Showing posts sorted by relevance for query templeton. Sort by date Show all posts
Showing posts sorted by relevance for query templeton. Sort by date Show all posts

Tuesday

Duel of the Fates

Predator Press

[Mr Insanity]

RDO really never lost interest in the goings on here on Earth; he just had to change strategy.

The dinosaurs had been his longest success. But they were difficult to control and bad-tempered overall. And the Earth's tumultuous temperatures over the eons proved to be their greatest vulnerability.

They were simply unable to adapt.

Sapphire, a much more sophisticated, elegant, and expensive design, was constructed to obviate these flaws. But despite being designed a female, she soon was able to drive, vote, think and operate completely independently. She too was difficult to control and bad-tempered overall.

This obviously was completely unforeseen.

Then there was the plan to clone LOBO indefinitely until the Earth self-destructed in a glut of stupidity. But once again, the unforeseen became the plan's undoing; RDO had no idea the capacity for wanton and unnecessary violence that permeated the human species: all the LOBO clones were slain.

-Hell, the humans had contests killing them.

So RDO decided that maybe he would start to think small. He developed tough and flexible micro-alloys, high-speed tiny devices and reconnaissance tools, and chips and processors that bordered defying quantum mechanics.

And there it was, at the paltry sum of $45,006,787, 897.06, sitting on LOBO's coffee table.

At a glance, it might resemble a shiny chrome metallic fly.


***


Templeton scratched and licked at his vast array of eyes, confused.

"Something is definitely wrong," he transmitted. "I can't translate what the big people are saying. I only get 'WOLF' every now and then."

There's a pause, then a response. "Templeton, you were evidently sent with the wrong language module. Yours appears to be Spanish. You are instructed to activate the television when the humans are gone, and observe until you can decode the English language."

"Understood," replied Templeton. "Out."

Templeton darted slightly to the left, facing the television. Then, seeking out the right radio waves, within moments he activated the television and was surfing channels. Earth data streamed gloriously into his memory banks, and were processed and sorted. If every computer on this planet were working for the same goal, Templeton could do it in half the time.

Unfortunately, nowhere in Templeton's vastly-advanced technological brain was there ever any mention of the Felis domesticus until he spotted a show on it on The Animal Channel.

And just as Templeton settled in for this fascinating documentary, Phil struck.


***


Phil had been aware of Templeton for some time. And to her credit, she had closed on him with the silent grace and keen hunting skill born of centuries of evolution; as Templeton became increasingly engrossed in the 'lighty box', his body language relaxed slightly.

Phil lunged, and almost instantly Templeton was airborne.

Templeton, while not entirely convinced of his own endangerment, charged his defenses, circling curiously. This incited a second strike from Phil. Missing poorly, she hadn't completely calculated her landing properly and landed paws-down on the floor, unsteadily and with her back to Templeton.

Templeton fired a warning shock, and Phil howled furiously. She circled back warily; Templeton, unafraid, simply hovered in haphazard, jerky motions that attracted her attack even more. She hissed.

Templeton was now reading Phil as a confirmed threat, but his curiosity got the best of him. Settling on the window of Babs' China hutch -presumably a safe enough distance-he continued to watch and observe the truly remarkable Earth species from a safe height.

The height that she could jump caught him completely off guard; her clawed paw caught him squarely, but her momentum carried her heavily into the hutch. Numerous China plates came down in a deafening crash.

Templeton, alarmed, fired his tiny jets for a burst of speed as he retreated towards the bedroom. But this cramped and unfamiliar space was Phil's home, and the tiny invader was at a significant disadvantage. Within precious moments of Phil slashing and biting inches behind, Templeton realized he was trapped: the bedroom had only one entrance, hence one exit. Following the natural upward arch of Babs' waterbed, he climbed, buzzed the headboard, and came back in the opposite direction in an attempt to fly back over the cat towards the only escape route.

Phil hit the waterbed claws bared, and with powerful hind legs launched herself high in the air slashing wildly at the tiny intruder -barely catching purchase on a bookshelf before leaping once more. The force of this leap wobbled the shelves, but both hunted and hunter were long gone before they all came crashing to the floor.


***


The kitchen, in a rather uncharacteristic state of tidiness, was brighter than the rest of the house; the drapes were thrown wide in the afternoon daylight.

Templeton's sensor arrays compensated instantly, but Phil's sensitive vision was flared away for a mere fraction of a second -long enough, in this high speed chase. Nonetheless, she maintained her speed and jumped up to the countertop almost entirely by memory.

But she had lost him.

Perfectly still, she blinked and searched with her ears for what seemed an eternity.

Nothing.

Only the occasional faint splash of a repetitive water droplet.

A sound she didn't recognize.

It was coming from the sink.


She circled, seeing nothing. She circled again, accidentally triggering the garbage disposal with her tail and two of the gas burners. She was a little startled by the sudden mechanical whine of the garbage disposal, but it wasn't necessarily an unknown sound for her.

She was focused.

That little shit is right here somewhere.

In the sink, there was a fork, a coffee cup, and a half a glass of water.

And in the bottom of that water under some ice, Templeton sat perfectly still.

Phil dived for him and the glass spilled into the screaming drain, taking Templeton down.


***


CRACK! went an ice cube.

Templeton shook the moisture off, and hovered perfectly still a mere inch over the deafening roar of swinging, grinding steel teeth. He looked up into the star-shaped light -his only way out-and he saw Phil's reptilian eye. Phil, seeing Templeton, opened all four claws and poised to reach in and snatch the little interloper.

With no choice, Templeton fired his afterburners straight up.

The burners ignited the gas, and LOBO's place exploded.


***


LOBO and Ethan were both sitting on the curb. Ethan was talking to the FBI, and LOBO was petting poor Phil, who had her whiskers scorched during the tragic fire.

"Excuse me?" says Ethan into the phone.

"This call is being interrupted by RDO," said a sterile voice.

"I'm talking to the FBI. Whatever it is, I'm sure it can wait."

"I don't know sir," says the monotone voice. "He sure is cursing a lot."

Sunday

Tales of Flesh and Steel


Predator Press

When Jimmy Orlando smashed into Templeton at 220 miles per hour, he was unaware of the tiny robot fly entirely; for all he knew, the sports car just violently exploded and died for no apparent reason.

Pressed for time, this is how Jimmy came to stealing LOBO's precious Chick Magnet and his beloved pet Phil.


***


Templton's damage was severe. He had pierced the radiator, the engine block, and finally lodged in the exhaust system of the doomed vehicle. And for almost a month, he lie there dormant and undetected.

The car was eventually crushed into a cube, the steel melted to be recycled. But as Templeton drifted lifelessly in the smelting ore, a back-up system of self-repair programming activated; one by one, Templeton's sophisticated sensor systems blinked and popped back into operation.

The process was slow and excruciating; dramatic repairs as such would typically require he be towed into a tiny hanger to be completely disassembled by busy miniscule emergency robot triage crews ... a process that would normally take several days if done properly.

But Templeton was on his own.

Fortunately -while not quite the futuristic super-alloys from which Templeton was forged- in a fluke of Cosmic Fortune, the alloys being created were some of the finest and advanced high-test durable lightweight steel ever seen on Earth.

It was being forged into stripper poles.

... And in an even more improbable fluke of Cosmic Fortune, this stripper pole was destined for a strip club called Nipples Italy.


***


"Sir," says the First Lieutenant. "I really think you should take a look at this."

"What is it now Eric?" says RDO into the comlink. "I'm not in the mood for any more of your YouTube crap."

"No sir," says Eric. "We are starting to receive some sketchy transmissions from Templeton."

RDO scowled. "Are you sure? We haven't heard from Templeton in months."

"It's definitely him sir, Eric insists. "And I think he's found Sapphire."

"Sapphire?" smiled RDO. "My, my, my. It's been years since we've heard from her! Are Sapphire and LOBO currently enjoying the rest of their blissful existence together as planned?"

"Uh," says Eric. "Sir, I really think you should come up here and see this."

Thursday

The Truth About the Rat Race

Predator Press

[Mr Insanity]

As LOBO was being arrested, Templeton peered out from under Phil’s rabies tag.

Phil, LOBO’s cat, was reading extreme signs of stress. And if Phil somehow didn’t find her way back into LOBO’s custody, poof, RDO's entire mission was a failure.

Baking in the 120 degree heat of the sunbathed car, Phil barely noticed as Templeton took flight through the cat cage bars. And perched on the bottom of the steering wheel, Templeton scanned through all data he had on internal combustion engines.

LOBO was already handcuffed and in the back seat of the squad car, but the Chick Magnet’s engine was still running; rolling down all the electric windows -the most important thing- was mere child’s play. The car would go down forty degrees within minutes.

But how was Templeton to save Phil from starvation?

Contemplating this thoughtfully, Templeton flew out the window to seek human aid, only to be promptly struck by a fateful sports car at 220 MPH. The impact ruptured the car’s radiator almost completely on impact, and caused it to limp woundedly aside less than a mile ahead.

The driver was racing from New Jersey to Las Vegas on a highly illegal and lucrative bet, and was suddenly in desperate need for an available vehicle.

And that’s how they met Jimmy Orlando.

Sunday

Primer

Predator Press

[Mr Insanity]

Templeton -who had only narrowly escaped the garbage deposal- had affixed himself to the back of Phil's rabies tag.

There, Phil couldn't find him.

And LOBO -who always assumed the tag to be some sort of symbol of Phil's commitment to Jewish faith- was never willing to do anything that would be religiously intolerant; he chose only to read Bible passages too loudly as Phil slept, and occasionally squirting her with a Super-Soaker full of Holy water shouting 'The Power of Christ Compels You!'

But LOBO, a Catholic, had long since resigned himself to the fact that Phil was going to burn for eternity in the Lake of Fire at this point.

Attached firmly to a deadly predator owned by a complete idiot, and surrounded by millions of the horny and carnivorous man-eating Cicada Brood VIII, Templeton figured he was momentarily safe.

Until he intercepted Sapphire's transmission to RDO.

In order to save Humanity, she argued, they were going to have to nuke Pianosa into a crater.

And then nuke the crater.

And then airlift the crater over the Atlantic Ocean, and nuke it a few more times while dropping it in.

Templeton snuck a peak from behind Phil's collar. Having finally run out of 'Food Delivery' options in the Yellow Pages that were still answering the phone, LOBO was in the kitchen trying to boil one of my frozen pot pies.

Needless to say, it burst into flames.

Eh, Templeton figured, it was a good run.

Wednesday

Insomnia

Predator Press

[LOBO]

Phil can't sleep.

And as a consequence, neither can I.

Yes, I know cats are naturally nocturnal. But I've had Phil for about a year now, and usually he's pretty content and peaceful at night. Lately he's just so fidgety; in and out of bed, meowing at absolutely nothing ... I just don't get it.

This is becoming a problem; I absolutely need eight hours of sleep at night -as well as four or five during the day- or I can't function at all.

Whatever angst and anxieties are riddling Phil are slowly deteriorating my vice-like grip on sanity; often in the quiet darkness, I swear I hear a soft, tinny voice repeatedly asking for someone named 'Templeton', followed by another, doggedly replying "Hola!"

But that's nothing; last night Phil was curled up on my pillow and I heard a full-on conversation:

Voice: Templeton?

Other Voice: Buenas noches!

Voice: Ah, hmmm ... Hablo un poco español; ¿comprende usted?

Other Voice: Si. Yo comprendo.

Voice: ¿Habla usted inglés?

Other Voice: No.

Voice: Hablo un poco español. ¿Dónde esta el baño?

Other Voice: ¿Cómo?

Voice: Un momento.

Other Voice: Está Bien; Muy bien.

Goddamn it, this goes on for hours.

Sunday

Pulp Non-Fiction

Predator Press

[LOBO]

"Tagging" me seems redundant; more than half of the material I've done in the past few weeks is pimp other sites.

So while flattered, I never know what to make of memes 'an stuff.

I'll do the first and most important part -the part about me- but as for spawning it on, you'll just have to trust that anything linked on my site is worth checking out.


1) I'm Anesthetically Inclined: In my brief career as a truck driver, I once covered 4,500 miles in 90 hours. That's the equivalent of New Jersey to Los Angeles, and halfway back.

Exhausted, I accidentally brushed my teeth with a handy tube of Neosporin. Despite the horrifying taste, I was so tired and in a hurry I said screw it. I mean, it's kind of a paste ... and it's also some kinda sterile germicide, right?

-I drooled and couldn't talk for about 300 miles.

2) I Stopped the "Music": While now merely a terrible writer, I was once a terrible musician too. After the 80s-ish Cheap Thrills and the 90s-ish Destructive Criticism, I started mixing equally terrible stuff on a label called The Spanish Fly Industrial Complex.

The proposed CD jacket -a giant chromed fly in a hangar bay- was the inspiration for the character 'Templeton' in my older stories.

I still own the rights to the label.

Want them?

3) I Unsuccessfully Tried Charity Work: I own the url "www.ilikevagina.com".

-The original idea was to sell "Yes! I like Vagina!" T-Shirts to fundraise for ovarian cancer prevention.

4) Lands End: There are nuggets of truth that inspired Walk This Plank, Talk This Plank; on the way to the vet, I wrecked a vehicle into a large body of water and had to rescue my cat from it.

5) Numb and Number: I am wholly and utterly unaffiliated uninspired and disloyal politically, and shamelessly so: all I want is an alternative energy source so we can starve other countries of the money they use to kill us with.

Otherwise, I couldn't give a crap.

-S.S.D.D.

6) The Speedo Torpedo: I can't remember which book, but Kurt Vonnegut once gave some measurements and wrote that "as far as he knew, his 'endowment' was a World Record".

-I considered writing a letter to correct him.

7) My Academic Accolades: In my first semester of college, my English teacher singled me out in front of the class. After reading one of my badly-butchered paragraphs aloud, she continued on to say how much she "resented having to deal with remedial students here at the college level".

One year later, I became the Editor-In-Chief of the school newspaper.

I posed nude in the first issue.

8) Rubbing Elbows the Wrong Way: As a teenager, I met Dave Mustaine at a Holiday Inn.

At the time, I had no idea who he was.

I didn't own the album he as touring on.

In fact, I didn't own any of them: I disliked Megadeth music in general.

He thought that was refreshing.

We had a great time.

9) *BONUS* Love Synchs, Yeah Yeah The character "LOBO" evolved out of an online dating profile I filled out as a gag. All the other profiles were blasé clones citing a love for 'long walks on the beach' and 'sunsets'.

You know. Horsecrap.

I wondered What would one of these things look like if you were too stupid to lie?"

The questionnaire, filled out honestly, was hilarious. There's a reasonable facsimile of the Q & A -republished in story form- here.

But this single vicious act of wanton and savage sarcasm gave me more than my nom de plume; it's also how I met my wife LadyTerri.

On top of dealing with my battle-scarred psyche and general goobery, Predator Press probably wouldn't be here without her; while I spend countless hours trying to pound out things that make people laugh, she spends all that same time keeping me "freed up".

Heart and soul I love her, and my whole world revolves around her.


Swift and lethal tagging/meme payback is owed to Dead Rooster