Joe Harris crooned bitterly to his beer,

  • Joe Harris crooned bitterly to his beer, "All the old dudes carry the news," while around him robots upgraded themselves and transhuman youngsters dated transdimensional beings fr

  • om strange and different places, as strange and alien as the beings themselves. Joe emptied the contents of the pint glass before him. "Same again, pal" he said to the mechanised

  • bartender, whose last duty had been a bouncer assignment. He socked Joe a terrific one in the jaw. Joe shot a shocked look at the automaton: "What was that for?" "I am #3, sir" rep

  • owering his assault armor, Joe boffed the bartender into the vodka shelf. Vodka dripped into his exposed circuitry and ignited. Then the real bouncer bots charged in. The regulars

  • were upset that it appeared likely the bar would close before closing time & drunkedly cheered on the bouncer bots. Joe swung around. His hair was on fire & he didn't know it!

  • That happened to me once, and the stench overtakes the room like a turd in the punchbowl. The incapacitated patrons were much easier fodder now for the bouncer bots, who swung

  • "Get Lucky" so loud the neighbours threw earplugs at the bouncer bots. The stench of complacency is greater than that of useful idiots. I fled and boarded the bus westbound home.

  • When we got to the Columbia River Gorge and still no sight of a Huddle House I started to suspect I should have been headed in the other direction, whatever that was. I couldn't go

  • any further forward without falling into the gorge, so we turned around and headed back to the intersection where I had seen the sign for the Huddle House. But a tornado

  • picked us up and dropped us off in front of a Waffle House. "But i wanted Huddle House," yowled my companion. "THEY'RE THE SAME THING," I growled back. We had pancakes that day.



  1. Woab Sep 19 2017 @ 11:30

    Pancakes always make for a happy ending.

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