“42”
Confucius*
#Quote
Today I'm still
hanging out with CJ. Had way more seizures yesterday, I'd say around
30 at least. Probably because of the fact the day before that I went
to the garage sale. Doing things tends to spike them up. Didn't whack
anything so I'm fine. Today went well though without nearly that
many. Today I played LA Noire, a detective game, with CJ, and in the
video game the people in the city didn't take kindly to my driving. I
don't know why driving off a cliff to save some time wouldn't be a
problem.
What happened
is that there was this sort of mountain/hill/plateau thing in LA and
the place I needed to go to was way around it. I would have to have
driven through like a whole freeway to go there normally. So I drove
up the mountain and drove off the cliff on the side to skip a few
streets. (I sorta had to break through a billboard set up on the
cliff too). My car landed nice and flat, skidding through traffic.
People shouted “Maniac!”. Game developers plan for people like me
it seems. In each case they calculate how much damage you do while
you go about doing your police work and it goes against you or
whatever. They do it in 1950's money since that's LA Noire's setting.
I did the inflation rate and it looks like in modern dollars I do
about $30,000 dollars in property damage driving around town for each
case. I suppose that kinda adds up with all the poles I knock down
and the fact when I get jammed in the corner of a parking lot somehow
against two fences the only thing I can think of is tapping reverse
over and over to slowly push all the cars I'm stuck behind out of the
way.
It's a video
game so its okay.
Anyway onto the
flash fiction!
Boot Boot
Camp
In
the Land of Living Shoes the Aglet War reached its fifth year.
Much lace and lining had been spilled, but neither side lost its
resolve. No matter how much they kicked each other around, each Shoe
Nation stepped right back up. It looked like each nation would stop
at nothing to control the largest natural
sock deposits.
Every solider
in each war has to start somewhere. And for the boots in the Boot
Nation all started in Boot Boot Camp, a rough place perhaps not fit
for a boot the size of Barry the Boot.
“Privates.
You think leather is tough right?” The Drill Sergeant said to rows
of private boots in the Boot Boot Camp. Barry felt uncomfortable as
by chance he had been lined up next to two large right shoes and he
was a left.
“Yes, of
course.” Barry was happy that he was one of the boots made of
leather. That was one of his more prideful traits.
“Well your
leather doesn't matter on the battlefield. The Sneakers will rip
through it like paper with their weapons. The High Heels are even
worse and will skin you as trophies if they get the chance. Soldiers
all you are is fodder for our great Nation. But when I'm done with
you you'll be the best fodder there is.”
Barry didn't
care about being fodder or whatever else the Drill Sergeant called
them. He already lost his family and most of what he owned to the
Sneakers and their bombings. All he wanted to do with his life is get
revenge and hopefully rip out one of their soles himself.
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