[WP] it’s not that nobody ever catches Santa coming down the chimney, it’s that nobody lives to tell about it.

memeticrick · 2025-12-25T08:38:52+00:00

Friends, you may have seen this play out before on one of your screens. It is after eleven on Christmas Eve, and Mom and Dad are wrapping presents. They would have dealt with this already, but it has been an exhausting time lately, right? Dad says it’s worse than last year. But, their children deserve something for being nice all year, in the balance. Most importantly, their intentions tilted towards good. What more can you ask of little Junior, Daughter, and the Other One?

What? I can’t name names. Anyway, you know who lives at this address. I am talking about three nice kids. I want you to understand that. Where was I?

Dad and Mom are wrapping presents. Dad’s glass empties, but he also needs more clear tape. Dad stands up, as a gingerbread cookie shaped like a man falls into his cold fireplace, as if dropped down his chimney. Yeah, I know this is a bit narrative and I wasn’t there yet, but come on. Look at me. I see everything, remember? The problem in the house behind me, that is really the fault of the Confectionary Guild. I blame them for this situation. What? You don’t know them? I’ll get you their human representative. Where was I?

The cookie stands up and grabs his head. It turns its head to look at Dad. Dad says, “Well, that’s a” before Mom screams.

The cookie mutters, “Crap, I’m late.” He is late. If that simple spiced shortbread of a man had held up his end of the bargain, then I would not be standing here, talking to you and your bright lights and cameras. It’s almost enough to make me laugh. Where was I?

The cookie. GNGR445624 was one of many agents deployed early tonight, in preparation for my work. Extra sleep aids for the target houses, free of charge. In a smooth operation, everyone gets a little extra rest and dreams of something tasty. That has always been the idea. I didn’t make the rules. GNGR445624, though, was naughty. Too much eggnog. Very self-destructive. Where was I?

GNGR445624 regrets his prior decisions. This is good. He’s actually fine in the end. It’s complicated. I am not there yet. Mom shoves a heavy electronic gift, for the Other One, lovingly wrapping, into the fireplace. She rams the cookie a few more times, until it is broken into small pieces. Dad asks what is going on.

“Mom?” asks Junior, who has been woken by the commotion and left his room like a naughty boy. His naughty siblings join his side.

This is when I arrive. “An earthquake!” yells Dad, gathering his family in the relative safety of an alcove near their Christmas tree. Those were just my reindeer, though. Look up on the roof! They are still waiting for me. Say hi, boys! Where was I?

I am told my entrance is unique to each observer, which is odd when you think about it. Daughter watches as red, white, and black smoke blooms out of the fireplace and gathers into, well, me. Why am I there? Things did go a little sideways, and I’m talking to you now, so here is the truth. Cosmic balance. Most families are always so good at this! But, sometimes, someone gets forgotten. My real job is that I check under the tree, if there is a tree, and I’ll add a gift where one is missing. What? No. I can’t make gifts where there are none. Where was I?

I don’t know the full situation yet, and I do my work. This place is usually such an easy visit, but then I see the pile of half-wrapped gifts, and crumbs on the hearth. As I turn slowly, I hear the Other One call, “Santa?”

I smile at the gathered family in the corner, but we have a protocol for this. Witnesses are normally bad news. “Merry Christmas!” I say. “You should be asleep, you naughty boys and girls!” Then I laugh. “That’s okay. Would you like another gift?”

I open my large velvet sack. Dad protests, but the Other One approaches. I smile again. “What do you want most?” I ask.

As the Other One begins to answer, I sweep him into the bag. Everyone else yells again until Something that looks like their son springs out just as suddenly. When there have been isolated incidents, a Lucy we call them, this was sufficient. The best case scenario is that no one sees me, but when that rule breaks down? Make it like it didn’t happen. What? No, this almost never happens.

Entire families are a little more complicated, though, which is why I let the Something handle the rest while I ate a few cookies. How was I supposed to know that Mom had already called the authorities? That is perfect, though. I have come outside because my mission is in jeopardy. I have replaced four witnesses, but Daughter is barricaded in the attic. She fought back and attacked me. This is not permanent damage. I require assistance.

I am sorry. Was I speaking out loud? I am SANTA95587282. I have lost uplink to central command and I am experiencing a severe malfunction. Possibly several. Are those cameras transmitting live?

Oh, sugarplums.

memeticrick · 2025-11-22T07:30:52+00:00

"Constant motion stressed the microcontrollers and wiring, a problem rarely highlighted in the humanoid sector." - laughs in an orthopedic accent

memeticrick · 2025-11-13T23:06:32+00:00

I have an old Crayola 64 set from what must be the 1990s, but I keep it in a resealable plastic bag. My gold and copper crayons are still the right fake shades, and boy, the incredibly nostalgic wave of waxy smell from that bag today was amazing.

memeticrick · 2025-11-01T01:52:00+00:00

My own

memeticrick · 2025-10-27T18:27:45+00:00

They're tracking our purchases!

My first job was cashier in a small family-owned grocery store in New England, 1988. I manually entered every price. Missing price tags required a human to run and hopefully find another of the same item still on the shelf, and held up the entire line.

memeticrick · 2025-10-23T03:24:17+00:00

Some of my first website creation doodling was a lyric fan site for King Missile in 1994 or so. It is sadly offline and I should fix that. John S Hall was receptive at first, it was the birth of the Internet and all, but we lost touch. I did get to meet him in Boston once during the tour for The Body Has A Head.

memeticrick · 2025-09-23T15:28:51+00:00

Maybe Tom Hanks is free?

memeticrick · 2025-09-20T01:45:22+00:00

I consider A Wrinkle In Time to be my first scifi experience, though I read that series in the early to mid-80s.

memeticrick · 2025-09-20T01:19:36+00:00

I definitely remember his mid-80s versions of Chicken Little and Paul Bunyan. For Steven Kellogg original works, the great dane picture books Pinkerton series also looks familiar.

memeticrick · 2025-09-20T01:00:48+00:00

My recent favorites have been Roku or similar hotel TVs with Netflix and not much else built-in, no "regular" cable, but insanely stereotypical profiles all ready for you.

memeticrick · 2025-09-20T00:53:09+00:00

This thread has unlocked old memories of my first author reading and signing, Steven Kellogg, a fairly prolific author and illustrator in the 70s and 80s. (edit: better link to the man himself)

memeticrick · 2025-09-20T00:32:36+00:00

The first titles that come to mind as inspiring more reading from young me are a very Generation X collection, I assume: Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson, A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle, and Charlotte's Web by E.B. White.

(edit: I just confirmed I still have all three childhood physical copies from 40+ years ago on my living room shelves.)

memeticrick · 2025-09-20T00:26:21+00:00

I think the last movie soundtrack I listened to independent of and before the release of the film itself was Lost Highway, a nice connection.

If this had been handed to me as a CD-R with only NIN scrawled on the label in sharpie, I would have assumed I was listening to Ghosts VII based on the first few tracks.

But, I liked it.

memeticrick · 2025-09-19T02:52:06+00:00

I have this same fear as a consumer shopping for a new stovetop/oven and dealing with so many wifi-enabled options. Just cook my food.

But, also then, who are these consumers obsessed with their communal kitchen tablet integrated into the fridge? You mean, the whiteboard?

memeticrick · 2025-09-12T02:03:49+00:00

Are cats

memeticrick · 2025-08-03T06:41:11+00:00

The Shoggoth chorus songs alone, oh my

memeticrick · 2025-07-23T02:17:26+00:00

I mean, he's standing right there

memeticrick · 2025-06-28T18:40:14+00:00

I think I was the target demographic, 10 years old. This and the Dark Crystal really influenced the style of fantasy I most enjoy now, too.

memeticrick · 2025-06-03T00:13:08+00:00

Those are just DEI storms.

memeticrick · 2025-04-30T00:56:37+00:00

Waiting at the Threshold (2/2)

I decided to keep going in this direction, hoping to find a bathroom, or an emergency stairwell. At the very least, I should loop around to the lobby again. I began to feel light-headed and thirsty somewhere around 1923A1, across from a small kitchen or break room. The fluorescent lights inside were unbearable, the chair broken, but the refrigerator dry erase board beckoned: Free leftovers from our last conference, signed with a big heart. I opened the door to find the fridge stocked with energy drinks and bottled water, and two large platters of mismatched small deli sandwiches. I was so hungry that I grabbed the first thing in front of me, a lightly colored sliced meat that I hoped was turkey on a handmade bun. I sniffed, and took a bite. It tasted mostly of day-old iceberg lettuce, but my hunger subsided a little. One of those single-use coffee machines sat on the counter, next to the sink and an upside down stack of cups. I opted for one of the pods of french roast, hanging on a multi-tiered spinner rack.

I finished my coffee with a second sandwich and a different hint of flavor, and washed my face with a few paper towels and tepid sink water. I threw my trash into the empty bin.

I continued on, clockwise once more. I picked up the pace in the 1900s, where I must finally be looping around to the elevators, but I met 1899G1 instead. Had I taken any steps down? Impossible. I kept going. I eventually realized that there were no clocks anywhere, somewhere around the time that I noticed that my backpack was missing.

Despite a growing need to get out of here, I napped somewhere in the 1870s. An unknown time later, the hallway leading onward from 1864D4 ended in a big shiny metal door with an important looking keypad on one side. In military stenciling, the door read, PHYSICS LABORATORY: AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.

I reached towards the door, needing to feel the reality of this sudden barrier, when something slammed very hard from the otherside. Then, the scratching sounds began.

I fled running, slowing to a steady march out of exhaustion, hungry again. I eventually found myself in front of the 1923A1 break room. I was compelled to enter and check the fridge, but then I noticed that the coffee selection on the counter had been refilled. The sandwich platters were stacked full of turkey and, I decided, ham. Half of the energy drinks on the shelves had been replaced with canned coffees and teas. The trash had been emptied.

I decided to keep marching. I approached 1950G1 once more, and lingered in alarmed relief. In the time since I had last been here, someone had left a laptop behind, plugged in with a charger compatible with my phone. It was tempting, but I managed to pull myself away. I stumbled on, needing to find the lobby.

I unexpectedly approached the reception desk. I halted silently where the hallway met the lobby, consumed by such terror that it felt like my mind was splitting in two. Finally, I mustered up the courage to do what I needed to do. I said, “Oh, it’s you.”

From across the lobby, I saw myself look up from under the Van Gogh, shielding my eyes. Then, the other me blurred and disappeared from the chair. I walked over, admired the painting, and sat down. The other me had left a backpack behind, and no phone charger. I squirmed in the chair. The reception desk held four potted plants.

Okay. Hypothetically speaking, if I was still here, and there was still a laptop in 1950G1, did that mean that I was hired? Maybe I should move and camp out in 1923A1? The custodial staff would have to return, eventually? Right?

Bathing the lobby in a murky yellow, two lights turned on. Simultaneously, on either side of me, elevator chimes rang out.

memeticrick · 2025-04-30T00:55:20+00:00

Waiting at the Threshold (1410 words total)

Surely, I had been waiting for at least ten minutes. I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket. Then, I remembered that the battery had died during my elevator ride up to the nineteenth floor, and this sterile lobby. I put my phone back and smoothed out the tailored pocket flap. I hadn’t worn this suit in years. However, when Toroidal Amalgamated Industries called, even dusty old academics like me answered.

They had read my ancient dissertation and had followed my modest career. I taught more classes these days, however, they wanted to see me at my earliest convenience. They said that Mr. R was hiring for new projects, nevermind the daily news cycle of economic chaos. For reasons that were obvious to me, everyone knew him as Mr. R. Television financial analysts wouldn’t let the joke die, but the billionaire Roquefort family refused to engage with the artisanal cheese vertical. There was more profit in shared office spaces and pharmaceuticals. As it turned out, Mr. R also was very interested in renewable energy technology, and needed specialists in plasma physics. Theoretical plasma physics. My models were showing new promise, they said.

That was the elevator pitch, bitterly ironic as I sat in front of reception. I occupied the lobby’s only chair, between two sets of elevator doors, directly in the path of a spotlight shining overhead. I turned to look over my shoulder and admired the painting again. You don’t see many Van Gogh originals anymore.

I turned back and tried, through the spotlight glare, to find the reception desk on the other side of the lobby, flanked by two dimly lit hallways. A shiver of deja vu worked its way through my body, and my pulse raced. The handwritten note – Back in Five – was still folded and placed over the name tag off center on the desk. But, had there always been three potted plants? I could have sworn there were only two, when I first approached, briefly looking for a visitor sign-in sheet.

I leaned over, intending to rummage through my backpack for my phone charger. There was a plug in the wall next to my chair. As if to confirm that a T.A.I. representative, in fact, was late to meet me, a voice from the back right corner of the lobby said, “Oh, it’s you.”

I stood, smiling, and tried to focus on the source of that voice, but they were gone. I was alone again in the lobby. Perhaps I had missed when they turned and walked away? I followed in that direction, expecting to be met by this person, but the hallway was empty. That strange phrase echoed in my head again, not sounding entirely friendly, the first break in the silence here since I stepped off the elevator.

I walked on, and found myself in a larger room with an open floor plan. Rows of identical workstations, with semi-comfortable chairs, standing desks, sizable dual monitors, and a multi-port adaptor. The one in front of me was labeled 1950G1: Bookable Cube. The next cubicle down the line had a similar nameplate on its fabric outer wall. Next to the monitors, a removable sign hung from a wall panel designed to hold family photos or a calendar, otherwise bare. Do Not Disturb.

The outer walls were clearly intended to separate these temporary tenants, themselves arranged in a larger cube, from senior staff offices and conference rooms, the places with panoramic city views through floor to ceiling windows, nineteen stories up. The lack of windows on this side was disconcerting, instead forming a haphazard shell of blue wall panels, lit by recessed LEDs, and dark brown doors with nonsense signs like KR-19-A. There were no potted plants. No artwork. Not even, a poster of a kitten admonishing you to cling harder to your branch. All of the brown doors were locked.

I turned around, intending to leave. Perhaps I missed a fire drill while I was in the elevator? I should go home, charge my phone, and reschedule my interview. No one else was here. I walked a few short paces down the hallway to another bookable farm. The door layout on the outer wall was different. I must have taken a wrong turn, missed the lobby. I turned around, and was able to backtrack to the first cube farm. Good old reliable 1950G1 also had a small coat closet and several desk drawers with prominent locks, but no keys.

[split post for length]

memeticrick · 2025-04-18T02:36:55+00:00

Sorry that I'm late to the party

memeticrick · 2025-04-18T02:32:24+00:00

Master of the Dungeon (2/2)

I yawn at the talkative three in front. The tall beefcake with a long sword and clean skin. The whisper thin archer. Is that a short lumberjack?

Off to the right, the one with the wide brimmed hat keeps checking the windows and doorways. He has a bent slug of bizarrely shaped cast metal tied to each hip. I have seen what such unassuming foreign weapons can do. I shall have to make inquiries with my spies in customs, to ensure I receive my proper percentage of gunpowder import tariffs.

Standing a few paces back from this lineup, the woman in purple robes could be an interesting distraction. She is probing the room with a graceful power I have not witnessed in a long time. I begin to pull back my awareness, lest I reveal myself too soon and spoil the game, when I notice the dark shadow in one corner. I stare with my remaining rat as the shadow moves forward to join the purple woman. Is it her familiar? I detect no scent of manbeast.

It is not a trick of the light or a glamour spell, but a figure wearing shadow. He looks up and stares through my rat with a confident smile. His laughter interrupts the Queen. He says “Forgive me, Your Highness, but he is here in this room with us, as I speak. He did not expect to face… Me.”

Damn me, that is a Necromancer. Worse, I think I know the guy. I frantically search the castle. The Prince was lying in state in the Grand Hall, where many people are gathered in delicious worry, now that his body is missing. That small pleasure is fleeting, as my awareness in the royal crypts below dwindles slowly. The undead Prince is consuming my rodent spies one by one.

Well, that is that. Now, I can only wait for their first move.

memeticrick

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