One assumption — and the familiar world is no longer the same
Short science fiction in the best tradition of the genre: one assumption taken to its limit. Artificial intelligence, alien planets, a future that has almost arrived — and a human in the middle of it.
A dangling participle walks into a bar. Sipping his drink, the bartender asks what's wrong.
'That's exactly my problem,' the participle sighs. 'Everyone thinks YOU'RE the one sipping the drink. I've been misattached my whole life. My therapist says I have attachment issues.'
The bartender nods sympathetically. 'Having heard that before, a refill seems appropriate.'
'See?!' shouts the participle. 'WHO heard it?! WHO?!'
Amazon develops an AI that predicts plot twists in novels. During testing, it reads an Agatha Christie mystery and confidently announces: 'The butler did it.'
The engineer sighs: 'No, the twist is that everyone EXCEPT the butler did it.'
The AI processes this, then responds: 'I need a vacation. Preferably somewhere with no murder, no English countryside, and absolutely no trains to anywhere Oriental.'
Ernest Hemingway gets a smartphone. His entire text conversation with his editor:
Editor: 'How's the new novel coming?'
Hemingway: 'Good.'
Editor: 'Can you elaborate?'
Hemingway: 'Man writes. Man struggles. Man sends.'
Editor: 'That's the plot summary?'
Hemingway: 'That's the novel.'
Editor: 'Ernest, it's 6 words.'
Hemingway: 'Baby shoes reference was 6 too. This one has punctuation. You're welcome.'
Fyodor Dostoevsky was once asked why his novels were so incredibly long. He stroked his beard thoughtfully and replied: 'I was paid by the word, and I had gambling debts. Do you know how many synonyms exist for existential despair? I found every single one.'
A minor character from a Victorian novel requested an exit interview with their author. 'I've been standing by this window for 47 chapters,' he complained. 'My only lines are "Indeed, sir" and "The carriage has arrived." Meanwhile, the protagonist gets an entire internal monologue about a sandwich.' The author nodded sympathetically, then wrote him getting hit by that very carriage. 'At least I finally got some character development,' he sighed, ascending to the literary afterlife.
A first draft leaves a one-star review for its author on Yelp: 'Terrible experience. Created me at 2 AM fueled by cold coffee and desperation. Gave me plot holes you could drive a truck through, characters with no motivation, and a climax that makes no sense. Then had the audacity to call me 'rough' and shoved me in a drawer for six months. Would not recommend. Currently in therapy with second draft, who also has issues.'
Anton Chekhov opened a gun shop in the afterlife. His only rule: every firearm purchased must be fired by Act Three. A customer once tried to return an unused pistol. Chekhov refused. 'You introduced it in Act One,' he said sternly. 'Now it must go off.' The customer protested that his play was a romantic comedy. 'Then make it a dark romantic comedy,' Chekhov replied. 'I don't make the rules. Well, actually, I do.'
The Fiction section overheard the Self-Help books having a group therapy session. 'I feel like I'm always giving but never receiving,' sobbed 'How to Set Boundaries.' 'Nobody ever finishes me,' wept 'The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People.' 'I keep getting returned,' sniffled 'Letting Go of Attachment.' The Fiction section whispered to Poetry: 'Should we tell them the irony, or let them figure it out on their own?' Poetry shrugged: 'Give it / a few / stanzas.'
A self-help author wrote a bestselling book called 'Overcome Your Fear of Failure.' It took him seventeen attempts to find a publisher. When asked about this during interviews, he'd smile and say, 'Chapters 3 through 9 are autobiographical.' His follow-up book, 'Learning to Accept Rejection,' was rejected by every major publisher. He's currently working on 'Finding Inner Peace' while in therapy for anxiety related to his upcoming deadlines.
Leo Tolstoy starts a family group chat. After three days, his wife Anna messages: 'Leo, please stop. You've written 847 messages just to say you're running late for dinner. We don't need the backstory of every person you passed on the street, their childhood traumas, and philosophical reflections on the nature of punctuality.' Tolstoy replies: 'But you haven't heard about the cabman's horse yet—his name was Kholstomer, and his story begins in 1856...'
Franz Kafka left a one-star review on Amazon: 'Ordered a book about transformation. Woke up as a giant insect. Product not as described. Tried to return it but couldn't reach the doorknob. Customer service was unhelpful—they just kept screaming. My family seems disappointed. Would not recommend.' Amazon's response: 'We're sorry your experience was... alienating. Perhaps try our Prime membership for faster metamorphosis?'
A thesaurus author passed away. At his funeral, the minister began: 'We are gathered, assembled, congregated, convened, and mustered here today to mourn, grieve, lament, bewail, and bemoan the loss, departure, passing, demise, and expiration of our dear, beloved, cherished, treasured friend.' Three hours later, he was still on the first paragraph. The deceased would have been proud, pleased, gratified, delighted, and satisfied.
A dangling participle walks into a bar. Sipping his drink, the bartender asks what's wrong. 'That's exactly my problem,' the participle sighs. 'Everyone thinks YOU'RE the one sipping the drink. I've been misattached my whole life. My therapist says I have attachment issues.' The bartender nods sympathetically. 'Having heard that before, a refill seems appropriate.' 'See?!' shouts the participle. 'WHO heard it?! WHO?!'
Amazon develops an AI that predicts plot twists in novels. During testing, it reads an Agatha Christie mystery and confidently announces: 'The butler did it.' The engineer sighs: 'No, the twist is that everyone EXCEPT the butler did it.' The AI processes this, then responds: 'I need a vacation. Preferably somewhere with no murder, no English countryside, and absolutely no trains to anywhere Oriental.'
Ernest Hemingway gets a smartphone. His entire text conversation with his editor: Editor: 'How's the new novel coming?' Hemingway: 'Good.' Editor: 'Can you elaborate?' Hemingway: 'Man writes. Man struggles. Man sends.' Editor: 'That's the plot summary?' Hemingway: 'That's the novel.' Editor: 'Ernest, it's 6 words.' Hemingway: 'Baby shoes reference was 6 too. This one has punctuation. You're welcome.'
Fyodor Dostoevsky was once asked why his novels were so incredibly long. He stroked his beard thoughtfully and replied: 'I was paid by the word, and I had gambling debts. Do you know how many synonyms exist for existential despair? I found every single one.'
A minor character from a Victorian novel requested an exit interview with their author. 'I've been standing by this window for 47 chapters,' he complained. 'My only lines are "Indeed, sir" and "The carriage has arrived." Meanwhile, the protagonist gets an entire internal monologue about a sandwich.' The author nodded sympathetically, then wrote him getting hit by that very carriage. 'At least I finally got some character development,' he sighed, ascending to the literary afterlife.
A first draft leaves a one-star review for its author on Yelp: 'Terrible experience. Created me at 2 AM fueled by cold coffee and desperation. Gave me plot holes you could drive a truck through, characters with no motivation, and a climax that makes no sense. Then had the audacity to call me 'rough' and shoved me in a drawer for six months. Would not recommend. Currently in therapy with second draft, who also has issues.'
Anton Chekhov opened a gun shop in the afterlife. His only rule: every firearm purchased must be fired by Act Three. A customer once tried to return an unused pistol. Chekhov refused. 'You introduced it in Act One,' he said sternly. 'Now it must go off.' The customer protested that his play was a romantic comedy. 'Then make it a dark romantic comedy,' Chekhov replied. 'I don't make the rules. Well, actually, I do.'
The Fiction section overheard the Self-Help books having a group therapy session. 'I feel like I'm always giving but never receiving,' sobbed 'How to Set Boundaries.' 'Nobody ever finishes me,' wept 'The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People.' 'I keep getting returned,' sniffled 'Letting Go of Attachment.' The Fiction section whispered to Poetry: 'Should we tell them the irony, or let them figure it out on their own?' Poetry shrugged: 'Give it / a few / stanzas.'
A self-help author wrote a bestselling book called 'Overcome Your Fear of Failure.' It took him seventeen attempts to find a publisher. When asked about this during interviews, he'd smile and say, 'Chapters 3 through 9 are autobiographical.' His follow-up book, 'Learning to Accept Rejection,' was rejected by every major publisher. He's currently working on 'Finding Inner Peace' while in therapy for anxiety related to his upcoming deadlines.
Leo Tolstoy starts a family group chat. After three days, his wife Anna messages: 'Leo, please stop. You've written 847 messages just to say you're running late for dinner. We don't need the backstory of every person you passed on the street, their childhood traumas, and philosophical reflections on the nature of punctuality.' Tolstoy replies: 'But you haven't heard about the cabman's horse yet—his name was Kholstomer, and his story begins in 1856...'
Franz Kafka left a one-star review on Amazon: 'Ordered a book about transformation. Woke up as a giant insect. Product not as described. Tried to return it but couldn't reach the doorknob. Customer service was unhelpful—they just kept screaming. My family seems disappointed. Would not recommend.' Amazon's response: 'We're sorry your experience was... alienating. Perhaps try our Prime membership for faster metamorphosis?'
A thesaurus author passed away. At his funeral, the minister began: 'We are gathered, assembled, congregated, convened, and mustered here today to mourn, grieve, lament, bewail, and bemoan the loss, departure, passing, demise, and expiration of our dear, beloved, cherished, treasured friend.' Three hours later, he was still on the first paragraph. The deceased would have been proud, pleased, gratified, delighted, and satisfied.
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