Captain Redding and the Journey of Eagle Seven

“Captain, there’s something approaching.”

Those words hit Captain Redding in like a sack of potatoes to the back.  A situation she had encountered previously and does not recommend at all.  Decades in space, flying toward a distant rock that would one day be home, and nothing had ever happened.  Redding was sure she once saw an asteroid shaped like a Bugles corn chip, but could not prove it.

Now, “something” was approaching.  Not a rock, not a comet, not a weird clump of hydrogen.  Something meant there was no immediate explanation.

“Let’s see it,” the Captain ordered.  She took her seat on the bridge and drones deployed from the ship to get a closer look at the incoming object.   As the camera feeds flickered to life, the command crew gasped in unison.

“Is that…?” started the radar operator, too confused to finish his sentence.

“Audio. Get me audio,” The Captain ordered.  All the sci-fi writers, all the astrophysicists, any one who ever looked up from Earth and wondered if we were alone in the universe was about to proved right; life was present beyond our big blue wet sphere.

“Greetings,” the Captain said, pulse racing as her voice became the first encounter between human and alien, “I am Captain Redding of the human vessel Eagle Seven.  We are peaceful. We are curious. We are excited to meet you.”  She hoped her words would be looked upon kindly by history.

A brief moment of silence followed.  On the screen they saw a creature, humanoid in appearance, but possessing far more arms and much less hair, move around a small spaceship and tap a button on what could only be described as a tablet computer.  The crew of Eagle Seven waited and watched, wondering what the creature was doing.

“Okay, okay.  Y’all hear me?” The creature replied.

“Yes,” Redding answered, fighting back tears, “we hear you and understand you!”

“Good, good. Sure thing. I dig it. Yo, any one on that ship order a pizza? I have a delivery to make and the address makes no sense.  That’ll teach corporate to expand the delivery area to unknown markets, eh? Ha! Listen, you guys have been great, but you want these pizzas or not?” The alien spoke rapidly.

Redding looked around to her crew, unsure of the proper response.

“We thank you, friend, for your hospitality and offering and would welcome trade with you and your civilization,” Redding answered.

The alien responded with an amused chuckle. “Oh, you folks are a-okay.  I’ve gotta go though.  You ever need some pizza though, be sure to come over to Uncle Toi’Diwo Grrrr’s Place.”

The alien ship zipped away and the Eagle Seven team suddenly felt the pain of not blinking for four minutes straight.

“First contact went a little weird,” one crew member said.

“I thought for sure aliens would just be super smart computers,” another muttered.

“How awesome is it that there’s pizza in space?” Another pointed out.

Captain Redding took her seat and ordered the Eagle Seven to continue its voyage to a new home, hoping history would write the story of first contact a little differently.

 

 

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Common Conversations with My Toddler

Toddler, 2:00 am, suddenly appearing beside my bed: Dad.

Me: Ah!

Toddler, trying to fall asleep on my the side of my bed: Daddy. I’m awake.

Me: No. No you are not. Let’s get you back to bed.

Toddler, face in the bed: Incoherent mumbling

Me, putting the toddler back in his bed: Sure thing, sleepy guy.  Good night.

Toddler, asleep: Good night.

Me, heading back to bed: I have to find a way to not scream every time he just shows up in the room.  That cannot be a healthy interaction.

Toddler: snoring

 

 

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The Party (A Spooky Repost)

“I love that picture frame,” Wendy complimented the party’s host, Clifford.

“Do you want it?” Clifford said a little too quickly.  Wendy shook her head no.

“You sure? It’s really old and quite an accent,” Clifford was stopped by a wailing sound from the picture.

“A hehehe, you folks have any sarsaparilla?” A ghostly voice called out from what seemed to be the frame.

“What was that? And what’s sarsaparilla?” Wendy asked.

“No body knows, this will pass in just a moment,” Clifford rubbed thumb and forefinger against the bridge of his nose.

“What about some beans? Can’t have a hootenanny without beans!” The voice said.

“Is the frame haunted?” Wendy asked.

“By the ghost of a gold miner who was more interested in food and fun than minerals it seems.  He shows up and demands a drink no one can replicate and beans.  Always beans.  You don’t hold corporeal form, Jedidiah! You can’t eat or drink!” Clifford shouted at the picture frame.  This was a conversation quite common, Wendy noted.

Clifford stared at the frame waiting for the ghost to reply.

Wendy watched and waited.  The other party guests did not seem to notice, or perhaps they had encountered the scene before.  As she watched the oddity unfold, something nagged at her.  Her eyebrows titled downward, annoyance growing exponentially.

“Did you try to pawn off a haunted picture frame on me? And one haunted by an obnoxious ghost?” Wendy asked.  “That’s rude.”  She stepped away and hoped the buffet was not cursed.

 

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Answers from the Adviceroy

Dear Adviceroy,

I ran into a bit of a social quandary today and I know your winged knowledge can assist.  I am pretty sure my roommate used my toothbrush.  What’s the best way to bring up the subject and go about my gingivitis battling business?

Signed,
Brusher in Buffalo

Dear Brusher,

The easiest way to solve this issue is to collect five other toothbrushes, train them in five different martial arts fighting styles and decide upon a code word that will trigger them to form one giant, mightier (because teamwork) toothbrush that can battle away your roommate if push, neigh, if brush comes to shove.  Your mighty, transforming toothbrush team will work the problem out and you get to avoid a kind weird chat about how you found out the toothbrush was used erroneously.

Happy training!

Singed,
The Adviceroy

Do YOU have a question for the Adviceroy?  Well, the Adviceroy has answers for you.  Fill out the form below or click here to email the wee butterfly.

Jenkins and the Scanner

“Jenkins!” Old Man Mortimer shouted from the confines of his darkened office.  A light bulb was out, but the office staff felt it was a happy accident.

“Yes, sir?” Jenkins replied, leaping to his boss’ doorstep.

“Get these documents over to HighTek today.  First rate courier or nothing at all, you got it?” Mortimer barked.

“Yes, sir.” Jenkins replied.  Like the four letter words in Jenkins’ life, ‘yes sir’ could take on many meanings depending on tone.

Jenkins vacated the doorway hurriedly.  He was sure that, for at least a few seconds, a Jenkins-shaped cloud remained where he once stood.  He reviewed the documents ensuring they were all facing the same direction, double checked signatures and plopped them into the all-in-one printer/scanner/fax outside his cubicle.  One press of a button later, the documents were scanned to him.  A few mouse clicks after that the documents were sent to HighTek for review.

“Morti knows about email, right?” Wolfsbridge from accounting asked.  She was watching Jenkins from afar, curious how one actually summoned a courier.

“I’ve gone over it a few times with him. He prefers the old fashioned approach.  HighTek laughed me out of their building the first time I delivered a memo by hand.  Now we email and I mumble my way out of the chat with ol’ Mort.” Jenkins explained.

“What do you do with the original documents?” Wolfsbridge asked.

Jenkins pulled open a file cabinet drawer full of papers dating back months.  “I keep them here.  I put a voodoo inspired curse on the papers.  From time to time I turn them into paper airplanes and….hope.”

“Can I start bringing you files from the DoorInc account?” Wolfsbridge asked.

“Mondays at lunch and Wednesday at 2:30. Bring the files.”

 

 

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Deck and Amy and the Order

“I’ll order, you find a table.” Deck said, sounding more confident than he felt in this situation.  Amy gave an questioning look, knowing he was far from confident in the task at hand.

“You sure?” She asked.

“Yeah, I’ve got this. Burgers, drinks, fresh fries. What’s so hard?” Deck countered.

“They’re called French Fries,” Amy pointed out.

“That’s what I said,” Deck said, waving her to the seating area.  “I’ll be there in a jiffy.”

“Jiffy?” Amy teased the word choice.

Deck stood in line and watched order after order be taken.  The smell of deliciousness filled the hole-in-wall restaurant.  A morning of errand running had resulted an appetite that would either lead to “hangry” conversation with Amy or him collapsing on the cold sidewalk.  He hoped the others in line would excuse his drooling, but surmised they were likely unaware of his situation.  He was good with that.

Finally, his turn at the counter arrived.

“Hi, what can I get for you today?” The peppy cashier asked.

“I would like a Number Taco,” Deck said.  Six words in and he had ruined everything.  He shook his head.  “I am so sorry.  One Lumber Ton,” he again flubbed the line.  “I am so, so sorry.  I was in way over my head in this one.  I’m going to send my wife in to finish up the inning.  Calling in the lefty!” Deck joked.

He ran from the counter and found Amy.  “I have made a terrible mistake and we need to go somewhere else before we are allowed nowhere else, okay?”

Amy, having been in this situation before, gathered her coat and purse and calmly exited the restaurant.  Deck was already placing a web-order at a chain store down the street.

 

 

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A Conversation with Goose

 

“I keep a list of conversation starters,” Goose started the conversation with the worst possible conversation starter.  The party was shaping up to be one of his better ones.

Badger, sipping a martini around a devilish and amused grin, took the bait.  “What sort of conversation starters do you have?”  Canary, Wren, Eel and Woodchuck rolled their eyes.  Ant fled the room, politely.

“Oh sure,” Goose adjusted his seat and pulled out his list.

“Right off the bat, this one says enter a room and ask, ‘who wants to help me kill my clone?’ Or how about, ‘Sylvia Plath writes a Chicken Soup for the ___ Soul. Fill in the blank.’  One of my favorites is ‘Mummia should make a comeback.’ And, well this one simply says, ‘share a dope meme.’ I don’t know any dope means, but I do have pictures of cows on skateboards.”

“Has anyone offered to help with the clone thing?” Badger asked.

Goose shook his head, disappointed.  “Not so much recently. Not after the first time.”

Badger stopped drinking. “You should lead with that story.”

 

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