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Letter found in a drain tile

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Dear Donald,

Hoping this letter is still legible, after 80 years in the agreed upon place for communications. If, indeed, you even exist. I have to tell you I’m in a bind.

I know, we agreed that, in going back to 1934 in the time machine we invented, I would have to be super careful not to do anything that might change the course of events, that I was to be an observer only, and that the only way to do that was to be as inconspicuous as possible. We thought that should be easy enough, given my natural tendency to disappear into the wallpaper.

Well, something has come up, and I need you to transfer me back to 2014 ASAP.

Remember how we made sure I had plenty of money, and how we thought ordinary dollars would be fine, since the dollar was the same currency then as it is now (or in my case, now as it will be then, or something)? Well, we forgot something.

See, I’m in prison for trying to pass counterfeit currency. Not only that, but I’m a laughingstock for making such obviously fake bills, that they had colors other than green, and were dated in the 21st century.

Actually, not a complete laughingstock. Some people here believe I’m from the future, and are working to spring me, convinced I’ve been sent here to save them. From what isn’t clear, but there it is. Then there are others, who I suspect are completely capable of imprisoning me and capitalizing on this by forging writings they will purport to have come from me.  I know, I know, I can’t write a thank you note to Aunt Sally, let alone a book, but nobody knows that here.

So I’m caught in this situation where, to keep from inadvertently making a big whoopsie change to the future (where you and I live, or, rather, where I used to live, and you may not ever have even been born), I have to try to convince people that I’m not really from the future. Of course, that would mean I’m a counterfeiter, and not a very good one at that.

Already, I’m anything but inconspicuous, but, can you imagine if they manage to spring me?

Please, please, bring me back immediately. If you don’t do it soon, I’ll be stuck here, and, who knows, I might become the center of some kind of weird cult, or something.

In sincere hope you’ll find this,
L. Ron Hubbard

Where to put everybody?

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Just exactly how many of us are there?

Well, the world population is somewhere around 7.2 billion and rising.  At the same time, less than half of the earth remains in wilderness, much of that endangered.  It seems we need to to something, the sooner the better.  How much of the earth could we sequester from the likes of us?

Let’s see; if we give each of us a square meter to stand on, that’s about 7000 square kilometers we need, or about 2700 square miles to us colonial types.  Could we put the entire population of the world in, say, Rhode Island?  Not even close.  R. I. has only 2710 square kilometers.  How about Delaware?  Nope, just a little over 5000.

But don’t despair, New York City has 8633, enough for everyone, and more than 1600 left over for parking lots, and there’s some logic in putting everyone somewhere that’s already screwed up, wilderness-wise.  It’s the only city that qualifies, though; the next largest, Tokyo/Yokohama, at 6993, would leave 7 people out in the bay swimming.  Given Mothra and Godzilla and what-not, that’s probably not very safe.

Of course, we could go with industrial world tradition, and put everyone somewhere else.  Palestine is too small, and anyway, Israel is already building enough settlements there to use up all the available space.  Puerto Rico has as much room as NYC, but it’s technically part of the US (Territory?  Colony?  Never mind.)  Same goes for Akhazia, which may or may not be part of Georgia by the time we decide.

It looks like it’s New York City.  Too bad; the rent for a square meter there is already as high as a mortgage elsewhere, and just wait till Donald Trump gets wind of this.

Do you suffer from IQS?

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Do you find yourself repeating meaningless platitudes about love, courage, or creativity throughout the day?  Do you attribute nearly every possible sentence in the English language to the same half dozen famous people?  Do you feel strangely moved by reading the same quote for the hundredth time on Twitter or Facebook?  Do you feel an utterance is made more profound by dividing it into lines, pasting it onto a picture of a sunset, and attributing it to a famous dead person?

If so, you may be among the millions who suffer from Internet Quote Syndrome, or IQS.  Here’s what famous people are saying about IQS:

IQS is the single biggest obstacle to peace in the world today. -Mohandas Gandhi

Without a doubt, IQS is Internet Quote Syndrome – Abraham Lincoln

It’s amazing, all the stuff Lincoln said – Mark Twain

But now there’s something you can do about it.  Just send any normal sentence, in any language to me, along with the low, low price of $69.95, and I will read it.

Yes, It’s that simple.  Here’s what Neill Gaiman says about this extraordinary opportunity:

Hold on, you can’t use me; I ain’t dead yet!

So don’t delay, send today!

Dispatch from the War on Christmas

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23 December 2013
0900 hours

Reconnaissance mission: Walmart.

Encountered Salvation Army bellringer deployed at entrance. Decided on preemptive strike.  “Doesn’t that damned bell drive you crazy, ringing it all day?”

Enemy combatant returned fire.  “Not really, God bless you, sir!”

The unexpected precision of the counterattack left me reeling, as I searched my pocket for a contribution.  I was able to limit the damage to $5.  Dazed and confused, trying to execute a strategic withdrawal, I mumbled something about Saturnalia, but the enemy pressed his advantage.

“Thank you, and have a very Merry Christmas!”

Wounded as I was, I was still able to return fire with “Happy Holidays to you, too,” but a subsequent attempt, “Creation science isn’t,” apparently misfired, as the enemy appeared unmoved.

Still, I was able to make my way to the relative safety of greed and cynical commercialism once I reached the interior of the Walmart.

Result: Marginally satisfactory.  Enemy remained at his post, but I was able to withdraw without substantial casualty.

Mission for 24 December 2013:  Enroll in atheistic socialist Obamacare on Christmas Eve itself.

Mikels Skele, Sp. General, Ret., Dec.
ICU812

An open letter to God, Esq.

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Dear Sir (or Whatever),

As you know, I don’t usually write you open letters, but these days, things have piled up.

First off, why did you have to make my hard drive crash?  Don’t go all innocent; every day I hear people say how you’re in total control, and it’s all according to your plan, etc., etc.  Besides, don’t think I haven’t noticed that everything computer lately is in the cloud.  That’s where you live; hard to believe you’d allow a setup like that unbeknownst.  Sure, lots of people say it’s just the computer companies trying to get more and more control and money off their customers, but I can’t believe you’d let your space be used that way – doesn’t seem like you.  I am also aware I’ve been rude lately, maybe even blasphemous, but a hard drive crash seems a bit much.  How about just one of those migraines, wouldn’t that have been more appropriate?

And then there’s the matter of your people down here – you seriously need to get a grip on them.  They’re always yammering about peace and love, and the whole time they’ve got their hands around your throat and in your pocket.  I like the new guy, Frank, at the Vatican, but frankly, I’m worried for him.  I saw what happened to John Paul I.  Was that you, or some of your Vatican enforcers?  Either way, things seem out of control, and not just in your Mideast franchises.  Here in the US, your people have gotten really crazy.  Look, I know that those you would destroy, you first drive mad, but did you ever consider that the rest of us have to live through that, too?  Didn’t you learn anything from that whole Job experience?

And the weather.  Don’t get me started on the weather.  Yes, we’ve screwed it up ourselves, but, again, it’s your people who have worked the hardest to keep us from fixing things.  We’ve got preachers down here positively gloating about Tribulations and Rapture and what-not.  If you’re not coming back right away, I’d just as soon you fix the weather thing and leave us alone for awhile.  Don’t give me that business that you can’t do anything about it; people ask you all the time to reverse those laws you set up so long ago, just so they can win a big football game, for Christ’s sake.  You could just wave your hand, or whatever it is you’ve got, and Bob’s your uncle.

Well, I know Bob’s not really your uncle.  I won’t even ask you about that triangle thing you’ve got going with Jesus and the Holy Ghost.  Not my business really.

Sincerely,
You-know-who