2008 Woodie Awards
In space no one can hear you
Let's talk about the blogosphere
By: Paul Isakson
Issue date: 2/13/08 Section: Lifeline
My great grandson, Pumpernickl Isakson, sent me a link to his blog. I find this worrisome, not only because he's from the future, but because he writes a blog. I've decided to share a few excerpts with you, because you deserve to know about the future and because I have nothing to say this week.
Feb. 6, 2108
Dear Space Blog,
It was another boring day in space. Captain Kill made us all gravy sandwiches - again - and expected us all to suddenly cheer up. He kept looking at our morale meters, tapping them, thinking that they weren't bursting because they "must be broken."
You'd think the guy would get a clue by now. He sends us on what he calls "suicide missions" and expects us to treat them like cake-eating missions. He even says to us, "treat this suicide mission like a cake-eating mission and it'll be a lot more fun." Yeah, right. Captain Lame is more like it.
Feb. 8, 2108
There are two kinds of people on this ship: me and everybody else. I, a gunner (I refuse to call myself a "laserer"), am half of those people. The other half consists of my fellow crew mates and Captain Kill (or, as he wants us to call him, "Cap'n K"). I bunk with Smitty (real name: Jeff Smith), who runs the communications grid, Cutter (real name: Cutter Jones), who is a fellow laserer, and Stan Gisswell (real name: Explosion Jones), who is in charge of party-throwing. We do a lot of bonding, especially male bonding.
Feb. 13, 2108
Dear Space Blog,
As I'm writing this, our fleet is poised to attack! The Targans just entered our sector, and our ship was put on red alert. I was playing a game of space chess (which is just like chess, only with a cooler-looking board) and we were interrupted with loud beeping noises. I hate that. It was my move, too! I'm updating this from my laser station.
Waiting for orders can be so boring. I've gotten written up for sleeping during red alerts before. So what? It's not like I do anything. All it is is Captain Kill posturing for the Targans for 20 minutes, looking tough for their communications screen. I barely get to shoot anybody.
Anyway, I have to go. Captain Blowhard is done acting tough. Time to shoot some Targans!
Feb. 14, 2108
The fight yesterday didn't turn out well. The ship was exploded.
Glisswell exploded, which is ironic because his real name was Explosion (he was named after the way his father died). So much for space parties.
Cutter and I are the only survivors. We crash-landed on a strange, purpley planet. It'd be very pretty if it weren't so purple. Cutter - a man who doesn't like purple - flagged down the first thing he could see. It was a Targan prison ship. What are the odds!
I wish I had a girlfriend. Happy Valentine's Day. Not!
Pumpernickl Isakson is a laserer for Earth, Fleet 92. You can reach him at isaks1p@cmich.edu.
Feb. 6, 2108
Dear Space Blog,
It was another boring day in space. Captain Kill made us all gravy sandwiches - again - and expected us all to suddenly cheer up. He kept looking at our morale meters, tapping them, thinking that they weren't bursting because they "must be broken."
You'd think the guy would get a clue by now. He sends us on what he calls "suicide missions" and expects us to treat them like cake-eating missions. He even says to us, "treat this suicide mission like a cake-eating mission and it'll be a lot more fun." Yeah, right. Captain Lame is more like it.
Feb. 8, 2108
There are two kinds of people on this ship: me and everybody else. I, a gunner (I refuse to call myself a "laserer"), am half of those people. The other half consists of my fellow crew mates and Captain Kill (or, as he wants us to call him, "Cap'n K"). I bunk with Smitty (real name: Jeff Smith), who runs the communications grid, Cutter (real name: Cutter Jones), who is a fellow laserer, and Stan Gisswell (real name: Explosion Jones), who is in charge of party-throwing. We do a lot of bonding, especially male bonding.
Feb. 13, 2108
Dear Space Blog,
As I'm writing this, our fleet is poised to attack! The Targans just entered our sector, and our ship was put on red alert. I was playing a game of space chess (which is just like chess, only with a cooler-looking board) and we were interrupted with loud beeping noises. I hate that. It was my move, too! I'm updating this from my laser station.
Waiting for orders can be so boring. I've gotten written up for sleeping during red alerts before. So what? It's not like I do anything. All it is is Captain Kill posturing for the Targans for 20 minutes, looking tough for their communications screen. I barely get to shoot anybody.
Anyway, I have to go. Captain Blowhard is done acting tough. Time to shoot some Targans!
Feb. 14, 2108
The fight yesterday didn't turn out well. The ship was exploded.
Glisswell exploded, which is ironic because his real name was Explosion (he was named after the way his father died). So much for space parties.
Cutter and I are the only survivors. We crash-landed on a strange, purpley planet. It'd be very pretty if it weren't so purple. Cutter - a man who doesn't like purple - flagged down the first thing he could see. It was a Targan prison ship. What are the odds!
I wish I had a girlfriend. Happy Valentine's Day. Not!
Pumpernickl Isakson is a laserer for Earth, Fleet 92. You can reach him at isaks1p@cmich.edu.
Be the first to comment on this story