Google Wave

Gonna play with Google Wave for awhile, I might attempt to integrate it with this site, but for what purpose?

It's like inventing a pivoting socket wrench before many people have bolts to deal with, it's a fantastic tool for solving an unimportant issue.

Anyway, how should I implement it?

1905 San Francisco

See ancient San Francisco, and marvel, all ye who look thereupon! The amount of awesome here is palpable.

Jordan Stuart, Spaceman.

One day, as Peter sighted down the barrel of his 30-30, searching for the most vulnerable part of the slowly advancing zombie, he paused to consider his various life choices that led to this horrible situation.

The monsters had attacked earlier, a sign of the impending apocalypse, but were largely ignored by the smart people, while the simple-minded loaded their rifles and let fly at anything that appeared suspect. Smart people are stupid like that.

Peter's life choices had been generally poor in the past, but deciding to always carry a rifle everywhere had been a spectacularly good one. Not only was it handy for shooting ATF agents and endangered species, it was also good for shooting zombies and monsters.

He spit a wad of chew into the bushes and squeezed off another shot, blasting a fountain of gore into the air.

"Eat that, ya dirty zombie" he quipped.

* * *

Above the burning apocalypse hovered a lonely spacecraft, a classic rocketship with big fins and lots of chrome, the kind that cool people fly. This little baby went completely unnoticed, as most of the people and institutions responsible for noticing these things were either zombified or on fire.

Inside was a really cool cat, the man who had stolen this sexy spacecraft from Ferris Aeronautics himself, Jordan Stuart. He chomped on a cigar, poured another shot of whiskey, and stared at the amber Earth below through his sunglasses.

"Dunno," he said to his amazingly beautiful girlfriend who sat next to him, "Think we should stick around?"

"Blow this joint." She responded. He flipped a switch, grasped the controls in his big manly hands, and stomped on something on the floor which sent them hurtling into the nether.

* * *

Below them, the Earth consumed itself. Ragtag teams of misfits and solitary heroes fought bravely, a few big budget explosions wiped out major cities, but the survivors didn't have a chance.

* * *

Aboard the Earth's only known rocketship, Jordan and his girlfriend Zoe poured over a bunch of charts and shopping catalogs. They sipped the drinks they poured, and relaxed in comfy chairs when they weren't in the control room pushing buttons and reading control screens. The life support systems would last indefinitely, and the chances of getting bit by a zombie were slim to none. Infomercials were a thing of the past.

Day after whatever you could call a day in space passed, as they rocketed through the empty night. Through the chaos, and past the edges of our known solar system, Earth's coolest couple flew. Where, they knew not. But they didn't care. Anywhere was better than the hell-hole they had left.

* * *

Ping.

Ping.

Ping.

* * *

While Jordan and Zoe slept, the ships computer recorded a signal emanating from a standard galactic navigational beacon. These were installed throughout the galaxy when super-high speed travel hit the mainstream, as normal dead reckoning methods were obsoleted, and new methods were required.

With no way to know this, our heroes continued to shoot through space, leaving the beacon far behind them.

Their passage was not completely without incident however, as the beacon relayed all relevant information regarding their passage to the Galaxy Travel Board (a now defunct agency), and a small device taped to the side of the beacon sent the same information to a dark and jagged ship orbiting a large asteroid nearby.

The jagged ship was crewed by a nasty band of outlaws, escaped convicts, tax collectors, the flotsam and jetsam of the criminal world, and general riff-raff of space. These turned to piracy as their main revenue source, and hid from the authorities in the far reaches of the galaxy, waiting on the signal from a hijacked beacon to launch them into action.

* * *

The Pirate Captain leered into his readout screen and tugged his beard thoughtfully.

"Unknown craft, probably a small private vessel." A nearby crewman read out, his tentacles waving around, pushing buttons and moving food in and out his various food orifices.

The Captain nodded, "We need the practice anyway."

He gave the order to attack.

Sir Lord John Fritzlebald's Adventure Journal

11/2/09 My last adventure was cut short as I had urgent business at home to which I was forced to attend, and after a great deal of thought and consideration, I have decided to embark once again on the Great Adventure. Having learned the harsh lessons the last failed adventure had to teach, I made absolutely certain that the booze would not run out.

11/4/09 I picked up some more Ovaltine, just in case, and stowed it among the boxes of fedoras and crates of alcohol already aboard the steamer Poseidon's Nipple, and set about a devious scheme to cheat the sailors at cards.

11/19/09 Sick, extremely sick. Most of the booze was lost in a card game which I pretty much won, but some sailors convinced me that sharing the booze was more advisable than getting stabbed for cheating at cards. I've been drinking water for 2 days and mal de mer is unbearable.

11/22/09 We stopped in some port or another, and stocked up on the local beer and wine, which is pretty vile, but it beats the bilge water I've been forced to consume. Also, the captain owns part of my estate back home, on account of a straight flush.

11/23/09 First mate Something Smith is now captain of this d____ boat, as the original captain left for home, probably to take command of my house and servants, which I hope murder him in his sleep, the cheating b_____.

11/25/09 Stock of beer is gone, we are reduced to drinking the local wines like savages. Several of the men have lit a fire on the deck and are roasting an animal or something over it, but as the leader of this expedition, I must attend to the important things, like building a still in the hold so we don't die.

11/27/09 Most of the ship was destroyed in a fire, but we've fortunately found a hotel here in Portsmouth and I've sent back home for more supplies. While the ship burned, the still failed catastrophically and I was unable to salvage it. Also, many of the men are dangerously angry for some reason. I hope their stupid hut they constructed out of charred boat pieces falls on their ugly heads.

11/28/09 Hotel is quite nice, I think I'll recuperate here before launching into another harrowing adventure, my supplies have arrived, and I'm quite content with the lodgings. I shall remain here until these supplies run dry and then will set out on the hazardous journey home where I shall confront said captain. This adventure is over for now.

Due to popular demand, I will appease my teeming masses of fans with yet another, shockingly terse and devastatingly hilarious postarooni.

I may have set the bar a little high there, so forget I wrote that last bit, and pretend that you aren't sure whether this will be a depressing look into refrigerator maintenance and repair , or possibly an erotic Mario Bros. fan fic.

You are know in the proper mood to enjoy the rest of this literary delight which I hereby present to you, the gullible little mook who has been tricked into visiting this page.

Ahem. Drum roll please!

And begin.

Whoops, had to close another window I was looking at which was Twilight related, and did not want polluting my above average mind which is rapidly filling with nonsense faster than I can spew it out of my fingers.

So now my mind is clear.

Begin.

Aeons ago, in a foggy grey land,

Sat a small village with a lonely kirk,

And a tavern, some sheep and a mule.

But deep in the woods, the foggy grey woods,

Lay two robots, silent and rusty.

Their eyes were stuck shut,

So they could not see the foggy grey land,

Nor the small village with the lonely kirk,

Nor tavern, the sheep or the mule, not each other.

Yet a high frequency blip echoed through the wood.

Oh, the Automaton sighed (for the blip was a voice),

Where am I? And where is my darling?

Where is my Android I've lost in the wood?

She shed a tear and and she sighed.

This is conducive to oxidation.

Another voice wanders through the fog,

In answer and sorrow.

It is quiet, and lost in the wood,

Without anyone to hear it or notice.

The mourning cry of the Android.

Though when the wind changes,

And the North Wind blows,

The Android's cry rides on the wind,

Carried across the water,

He cries for his Automaton.

Rusty and still, the Android sits,

His eyes swollen shut, his head in his lap,

And his heart in a thousand pieces.

His Automaton sits not a foot from his grasp,

But neither one knows this.

If ever you are in the foggy grey woods,

Past the old kirk and tavern,

Listen with care and with kindness

To find the two robots who are lost in the wood,

And oil their joints so I can sleep.