This is What Happens When You Fool Around on Facebook

Posted to the Writing Prompts Group on Facebook by Author Leland Lydecker:

You've lived in this slum all your life, staring up at the towers of wealth and affluence above and longing for the kind of life where you have clean running water and enough to eat. While hunting for another job, you stumble across a posting for a R&D position with the city's largest cybernetics manufacturer.

The pay is a small fortune in your eyes, and the only required qualification is the ability to pass a physical health exam. One line in the small print catches your eye as you press the button to sign up: "CyberTech Corp now removes the pain receptors of all its R&D subjects in accordance with UN regulations regarding human testing."

How does the new job work out for you?

https://www.facebook.com/LelandLydecker/photos/a.1925095311102443.1073741828.1906593652952609/2028857987392841/?type=3

My Response:

I brush the roach off the computer screen and he falls to the floor behind the old desk. I hope I will never see him again, although it's certain that his family and friends will show up looking for handouts. They always do. Our douchebag landlord refuses to pay for an exterminator, and half the tenants in this dump are slobs. The roaches and the mice are the only living things that prosper here. Don't get me started on the peeling lead paint and the broken steps. The landlord has been jailed twice for these, but he always manages to avoid doing anything about them.

Now that the roach isn't distracting me, I can continue my online search for a job. I have searched through several websites so far and sent my resume to at least 10 places. I am now on a site that advertises jobs in research and development. I figure they won't be too choosy about hiring people to try out new products or new medications, and maybe I can make enough to move to a better hovel than the one I now occupy.

I scroll through a bunch of ads for men to test new anti-impotence drugs and women to test new perfumes. I am not a man, and I'm allergic to perfumes. One ad, though, makes me stop and read. CyberTech Corporation is looking for human test subjects. The pay is $50 per hour, with free lunches and free transportation. "Whoa!" I say to myself. I click on the link leading to the website of CyberTech, where I find more information about the job.

CyberTech plans to do some experimental research to see how much power can be derived from the human brain. For this they need subjects in good health who don't mind lying still for a few hours a day with a wired-up helmet on their heads. For $50 an hour I will do an upside-down pole dance while singing "New York, New York" and slapping myself on the head.

I am poised to click on the "Apply Here" button when my eye falls on some small print near the bottom of the screen that reads, "CyberTech Corp now removes the pain receptors of all its R&D subjects in accordance with UN regulations regarding human testing."

What the hell! Does that mean I'd be numb for the rest of my life? Would I be "mostly dead," like Westley in "The Princess Bride?" If I choose not to have my receptors removed, will I die in excruciating pain? If they remove my receptors, can they put them back after the experiment is over?

On the other hand, a pain-free life might not be so bad: no more headaches; no more backaches; no arthritis pain; etc.

"Okay," I say to myself, "$50 an hour, here I come. The die is cast."

I click the button, fill out the information and wait for them to get back to me.

Mr. Anderson's Birthday Party (A Halloween Short-Short Story)

Dear Sister Hilda:

I am submitting this for the English assignment you gave us, to write a story about something true.  You are going to think I am making all this up, but I’m not.  It really happened.  My Mom will back me up, if necessary.  Even my brother Patrick will back me up, because he won’t tell a lie to a nun.

Theresa McMahon

My parents love old houses.

When I was nine years old, Mom and Dad bought a corner lot in our little town “for a song.”  The lot had a peeling, two-story wood frame house with one of those big verandas that had a swing.  It took them almost a year to bring that old house up to where it could be inhabited again.  It cost them more to renovate that old fossil than they had paid to buy it. When they were finished, though, it was really lit.  Mom planted a flower garden, and Dad re-seeded the lawn.  We moved in right after my tenth birthday.

People would drive or walk by our house, stop and take pictures.  “You should see what the McMahons have done to the old Wilkerson house!  It’s a miracle!” was what everyone was saying.  This got to be a real pain.

We had all heard the stories about the house being haunted, but nothing bad had ever happened there, and if there were any ghosts around, they didn’t seem to mind us or all the renovations.

One night, shortly after we moved in, I was in the bathroom, brushing my teeth after having washed my face, including the back of my neck and behind my ears (because Mom loved to pull surprise inspections).  I heard three loud POPs coming from the bathtub.  When I looked, I saw a tiny red bubble sneaking up through the drain and a yellow one trying to hang onto the faucet.  I screamed.

I heard loud footsteps on the stairway, and Mom and my little brother Patrick slammed into the bathroom.

“What is it?” screamed Mom.

All I could do was point to the bathtub.  By this time, it was filling with tiny bubbles of many bright colors, coming from the faucet and the drain.

“Shit!” said Patrick.  His mouth was hanging down about a foot.

“Don’t say that word!” said Mom.

Patrick managed to close his mouth and swallow.  “Sorry, Mom.  It just came out.”

“It must be coming through the pipes,” said Mom.  “We’ll have to go check them out.”  Mom is good in a crisis.

“You mean the pipes in the basement?” I asked.  “But Mom, it’s spooky down there!”

“You two won’t have to go down,” she said.  “I’ll go down.  You’ll just have to stand at the top of the stairs, hold the door open so I can run up fast if I have to and keep a flashlight ready, just in case.”

“Well, okay,” I said.  “But maybe we should call the Psychic Hotline or something first.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Sorry.”

We ran down to the basement – well, Mom ran down to the basement.  Patrick and I just kind of hobbled downstairs and fell over each other on the way to the basement door, trying not to get there too fast.

“Move, you little zit!”

“YOU move!”

We finally reached the basement door, where Mom was waiting for us.  We remained at the top of the basement steps while she went down into the darkness.  For some stupid reason, the light switch is at the bottom of the stairs.

Mom turned on the light.  This made the space even spookier.  It was so quiet I could hear Patrick breathing behind me.  Mom went over and inspected the pipes, but didn’t find anything.  She couldn’t find anything by the boiler, either.

“There’s nothing down here,” she said.  “I guess I’ll just have to call a plumber in the morning.”

She turned off the light and started to come back up the steps.  She was stopped dead by a voice that whispered, “Mrs. McMahon?”

Mom whipped around and turned the light on again.  “Who’s there?” she demanded.

“It’s only I,” said the voice, and a middle-aged woman in a long, pale dress suddenly appeared at the other end of the basement.

All three of us screamed.

“I am so sorry,” said the woman.  “I keep forgetting that one mustn’t materialize so quickly in front of people who are still living in their bodies.  Please forgive me.”

“Who are you?” asked Mom.

“Oh, where are my manners!  I am Rachel Wilkerson.  This was my family home.  We all perished in the influenza pandemic of 1918.  My sister Leah and I were the last ones to die.  She’s here, too.  Leah, come and materialize.  We have visitors.”

Another voice answered, “I can’t.  I’m not dressed for receiving.”

“Oh, nonsense!  You’re a ghost!  Nobody cares how you look.  You’re keeping our visitors waiting!”

A head, two hands and two feet appeared.

“Leah, this is Mrs. McMahon and these are her two children.  They live here now.”

“I am pleased to meet you, Mrs. McMahon.”

“Uh, likewise, I’m sure,” said Mom.  “Can either one of you tell me why we are getting colored bubbles in our bathtub upstairs?”

“Oh, goodness!” said Leah.  Her two hands clapped both sides of her face.  “They must have gotten into the water somehow!  How awful!  It’s my fault.  You see, we are having a birthday party for poor Mr. Anderson …”

“The man up the street who died recently?” asked Mom.

“Yes, indeed,” said Leah.  “We felt so sorry for him because he never had a birthday party when he was alive, so we are giving him one now.  I was trying to make colored bubbles and I guess I did something wrong.”

“Don’t worry,” said Rachel.  “We won’t do that again.  You can live in peace.  In fact, we will be leaving soon.  We have been waiting all these years for someone to come and fix this house and make it beautiful again, and you have done a creditable job …”

“A wonderful job,” said Leah.

“Yes,” said Rachel.  “Leah and I have decided that it’s time for us to get a new evaluation and, hopefully, progress on our way to the heavenly realm.  We’ll be sure to say good-bye before we leave.”

With that, they both disappeared, leaving the basement as quiet as before, but a lot less spooky.

“That was Gucci!” said Patrick.

“It sure was!”  I said.

“Okay,” said Mom.  “That was enough excitement for one night.  To bed, both of you!”

Two weeks later, we found a note in our mailbox from Rachel and Leah, saying good-bye and thanking us for being good to their house.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Anderson,
wherever you are now!

A Perfect World

New Worlds to Conquer??

Imagine that now, in 2017 CE, we are living in a world where space travel to other galaxies is common.  New worlds inhabited by many kinds of life forms, including humanoids, are being found every year.  New technologies are being invented every month.  People can be transported from one place to another in ten seconds.  You get the idea.

Because it is embedded in their genetic code, the human beings who live on Earth are eager to explore, take over and rule any habitable planet whose indigenous population is capable of being overrun.  To this end, the United States and its allies, financed by a couple of global corporate conglomerates, have built and manned a large fleet of intergalactic space ships.

The Intergalactic Ship Empire has landed on a populated planet whose inhabitants call it Kikass, from an ancient word meaning “Dirt.”  It is an Earth-like planet with a nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere, an unspoiled place of great natural beauty, loaded with natural resources that the people of Earth can really use right now.  The people of Kikass are peaceful by nature, but they are known to become ferocious fighters when they have something to fight about, such as being invaded by aliens from Outer Space who are after their planet.

The Captain of The Empire’s name is Shirley Custer.  (His mother was a Shirley MacLaine fan who wanted a girl.)  Captain Custer has kidnapped the President of the largest country on Kikass.  Her name means “The Wise One,” so the officers and crew call her “President Wise.”  President Wise is a slim, elegant, middle-aged Kikassian with turquoise skin, cat-like ears and white hair.  Her people think she’s ugly, but they vote for her, anyway.

The Captain attempted to interrogate President Wise, but she wasn’t stupid and wouldn’t talk.  When the Captain blustered that he was going to set her whole planet on fire if she didn’t answer him, she smiled and said softly, “You’re probably going to do that anyway, you butt-faced fucker.”  The Universal Translator was set to gloss over obscenities, so the Captain missed the butt-faced fucker part, which would have upset him and everyone in his church back home.

It was now 2:00 Eastern Standard Time on Earth, and the Captain had an appointment for a videoconference with U.S. President No. 45, who was waiting in the Oval Office with a few hand-picked toadies, including Mike Pence, Jeff Sessions, Rick Perry and a middle-aged pole dancer named Busty Chanel, who was picked off the street after being seen worshipping a photograph of the President.

The connection went live right at the point where Captain Custer threatened President Wise and she responded with the butt-faced fucker remark.  Busty Chanel gave a loud whoop, startling everyone else in the room.

“Sorry,” said Busty.  “I’ve been studying Kikassian and I can read lips.  Ooh, what she called him!”

Because she was middle-aged and looked it, the men in the room found Busty uninteresting, so they ignored her.

Captain Custer turned his face to the video screen and beamed a huge smile.

“Greetings, Mr. President,” he said.  “I cannot tell you what a pleasure and honor it is to be speaking with you today.  I have traveled to many worlds, and have yet to meet a leader like you.”

“Hello, Captain Shirley,” said No. 45.

“Uh, Custer.  My name is Custer, Mr. President.  Captain Custer.  I’m Captain of The Intergalactic Ship Empire.”

“Okay.  So what do you want?”

“Well, uh … you called this conference, Mr. President.  I want whatever you want.”

Mike Pence leans over and whispers something in No. 45’s ear.

“Is that what this is about?” asked No. 45.

“Yes,” said Mike Pence.  “We sent an intergalactic spaceship to Planet Kikass last month.  They are supposed to bring useless stuff to trade to the inhabitants, frighten them, overpower them.  You know.  The usual.”

“Did we get anything out of that?”

“That’s what the Captain will tell us, Mr. President,” said Mike Pence.  His face was covered with the biggest fake smile he could muster.  He was kissing some industrial-sized ass.

“So Captain Whatever-Your-Name-Is, what have you been doing the last four weeks?” asked No. 45.

“Mr. President, the operation has been a huge success.  We landed on Kikass a month ago.  We tried to gain their confidence by trading the stuff we brought, but the natives just laughed at us.  Apparently, nobody wants gold-tone chains, Earth rocks and canned air in exchange for land.  They offered to pay us the equivalent of $2 for the whole lot.  We tried frightening them with loud noises and displays of fire power, but they have a well-equipped army, navy and air force here, as well as a space program as advanced as ours.  I was almost convinced that we had invaded the wrong planet, but then we lucked out.  We managed to kidnap President Wise here.  She’s the President of the largest, most powerful country on the planet.  I think we have a good bargaining chip here now.  Her people love her.  If we say we’ll kill her or something, they’ll give us anything.”

“Are you saying we can’t just go in and bomb the place to smithereens and take it over?”  No. 45 was shouting now.  “How am I supposed to make America great again if we can’t even take over one planet way out there in space somewhere?”

There was an audible murmur in the conference room, topped by Mike Pence saying, “That is absolutely right, Mr. President.”

“This man is a god,” piped up Busty, “Just like the Roman emperors in old times.”

Jeff Sessions was about to shout “Hail, Trump,” but he was stopped short by President Wise, who finally spoke up.

“Okay, you bunch of idiots,” she said as she stood up and faced the video screen.  “Listen to me, and listen well!  You can kill me and it won’t make a difference.  My Vice President is well informed and very capable of taking over my office, and he will.  We have a Parliament that works together, and they will be happy to mobilize all our forces to drive you out of here, which should take us about 20 minutes, because our army, navy, air force and space program people all work together and we’re better than you are.  Nobody will want you to take over our planet because life is good here.  There haven’t been any wars in 200 years, unless you count a few stupid invasions like yours.  We kicked them all out fast, by the way.  Our economy is in great shape.  We have very little crime, and almost no violent crime.  Our jails became so empty that we closed them all and put all our criminals on house arrest.  So why would we let you come in here?  The answer is, WE WON’T.  You’ll be very sorry if you try.  Now, if you want to send tourists here, that’s different.  That you can do, if they all behave themselves while they’re here, spend their money, then go back home.  If you still want to invade us, be warned.  We’re ready for you.”

President Wise sat down again.  There was silence in the conference room on the other end.

“Whose idiot idea was it to invade that place?” shouted No. 45.

Nobody answered.  The other men looked at No. 45 warily under bowed heads.

“We were all misinformed, Mr. President,” said Rick Perry.  “Nobody gave us the right data about Kikass.  So when you told us to invade it, we thought it was a good idea at the time.”

“Well, get us out of there!” shouted No. 45.  He turned to Rick Perry and said, “You are trying to say it was my idea?  You’re fired!”

No. 45 stomped out of the conference room.