Visiting the Sci-Fi Ghetto or How House Is Science Fiction

I think some people know of the Sci-Fi Ghetto, they just don’t know its called as such.
The Science Fiction Ghetto is the term for the near universal shunning of the genre. Directors, Authors, Actors, Reader, you name it. They hear Science Fiction, they shun it at first thought.

This is due to the dorky stereotype people have when they hear the term, of course. Really, think about it. When you think Sci-Fi Fans, you think of sweaty fat kids in Star Trek shirts with nasally voices who snort and talk about Captain Kirk. Its okay if you do, you’re just going by the media delivered image that’s been around for years. Its not your fault.

Anywho, you should see the effect of this. Too often does a work of fiction find itself unable to escape being called a Science Fiction work and it in turn winds up being not taken seriously or simply ignored because of it. Regardless of depth, content, or quality, it’s “Just another Sci-Fi trash” and is cermoniously dropped in the Ghetto. Further more, even though everything has a genre,  a Sci-Fi work will be regarded as Genre.

Do NOT debate this with a creative writing teacher! I learned this lesson the hard way.

However, for a wallbanging part of this, note that anything considered to be deep or a classic is mysteriously “not science fiction”. You’d be surprised how many people say Ender’s Game or The Curious Case of Benjamin Button are not Sci-Fi.

Another terrible stigma is the notion of what qualifies as Sci-Fi. Originally, Science Fiction was exactly what was said on the tin: There was to be science and thesis within this work, which would be explained alongside a story. Science + Fiction. Many a people ignore this however, giving the more universally accepted “If it can’t happen in real life, it’s science fiction,” along side “Robots”, “Aliens”, “Spaceships”, and “Lasers.”

(This also occurs with Fantasy and Comics, by the way. Both of which having their own works with the same amount of depth of anything Jane Austen or Herman Melvil have ever written. Granted, with Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter, Fantasy seems to be climbing out of this.)

Anyway, now you know what the Ghetto is and why it’s bad to think of Sci-Fi as Nerdy Crap. Lets get to the brass tax.

nibolgomeh – [Short Story]

“I stink.”

As sad as it may seem, that’s the only thing I can think of right now. I stink. I look and smell like some who should be working in a butcher shop. Its all raw meat and iron and I’m covering in this sticky red shit and I’ve got all kinds of cuts and bruises from all the stuff that happened over the last twenty-four hours. There’s a broken shotgun covered in teeth marks in my hand, and all I can think is “I stink.”

I stink, and I don’t think a shower is going to make me feel clean.
Ugh. I think some of it is on my face too. Man, I wanna lick my lips, but I’d hate to swallow something nasty.

But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is that the sun is coming up. The sun is coming up and now I’m going to have to see all the shit I did in the dark exposed to the light.

Hoo boy, that’s not going to be fun.
I don’t really expect anyone to see this and understand what happened. No, its pretty nasty shit laying here in the dark, in this musky smelling warehouse with me. In fact, is it even a warehouse? This could be some abandoned ballet studio for all I know. Still a musky smelling location, to be sure, but someone out there would probably get pissed if I called a ballet studio an opera house.

Either way, this place is a derelict and I should write a letter to the city council instructing them to burn this god forsaken shit hole to the ground. I mean, I’ve got punctures in my shoulder from very rusty and very exposed nails here. That kind of bullshit wouldn’t be accepted in Somalia!

Oh. The fireball is nearly over the mountains.

And as it comes up, man, everything in this Warehouse-slash-Opera house reminds me of how seriously screwed up the world is today.

The red, oily stuff on me heats up, reminding me it isn’t blood and I’d like to get it the fuck off me as fast as I can. So, knowing that, I make my way towards the bathroom, of this place, kicking aside the headless stump of a body that happens to be lying in the way.

The walls are splattered with the red goo. Not just red goo, but there’s bits of stone scattered all around here and there too. Thats right, I didn’t think that guy’s head would come off so easily, but a shotgun can do wonderous things no matter how hard a person claims their skull to be.

It’s not until I get into the bathroom that I realize the water doesn’t work.
Abandoned building. Right. There’s no electricity, so why would there be running water? How stupid of me.
I bet my sisters at home wondering where I’m at. I really hate to do this, but I guess I’ll have to walk in the house looking like a horror movie villain. Maybe I should stash the gun somewhere first, though.

I really do feel like the bad guy here, though.

Sure, that guy was a douche. But maybe tricking him into coming here and gunning him down in cold blood was a dick move. I mean, I’m sure I could’ve come up with a better way to go about discussing how things with him and my sister were going and maybe, just maybe, I could’ve got him to leave the two of us alone.

On the other hand, the guy was a dick. I’m glad I shot his cranial contents all over the damn place.

“I stink.”
“I wonder,” I can’t help but mutter as the red goo begins to burn my skin. “If we’ve still got that box of Lucky Charms at the house…”

[Hemoglobin – October]

Why Pirates are Blantantly Better than Ninjas.

[WARNING FACEBOOK READERS:  THIS BLOG ENTRY IS CHOCK FULL OF PICTURES AND MAY LOOK REALLY WEIRD.]

Hello, Internets. Today (for me in Afghanistan, anyway) is one of those many holidays many people are unaware of.
I speak, of course, of International Talk Like a Pirate Day. Much like International Towel Day and Pretend to be a Time Traveler day, this is a holiday that is ignored in favor for our seven or so “Fap to America” days and Christmas, that non-important consumer holiday we all cherish for some reason.

How dare Christmas. How dare it.

Anyway, it comes to my attention that Pirates are not as universally loved as those pajama wearing Nancy boys collectively known as Ninjas. And the reason for this, I believe, is slander. Somehow, Ninjas have come off to be awesome badasses while Pirates — the TRUE badasses — are forgotten.

This is, of course, a crime. For these reasons:

The Art of Internet Ettiqute and How, Sometimes, It’s More Fun To Ignore It

There are seven golden rules to live by when submitting something to the vast world of the Internets. These rules, The Blogger’s Code of Conduct, are so universal that you find people adhering to them on social networking sites and message boards.

The rules are:

1. Take responsibility not just for your own words, but for the comments you allow on your blog.
2. Label your tolerance level for abusive comments.
3. Consider eliminating anonymous comments.
4. Ignore the trolls.
5. Take the conversation offline, and talk directly, or find an intermediary who can do so.
6. If you know someone who is behaving badly, tell them so.
7. Don’t say anything online that you wouldn’t say in person.

That is to say, I observe them. I follow them. I pretty much preach them.
Most of the time, anyway. Sometimes, I just enjoy having a little fun. Something that people who browse my Facebook are well aware of.

You see, while I ignore the trolls in a conventional internet gathering, I’ve dwelled among them for so long that the tears of the butt hurt masses simply fill me with a warm sensation of accomplishment. Watching people get pissy over a certain combination of letters on a page on the internet fills my black heart with so much glee that I lick my fingers in delight and try to stir it up more.

I thrive in the shitstorm, watching as it claims victims. You see, at times, I really enjoy trolling.

The Great Debate: Caveman vs Astronaut.

Ladies and gentlemen of the internets, I present to you the following situation.

Through some strange combination of time travel and alternate dimensions, an astronaut and a caveman run into each other in a perfectly flat, perfectly empty white room. They both have on occupational dress, but no weapons.

Of course, the Astronaut, being the evolved human, attempts to make conversation. “Excuse me, Mister Caveman, but where are we, and how did we get here?”

The caveman, however, is a caveman. Those funny mouth sounds sound like he’s being insulted. So he proceeds to attempts to beat the everloving shit out of our space-traveling friend with his bare, monkey-like hands.

This debate originally went with an episode of the Buffy Spin off Angel. You remember Angel, don’t you? Doesn’t matter, because after watching this, Mr. G.W.T. turned to his fellow Angel watching co-worker and asked the question. What started with one coworker turned into about seven, then spread to the internet in much fevor.

Well, okay. Not much fevor. More like between two guys over a Facebook status message. But nevermind that.

Ladies and gentlemen, I ask of you. Who would win?

Those who are reading this over Facebook, please direct your attention to this poll. Those of you reading the blog directly, there shall be a poll at the end of this post.

Please, people. The debate must come to an end. Help me end it.