Invitational Linear Fiction
Want to nominate a writer for the invitational linear fiction project? Just e-mail chris@ osric.com.
|By: Nim||email: email@example.com||Date: 3/13/01, 1:50 AM|
Chris was feeling apprehensive about his new foray into the wilds of Cyberspace. True, he had long since proven that his unique, blotty mark will indeed persevere on the internet, and persevere it should. The unveiling of Mediacropolis, though, was akin to the unveiling of his very soul. "What if," he mulled as he shuffled through the shards of the thousand champagne bottles consumed in the Osric.com HQ Mediacropolis-Goes-Live party, "all Mediacropolis can attract turns out to be second rate hacks who use pseudo-victorian bullshit language like 'akin' and speak in passive tense and talk about 'the unveiling of souls?' What then?" He scratched his stubble, that, on a less refined man, might have reached to his collarbone in the time it had been since Chris had shaved. "I suppose then someone would come along and just turn it into a post-modern loop-de-loop, 'calling the method into discourse' and all that academic bullshit. That would be a shame, because Mediacropolis, I know, is destined for greater things. Things like sex scenes, subtle digs at friend's facial hair characteristics and psychopathic exhousemates who show up at random times asking if anyone wants to investigate their underwear or go kill a bat with them, things like Matlock vs Cojack, things like the proper spelling of Cojack," he mused, pausing to mutter "whatever the hell that might be."
|By: chris||email: firstname.lastname@example.org||Date: 4/6/01, 1:24 AM|
Unfortunately for Chris, he did not realize that Prof. Professor's mental faculties had been rendered nil due to the invasion of an alien evil fungus.
|By: Chris||email: email@example.com||Date: 4/6/01, 1:30 AM|
While he waited for his waitress to bring him his cream of broccoli soup in a bread bowl (Cafe Felix waitresses are cute, but notoriously slow), Chris sipped his coffee and listened to the fungus drone on and on.
|By: chris||email: firstname.lastname@example.org||Date: 4/6/01, 1:37 AM|
"It might," Chris replied, "but Prof. Professor's gray matter is made of different stuff than ours. Such a remedy could lead to disaster...we might devolve him into a gibbering gibbon."