I am by nature a golem. That is to say, an artificial man powered by the Torah. I quite naturally upject to being in a Christmas program, as I celebrate myself Hanukkah.” “Oh, I see. Well, you certainly present an incoherent yet agitating story, and I will sure to bring it up at the next...eat this, you icy abomination!” The director turned the thermostat to its degree absolute, laughing maniacally. Quickly, the slow moving automaton began to melt. “I will see you pay for whatever,” the dissipating snow being said. But the director only basked in the thought of the profits from using age-old Christmas specials. Suddenly, i swore off the word ‘suddenly’ from ever being used again. But meanwhile, in the actual story, a pillar of water arose from the puddle of snowman, like in that terrible movie The Abyss. But unlike the creature in that James Cameron disasture, this one was quite malignant. Yes, i know it is spelled disaster. “It was silly to think that melting you would stop you, in retrospect,” the director said. “After all, if a mass of snow can be animate, why not water? But, on the other hand, what can animate water do to stop me? Get me wet?” This was, in fact, exactly what Frosty did. Of course, he also got the lamp wet, which proved quite painful to the director, what with the electricity and all. Just that moment, Santa Claus entered. The danger of electrocution over for some reason, Santa turned the thermostat to its lowest position. Much like in the Last Action Hero, when Arnold electrocutes a guy with a wire and than uses it as a rope for that kid. “Get down,” Santa said, breaking into a little GIF-like dance. Somewhat short of 1000 words, John tried to think of what happened next. Santa used his cold gun, while still dancing, to return Frosty to his frostiest. Cthulhu entered the office. After looking back and forth at Frosty and the dancing Santa, he said “Excuse me, wrong floor.” and exited again. “I thought he was supposed to be around 900 feet tall,” Frosty said. Santa Claus just smiled and turned away. And we were singing...
John...bye, bye Mr. Don McLean guy...DRK