by Quintin
The benefactors are afraid to take a chance on Dr. Adam Kirschner, with good reason. He’s safe, almost benign. With so much money being recouped on television appearances, why go with a middle-aged guy that can’t even dye his hair because he’s bald? His theories are logically sound, but boring. Give me shock value. Give me a “Vegetarian T-Rex.” For what it’s worth, I recommend the board not fund Dr. Kirschner’s dig. His blandness is a threat to paleontologists looking to get further funding for their own sites. In a world of Kardashians and Ancient Aliens, Dr. Kirschner is extinct.
by Quintin
As far as inanimate objects go, Rake was fairly impatient. He had watched Shovel left out all winter to rust, only to be thrown away during the springtime “bulk pickup” garbage day. What a waste, considering his five years of service. Five solid years of digging ditches and, on bad days, smashing rats in the basement. Shovel was a cool customer. Rake wasn’t nearly that zen.
But now, on the front lawn, the master’s little boy approaches. Any way it goes down, it’s going to end poorly. Master’s fault for not cutting the grass.
“This is for Shovel,” thought Rake.
by Quintin
The card had warped, its edges worn together after sitting in a damp box. The last place Reggie expected to see it was at the bottom of an old box of comic books, themselves soggy and swollen from multiple floods. He had never bothered opening it. Nothing would have made it better then. But in the dark of the storage unit, maybe everything would be OK now.
The message was a simple, “Happy Birthday.” The check in the amount of ten dollars was in surprisingly good shape. Reggie ripped up the check and tossed the card back into the box.
by Quintin
The interview process had been especially grueling. It was always a crap shoot with web companies. They could be as strict or loose as those ends of the spectrum allowed. But this was different.
Across from Edith was a large monitor. It was blank when she walked in, but after she seated herself, it began displaying questions. She saw neither a human operator nor a microphone.
“Why do you want to work for American Stitcher Dot Com?”
“What is your greatest strength/weakness.”
“ERROR_90675617-UNABLE TO LOCATE EMPLOYMENT.”
Edith left the room and wondered if all management software was this rude.
by Quintin
The first symptom is just some minor skin irritation. There’s no reason why, even days into it, you wouldn’t think it was a minor case of poison iridiak or some mogwat bites. But by the end of the first month, it gets into the blood. By then, the rash is gone. Friends and family won’t know why you’re acting weird. It tweaks you slightly.
It’s why so many insulation installers on the station had spaced themselves. They get the itch and whatever it is, in the blood, makes them think the vacuum is as comfortable as a big fluffy pillow.
Paper Dinosaurs
The benefactors are afraid to take a chance on Dr. Adam Kirschner, with good reason. He’s safe, almost benign. With so much money being recouped on television appearances, why go with a middle-aged guy that can’t even dye his hair because he’s bald? His theories are logically sound, but boring. Give me shock value. Give me a “Vegetarian T-Rex.” For what it’s worth, I recommend the board not fund Dr. Kirschner’s dig. His blandness is a threat to paleontologists looking to get further funding for their own sites. In a world of Kardashians and Ancient Aliens, Dr. Kirschner is extinct.