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Hello, hello, hello. My fellow rageaholics.
Show 5. Show 5? I dunno, I guess.
I can hear them out there screaming right now, “It’s not unknowable! It’s not unknowable!”
Are you sure?
Welcome. Good evening. Thank you for coming to this, our humble abode, our Alien Night Club.
Do you guys call us aliens?
I was going to come out here and talk about ballooning. That was part of my pre-show prep. I thought about ballooning. Hot-air ballooning.
But I also want to talk about 5 Gum. Why is it number five?
Which is the same number of this show, by the way….
Five.
Cue Twilight Zone theme.
You guys don’t even know what that is, do you? I’m sorry.
The fact that you guys have never gotten to experience The Twilight Zone makes me feel kind of angry. But I’m not sure what I’m angry at. And it’s kind of disturbing.
Anyway, meanwhile, in an alien night club….
Just kidding.
Anyway, The Twilight Zone was a television show, a piece of audiovisual entertainment that was created on Earth in the 1960s. I wanna say ‘63, but I’m not sure. By the way, when you are writing and you need to write a date, like 1963, and you want to abbreviate it and make it shorter so it’s only two numbers instead of four – always spell out numbers zero through nine, by the way – when you do that, when you write the date as two numbers, make sure to put an apostrophe in front of or to the left of the first number. This is to signify that something is missing. Like when you write is not as isn’t. You put the apostrophe in there to signify that the O is missing. Likewise on the date. The apostrophe is there to signify that something is missing, in this case the 19; the first two numbers.
And here’s the kicker: make sure that fuckin apostrophe points left.
Okay?
Not right.
Right is wrong. And it looks stupid. So everyone get it through your heads now, please, put it there and make it face left. The way you do this is by typing – and hold on to your doorknobs or patience or whatever because this process IS a pain in the ass, but you have to do it if you want your writing to be correct. Otherwise the rest of us see it and think, to quote Hermione, “What an idiot. This person doesn’t know how to write dates properly.”
And it’s not a HUGE deal but it definitely tells us something about you. Something rather profound. And the something is that you’re not all that linguistically inclined, which suggests that school and academics wasn’t really your forte. And you’re probably a super-swell person and we could probably be friends, but you might be a little….
I don’t want to say it.
I was going to say dumb but that’s mean. So…uneducated? Or just, as Chandler said to Joey, “We just don’t think of you as being so much…with the words.”
Matthew Perry, good sir, you nailed that. That was perfect. So honestly diplomatic. Or diplomatically honest. Whichever.
So either you’re not so much…with the words or you’re just kinda lazy.
I mean, we’re all lazy to a degree. I know I am. I like to lie around all day, high as fuck, creating art and entertainment to share with y’all. Hopefully so I can entertain you for a little bit and tell you a story that is going to suck you in and make you really want to find out the end. If I can do that, I will have done my job. But so far, it’s not lookin too good.
Insert awkward high-pitched highlaugh here. And yes, highlaugh is one word.
Anyway, getting back to the matter at hand: the typing of the date.
When you want to type the date as two numbers, first type a letter, any letter on your keyboard. I usually do an L because it’s right there on the right side of the keyboard and easy to type and then delete, which is what you have to do.
Type the L. Doesn’t have to be a capital L, but it can be if you want it to be. It’s one extra finger stroke. But feel free if you like seeing the Capital L.
Cue Sam Jackson shouting out “Capital Motherfuckin L. What’s in your wallet? Besides a naked Polaroid of your significant other?”
Cue The Hot Fudge Sundaes hitting a sweet sexy riff bounce. By the way, a riff bounce is when everyone riffs and it makes that ta-tah! sound on the drums, like to underscore a punchline told by the emcee. Like when Ross gave a speech at Mindy’s wedding and he and the drummer had that thing. So it’s like a riff that bounces off the floor and fills the air, changing all of our lives forever, now that we’ve heard that delectable chocolatey sound.
Who’s got the sexiest Black voice?
Please say: If you’re achin’ for that delectable chocolatey sound, and you just gotta have it inside you, check out The Hot Fudge Sundaes.
And then we cut to The Hot Fudge Sundaes playing live and making love to your ears with their delectable chocolatey sound.
That’s the name of their first album, by the way:
Delectable Chocolatey Sound.
That one’s mine, you can’t have it. Don’t take it. It’s not a 3%. It’s a way-more-than-that-er. Like thirds, at least. And probably more like halvsies. I love that idea. So if you love it too, let’s talk. We will definitely work something out. I promise you. Unless you come charging in like a fuckin alpha gorilla grizzly bear motherfucker, I’m not going to respond well to that.
I’m telling you right now.
I won’t like it. I’ll feel like you are attacking me.
So what do you do when a wild animal that’s a lot bigger than you charges you and attacks you?
You run the fuck away. You run like hell. Even if you’re not supposed to, because that might entice them to chase you, I’m still going to feel compelled to run away from you. I won’t want to do business with you.
That’s how it is in business, right? You really only do business with people you trust. People you know. Or whom you get to know. And you go through that whole get-to-know-ya process so you can decide if they’re shitty people or not. Hopefully they’re not shitty people. Hopefully, they’re GOOD people. People we would come to consider friends.
And that’s a big thing, boys and girls.
Take it from me, a person with very few friends.
I’m not sure why it ended up that way. Or maybe it’s all in my imagination. But that is the way it seems to be. I’ve always been the one reaching out. I reach out to people and they either get back to me after several days or a week or two weeks or three weeks, always with some song and dance about how busy they’ve been, and it’s always bullshit, or they don’t. And it always hurts my feelings. And I got really tired of that. So I stopped doing it. I stopped reaching out.
Because fuck it.
What am I, chopped liver?
I have my inner people. That’s all that matters.
But yeah, back to business. That’s how I’ve always viewed it. I admit I’ve done almost zero actual business in my life. So I may have absolutely no idea what I am talking about.
But if you want to do business with me, be cool. Be real. Be yourself.
That’s a big one.
Be yourself. And be kind. That’s kind of a no-brainer.
But for Delectable Chocolatey Sound, let’s talk. I might be able to give you a special rate. I’m pretty generous.
So, anyway, do you guys remember what we were talking about?
Before we ventured off into the land of alpha gorilla grizzly bears?
We were talking about how to correctly write the date.
And the procedure for implementing the left-facing apostrophe. Type a letter, type the apostrophe, and then the two numbers. In our case it was 63.
Then–
And here’s the kicker, go back and delete the first letter. Delete that Capital Fuckin L.
Thereby tricking the stupid software to display the truncated, abbreviated date PROPERLY.
I’ve always thought it was so stupid that I have to do that. Hey Bill Gates, why do I have to do that? Hey Sergey Brin, why do I have to do that? Elon! Elon, my friend whom I’ve never met, my brother from another mother – I love that expression – please, tweet the solution: It shall be taken care of forthwith; within a fortnight.
And less than two weeks later – because that’s what a fortnight is: 14 days; or more like 14 NIGHTS. Fort…nights. For…. Like forty. Aka 40.
Otherwise known as 40.
Otherwise known as 40.
Otherwise known as 40.
No, you’re not late to the party.
If that’s how old you were
when you got your first pubic hair,
No, you’re not late to the party.
Now shut up and drink that forty.
Because oh look, here comes shorty.
Etc etc etc. And by the way, it’s not eck-cetera with a K sound. It’s et-cetera with a T sound. E-T. Et cetera. ET phone home! Poor guy. Lying down there in that ditch, down in that riverbed, all cold and discolored. Probably dreaming about Reese’s Pieces.
Okay, that one, Otherwise Known as 40, for some reason, I see and hear Ice Cube doing it. Ice Cube, that one’s for you. If you want to lay it down, you let me know. Do not be shy. I think we’ll have a good time. You’re kind of a scary motherfucker, which is either real or personified. But you’re either legit from the streets…or you’re a master thespian. You might be both. I think you are. It’s just that I don’t know you, you don’t know me, we’ve never met, and know pretty much nothing about each other. Especially since you’ve never even heard of me. You were probably all like, “Who?!” Your voice probably went up and got kinda high pitched when you said it, too, such was your consternation at the at the…the…what do you call it? Presumptuousness. The presumptuousness of this stranger. This usurper. Presumptuousness. Not to be confused with voluptuousness. Which usually refers to someone’s curves in a way that suggests you’re attracted to them.
Yeah, that’s about right.
But anyway, we’re clear on the writing of the date? You guys got it? You’re smart, I know you’ve got it.
And if you’re reading this, I hope the apostrophes are pointing in the proper direction. But they’re probably not.
And by the way, while we’re in the vicinity, aircraft is already plural. There’s no S on the end if there is more than one. It’s one aircraft, two aircraft, three aircraft, et cetera.
It is not one aircraft, two aircrafts, three aircrafts. Okay? That’s wrong. It’s just aircraft. Fifty motherfuckin aircraft.
And we need to talk about motherfuckin. It’s lacking some much-needed context.
As for aircraft, I think the trouble all began when Phoebe and Ross were debating Evolution. And Phoebe said that line about the aliens steering their spacecrafts.
And she said it wrong.
Not the line; the word. I have no idea how the line was written. If they wrote it for Lisa Kudrow to SAY aircrafts, with a really prominent, totally incorrect but more funnier S on the end. They may have. It fits nicely with Phoebe’s persona. That she would say that. And I get the idea that Lisa Kudrow knew the proper usage – there’s that word again: usage; oh I love swinging around my four-pound dick…
If you can shove ten pounds of shit into a five-pound bag, can you roll a four-pound dick into a two-pound condom? Adam, Jamie, Kari, Tory, — Grant, we love you and miss you — want to test that one?
I think Lisa knew what she was saying. Everyone on set knew what she was saying. Well, maybe not everyone. But I’d like to think all the actors did. And Marta and David and whomever else was there producing that day. Certainly the writers.
The writers were probably in the writers’ room several days prior working on the script and they got to that scene and someone said to have her say spacecrafts.
And then everyone was all like, That’s wrong.
And they were like, I know; that’s the point.
And they laughed knowing an entire generation was going to be raised thinking spacecrafts is correct.
When it so motherfuckin much is not. Even if it is more funnier.
But it is the reason why I see it written incorrectly in conspicuous places, such as the descriptions of movies on places like Amazon Prime Video and Netflix. I see so many typos in your guys’ movie and show descriptions it’s embarrassing. I’m embarrassed for you guys.
Okay, back to aliens, ballooning, and 5 Gum.
That would be a good chapter for a book: Aliens, Ballooning, and 5 Gum
Or perhaps a song by The Hot Fudge Sundaes.
Cue sexy Black voice: And here they are, with their smooth, delectable chocolatey sound, The Hot Fudge Sundaes.
Did you know I have a Frozen toothbrush? Not a toothbrush that is cold or frozen. But a branded Frozen toothbrush like from the movies. With Ana and Elsa. And I don't even know which is which. Who is who. But I needed a new electric toothbrush and that was all they had.
Bowling shoes.
When you go to the store to buy clothes and you try them on, how many people tried that item on before you?
That shirt, blouse, skirt, pair of jeans, shoes, g-string….
They're like bowling shoes. That you rent. At a bowling alley. The smelly kind. I've tried on jeans that had a poop smell. It wasn't actually poop. I hope. There was something weird about the denim and the chemicals used to dye it or to stain the jeans. It was a weird combination of feces, human feces, and formaldehyde. Chemically. It made me think: this is what a weird form of bacteria smells like. It was not a natural smell. Meaning that it didn't come from nature.
You ever seen an old man at the mall shopping at a pop-up clothing boutique and he's standing there with no shirt on because he's in the middle of trying on a tight plum-colored sweater?
And you watch him do it three times. I don't think this guy is shopping. I don't think he needs that sweater. I think he just likes getting naked at the mall. Being old is your ultimate Get Out of Jail Free card. It allows you to do all kinds of shit. Johnny Knoxville proved that.
Go to another country and go to the mall. Go where the locals go. See what that's like. And it can be any country you like. Whichever one you're most drawn to. Don't let yourself get sucked into the black hole of jingoism. There’s plenty of very sweet, very smart, very kind people everywhere on Earth. Just like there are here tonight. Thank you for being such a kind audience.
Back on Earth, when I was shooting spaghetti up my ass and then almost drowning in a giant tank of it, people were so mean. They weren’t kind at all. I would talk to people in the live chat during my show and they were so mean. It didn’t matter what I did or how much I suffered or how much I made them laugh. They would just say, Shut the fuck up and do it. Maybe they were laughing and weren’t intending to be cruel. Mean. Callous. Heartless. Maybe they didn’t mean to hurt my feelings. Maybe they didn’t know they were doing it. But they were. But what could I do? What can any of us do? I wasn’t sure. So I just did what they told me. I shut the fuck up and did it.
Nike should make a shirt like that.
Hey, Nike! Make a shirt like that. Take the Just Do it and then cross it out and write underneath it in fucked-up lettering that conveys great effort, hardship, endurance, and suffering, and have it say:
I shut the fuck up and JUST DID IT.
Or perhaps a clean version but only because it will sell better:
JUST DID IT.
Nike, if you use that slogan, 3%. Deal? Design, production, and sale of any Nike products worldwide, on Earth, as well as any other locales, both geographical and ephemeral/otherworldly, shall constitute acceptance of this contract and complete agreement to the terms outlined herein, namely that you, Nike, and all subsidiary brands, partners, etc., both presently in existence as well as those yet to come into existence, agree to share profits, revenues, monies, etc., from the sale of said JUST DID IT products with ME, Captain Blank, in perpetuity. Thanks, you’re awesome, love your work, keep it up.
In other words, just do it. Because 3% of that would be bonkers. And would come in very handy someday when I head home for a little visit and suddenly me and Jeff and Elon and Warren can get together and laugh over how nuts life is.
And anyone else, other than Nike, maybe Under Armor or Adidas or Reebok or whomever, Dana, same deal: 3%.
Same contract above applies.
Just remember, it’s good karma.
Karma is real and it matters, folks. For those of you here tonight who may not be absolutely certain what karma is, think of it like a boomerang. A boomerang of positive energy. Or negative energy. Depending on what you put out there. If you are kind and considerate to people in the world, that same kind and considerate energy will come back to you. But if you’re a fuckin dick, expect to feel like you’re getting fucked by a huge stinky dick. I will refer you now to the bar scene in Team America wherein they discuss ad nauseam — oh so very, very ad nauseam — pussies, assholes, and dicks. But I don’t want to incur some sort of pangalactic copyright violation so I’ll leave it at that. If you know, you know. If you don’t know, watch that movie. Preferably while a little baked. It’s zany and whacky but it’s also food for thought. Brought to you by marionettes. Talk about a long lost artform. Wow. Puppeteering.
And boomerangs. I believe native peoples of Australia and perhaps New Zealand used boomerangs first. I’m sure a lot still do. A boomerang is a curved stick that you throw for hunting. If you hit your target, you run over and grab it. Then you pick up your boomerang, drag the thing back to camp, cook it over a fire, and have a feast. And if you miss, the boomerang comes back to you. It flies through the air in a giant weird up and down circle and comes back to you. So you can catch it and throw it again. Think about the process involved in that: inventing the boomerang.
Cue Sexy Black Voice:
And here once again, for your listening pleasure, back to do another of their greatest hits, The Hot Fudge Sundaes performing Inventing the Boomerang. With a special guest appearance from Jackson Heights’ very own Randy Watson, front man of the beloved soul group Sexual Chocolate.
Boomerangs.
Boomerang.
Eddie Murphy.
Blue people.
Avatar.
James Cameron.
Souls entwined forever.
That’s actually very beautiful.
And the sensation must be off the chart. The closeness and togetherness, the sharing. Imagine locking eyes with a banshee and entwining your tails, so you become like one organism. Kind of like when you get really good at parking your car in tight spaces without hitting anything around you, and when you get out to look to see how much room you have between you and the car parked in front of you, and it’s like a centimeter; it’s like a quarter of an inch. And it’s nuts that you were able to gel with your vehicle so intimately. Now imagine that it’s a banshee and it’s alive and it can fly and do all kinds of crazy aerobatic maneuvers. It can fly through the forest, below treetop level without hitting any branches. It can fly through caves. It can fly around those giant floating cliffs. And it’s totally exhilarating to be on the back, with no fear at all.
Blue people. High as fuck.
Speaking of high as fuck, did you guys know that Michael Jackson liked to have a paralytic injected into him? He liked two things: some sort of narcotic, like morphine or something, to make him feel good, and a paralytic drug like they give you before they do surgery on you. Before they operate on you. Because while you’re lying there on the table and two or three or four people are standing there looking at your insides, with their hands and fingers and tools inside you, they really hope you don’t twitch. Or start screaming like the girl Chandler met at the sleep clinic, but only because Joey was asleep. If you do that during a surgery, they’ll cut you. And you could bleed out.
So they give you a paralytic. The anaesthesiologist is back there squirting all kinds of shit into your I.V. trying to keep you alive and breathing and stable. So they make it so that you can’t move.
And Michael Jackson liked it when he couldn’t move. And I think it’s because he had spent his whole life feeling like he had to dance. He had to move. When he was a kid in The Jackson Five with his siblings, their dad was their manager and he didn’t fuck around. He knew what it took to create a successful band, a supergroup, a product that people would buy. And he was probably too hard on his children at times. But look what he created. Look what that family accomplished. So no wonder Michael wanted to be high and unable to move. That was the only way he could rest.
The Jackson Five. Not to be confused with 5 Gum.
Speaking of 5 Gum, you guys remember Fox Force 5? From Pulp Fiction. It was the pilot Mia Wallace starred in. The one where she was going to tell a joke in each week’s show. But the show didn’t get picked up so they only made that one show and based off the strength of that one show, they decided not to make more shows.
What’s in your wallet?
Point being that I have an idea I would love to see come to fruition. Not sure if this is a three percenter or not, but it’s called–
You know what?
I’m going to hang onto that one. I just remembered that I already have plans for it. So you’ll have to wait and see. I’ll let you guys know when I put it out. I’m not sure yet when that’ll be. But I’ll let you know. I’ll give you a hint as to where to find it. It will be in Book Four. It has to do with iron.
Sexual Chocolate!
You guys remember the opening scene of the first Terminator? Arnold did full frontal. And Bill Paxton had a blue mohawk. Pretty sure that was before Weird Science. Definitely before True Lies. Also a James Cameron-directed film. How great was Jamie Lee in that, huh? Whoa. And Tom Arnold, too. He was great. “So your wife’s banging a used car salesman, it’s humiliating, believe me, I know. But Goddamnit, take it like a man.” Bill Paxton was in that, too. “I’m naval lint.” For years I thought he was saying navalent. To quote Monica, again, “That’s not even a word!” Bill Paxton was in Aliens, too. It’s game over, man, it’s just game over.
Rest in peace, Billy. We love you.
But back to our original question of the evening: do you guys call us aliens? Are humans aliens? Because to humans, aliens are aliens. But to you, maybe aliens aren’t aliens. You just call them…whatever it is you call them. Like when Joey told Ross to go to China to forget about Rachel and to eat Chinese food. And Chandler said, Of course there, they just call it food.
That’s an excellent point. Incisive. Remember in Big with Tom Hanks when she said incisive and he didn’t know what the word meant because he was only 12 despite being in a man’s body? And he silently mouthed the word Incisive, to show us that he didn’t know what it meant, either. It means insightful, by the way. Like something that really gets to the heart of the matter in a succinct, insightful way. In a cutting way. Incisive. To incise. Like Dan Aykroyd said in Spies Like Us when he had to do surgery on that guy when they were out in the desert someplace and he was not a surgeon, not even a doctor. And Chevy Chase was all like, Cut the sucker.
In other words, Just Do It.
Be incisive. Cut to the heart of the matter. Like your incisors, which are your teeth that are used for biting through things. As opposed to your molars which are used for crushing and grinding.
So go ahead, be incisive. Don’t dilly dally, as my mom would say.
Sexual Chocolate!
What’s in your wallet?
Did you guys ever see when Mel Gibson was on David Letterman for Braveheart and they were talking about kilts and Dave asked Mel if the men wore underwear. And Mel told a story about when he first got to Scotland and was with the real Scotsmen and he asked them what they wear under their kilts and the Scotsman replied, “Your wife’s lipstick.”
What do you say to that?
What do you do when a person who could definitely kick your ass insults you? And was it actually an insult? Or are they just screwing around and testing you? And if you get your panties in a bunch and want to fight, they’ll know you’re a ninny. But if you laugh, you’ll show them that you can take a bit of good-natured ribbing, a bit of teasing, that you’re thick-skinned. That you’re fun to have around.
What kind of person do you want to be?
So I conjured some 5 Gum out of the tiny subatomic Ant Man universe. Tastes the same. Tastes exactly like it’s supposed to. Do you remember in The Fly, the remake of the ’50s version, the one with Gina Davis and Jeff Goldblum? He played a scientist working on inventing a transporter. Like in Star Trek. A real one. And she plays a journalist he allows to come and document the whole process for posterity. So he shows her back to his industrial loft apartment back before industrial loft apartments filled to the fucking brim with mason jars, grey Chesterfields, and overpriced shabby-chic crap were all the fucking rage.
And in that apartment, he has two pods that look like big mushroom caps, connected to a computer terminal and to each other with several lengths of big, fat, heavy-duty-looking black cables. And he puts an object in one pod, does the hokey pokey on the computer, there’s a flash of light, and the object appears in the other pod. Easy peasy.
So he tries it with a baboon.
But the computer gets confused and when it energetically disassembles the monkey and emails it to the new pod and reassembles its atoms, it gets confused and the monkey is sort of inside-out.
So Jeff Goldblum fiddles with the computer and transports a steak. First, he takes it out of the fridge and cuts it in half. He transports half of it. Then he cooks both pieces. Only after cleaning up the monkey guts, by the way, except they don’t show that part. They skipped the part where he’s in there with an apron and gloves like he’s about to cook some meth, scooping goop into a big black trash bag. I hope the baboon didn’t suffer. And where does one get a baboon? Why wouldn’t he use something easier to procure? Like a hamster?
Anyway, after he transports half the steak and cooks both halves, he asks Gina Davis to taste both steaks.
They begin with the regular, non-teleported steak.
She says, “It could use some finesse but it tastes like a steak.”
They then move onto the teleported steak.
She is hesitant, of course, because, in her words, “A monkey just came apart in there.” And Jeff Goldblum reminds her that it was a baboon, not a monkey, and politely asks her to eat.
She puts the transported meat in her mouth and begins to chew it.
Immediately, she gets disgusted and spits it out. He asks her what’s wrong. She says it tastes funny somehow, like…synthetic.
And Jeff has – cue Sam Jackson again – what alcoholics refer to as a moment of clarity.
He realizes that the computer does not go crazy over the flesh the way people do, like old women kissing babies. So he teaches the computer to be crazy over the flesh.
What happens after that I will leave to you to discover. Right after Team America does…all the things they do.
Point being that the 5 Gum tastes as it should and not synthetic or like an inside-out monkey-slash-stroke-thank-you-James-May-baboon.
Imagine inventing a teleporter. A real one. It would completely revolutionize travel. No more cars. No more buses. No more airplanes. Everyone would travel via teleportation. Cars and buses and airplanes would still exist but it would be mostly for fun, like horses and carriages. We would all have a teleportation station near where we lived or in our actual house.
Cue Sexy Black Voice: And now, back to perform their hit song Teleportation Station, The Hot Fudge Sundaes. So sit back, relax, and let those delectable chocolatey sounds make sweet, sweet love to your ears.
And then the lyrics would be something about teleportation and technology and how we went from primitive people living in caves to the Industrial Revolution to flying around the world on airplanes with tiny supercomputers in our pockets and purses and now we can teleport anywhere on Earth in a few seconds.
And no matter what you tell them, there are still people who are suspicious of the technology and refuse to use it because they are convinced that teleportation is equivalent to suicide and that’s a sin. Plus, they don’t trust the government. So those people would probably stick with driving a car. Because the airlines would go out of business very quickly. Within 15 to 20 years, probably. Once the tech really became ubiquitous, like phones, and giant Love Boat spaceships, apparently.
Wouldn’t it be maddening? To have someone in your family who refuses to teleport? You’re all going to Orlando for the weekend to go to Magic Kingdom and you’re going to teleport from your house to the hotel lobby. And they refuse to do it. And there’s no way they can take four or five or six days to drive there. So they simply aren’t coming. They’re going to stay home. And miss out on the new Captain Marvel ride. The same one they have at Disney Tokyo. Only they haven’t been to that park, either, even though you guys all went a couple of months ago for the day, because they refuse to teleport.
Imagine if you got all your food teleported to your house. You order it on your phone or in virtual reality or whatever, maybe by using the screen on your refrigerator, and then all the stuff appears in the teleporter. And you get a notification telling you it’s been teleported. So instead of going to the front door to get your Amazon box, you go to the teleporter to get your groceries. Groceries the luddites refuse to eat.
Think about it.
It would create an entirely new class or culture. A group of people, many small groups of people most likely, who refuse to use teleportation. So they have to grow or raise all their own food. They would go back to an agrarian society. Like in the 1800s.
Meanwhile, you’ve got influencers doing teleportation challenges, seeing how many teleportations they can do in a single day, with the record being 1,124. That would be 46 per hour. That’s almost one a minute. Instead of 180 days, you could go around the world in a day.
Did you ever see that episode of Star Trek the Next Generation when Ryker and that other guy got stuck in the transporter stream? All five or six people step onto the pad to beam down but two of them don’t show up. And Ryker is one of them. And Geordi and Data and Captain Picard and Counselor Troi are all totally freaking out. It was a really good episode. I won’t spoil it for you. Add it to your list, right after Team America and The Fly.
So do you guys have teleportation here? If you do, I haven’t seen it. I’ve been walking everywhere. And Scotty didn’t beam me up from my dad’s house on Earth, either. The guy with the red face came and got me in a flying saucer.
Speaking of flying saucers, you guys ever heard of vital reaction?
Vital reaction is a physiological process that happens in your brain in the last few moments before death when you’re fighting for your life. All sorts of neurochemical processes are happening. Blood vessels dilate and things change in your brain. And these changes are visible during an autopsy. And coroners can use this as a clue as to what happened. A person who gets mauled by a bear will likely have vital reaction. A person who goes gently and peacefully in their sleep won’t.
So, many years ago, there was this family who lived out on a farm. Somewhere in Oklahoma or Iowa or something. They had a lot of land. And one day, the husband goes out on his four-wheeler to go mend a fence in the back 40 – forty for the shorty! – or to find some missing cattle or something. Whatever, I don’t remember exactly. Point is, he leaves the house and doesn’t come back.
So night comes and everyone is worried. His wife and kids are freaking out. It’s totally unlike dad to not come home. So they’re certain something is wrong. They call 911 or the sheriff or whomever and they come out and begin searching. They search everywhere. And they can’t find him.
In the morning, they resume the search. And it doesn’t take long before they find him.
Except for two weird things.
One, he’s up in a tree. Way up in the top of a big tree. A big, big tree. Too tall to climb. And he’s dead.
Two, he’s wearing a lady’s bathrobe.
They get a crane or a bucket truck or the fire department uses a ladder truck or whatever, but they get him down. They take him to the hospital and to the morgue, I guess. And everyone is trying to understand how he got up into that tree and why is he wearing a woman’s bathrobe.
The coroner does an autopsy and discovers clear-cut signs of vital reaction in the man’s brain. Which suggests he died terrified and in a fight-or-flight state.
The TLDR is that he was abducted by aliens, the aliens had abducted multiple people, including a woman in a bathrobe, and when they returned the people to their houses, they put them back in their clothes and kicked them out the door of the flying saucer. And because they’re aliens, they have no idea what clothes mean and who wears what. So they put the bath robe on him by mistake and kicked him out and he fell from a great height and died in the tree. And the vital reaction proves it.
Crazy.
American Ramstud. That is the name of the man who invented the teleporter and did so without turning any monkeys or baboons inside out. And he is the hero of our tale and the star of the hit song Teleportation Station as sung by The Hot Fudge Sundaes. Maybe he’s a cop who investigates teleportation-related crimes. Imagine the hackers trying to intercept teleportations. Piles of cash? Cargo planes full of cash? Or perhaps physical goods like gold and diamonds and Honeybaked Hams. Especially since there won’t be physical money in this hypothetical future. Only digital money. Controlled by the government. So the government can turn off your money whenever they want to. Are you an alcoholic? You won’t be allowed to buy booze. And having someone buy it for you will be a felony, for you and for them. Did you criticize the President in a tweet? Maybe they turn off your money a couple weeks before Christmas. Now what are you going to do? Go down to the Ministry of Money and grovel?
And American Ramstud brews his own boutique gin on the side, when he’s not investigating teleportationally-appropriated fur coats.
Imagine teleportation hijacking. Very, very bad people hack the stream and keep the travelers in stasis until a ransom is paid. Like malware on a computer.
What if no one pays? Ever?
Speaking of fur, do you guys have space cats up here? I have seen many, so I was just wondering. They look like Terran cats, by the way. Maybe they are.
Who else loves the band Bush?
Why did they name themselves that?
Is it because they, like me, saw Revenge of the Nerds when they were kids?
Actually, the A.I. told me it’s because the guys in the band used to live in a part of west London called Shepherd’s Bush. Which is still pretty funny if you ask me. Gavin, Nigel, is that true?
And now, dear friends, here, once again, to play us out, are the ultra-talented and even more sexy Hot Fudge Sundaes doing their hit song Sexual Chocolate.
Sexual Chocolate!
Okay, thank you, goodnight, everybody! Remember to tip your waitress.
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