It’s time for another viral story! Like the last two (here and here), we’ll stick with the ship theme, just send them out into the webspace.
Hopefully, this time I won’t miss (m)any bloggers!!!
DISCLAIMER: The story below is fictional. Blog names and titles are used in a creative, fictional way and are not intended to be, nor should they be construed as, an accurate representation of any blogs or bloggers.
Web Trek
Space, the Untwisted Vortex.
These are the Slyvisions of the U.S.S. Cariboo Ponderer.
Its One Man’s Goal: to Think Like Them, to Blog That Outside, to boldly Escape Job Hell!
Episode 1: “The Journey to 30”
CAPTAIN’S LOG: Webdate 176.255.234.91.1012:22
We are continuing our journey through the Techie Zone to bring the ambassadors from the Lewis Empire to the Bamboo Nation peace conference. Aside from their pet Blogolope escaping and running through the engineering deck, our trip thus far has been without incident. But tensions are high with the ambassadors from the Misdo Club who continue to have problems with Ziff, The Blogger Who Asks Stupid Questions. I have asked Lt. Commander Syaf the Geek to do something about it.
“Mr. Syaf, have you done anything about it?” inquired Captain Kenibatz.
“Yes, sir,” he replied. “I gave him My GPS Camera Phone and beamed him down to Skittle’s Place with the Nerdy Nomad. It’ll be days before they’ve realized we’ve left them behind.”
“By which time, we’ll be back to pick them up,” said the Captain.
“If you want,” the Lt. Commander mumbled.
Just then, another man in red uniform ran up to them, out of breath.
“What is it, Mr. Baconpants?” asked the Captain.
“Aye, Cap’n, the blogolope must’a weakened the Allscm.com shielding on the Webd360 matrix, ’cause the engineerin’ deck is flooded with Omicra, and we donna have enuf Komirad filters to a’sorb all that radiation.”
“Easy Tech Talk, Mr. Baconpants, easy on the tech talk,” replied the Captain.
“Aye, Cap’n. It means we’re all gonna die!”
* * * COMMERCIAL BREAK * * *
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“I Should Have Bred Iguanas” says the pool boy.
* * * END COMMERCIAL * * *
CAPTAIN’S LOG: Supplemental
Mr. Baconpants blathered on and on about Pro Blog Design or Blogging Bits flooding compartments or some such tomfoolery. I told him to fix it within the hour and be done with it. Meanwhile, I’ve finally been able to Master Halo 3!
“Captain?”
“Yes, Mr. Low.”
“Before he died from radiation poisoning, Mr. Baconpants was able to remove the Omicra particles and save the ship.”
“That’s great!” answered the Captain. “Bummer about Mr. Baconpants. Of all the men I know, he was the most alien.”
“Yes, sir,” answered Mr. Low. “We have a bigger problem. The leak wasn’t caused by blogolope damage. It was a CyberSurge.”
“A cybersurge? What does that mean?”
“I’m afraid it means sabotage, Captain. The ship has been sabotaged.”
* * * COMMERCIAL BREAK * * *
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* * * END COMMERCIAL * * *
CAPTAIN’S LOG: Supplemental
Mr. Low is convinced there is a sabiture saboter sabitore sabitour sabotor sabotar the ship has been sabotaged. We’ve already lost Mr. Baconpants as a result. I had his casket fired off into space, toward the CHESSNOID nebula, where I hope he will find peace and not come back to life, because that would be pretty tragic since there is no air in the vacuum of space. I have ordered Security Chief Chris Bloczynski to do a deck by deck search for the sabetir sabotre sabitre guy who sabotaged the ship. I ordered Mr. Bloczynski to wear a blue uniform, rather than his standard red uniform. Can’t be too careful.
Mr. Bloczynski pushed a man to the ground at the Captain’s feet.
“I found the saboteur, sir.”
“Saboteur! Of course, that’s how you spell it!”
“Captain?”
“Oh, yes,” sputtered the Captain. “So, who is he?”
“Rammel Firdaus,” replied Mr. Bloczynski. “He’s one of the Digital Lost Boys.”
“I read about them in The Daily Fuzz. What are they doing in this sector?”
“I believe they are trying to disrupt the peace conference, Captain. If the Lewis Empire and the Bamboo Nation go to war, they will only have to take down The Diva Network and they can rule the galaxy.”
“My stars,” exclaimed the Captain. “That Poewar could set the Fashion Style Trend back another ten years! High Fivez will be in style again!”
“Yes, sir.”
The Captain kicked the saboteur. “So, is that your plan? Is that your idea for The Blogging Experiment?” He kicked him some more. “You want A Little Piece of Me?” The Captain kicked him again, this time in the rantbits.com.
The man struggled to speak. “I–”
* * * COMMERCIAL BREAK * * *
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* * * END COMMERCIAL * * *
CAPTAIN’S LOG: Supplemental
Mr. Bloczynski was able to locate the sabotuer. Unfortunately, before he could confess, we were interrupted by a commercial break and he died during the interim from injuries sustained during his interrogation radiation poisoning. Navigator Etienne Teo told me that since the Techie Zone is so close to Marketing Land, we are bound to be interrupted by an above average level of commercial breaks. But, at least we’re not on PBS and getting interrupted by lengthy pledge breaks. The whole crew could be dead by now.
“If Mr. Baconpants was still alive, he could meld his mind with Rammel Firdaus and discover his motive, his plan, his Secretalife.”
“Sigh,” replied (sort of) the Captain.
“Sir?”
“But Rammel is dead.”
“Doesn’t matter,” replied Lt. Commander Syaf. “While the brain is still freshly dead, there are still electrical signals being sent, gradually decreasing in strength until the brain completely shuts down due to the lack of oxygen being pumped into the blood by the once beating heart. During that time, it would still be possible to merge minds and learn some of the dead man’s tales. Think of a dying brain as The Thought Sponge.”
“Wait a minute!” exclaimed the Captain. “You’re the one with the pointy ears, you blue-blooded freak. It’s not Mr. Baconpants that could do weird things with his mind–it’s you!”
“Yes, your logic is quite right, Captain,” replied Syaf. “I was confused because Mr. Baconpants tried to meld his mind with Doctor Chang so that his Scraps of Mind could eventually be archived at The Uncanny Brain Broadcasting Blog. The radiation poisoning must have made him think he was me!”
“But, how could you forget, Mr. Syaf?” asked the Captain. “How could you do something so out of character?”
“The writers’ strike?”
“That must be it,” replied the Captain. “So, can you merge with him now and delve into his Chimeric Day Dreams to learn of his dastardly plans?”
“But, his casket’s halfway to the CHESSNOID nebula by now, though we may be able to find it on Blog Sonar…”
“Not Mr. Baconpants, Mr. Syaf! Rammel Firdaus. Can you do a brain merge with Rammel Firdaus?”
“Oh, no, Captain. He’s too dead by now. That would be icky.”
“Go Smell the Flowers,” replied the Captain. “And then give it a try. We must know All Things About his Back Lot Projects!”
* * * COMMERCIAL BREAK * * *
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* * * END COMMERCIAL * * *
CAPTAIN’S LOG: Supplemental
I observed as Mr. Syaf touched the face of the deceased sabotuer, attempting to read whatever was left in his mind. He mumbled something about “My Thoughts to your jelly donuts, my jelly donuts for Any Apples, your apples to my Rich Minx… Fiona is Me… Welcome to My World of Dreams!” Or some such nonsense. I completely lost interest in watching Mr. Syaf manhandle a corpse and began thinking of The Budget Babe I had met during the Galactic Party at Wolf 359. She didn’t like to spend a lot of money on clothes, I can tell you that. Ah, the Places Remembered and Imagined!
“Captain?”
“Not now! I’m doing my log entry. Never interrupt me while I’m logging, Ensign Shamus!”
“Yes, sir.”
CAPTAIN’S LOG: Supplemental
As I was saying, she worked at Webbase Beth Allen II in the Nimbus sector. She was definitely not The Alien Next Door! She nearly had a John Cow when the Miri Guy wouldn’t stop hitting on her. I ordered a Boston Brat with extra mustard and shoved it into his mouth. She was grateful–oh how grateful!–she was a real Boogie Mum, if you know what I mean. She was a Olympic Blogger and I but a Groovy Entrepreneur. It was a match made in the DigitalORDER…
“Captain?”
“Logging! Go away!”
“Captain, the ambassadors are complaining about the food. They say all that Chef Phil will prepare is Balls and Walnuts, and they are allergic.”
“Go tell Chef to make them something Missylicious and leave me alone!”
“Yes, sir.”
CAPTAIN’S LOG: Supplemental
When I found out she was on Bloggings Most Wanted, I wasn’t sure what to do. She was a real Market Treasure, if you know what I mean, and I didn’t want it to end. So, I took a Breather and then–
* * * COMMERCIAL BREAK * * *
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* * * END COMMERCIAL * * *
CAPTAIN’S LOG: Supplemental.
Geesh. That wasn’t even a cliffhanger and they went to commercial. I guess we have to give those Idea Sellers their due. But, back to my story. Hmmm. Perhaps I will call my book “Tales from a Former Michigander.” Sounds cool, if only I knew what a Michigander was. Some kind of Blog Duck maybe? Anyway, it was Just Another Day… In all My Wanderings, I had never met such a woman. Not such a human woman, anyway. The girls of Antares, well… But, anyway, she had a criminal past she was running from, so what choice did I have? We made wild, passionate Misdo Link Love, and then I turned her Into the Inkpot at the nearest police station. It was a real win-win. Not for her, of course, but for me, and society.
Anyway, I guess I’ve spent too much time logging when I should be captaining. Admiral Chan will have a hissy fit plus give me Writer’s Notes. Whatever.
“Status, Mr. Folan?”
“Still on course for the Bamboo Nation, sir. We should arrive in four days.”
“Four days? It should be less than a day’s journey by now.”
“Yes, sir, but all the starting and stopping due to the commercials really hurts the engines, sir.”
“I see. Carry on, Mr. Demp.se/y.”
“That’s Folan, sir.”
“Sorry,” replied the Captain. “Your shirt’s red, you’ll be dead by the end of the episode. You might want to go ahead and send your farewells to your family. Heaven knows you won’t have time when you get blasted to SEO or whatever unfortunate fate awaits you.”
“Yes, sir. I Do Things so you won’t have to.”
“And, that’s why you’ll end up dead, Mr. Chris.”
“That’s Folan, sir.”
“Until you’re shot, stabbed, vaporized or BlogStruk.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Or any combination thereof.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I Hate Your Job, Mr. Corndog.”
“So do I, sir.”
* * * COMMERCIAL BREAK * * *
Hello, this Average Joe from the Comedy Plus Comedy Club again. We realized that, in our last ad, we forgot to tell you where we were located, which would explain, we hope, why no one showed up for our special comedy night with the Valley Girl and the Copywriting Maven. We signed a contract to pay $80,000 for the two of them to come to our club, and we only sold three drinks to the roadies. And those were half off since they were all women and every night is freakin’ ladies night.
Look, we don’t have $80,000. We had run the numbers and had certain expectations for the audience and conversion rate on our ad. But, no one showed. We’ve been reading the Everything Finance Blog and realized we’re screwed. We really need to get people to come in and buy drinks before the Valley Girl and the Copywriting Maven send their goons after us.
Please stop by. Enjoy a night of comedy, and buy a drink. Or two. Or three. Especially if you’re a guy. There’ll be no last call. Drink all you want. Leave stinkin’ drunk. We don’t care, as long as you’re handing us cash.
Have you seen their goons? They went after the Random Encounters of We Comedy Club last fall. No one’s seen any of them since. Please, please, please, for the love of all things holy and good and just in the world, come in to the Comedy Plus Comedy Club and get yourself stinkin’ drunk. College kids welcome. High school kids too. We’re not checking IDs. Toddlers, preschoolers, they all look 21 to us. For the love of Pete, please buy a drink!
* * * END COMMERCIAL * * *
CAPTAIN’S LOG: Supplemental
I wish that Webfleet would let me put in some ads in this log, then I could use my AdSense Tracker and Make Cents Online! They could even have a piece of the action and Grow Rich Along With Me! But, alas, all I’d really like to do is to learn How to Draw. I’ve Tried That, and end up with just stick figures. So, I’m going to make that my One Year Goal. If I can’t draw a pretty kitty a year from now, I’m quitting Webfleet and becoming a daytrader on the Forex Trading Blog. That’s How I Will Be Rich. Peace. Out.
“Red alert! Red alert!”
“What’s going on, Mr. Syaf?” asked the Captain.
“We’re being boarded by the Oil Offshore Marine!”
“Who?”
“He’s working with the Digital Lost Boys!” exclaimed Mr. Syaf.
“Don’t get emotional, Mr. Syaf.”
“Mr. Folan is already dead from an unexpected energy surge when the Marine’s ship broke our shields. I Am Facing Millions of reports to file if he successfully boards the ship and takes the ambassadors hostage! I don’t have an opposable thumb like you! Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to hold a stylus? Why doesn’t Webfleet have keyboards anymore?”
“Pull yourself together!”
“Sorry, sir. Bonding with a dead man has had an emotional toll.”
“Oh, Terri Terri Quite Contrary, just pay the piper and let’s get on with it!”
CAPTAIN’S LOG: Supplemental
We’re five days out from the Bamboo Nation. Under attack by the Oil Offshore–
“Captain?”
“LOGGING!!!”
“Captain, we’re in the middle of a red alert. Besides, aren’t you supposed to do your log after the commercial, so that viewers will know what they’ve missed so far?”
“Quite right, Mr. Syaf.”
* * * COMMERCIAL BREAK * * *
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* * * END COMMERCIAL * * *
CAPTAIN’S LOG: Supplemental
I’ve been reading Moms Writing! to try to figure out what happened to the Sewing Mom. Tracked down a post on DCR Blogs, which led to a link on Sabrina’s Money Matters, which lead me to Michelle and the City, which I thought was a sitcom but it wasn’t. From there, the trail went cold.
Oh, but anyway, we had this red alert.
Caroline in the City. That was the sitcom!
Anyway, we were being boarded by the Oil Offshore Marine. What he was doing in space, I have no idea. He tried to take the ambassadors hostage, but Mr. Syaf got him in a Nimboid Death Grip, but it didn’t kill him. Just knocked him out for a while. I could have done that with a 2×4, but I was in my quarters, reading John Chow’s eBook. Maybe if I can make some money with this blogging thing, I won’t have to be a daytrader. So, once we had the Marine in custody, we released his ship from ours–it’s still drifting in space somewhere, no doubt–I wonder if I should have released a buoy to let others know there’s a ship there? Nah, they’ll get out of the way if they see a big ship speeding in their direction. I suppose we should have turned off the engines–and then…
* * * BREAKING NEWS * * *
We interrupt this program to bring you this important news alert…
FROM ACTION 126.5 NEWS…
“The Comedy Plus Comedy Club has disappeared. It just freakin’ disappeared. Our reporter, Ruby, is live on the scene. Ruby, can you tell us what happened?”
“Police say they’ve never seen anything like it. It’s just gone. It just disappeared. It’s like someone just vaporized the whole building or something. Police say they haven’t seen anything like this since the Random Encounters of We Comedy Club vanished last year.”
“Do they have any leads?”
“Prior to both incidents, the Valley Girl and the Copywriting Maven had performed at the clubs, but were not paid.”
“Are they suspects?”
“Police say that there is no [BLEEP] way they are even considered suspects.”
“Thank you, Ruby. Stay tuned to Action News 126.5 for further developments.”
We now return you to your regular programming, already in progress.
* * * END BREAKING NEWS * * *
–boom! Kaboom! Boom, again! And, that was the end of that. The ship was safe, the ambassadors were delivered safely, and the Digital Lost Boys were completely eliminated. Too bad you missed it. After that, a Brave New Traveler joined the crew, and we set a new course. Copywrite, Ink, James T. Kenibatz.
“That’s ‘Copyright’, no ‘Ink’, sir.”
“Thanks, Mr. Syaf.”
…Copywrite James T. Kenibatz.
“Idiot.”
“Did you say something, Mr. Syaf? Was logging and wasn’t paying attention.”
“No, sir.”
[ROLL CREDITS]
End.
Apparently, they also lose their capital letters over time as well.
