#STORYTIME – BLOGHOP – “911”

It's time for another round of #Storytime Blog Hop fiction! Please be sure and check out these other terrific short stories, by these superb writers!

PARTICIPANTS
C. Lee McKenzie Beautiful
 Erica Damon Penance J. Q. Rose Sorry
 Elise VanCise Lady In The Woods Barbara Lund Spooky Space
Angela Wooldridge Quiet Neighbours Katharina Gerlach Australian Dream 
Karen Lynn The Waves at Midnight Sherri Conway Ants
 Elizabeth McCleary Over James Henry Wilcox Dead Body Canis Lupus The Picture
 Peg Fisher All In the Fall, a Fractured Fairytale Bill Bush Trapped
 Benjamin Thomas Autumn Cascade Crystal Collier Emily’s Ghost Juneta Key (placeholder)

“9-1-1, What is your emergency, please?” The woman on the on the other end of the phone sounded anxious, but not particularly scared, she may even have been said to have even sounded a bit sheepish, and , well, no small wonder later on, when everything got sorted out and stories were compared and various parties interviewed, for what seemed to have been a sorceress, or a “temptress”, or mayhap a delightful devil-may-care companion up for some Samhain, Halloween, or All Hallow's Eve shenanigans with her talking familiar, an alarmingly large soot-gray panther with glowing green eyes, who answered to the name of “Trotsky” and conversed with his mistress in Russian, it all sounded rather like, well, mass hypnosis, or as if several folks had tarried too long at the Cider Barrel at one particular high-rise, during the annual Halloween party. Except for the fact that this high-rise didn't have annual Halloween parties and the tenants weren't particularly prone to this kind of delusional thinking.

courtesy:furtech.dreamwidth.org                                 

Some called in saying they had seen a woman in a black ninja outfit with katanas, having sport with a giant cat-like, well, leopard up on the roof garden, and wasn't that just illegal to have a leopard out in the open, in public, like that?

An older woman called, saying that her next-door neighbor had visited for tea, a wonderful tea and brought cookies, along with her cat, and the cat had yowled a wonderful rendition of “Old Man River”, while the younger woman played piano, and now the old lady felt silly calling about it, but she was a bit dubious about a house-cat the size of a house, practically, because, when last she had seen Trotsky, he had seemed much, much smaller. The woman kind of petered out on the whole "send a prowl car" thing, when asked what she wanted to do; she felt rather sheepish about it all. The 911 operator sighed; it was obviously going to be a very long night. 

courtesy:pinterest                                        

A man called in flustered, because he claimed a temptress had tried to seduce him in the Laundry room in the basement and as they were about to embrace, he felt a cat winding itself around his legs, only he was afraid to look down, because the cat's tail felt HUGE, like a ship's docking rope and when he did look, OHOLYMARYMOTHEROFGOD!, he nearly fainted! He glimpsed feet the size of dinner plates! The temptress and familiar let out evil cackles and then. . . poofed away! In a puff of smoke. 

One of the many doctors who lived in the building called in, put out because he had gotten an on-call for an emergency to the nearby teaching hospital, and when he pushed the button to the elevator, the door opened, and a woman and a huge cat, or two little people in a leopard-costume, like a horse-costume only smaller, dressed in surgeon's whites jumped out. They both shouted “SURPRISE!!!” and then, they ran gleefully off down the hall. The doctor surmised from this that the leopard was real, as he didn't believe that two little people could run quite that fast, encumbered as they were by the leopard-suit clad in surgeon's whites.

The doctor said, “I know my residency has kept me pretty cloistered, but when did leopards evolve to the point that they could talk?”

The poor 911 operator, who by this time had had her fill of all of these calls answered him, “Sir, I'm not the National Geographic hot-line, nor a biologist, so I'm not up on that myself. I'll have a prowl car sent.”

The doctor, now in a huff, said, “Don't say the word “prowl”. It makes me feel like I'm “prey”.”

The 911 operator shot back, “Well fine! Why don't you just wait until I have Scully and Mulder sent out; this sounds like their bailiwick, anyway!”

courtesy:youtube.com                                        

  

To which the doctor riposted, “At least they don't prowl! So there!” The 911 operator rolled her eyes; people used to at least TRY to be witty.

It was turning into that kind of night, for everyone involved and it was just one high-rise building near one teaching hospital in one state. It just all seemed to devolve into one of those half-waking, half-sleeping states, where everyone seems either confused or delusional or both.

Nevertheless, all of this DID happen, on one certain H'ween eve, and no one is ever sure why it did happen, and as the Ann Arbor police would later say, “no harm, no foul, and the “alleged perp” ain't talkin'. As if a cat could talk.” The policeman then snorted and patted the gorgeous Russian Blue on his head and left the nice lady's apartment.

courtesy:me                                                                           

As soon as the door was closed, the nice lady turned and hissed at Trotsky in Russian, “What were you thinking? I told you we could NOT do this anymore! How could I let you talk me into this!”

The cat looked at her obdurately and yawned, and then as all spoiled rotten cats do, jumped up, grabbed her around the neck, nestled in and said, “Da.” Then switched to his patently horrid English. “Is okay. I have many fun; you too! No one hurt!”

She rolled her eyes and hugged him tighter. “You've been in this country HOW LONG? Would it kill you to learn a pronoun or three? What if someone doesn't think this is so funny and they catch you “changed” and you get killed? That will kill me! Yeah, yeah, I know it was all fun and games during the Russian Revolution, but folks're different here. They're scared of their own shadows. 'Sides they might miss you and shoot me, or some stupid thing.”

Trotsky pushed back from her throat and looked her square in the eyes; this was how she knew she had something “other” than just a cat, when she found him at three weeks old tottering up a dirt road; that striking intelligence. She had long ago learned to just go with whatever was tossed her way; there were far more many things unseen than seen and she'd quit asking questions at around age 25.

He looked at her searchingly for several minutes, huffed, and said, “You think you found me by accident? It was I found you. I knew you have heart of lion; take anything that come at you. Not wrong about that. You should not worry about me. It is I who worry about you; you take too many chances.”

She was aghast. “That is what life is; taking chances. Surely you know that and lived your life accordingly. We can have fun; always must have fun, but life is to be lived and if it means taking chances, we do.” She started to laugh; “Maybe we're just arguing the same point, here, but really, if you're going to shape-shift, choose something less alarming. Next time, chihuahua.”

Trotsky's eyes twinkled. “Bah! Decent sorceress no has chihuahua. Next time; Tiger!” He laid his head on her shoulder and fell asleep, purring.

courtesy:pinterest.com                                        

        

                                 

#ROW80 – 3RD QTR 2013 – SUNDAY CHECK IN – MUSINGS OF AN EX-CIGARET SMOKING WOMAN

"Musings of a Cigaret Smoking Man" Season 4, Episode 7

“I can kill you whenever I please, but not today.” This is the last line of one of the series of the fictional Jack Colquitt adventures, written under the nom de plume, Raul Bloodworth, also known variously, as the “Smoking Man,” “Cigaret Man,” and “Cancer Man,” delivered so very dispassionately, as he makes the decision to not kill one of the “Lone Gunmen,” Frohike, who has some dirt in the form of a cheap magazine article about the Smoking Man, in the “X-Files,” a superb television series that has become a cult classic.

Great show, stories and cast.

I had never seen the show ever, until last year on Hulu+ and then I pretty much binge-watched it. This one episode ranks among the best in terms of showcasing a character, who up until then has been portrayed as something purely evil, or is he?. He and Deep Throat, seem to be in the right places to pass information, or disinformation along that will keep Agent Mulder and occasionally, Agent Scully from being exposed of possessing as much knowledge as they do. The 2 graying men, also lead the agents up blind alleys and plant false clues to ameliorate the suspicions of their own higher ups, from J. Edgar Hoover to whoever is sitting in the President's chair. They play a dangerous game.

               CSM                                                                Deep Throat

As the Mr. Fix-It for any and every unfortunate political development; CSM as the Smoking man is referred to, he begins reminiscing over the course his life has taken and how he never really was able to become what he wanted to do, which was write. His dispassionate observations show him to be responsible for the deaths of JFK because of the Bay of Pigs. He is tapped by the Army in setting up Lee Harvey Oswald, in a scene straight out of "Apocalypse Now," superbly done. "Have you ever seen myself or this gentleman?..." Oswald, determined not to be the patsy, runs out of the theater and ends up shooting and killing a policeman, near Dealey Plaza; his only “real” crime. Jack Ruby and the aftermath of Oswald's arrest are never mentioned during the show's episode.

I was 7, when this happened. My father came home from work; it was a Friday and everything closed. The day of the funeral, my family and my uncle the Mad Scientist (Nuclear Physicist) and his family came over. We all cried.

When Martin Luther King, Jr. begins his call for the distribution of wealth - CSM does the honors because he still respects the man, but cannot support the idea of communism. This is in reference to his own father who was an ardent pro-Trotskyite, who ironically was assassinated on August 20, in 1940 in Mexico City, the day CSM was born only to be executed later in the US for treason – CSM has such a twisted code of honor, but this is oddly fitting; almost chivalrous.

1968 was a horrible year. 4 months after MLK's assassination,  RFK would be assassinated less than 10 miles from where I lived.  That past March had seen the disastrous TET offensive and proved that Robert McNamara and General Westmoreland had lied to the American public for years about the Viet Nam War. The casualties there were horrific. My father had always been calling them "assholes," and told me why, we should never have been there in the first damned place. Daddy was starting to hate his job; he provided logistics for the 37th largest corporation in the world, in weapons manufacturing. Why the FBI never showed up, I'll never... oh, that's right they did, but years later, for something else. Muhammad Ali was the only person telling the truth it seemed. Can you say radical much at our house?

Later, during the televised memorial, a eulogy is given for MLK, by RFK, who first says, “I understand this pain. I lost a member of my family, who was killed by a white man,” referring to James Earl Ray, who again, is never mentioned in this episode. RFK, who would die by the assassin, Sirhan Sirhan less than 4 months later, quotes Aeschylus: “Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon heart, until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awesome grace of God.”

The scene with RFK begins at 19:26 and it is poignant and chilling. The man who most certainly is responsible for MLK's death and presumable JFK's is well-read, and not necessarily untouched by what he's read. But the life is grinding him down.

CSM recites the passage along with him; the scene fades away on a single taradiddle, a symbol of the death of Robert Fitzgerald Kennedy. As MLK's eulogy was being televised, CSM is working on his latest Jack Colquitt adventure. He is a reluctant assassin; a tool, but once in, it's hard to get out. In reading the critics views and the other takes, some see CSM as a purely evil character, but it's not that simple and the portrayal of CSM is enigmatic enough to empathize with his assertion that he's “not a killer.” It is a powerful scene, and it only deepens the enigma that is CSM.

We see other wet ops and dirty tricks through CSM's eyes and the eyes of his compatriot, Deep Throat. Although played with dark humor and seeming contradictory behavior on the part of CSM, I prefer to see him as more of a tragic figure. One who does his masters' bidding, but would have rather tried to find more sophisticated means of trying to subvert MLK's agenda than killing him. When he is unable to convince his superiors, who are leftovers from the second World War, he takes it upon himself to do the deed. J. Edgar Hoover and the Chief of Staff come up with horrible ideas to slur King's integrity. CSM, loses complete composure and patience and tell them they are all unworthy and takes it upon himself to stop MLK. 

Once decided, he is told will be remembered by the President, CSM states “I work very hard to keep anyone from knowing my name.” He doesn't want to go down in history for his shameful acts, but he at least has the decency and intelligence to not besmirch MLK's reputation with white women and dirty tricks. During a speech by King, who utters, “That we as a people, will get to the promised land, my eyes have seen the coming of the promised land...” a gunshot rings out. It's terrible resonance echoes over the years.

The denoument comes when CSM and Deep Throat reminisce over a critically wounded E.T., that has crashed landed. According to U.N. Resolution 1013, any nation harboring an alien life form is responsible for it's extermination. CSM and Deep Throat argue about who is really the assassin and who will really make history, as it won't be them; no one knows their names. Deep Throat taunts CSM, telling him, “you're a killer, you're a dangerous man.” CSM defends himself saying, “I'm not a killer. I'm not the one who made the decisions.” This echoes back to the Nuremberg trials and how so many defenses of War Criminals began, “I did what I was told to do,” is so old and bad and wrong and CSM knows this. Even as he says this, it's a dispirited defense, as he looks down at the ground.

Who knows what they look like? I hear all of this about the greys and the big ones and there's a family of them that trample through my bedroom about once a week, but only when SETI@home, if offline. They look nothing like this, and I think they're ghost aliens. As long as they don't look like and have the personality of that bastard from the 1979 movie, "Alien," I'm cool.

They agree to flip a coin to decide who will kill the E.T. CSM wins the bet and Deep Throat readies himself to kill the creature. CSM no longer wants this responsibility and certainly does not want to exterminate an alien life form. He is increasingly becoming fed up, jaded, sick and feeling that his life has been ill-spent. Any idealism or patriotism has long been ground up by the lies and deceits that the government and his superiors have foisted upon him. CSM stands watching as Deep Throat walks into the chamber where the E. T. is on life support and conscious. It looks up at him, seemingly uncomprehendingly, as Deep Throat pulls the trigger and kills the creature.

CSM's one last out, he feels, is to have his work published. As he returns home to his crummy little apartment and picks up his mail, he walks over to his manual typewriter and opens his desk drawer, prepared to throw his most recent rejection letter in with the others, he stops and opens it. His story has been accepted and in his excitement, he calls the publisher who raves over his “Jack Colquitt adventure,” and says he want to publish it. CSM readily agrees, and the publisher explains that he may have to change a few things, “here and there,” after he finds out that CSM has no agent. CSM excitedly agrees and promptly writes a letter of resignation, to whatever agency he works for. He's just about to take out a cigaret, but instead, he crumples up the package and throws it away.

Another "rendering" of aliens in an episode "Jose Chung's From Outer Space." Roki and Lord Kinbote, all delivered with straight faces by the cast, which included Jesse Ventura and Alex Trebek. It did point out the fallacious nature of viewpoints and how we are easily swayed. 

Later, he goes to the newsstand and starts reading his article. He is dismayed to find that the publisher changed his ending and it ruined his whole story. The newsstand owner admonishes him, saying “Are you going to buy that?” CSM buys the magazine and a pack of Morley cigarets. He wanders off and sits down next to a homeless guy who has scored a box of half-eaten chocolates and gives this soliloquy:

"Life is like a box of chocolates. A cheap, thoughtless, perfunctory gift that nobody ever asks for. Unreturnable because all you get back is another box of chocolates. So you're stuck with this undefinable whipped mint crap that you mindlessly wolf down when there's nothing else left to eat. Sure, once in a while there's a peanut butter cup or an English toffee. But they're gone too fast and the taste is.. . fleeting. So, you end up with nothing but broken bits filled with hardened jelly and teeth-shattering nuts. And if you're desperate enough to eat those, all you got left is an empty box filled with useless brown paper wrappers."

The Lone Gunmen, who in spite of their borderline-Asperger Geekoid behavior, are terrifyingly gifted in all things spook-related. 

He takes back his resignation and stays with his Alphabet Agency, whoever they are. We never really know. He reminisces up to the point when Agent Scully joins the FBI, and then slips back to reality. The Lone Gunmen, knowing their place has been wire-tapped, and knowing that Frohike is most likely the target, have freaked out for the course of the episode, but we never really hear that, as they had deployed their own cloaking device. When they un-cloak, Frohike, says, “Look, it was just a dumb magazine article...” And CSM utters, “I can kill you whenever I damn please, but not today.” He dismantles his sniper rifle and walks away.

I've been thinking about this episode for several weeks, not because there are conspiracy nuts, theorists and all of that. I for one am skeptical and the "Musings of a Cigaret Man, is largely a work fiction. Sometimes, though it is hard to know where lines end and the truth really does begin. I've lived through all of the events depicted and remember them clearly. It's still hard for me to believe the Oswald acted on his own. James Earl Ray I know little about, except that he was a race-baiter and believe that is more clear-cut. I come from a family that has been involved with security-clearance technology and as Scully would say, “we have our own peculiar notions” sometimes. 

There comes a point there things begin to slip into say, martial law, and then totalitarianism. Here in the United States, the Patriot Act was signed in 2001, and then extended under President Obama, as the PATRIOT Sunsets Extension Act of 2011. This includes roving wiretaps, continued surveillance of ”lone wolves,” along with the existing definition of “domestic terrorism,” as opposed to the plain, old imported kind, I guess. Business records can be searched, library records must be surrendered. Understand, warrants or subpoenas are not necessary for this kind of snooping.

The cry of “I have nothing to hide,” is not the point. We are rapidly approaching the event horizon of defying the “Writ of habeas corpus,” or just plain “Habeas corpus.” This is a fundamental right, and it is everyone's right and is immutable. It means that a detainee can seek relief from unlawful imprisonment. It is our most basic right. Forget Church, forget State, forget separation of the 2, forget the 2^nd Amendment. If this, most basic of rights is violated and I truly suspect it has been, then we are no longer a democracy, or a republic. We are living under tyranny. But a special kind of tyranny, because, this is not one person; this is chromatic; up and down the spectrum. It takes the cooperation and the willingness of corporations, managers, people who are willing to look the other way. Edward Snowden is just a start. Think about it and think hard for your children's future. This doesn't happen overnight; it takes years, but I fear we are here. All the Teanderthals, the Liberals, Libertarians, Sectarians, Independents and everyone who sell their PLATFORM and not their morality and ideals share this mess. We should be voting our consciences, not platforms.

Not scary, just sad. Master to something he can never rid himself of.

But our friends like CSM, Deep Throat and Agents Scully and Mulder show us something. There is a grain of truth to all of this. The State exists to ensure the existence of the State. They were all pawns and at his deepest level, CSM knew this, more than anyone. That is what makes him such a compelling character. He's like Gollum; tragic.

I want to thank and congratulate William B. Davis for his fine work on X-Files and all of the wonderful cast and writers of the show. Mr. Davis truly brought CSM to life as we are all enigmatic and at heart, tragic in some way. Thank you.

#ROW80 – POST 2 – NEVER ENDING, CREEPING PARANOIA; MAYBE THE TIN-FOIL HAT CROWD HAS IT RIGHT

I'm probably the last person in the world to talk to about government conspiracies, black ops, black helicopters and things that go bump in the night. The things that go bump in the night aren't “them,” they're “us.” We need to be more worried about “us,” then,\ “them.” I've written about all of this before and now we're back to slathering on another layer of nonsense with all the megrims that are being caused NOW by the NSA. “Fuhgedda aboudit,” as the late, great Tony Soprano would say. They've been there for ever so long.

Today, I received this charming little note from Ubisoft:

Yippee! Who doesn't love hackers, on 3rd party sites? At least this time, they didn't steal my blog posts and sell them for money, like they did last year. Assholes. This is why I have Fortress Network. I need to start hacking these bastards back.

Great, wonderful and swell 'n' all, but guess what? I know about all of this already and have for several years. Because friends and foes, I tracked corporate rogues, both at IBM and Verizon; legally, but there it is. Back in the mid-90s. This wasn't our sole mission, but if we ran across them and they had certain static IP addresses (this was pre-DHCP) we had, as part of our job description (on the hoof, so to speak. A supervisor would holler it out as he/she ran by; situations were "fluid") the authority to cripple and report the servers. One of my jobs at Verizon was to “listen” to my agents' calls to make sure they were hitting their metrics with each caller. If the call was personal, I disengaged from the call. This is all in-house and the agents knew I would do this, they were just not told when.

However, in the case of the rogue servers, there was never any policy stated that an engineer could, or could not create a test server, much like we create virtual machines today to protect our own operating systems. But, this was a matter of proprietary information, which we all had to sign agreements that stated all intellectual property developed would remain with the corporation. Neither IBM, or Verizon wanted information being developed on their turf and shopped elsewhere. At the time it was a gray area, as people were starting to telecommute.

Which brings me back to my little love letter from Ubisoft. I assume it's from some game that I signed up for, but never played because it was stupid. I use phony accounts for things like that, so I am not worried. I've worked at two places which became sites of cyber-attacks and we successfully fended them off, but that's really nerve-wracking, although I found out some really cool ways to prevent it on my own network.

However, it does leave a cold hand upon the back of my neck. All of this skulking around and spying and trying to undercut the enemy. I know I come by it honestly. My father went to college during the McCarthy era and saw college professors at his university lose their jobs, careers and families. In some cases, their lives. A society fraught with paranoia is a society that will turn on itself and eat the weak and the most vulnerable. He never got over that. I know this because when I joined the American Socialist party in 1980, it nearly killed him. I had him on the phone screaming at me, the night I turned up on the “CBS evening news with Dan Rather.”

Okay, I wasn't at this rally, but I love this country. My dad would have had a bird if I'd been in this. Let's just all hold hands and hum "The Internationale" for a minute and shed a tear for Trotsky. By the way, you can see the spires of St. Basil's Cathedral in Krasnaya Ploshad (Red Square) in the back ground. Good times, good times...

Of course, no paranoia is complete without the Area 51 muddle. I have an uncle, the Mad Scientist, as I call him. He doesn't talk to anyone on the computer; only if you write him. Why he thinks this will keep him safe, I have no idea, but there it is. He worked out at Jack Ass Flats, which is north of Area 51, and not far from Nellis AFB, where my father spent some time when he was flying B-29s, doing Nuclear Testing in the late 50s and 60s. They blew up Atom bombs, above ground, then below ground. 

He used to see a lot of UFOs; he probably still does. Being a nuclear physicist and a mathematician (but a horror on the computer; he thinks everything's a virus) he based a set of mathematical theorems on the way he saw the UFOs move. Basically, he took the entity of mass out of the equations, or changed it, or something, (I am not a math geek much; I made it through Calculus in university for computers, he's dabbling in astro-physics here, I believe) because of the way they would move quickly, then stop very briefly, and then move just as quickly in another direction. He substituted another mathematical function (it's been years since I've seen all of the formulae) and the math works. He published several papers that were reprinted in several journals and then ... just stopped.

At least I think he did. I'm not sure. That's always the way it goes with these things. I truly believe information for the general public is massaged and fed to us in little spoonfuls. If aliens did exist, and I think it conceivable that they do, I'm afraid that it is like the “Cigaret Man” opines in “Musings of a Cigaret Smoking Man” in X-Files, Season 4, episode 7. Not the entire episode, because in the whole, it leads us to believe that the “Smoking Man” is involved in everything from the assassination of JFK to plotting against the Buffalo Bills football team. For me, this just sounds like old news, or background noise. The one thing that has always horrified me, and I don't think this is just something the X-Files' creators cobbled up out of their deep well of imagination is this one statement, regarding the finding of a living alien life form: "Any country capturing such an entity is responsible for its immediate extermination." I also believe THAT has already happened.

I want to believe as well, but I also have a huge streak of skepticism and am not easily led. Both my father and my uncle have the same qualities. I may laugh at what my uncle does, but he's a hard-headed rationally-thinking scientist.

And why not? We're already, as a planet, doing the most idiotic and hurtful of things, to EACH OTHER. I just read about the new front-bencher in Australia who is Muslim. He took his oath of office on the Quran, as is his right. Australia is up in arms. Gee, maybe he should have used the phone book. It would have meant the same if he had taken his oath with a Christian Bible. This man Ed Husic will never forget this. His moment of triumph, will be forever soured, over such a little thing. We are already killing each other. Wouldn't we kill beings from another planet to keep that information secret? So much is kept hidden. People just don't get it. We need to make governments accountable, and we need to check ourselves and try to live by that. Our moral compasses run deep and true. But we have to protect that; get honest with ourselves and tear down the dishonest falseness. Like Mulder, I want to believe.

I come from a family of seekers, with very firmly held principles. Sometimes, I don't think we have very long shelf-lives. We'll see.

#ROW80 POST 9 - E.T. PHONE HOME; REMEMBERING DADDY, WHEREIN EVERYTHING'S A TOY

Be warned. This is a re-post from my old S.I.F.O.T.S. blog and the only attempt I've ever made at satire or any type of fiction. The first time it ran, some people were frustrated and thought it overlong. The second time, it received a warmer reception. I happen to like it and hope it has stood up to the test of time.

...zzzz.....squeeeeeennnn...........blorp...snap!...crackle!....pop!.... oooweeeooooo

Captain: Scotty, get those damn elves out of the warp drive chamber! They're eating the dilithium crystals!

Scotty: I'll trrrry, Cap'n! She's givin' me all she'ssss got! I canna do verrrra much with the likes o' this!

Captain: McCoy, stand by with the stun guns.

Dr: Dammit, Jim! I'm a Doctor! Not an exo-exterminator!

*click-click* (sound of channel changing...)

(...to a lone man on screen. He has a suspicious green cast to his rhomboid-shaped face.)... Ladies and Genomes, I, Ambassador Infun Krull, want to welcome you to the SETI@Home Hemi-Demi-Semi Finals! 

That's right! The show you've all been waiting for! This match will determine  the winner of the "Most Obfuscated Batch of Data and Incomprehensible Conclusions in the Array Field" for the SETI@Home Division 3D Outer Quadrant Regionals! 

The roster includes four very competitive teams; first, the rough and tough veteran group of the "SwissNavyCurrentlyinaFjord@Home.bern.edu" team. 

Second, the legendary fighting group once feared as the "FormerlyKnownAsSovietArmySynchronizedBalalaika@Home.moscow.ru" team. 

Third, the flashy, glitzy, and snobby sophomore team of HelloKittyWeRuleTheWorld@Home.tokyo.ja" team.

And fourth, the curmudgeonly old farts from the quaint hamlet in Central Florida,  "TheOldMIBandSpooksandKnittingClubattheVillages@Home.florida.net team.

Ambassador Krull: Let's get acquainted with our competitors, shall we?

Team One, the Swiss blah blah:

Corporal Spaeckel: Booyah!

Sergeant Neeck Furor: That's the Marines, you dolt! And not even the Marines of this here fighting Swiss Country!

Corporal Spaeckel (chastened): I forgot our motto, sir.

Sergeant Furor: That's why you're fit for this Man's Navy! Carry on, Corporal!

Ambassador Krull: Okay! Thanks! I can see you all have interesting jobs! Team Two? The Russian etceteras?

Captain Geyer: Go Stalingrad!

Föж Muldrayavich (sotto voce): I believe is now Volgograd. In fact, I want to believe. The truth is out there.

Captain Geyer (casting a sidelong look at Muldrayavich): Da, Tovarisch. Volgo-, Stalin-, is same city. Truth is truth.

Ambassador Krull (beginning to sweat under his green makeup): Sweet! I didn't know you all had such varied, er, uh... opinions in Russia! It's nice to see freedom of expression! Team three? The HelloKittyHell... er, drivel team?

Tokugawa Hijiro Kitty-San: Yes! Thanks! We have many kitties in Hello Kitty Land. Our kitties are pink and bright and amorphous blobs! Our Hello Kitty AK-47s match our pink Hello Kitty laptops! Perfect for any Shopping Mall! We are one step closer to franchising the entire world with Hello Kitty! It will be Happy!

Deputy Sanjiro Hai (smoothly interrupting): ... of course, this will occur only after complete consensus from the entire planet. This should occur no later than December 21, 2012. If not, the Mayans will curse us all-

Ambassador Krull (mopping forehead; gapes at green hankie) -Well! That is certainly ambitious. But it sounds as if you all have the world's best interests at heart! Team 4? The Old Farts? Er, the Village People la la la?

Miss Honey West: Hello, be right back. Snookums needs her mousey treat and her nappy, and Fluffums just horked up a hairball. Besides, our visitor from Deneb would like its lunch and I promised Vigo I would help him surveil the spy cell from... (suddenly realizes where she is) Uh... dear Miss Skola, would you be so kind...?

Miss Mapya Skola: Oh course, Miss West. We at the Villages believe that there is a most probable certainty, a veritable surety, that even given the millions of  hits or occurrences, the chances of decoding, tabulating and massaging a hit that hints at extra terrestrial intelligent life in the universe, is so teeny weeny as to be beyond miniscule. We aren't even talking about proof of ETI. The odds for that occurrence can only be calculated in a simultaneous processor and Cray has been hogging it for three weeks for Florida Lotto, thus we have farmed out our data-mining to the entire internet. Anyway, I digress.

Ambassador Krull (visibly relaxing): No mottoes? No mission statements, Miss Skola?

Miss Skola: Of course, Ambassador, but being the rational, science-types we are, plus with our secretive natures and faint paranoia, we choose to keep that to ourselves. I am a Medical Doctor. We feel that as long as we cannot hold it, whatever it may be, smell it, see it, possibly taste it and even eat it, it may not exist, and then we shred what is left of our already tattered careers and go off and become crazy cat people.

Ambassador (looking green sans makeup; bewildered): I see... A very er, interesting, weltanschauung, zeitgeist, or uh, world view, um... crackpot paranoia? (sotto voce) no fear, the cat people are here. (More brightly now) Well! Let's get going, shall we?

...crackle..... eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhheeeeeeeee.....zzzzzzzzzzz

Relentlessly cheerful music, Leroy Anderson's "Syncopated Clock" screeches along in the background for 15 minutes

*click-click* (...Clicking of channel being changed)

News Announcer Verniel Bugspit (stock footage of a Detroit Assembly line from 1940 rolls behind Bugspit): Lights were reported today over the Superstition Mountains of New Mexico. This is the fifth sighting of unexplained light displays this week and there is again speculation among the Astronomical and Scientific Communities that the announcement from the CERN commission of Bern, Switzerland, visiting Alamagordo, New Mexico has somehow spurred this activity. 

As viewers will remember, the CERN commission declared, in a joint statement from top world scientists and religious leaders, including Vatican representatives that policies regarding suppression of any information about extra terrestrial intelligence by governments would be met with resistance. Although CERN stopped short of saying that it would employ any violence or subversion, it is widely believed that the full weight and reputation of the men and women of the commission will be influential. Even the Jesuitical PhDs are on hand to kick a few shins. 

This has given rise to the rumors that the increased activity in the skies is a sign of new attempts at contact, now that the welcome mat has come out.

Next up: the Cat Who Drove to Albuquerque. Our own Velma Bungspur has an up-to-the-minute-blow-by-blow report.

Velma: Thanks to Verniel Bugspit for that Intro. Be sure and read my Book, "the Cat Who Drove to Albuquerque" and my sequel, "The Cat Who Drove Home From Albuqueque."

*click-click* (...Clicking channel)

Ambassador Krull: This program is brought to you by U.F.O Sponges! When ordinary sponging just won't do!

 U.F.O. sponges can't be beat!

They'll help clean your satellite seat!

When you scour the rust and bust the dust, 

Your U.F.O Sponge becomes the U.F.O. bus!

(voice over) Disclaimer: Remember, only use U.F.O Sponges according to directions. Side effects include, but are not limited to: hot dog fingers, sprouting tails, horns, cloven hooves and sightings of the dead. Sponge will not allow wearer to fly. Do not immerse in water. If you experience bleeding from the gums for more than four years, be sure and call your Health Care Professional right away! U.F.O. Sponges!

Ambassador Krull: Now the moment you have all been waiting for. It's time to get this show on the road, run it up the flagpole, and jump the gun. On the signal from the official timekeepers, our intrepid teams will launch their arrays!

Timekeeper: 3... 2... 1... GO!

Swiss Sgt. Furor: Okay, we're going in. Breaker, breaker! Ricky Redshirt, you lead off; you're the obligatory dead guy. Sulu, grab your sword; whoops, wrong team. Go, go, go!!

(Computers power up) Whinnneeee. Pockata-pockata

Kitty Tokugawa: Hellllooooooooooo Kittyyyyyyyyyyy!!!! Bonzai!

Deputy Kitty Hai: Bonzai! Aw, somebody please tell him. Bonzai, sheesh. This isn't "What's Up Tiger Lily, moron!" Launch, launch, launch!!!!

(Computers power up): "We Are Siamese, If You Please... We Are Siamese if you don't please...."

Deputy Kitty Hai: That's the wrong theme song! I told our esteemed Social Director to change our theme song to "Cherry Blossom Time!" And what in hell is that supposed to be, our team flag? 

(Camera pans to University of SFU flag)

Village Idiot West: Come on Fluffs, Pickles, Trotsky, and Casper! Time to launchy-launchy! 

(Computers power up; four cats hork up hairballs)

Russo Balalaika Geyer: Please to launch! There Computer Tovarisch 

Muldrayavich. For the Motherland, Pushkin, and Kruschev! And save Kiev!

Russo Balalaika Muldrayavich (rolls eyes): Power CPUs now!! Nyet, nyet, nyet. Stoy, stoy, stoy!!

Swiss Sgt Furor: Is there an echo in here?

Russo Balalaika Muldrayavich: Gruschenko, please to turn on damn wall switch! Go, go, go!

(Computers power up; Much Boeing 777 engine sounds heard)

Ambassador Krull: Annndddd, they're off! Out in front is the Swiss team, followed closely by Kitty. Russo Balalaika running third. It Takes a Village is stalled; still cleaning hairballs out of power sink!

  

Swiss Sgt Furor: Right declension at 90" altazimuth working and X, Y, Z axes holding steady at 90 degrees. Van Allen belt having minimal effect on array at this point.

Swiss Corporal Spaeckle: I have to go to the potty.

Village Skola: Declension at 47.5" altazimuth varying in performance. X and Y axes at 90 degrees. Z axis at 84 degrees. Powering auxiliary to compensate. Sunspots playing hell with the stabilizers.

(Grinding sound)

Deputy Kitty Hai: Color-coordinated pink right declension at -90" altazimuth powered down and put in reverse. X, Y, and Z at 3.1417. Damn! No pi for you! Muwahahahaha! Moon affecting readouts! We're going down in flames! Pink kitty flames!

(whistling sound)

Russo Balalaika Muldrayavich: All is true; true is to believe, belief makes all possible.

Russo Balalaiko Geyer: Is true, lunacy reigns in head.

Russo Balalaika Muldrayavich: You sound like fortune cookie. Why we talking like fortune cookies?

Ambassador Krull: And just like that, Russo Balalaika has pulled ahead by three little fuzzy points on array over Swiss to.... win!!!! Balalaikas win!

Swiss Sgt Furor (sotto voce): This thing is rigged.

Corporal Spaeckle: Back from potty! What'd I miss?

Kitty Tokugawa: Hellllooooooooooo Kittyyyyyyyyyyy!!!! Bonzai! Hellllooooooooooo Kittyyyyyyyyyyy!!!! Bonzai! Hellllooooooooooo Kittyyyyyyyyyyy!!!! Bonzai! Hellllooooooooooo Kittyyyyyyyyyyy!!!! Bonzai!...

(Robot innards fall out of Tokugawa)

Deputy Kitty Hai: Evil robot! No friend of Hello Kitty!

Village Nonsense West (to sleeping cats): There, there Fluffs, Trotsky, Pickles and Casper, try not to be upset, there's always next year, my dears.      

Ambassador Krull: And that's all the time we have! Be sure to tune in next week when Astropulse@Home competes in the Hemi-demi-semi finals for the title of "Best Smile in Senior High." It should be riveting! And know a word from Area 51 Chamber of Commerce:

Where little cable cars climb halfway to the stars...literally.

Blakely Dimbulb: Are you missing your home planet? Your city of birth? Well, come on down to the Chamber of Commerce. In a partnership with the good quadrupeds down at Area 51 Hangar, now you too can visit home any time you want! Yes, that's right! A new technological breakthrough will allow you to visit Alpha Centauri, Outer Mongolia or even San Francisco! We can't tell you about the secret technology, 'cause then we'd have to kill ya, but it involves the U.F.O. SpongeBus. Time travel is no problem either. Just be sure to book your trip last week and we'll do the rest! So, visit our friendly silicon-based life-forms at Chamber of Commerce today!

*click click* (sound of channel changing...)

...zzzz.....squeeeeeennnn...........blorp...snap!...crackle!....pop!.... oooweeeooooo

Captain: Sulu, McCoy, Spock, to the transporters, gentlemen.

Spock: One would suppose that these incursions into our space frequencies are from an alternate reality. That inference might lead one to believe that all things are possible.

McCoy: All I know is, it's possible, if not downright probable that my molecules will get scrambled if I get on that mix-master. 

(sound of channel changing...)

Scully: Did you see that, Mulder?

Mulder: What is your explanation for it Scully?

Scully: I've read and researched articles that describe very concrete reasons for this type of phenomenon. Maybe the transmission is a pirated signal as an elaborate joke. I  have also read about how radio waves bounce-

Mulder: -Scully?

Scully: Yes, Mulder?

Mulder: Put a sock in it.

"We now return control of your computer screen until next week... on the Outer Limits"

SETI@Home is an actual project run by Berkeley University and I do belong to the Villages team. I got the idea for this post from a friend who asked me if my team were retired CIA or did they just knit a lot. 

Obviously, this is not what we do. I do urge anyone who is interested to visit http://boinc.berkeley.edu/ and explore the website and join. I find this fascinating and it is wondrous to behold when compiling the arrays.

Reminiscence Snapshot: Happy that Daddy is seeing me off on a flight for a tour, we are on the People Mover (horizontal escalator.) I have my usual batch of luggage, Wolf and stuff. Daddy was never a whole lot of help, but he was just nigh-on perfect for his entertainment value. It also helped that he was about 6' 1" tall, had on a horrible windbreaker that he probably stole from some sleeping bum somewhere, because his previous one had finally petrified with decrepitude. The windbreaker had a 3-corner tear on one pocket. He had a pair of his dress work pants that had worn out at the knees (how does one manage that?) and had made cutoffs out of them. They were frayed around the edges. The outfit was complete with white engineer socks and penny loafers. He wore a pristine long-sleeve white work shirt under this get-up. Altogether, puzzling at best; creepy at worst, except that he was the world's biggest kid.

My father to the left, in his usual outfit, minus windbreaker, Ma to the right. My "godfather" trolling around in the background.

I had gotten to the end of the mover and I turned, but he was still back on the conveyor belt about 30 feet behind me... Walking backwards. He looked like something out of a Warner Brothers cartoon, legs going furiously, standing in one place. Some guy who must have been late for his flight plowed into him, just as I turned around. I heard and indignant, "Sir! Please play somewhere else!" the man huffed. My sheepish Daddy came up to me. We both started at each other for a moment and then, laughed and gibbered like hyenas until the tears rolled down our faces.