A Day in the Life

“Picture reality like, you know, waves in a swimming pool. I like swimming pools, don’t you. I love to show off my body, I am like just so perfect, you know. You like my bikini, it’s so bitchin’,” Janie I Taylor, the hot spokeswoman from the Nationail Akademy of like Stuf put it some days later — we were all busty blondes that day and all female. “Oh, sorry,“ she said and giggled. This sexy woman was a PHD in the pre-P&F days. “The wave thingies come from all over and, well some places they pile up and get real big and jiggly like me, see? “ she giggled again.

A Day in the Life

This is not a fan fiction for the Whateley Academy series. This is my entry in Bob’s Stardust R Us first anniversary story contest. This story has nothing to do with my Whateley serial period — no really, I mean it!

Your constructive criticism and advice is appreciated though it doesn’t deter me from writing this fluff. This is an exercise in the joys of creativity and in appreciation of the wonderful Whatel … BC … in appreciation of Bob’s generous spirit in hosting this contest. Any violations of copyright, trademark or use of real people or incidents are purely for purposes of humor or parody and done solely for the free enjoyment of the reading public. All rights reserved in perpetuity, John from Wauwatosa WI, 2007.

Adult content advisory: this chapter, er story may contain situations and topics unsuitable for children. It’s usually mild stuff, but you were warned. And if it didn’t have any, who would read this fluff, I mean, let’s be serious.

A Day in the Life

By John from Wauwatosa
Rhetorical refinement by Janet Nolan, Karen_J and Itinerant,
Not necessarily in that order
Coupon not valid with other offers

* * * *

Mark in Madison’s blog entry for today, June 14th.

I woke as I usually do, wobbly, sleepy and needing the bathroom bad. My luck, Sis had beaten me to it again. I hurried downstairs and hopped into that bathroom instead.

We shared a small house to save money. Sis was thirty-three and divorced from a bad mirage. Oh crap, I meant bad marriage. My typing is terrible today. No kids, thank God, but for an over thirty my sister was attractive. She was back *in the game* and dating a great guy. I was thirty, never married, fit and had my eye on this cutie in reception. We’d talked almost every day and I felt she liked me.

I quickly made some coffee, remembering not to lick the blades of the grinder no matter how tempting. I grabbed a juice, got a couple eggs frying on low and booted up my 4 year-old PC.

“Let’s see, any e-mail? Oh lovely, How to make your penis larger … grow hair … miracle weight-loss herb, tail grooming aids. And another letter from that nice foreign minister in Nigeria who needs help getting money to refugees. Looks like the spam filter needs tweaking. Now to check out my favorite web sites… “

--- clicky-click-click-click ---

“What? ‘Cannot connect with web site; retry later — error code 6986.’ Okay, how about this one? Damn, I wish I had longer arms.”

--- clicky-click-clack-click … click ---

“Oh joy! ‘Site is busy or down at this time — error code 6986.’ Cummon, one of my favorites must be up.”

--- clicky-clack-clack-click-cluck ---

“Typical! ‘Site cannot be accessed at this time — code 6986.’

This was not unexpected, but it upset me nevertheless.

“Damned Ponch and Fleischman, why did they have to do that experiment, life used to be so predictable,” I muttered to myself most every morning. I put on my hat and coat and hopped off to work being careful not to catch my tail in the door. Cars were impractical when the intelligent form of life was descended from kangaroos. “At least this is better than yesterday when everyone was hyper-intelligent amphibians. I can still taste those flies, yuck!”

* * * *

To understand why I felt this way you must understand what everyday life was like after Ponch and Fleischman. Some years before, two *scientists* with similar sounding names claimed they had produced self-sustaining cold-fusion in what was a simple electrochemical cell. They were quite wrong. They did inspire increased interest in the field and cold fusion was a legitimate theoretical concept, just not at room temperature and in Pyrex electrolysis cells. Fusion power had the potential to be clean, abundant, and minimal in its environmental impact but it was a fiendishly clever genie and didn’t want out of the bottle.

What was frustrating was everybody *knew* fusion worked, the stars were powered by it. We humans had harnessed fusion decades ago, but not in a convenient form unless you liked vaporizing coral atolls or major metropolitan areas — the Hydrogen Super bomb or H-bomb.

Controlled, sustainable fusion -- to generate electric power for example -- was far more difficult. Exquisitely engineered magnetic devices and massive laser banks were built to contain and heat deuterium and tritium plasmas to imitate solar fusion, but to no avail. The one method that produced more energy than it consumed required the intense heat, pressure and neutron radiation of an atomic bomb to initiate fusion. Unfortunately, every other trick the scientists tried failed to trigger fusion or consumed more power than it produced. Sustained fusion was a fickle mistress and was largely given up on. Cold fusion used exotic elements and particles such as helium 3 and mesons to catalyze the reaction and make it possible at a few thousands of degrees Kelvin as opposed to 10 million, but it was only theory.

* * * *

The hoopla over *cold fusion* and the *fallout* from the collapse of their claims soured the field. Only a scientist with great determination, one willing to march-to-the beat-of-a-different-drum would dare pursue such research. There was one other kind of person attracted to cold fusion, someone desperate and stupid enough not to realize the consequences of success. It was this latter who cracked it, and boy did they *crack* it.

I’ll cut to the chase; they did it. They achieved sustained and controlled — so they thought — fusion, and it released far more energy than it consumed. This was all well and good and then they got another brilliant idea, a grand public demonstration. This demonstration would silence the critics before they got started, they thought. This demonstration nearly ended civilization as we know it, instead. It was much in the vein of such classic publicity stunt/grand public demonstrations as Edison electrifying and lighting a city block to prove he’d produced a practical electric light. Or think of Parsons using three of his new steam turbines to power a small launch at 38 knots when the fastest ships in the world did barely 17 then weaving it in-and-out of the grand naval regalia at Queen Victoria’s diamond jubilee.

Our dear Ponch and Fleischman decide to mimic Tesla and his experiments in broadcast power transmission and artificial lighting. They built a huge fusion generator on-the-cheap by adapting an abandoned distillery. The stainless-steel distilling column was a ready-made reaction chamber. They built a huge hi-frequency antenna array to transmit the power to the receiving station miles away. This would power a small disused factory complex. It would have been impressive if it worked properly. They even tested it, once, for a few seconds and it worked fine.

The notices were sent out and the press and doubting scientists arrived for the grand unveiling. After a brief explanation Ponch threw the switch, a big functional open-air knife switch right out of a Frankenstein film. A computer-generated voice announced each step as the system came on-line. The fusion plant started producing power, and an intense beam of energy shot into the air. The closed-circuit remote showed the old factory light up and everyone applauded until the fusion plant overloaded less than a minute later.

* * * *

Any chef can tell you some recipes do not scale up. For whatever reason, some reactions are best within a certain range of size. Too much or too little and you get bad results. In scaling up their fusion generator from a few thousand watts to several thousand megawatts, good old P and F didn’t think to re-engineer things. They assumed it scaled up linearly — i.e. double the volume of the chamber, you double the output. They were wrong. It wasn’t a linear function, it was geometric. Doubling got you near four times as much output and they had increased the reaction chamber size by … you don’t want to know. Let’s say it was a whole lot bigger. The previous one sat on a lab bench. If the control system had functioned correctly this was no problem. By limiting the fuel you limit the maximum possible energy output.

The live video feed recorded what happened next. “As you can see, our fusion plant can be scaled up a minimal expense yet maintain absolute safety.”

“This application has performed an illegal operation, Windows error code *6986*. Windows is shutting down,” said the computer voice over the loudspeakers. The *geniuses* were controlling everything with a single used laptop.

Ponch was quick on his feet, I must admit. “This is a demonstration of the robustness of our design. This planned failure will simply and safely shut everything down with no risk of damage or the release of harmful radiation.”

Talk about your snow jobs! He knew this was not planned but hoped the *happy scenario* was the case. The computer locked-up instead of shutting the plant down, creating a fault in the control relays. The fuel injection valves opened completely, the pumps keep on pumping and the reaction went wild. The plant exploded. Everyone within a thousand foot radius was vaporized. Buildings were flattened a mile out. The explosion released the same amount of energy as the Nagasaki a-bomb. Being a *clean* fusion reaction, radiation was minimal — local only and short-lived. Because of the plants remote location only those at the ceremony were killed or harmed. It was a disaster but the plans were on file with the US Patient Office so the work could be resumed and made safe. It was assumed P& F had been careless and unlucky.

* * * *

The government said all was well, and we put it out of our minds until the reality shifts or, more popularly, *ripples* hit. The energy beam overloaded when the plant blew, and the barrier between alternate realities was shattered. No, that’s not right. It was more akin to the barrier being weakened such that other realities and ours periodically overlapped and interacted. The government admitted there was a problem only after the State Of The Union speech when everyone present turned instantaneously into pink-haired hermaphroditic midgets with four breasts and pointy ears. The world’s scientists scrambled to explain the phenomenon.

“Picture reality like, you know, waves in a swimming pool. I like swimming pools, don’t you. I love to show off my body, I am like just so perfect, you know. You like my bikini, it’s so bitchin’,” Janie I Taylor, the hot spokeswoman from the Nationail Akademy of like Stuf put it some days later — we were all busty blondes that day and all female. “Oh, sorry,“ she said and giggled. This sexy woman was a PHD in the pre-P&F days. “The wave thingies come from all over and, well some places they pile up and get real big and jiggly like me, see? “ she giggled again. “ That’s kinda like when one reality mixes with another. The waves keep splashing around and so then we’re all six legged pigs the next day or cat-people like last week, duh! Oh, I forgot,“ she giggled again. I thought she was being too formal in her speech... “the waves are diminish… diminish… getting' smaller and so in about exactly, “ she counted using her fingers and toes, “14 days — that’s two hands and one foot not counting the *littlest piggy* -- the reality changes will stop. Oh, yeah. They will come quicker and, um, quicker, oh! (giggle) in the end just before they stop. I hope I’m not stuck as that stuffy old man again. What a bummer!”

* * * *

The changes were coming every few days at first, then daily, then a couple times a day. All of reality shifted with it which helped but still. Somehow we always remembered what we originally looked like which made the changes so upsetting at times. I stopped at a convenience store to get a paper.

“Wall Street Journal, please,” I said to the naked young woman at the counter. I noticed she had faint tan lines. I was appalled. “Miss, it’s not my business what you do in private but you need to put some concealer on those tan lines. It screams you are a clothist.”

“Forgive me sir. It’s my boyfriend, we were just … it helps him …”

“Many fantasize in the bedroom. You need to be more careful, miss.”

I paid and continued on my way. I admit I pictured her in a burka. ~~Oh, yeah baby, put it on slow for Daddy!~~ I’m sorry that was disgusting.

* * * *

I was waiting for the next hover car when my eyes clouded over. ~~Just lovely, I’m molting.~~ I stumbled onto the streetcar where a handsome male lobster noticed my plight and helped me split open my carapace. I was in my soft-shell state and vulnerable, but he was a real gentleman.

“Miss, I don’t normally act so bold but you are a most attractive crab. Would you like to spawn with me?”

He had the most attractive claws so we exchanged phone numbers and I agreed to call him tonight for a date, nothing formal.

* * * *

The flying carpet reached the next stop, and the cute little filly got off. I was sure I’d call her tonight and take her for a romp in my pasture. ~~A stallion can’t get too much mare. Darn it, I think I threw a shoe.~~

I stopped at a Jiffy Shod franchise. You know the place, *Shoes fitted while you wait*. The mechanic recommended I replace all four. I agreed with him as the wear-bars were showing. I decided on all-seasons. He had finished the third shoe when I realized I was late for work and need to call in. I asked to use the phone.

“S-s-s-s-sure Bub, down th-th-the hall,” she pointed.

I slithered down to the phone and called my boss, a real snake’s snake, if you know what I mean. I finished the call, touched up my makeup and got in my tiny car.

We arrived at work and all 12 of us got out of the car.

“That’s my seltzer bottle.”

“Sorry. Has anyone seen my banana cream pie?”

We sorted out the rubber chickens and banana peels and locked the car.

I walked into the office building. The cute college girl in reception noticed my outfit. “Nice clown-shoes Hon, they go with your hair.”

“Thanks, great nose you’re wearing today. Putty or plastic, Dear?”

“Putty, my mom can’t abide using a plastic nose. She says it makes a girl look cheap.”

“My thought exactly.” I smiled at her; she was so angelic. I felt so full of spirit I spread my wings and set my halo at a jaunty angle. I flew up to my cloud and started the day’s work.

* * * *

After that brief example of what I went through this morning you can understand why I detest the late P&F and that stupid experiment. I changed forms over fifty times before it was time to go home. I lost count after I became twin dolphins. I’m entering this into my journal as the ripples in reality have stopped. They got down to as little as a minute apart, then nothing. The government announced the all clear an hour ago.

I am my old male, office worker self. Bush is still President. Windows still sucks. I’m going out on a date with that sexy college girl in reception; she says I’m just her type. She likes older guys so; I hope to get lucky tonight. Have to go now.

* * * *
Later that evening.

“Jenny, this has been a wonderful evening. Dinner with you was a treat. You’re a great dancer and that dress makes you look enchanting. I know I’m being forward, this is our first formal date and all but do you want to ….?”

“I’ve wanted to for months, Mark. Let’s go to my place.”

* * * *
Slightly later that evening.

“Mark, I put the radio on low so we’d have a little music while we …Mark, why are you standing there with your clothes on and your mouth open? Never seen a naked woman before? Now get those off and let’s have some fun, mister!”

* * * *

One hour later.

Oh, oh, oh …OH!

“The Emergency Broadcast System has an important announcement, please standby …”

Yes, yes, yes … YES!

* * * *

Sometime much later that evening.

“Oh my god, that was amazing! You were like a machine; I passed out from the pleasure. I thought I couldn’t take it all, that you were too big, but you were just right.”

“I aim to please. I think I’m game for another, do you …?”

“I’d love to, but I’ve got a busy schedule tomorrow. We’d better say goodnight, for now at least. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

* * * *

One month later.

I got home safely that night but late. Sis grilled me over what had happened and lectured me about having sex on the first date. Then she surprised my by hugging me and saying how lucky I was. I had a great nights sleep. I was so glad that very last ripple of unreality passed when it did. It hit just as we were at that most intimate of moments, but then we both got what we wanted. I still have a great job and now I have a great new lover and who knows? We’ve seen each other every day for lunch and have had some wild nights together since that fateful first date. We forgot protection that first night; she said it was a safe day. We’ve used it ever since at my insistence, but we got it wrong -- we’re going to be parents . … Uh, excuse me.

I hate when that happens, morning sickness is a bitch.

Enough for now, that’s my blog for today.

Hugs and kisses, everyone

Markie in Madison

The End
Program error 6986 ….