January 9, 2011


Meanwhile at Portland Municipal Sewage Works…

Gabe regarded the young engineer with contempt. He wore those fancy wire-frame glasses and a look of disgust which indicated that, unlike Gabe, he still had a sense of smell.

Both men looked across the vast pool of sewage which bubbled alarmingly.

“Levels of methane have increased over 300%,” said the engineer, “I blame those new mung bean cereal bars. Have you tried them? They’re delicious.”

Gabe retrieved the cigarette from behind his ear.

“You won’t catch me eating that muck,” he growled and lit his cigarette.

The subsequent fireball was visible from Seattle.


The Pink Pussycat

May 31, 2010

It was midnight in the Pink Pussycat and place was jumping. DJ Gustav was mashing-up eccentric beats with soulful grooves. Homeboys lounged at the bar whilst hipster chicks cut-up the dance floor.

It was then that Big Eric took the floor and began to jive. Man, you never saw a fat man move like that.

Beneath the music a syncopated stomp grew… and grew. The basement shook and the clubbers dived for cover.

ROAAAAARR! Funkasaurus was in the house.

The DJ pulled the plug, but the funk grew louder. Riding that rhythmic, unstoppable baseline the monster burst from the club.

Mission Statement

February 13, 2010

The mission statement should have warned us. The corporate prospectus for Cerberus Integrated Technologies bore the motto; “To subjugate mankind”.

However this kind of ambition, and aggression, was music to the ears of a recession weary Wall Street. Investors flocked to the company hailed as the renaissance of American manufacturing. The IPO in late 2010 raised $1.2 billion of capital which, as promised, was ploughed back into R&D.

Three years later I am cowering in a storm drain. Outside Cerberus MegaCorp killbots strut through the snowy streets of Houston hunting uncollared humans.

There are not many of us left now.

[First posted Mon Jan 04, 2010]

Destroy Portland

February 13, 2010

Steveo (stoner and hair metal enthusiast) was chilling out on the roof of the bakery where he “worked” when he was woken by an explosion.

“What the hell?” he yelled, leaping to his feet to see that downtown Portland was ablaze.

Two blocks away a metal giant (looking like Truckasaurus gone bad) was kicking the shit out of the Portland Art Museum, whilst incidentally stomping fleeing tourists.

“Leave it out, asshole!” Steveo screamed defiantly.

The robot slowly turned its dumpster sized head, before lumbering towards Ernie’s 24 Hour Bagel Emporium upon which our hero stood.

What would Van Halen do?

[First posted Mon Dec 07, 2009]

The Survivor

February 13, 2010

As the starship entered orbit around the third plant radiation readings from the upper atmosphere confirmed the worst fears of the diplomatic team. They had arrived too late.

With a heavy heart the Captain ordered the release of the automated rescue probe. He doubted whether it would locate any sentient life extant on the planet, but they must try.

Entering the ruins of a deserted metropolis the probe scanned for signs of life. Finally it spotted movement. Amongst the rubble lay a battered pink robot. Its servos feebly whirred as the probe approached.

“Cindy want wee-wee. Cindy want a huuugggg…”

[First posted Sat Sep 12, 2009]


February 13, 2010

An inscrutable cow stands impassive on the crest of the hill as darkness consumes the stars.

As the village below her is laid waste by the firestorm, she does not flinch or bat a long-lashed eyelid. As the cataclysm overtakes mankind (surely it is the end of the world?) she remained unmoved by the screams of the damned.

Under her gaze the fires burn until the acrid grey morning, when nothing remains of the village except smoking ashes. Cow flicks an ear and surveys the scene uncomfortably. Her resolve is unbroken. Sadly, she thinks, she could not have avoided this.

[First posted Sat Aug 08, 2009]

The Doppelganger

February 13, 2010

Mike could not be sure at first, but when the man went to the bar to buy another pint of lager it was obvious; the man was identical to Mike. His double had the same receding brown hair, glasses and a nose, which Mike had often thought, was too large for his face.

He approached his doppelganger, who was clearly drunk, and introduced himself. Recognition flashed across the man’s face and he smiled.

“I’m Steve”

the clone said, and extended his hand.

The explosion generated as matter annihilated antimatter destroyed both men, atomised the pub and most of Greater London.

[First posted Sun Jun 14, 2009]