Funko's Alien 40th Anniversary Breakfast Cereal

May 25th, 1979 taught the world in splashes of vivid red the value of a nutritional meal to fuel your mind and body in case you have to RUN FOR YOUR FU$#@NG LIFE. "Alien" premiered to soiled theater seats around the country (and eventually the world) opening a new vista of sci-fi horror that remains wide open today.

But you know this. That's why you're here, right? You know about the films and books and comics, right? But do you know about the cereal? WELL DO YOU?

Let's start with the obvious question: Does it taste like a Xenomorph? Interesting question. No, it does not. It lacks the acrid taste you would expect when biting into a creature with molecular acid for blood. Instead, it reminds one of a less sugary Fruit Loop. It mellows a bit more in milk while retaining its crunch for a reasonable time period. Taste wise, I give it a solid 6.5 - 7 out of 10.

There's a maze on the back of the box. Or is it? Perhaps the back of the box is a metaphorical journey where we the consumer can experience life as a consumer of a different kind. Perhaps it is an allusion to the painful existential journey a facehugger must face knowing death is its only reward for exiting the egg? Its next phase of existence starts at the TOP of the egg when it opens, yet the phase FINISHES when the hugger plants an embryo, a smaller egg, into the center of another life form. They burn facehuggers, don't they? Yes. Yes, they do. 

Multigrain cereal. First listed ingredient is sugar.

With all the horror of a H.R. Geiger design, here's how much cereal you get for $14.99 plus tax.

$14.99 + tax, ladies and gentlemen

Potato chip makers around the world are applauding this air-to-product ratio. I know I'm paying overwhelmingly for the packaging and the little figure. (Seen here.)

But still $14.99? FYE's website sells this exclusive for $9.99 making it a more cost effective avenue than their brick-n-mortar footprints. The cereal tastes just fine, but you would spend beaucoup dollars making this a regular part of your nutritious breakfast. Definitely an obvious impulse item or gift buy. 

Worth buying? Yes. 

Worth eating? Yes.

Thanks for spending time here today, gentle reader.

Be seeing you,
Sam

 

Two Collections and One Novel Now Available on Kindle

KINDLE USERS!

I now have three works available for purchase on the Kindle. HUZZAH!

Two are selected works from the blog, one is a revised and updated novel available nowhere else.

Let's have a look.

Eleven of my favorite non-fiction posts in one place. "Essays, Rants, the odd Good Point, and other Doings and Memes that seemed like a good idea at the time. Who really invented Potato Chips? Does the real math of The Great Pyramid add up? Are zombies the real threat? If my side is good and yours is bad then where do we stand? Do I have any idea what I am talking about? Good questions, one and all. Join me, won't you?"

Purchase it for only $2 here --->   You Know What You Should Buy?

A revised and updated version available only on Kindle. "Was it a miracle, or is Father Michael a puppet of powers less than divine? In the 22nd century, humanity creates true artificial intelligence. This new, human-like species, Homo mechanicus, quickly proves it is not a monster of science fiction lore, and society returns to relative normalcy within a few generations. That is until Father Michael Alan Cline, the world’s first and only non-human priest, performs a very public miracle. A creation of science dwelling in the realm of the spiritual, his life and faith fall into chaos as he struggles to comprehend what is happening to him. Ancient debates over life, free will, and faith resurface as Rome decides how best to investigate what appears to be a non-human vessel of God. The Pope’s solution: to dispatch an investigator who is an expert in the science of Homo mechanicus yet does not believe they are sentient."

Purchase it here for &7.99  --->  Saint Five

I like ALL my fiction works! Picking eleven was really hard but here it is. "Join me for a walk, gentle reader, in worlds of love or talking cars amidst a zombie apocalypse, small monsters with big ambitions, Goliath’s side of the story, a death trap for a superhero, my own brush with the unexplained, and others."

Purchase it here for only $2 --->  Is This Your Two Dollars?


THANK YOU for your support, gentle reader. A purchase, the sharing of a link, or a suggestion to a friend means a lot to me. I want to make A LOT more content both here and on YouTube. Your support moves me closer to that goal each and every step.

Be seeing you,

- Sam

 

Buried Treasure

The cat heard it first. All I knew was my slumbering lap warmer was suddenly gripping the tops of my thighs with claws I didn’t know it had and hissing to scare the devil. The pain jolted me out of my book and I was about to yell from being a pincushion when I saw the cause of the cat’s alarm. That is the thing about pain. It vanishes in the presence of an appropriate distraction. I stared at the man-sized shambling mass of blood and open scabs walking through my basement doorway.

 Button’s small brain, on the other hand, was not overwhelmed by the grotesque unknown coming towards us. She dove to the floor and rushed it with startling ferocity. No small feat for an animal that hides from the vacuum. Her impulse to suicide, such was the nightmare before me, pushed my mind from fear back to thought. However, my concern for my pet vanished as the monstrosity fell to the floor before she reached it. In a single breath it went from marching doom to whimpering mound crowned with flaying house cat. I yelled at Button to get off whatever it was her sharp claws were tearing into. The sound of my voice reached her domestication for she stopped her frenzy as quickly as she began it and hurled herself toward an adjacent room. 

I remained seated and took in the creature on my hall floor. It was bleeding, but it was hard to tell where Button’s fury had opened its flesh and what was…no…now it had patches of deep black and blue spread over its head, arms, and torso. There had been blood, copious and free flowing. Now it looked covered in deep contusions. The hardwood floor was clean. I was concrete in my chair. 

My next thought turned to why it had collapsed after climbing my fourteen cellar steps. It was 10:30 at night so sunlight hadn’t done it in. Light came through my basement doorway, but I doubted the energy saving 60-watt bulbs were the answer. Hadn’t I had been down in the cellar this afternoon? I’m sure I turned the lights off. A monster that’s afraid of the dark? I stood and reached for my phone. 

“Aarrghhmmm!”

Ahhh! 

The creature’s outburst was matched by my own. I expected it to leap up, but instead it started to cry. 

Cry? 

The din in my ears made thinking hard, but the sound was unmistakable. It was crying. Not a monster’s cry, but a mad and lonely weep. The sound I made when I was told my wife and son were dead. Its contusions lightened until normal looking skin appeared where gashes and gore had been. It was a man. Naked and sobbing his chest heaved for breath. I breathed and gasped with him. I saw the dirt in his hands from the grave I buried him in. Agony and rage balled, pushed down, and ignored. I hated the pain. I hated God. I hated everything I saw or touched that brought them back and pushed their loss into my face. I hated every breath of air I took that should have been my son’s. I hated every laugh from every mouth I could not strangle shut. I hated my existence and their finality. Every thought, emotion, and day I wanted to crush and burn was sprawled on the floor before me. The same fists that shook when my life was lowered into deaf, blind earth screamed for his throat. I set them free…

I awoke on the floor facedown and alone. My eyes stung from the salt of my dried tears and the palms of my hands were an angry red where I had driven my fingernails into them. I tried to push myself up, but I was too heavy. I felt the weight of the man inside me like an anchor. I returned to the floor and remembered all I had buried to escape the pain. Slowly and with a gripping clarity the images filled my mind until I could feel the vibration of footsteps against my cheek, smell her hair, and hear his loud little laugh. I inhaled and felt my lungs and life fill for the first time in months. I was alive again. Laughing, I realized we all were.

-Read this first-

Tempus Fugit

Indulge me, gentle reader, in a field experiment. 

Hypothesis: Holding onto story ideas/fragments and/or word combinations in the hopes of one day using them slows the production of new ideas/fragments and/or words combinations.

Test: Empty my existing stock of the above material by making it available on a public forum, i.e. this blog, over the span of two months. If I decide to use some of the material, then that material will be removed from the forum. (If someone else makes use of some of the material for their own use, and the end product is made public, all I ask is a note letting me know so that I can see it, too.) Testing duration is one year from the end of the two-month "posting" time frame. Posting will begin on 4/1/19.

Prediction: By screening and emptying several notebooks of material I will increase my production speed, as well as fill new notebooks with new material faster. I also predict most people will let me know if they found use for any materials. 

That's all. Pretty simple, right?

Be seeing you,

-S

 

Speak Loudly, Do The Ghosts We Carry.

I startled awake afraid, hands raised seeking a threat to strike. The sensation of weight and confinement crowded me as I grasped at anchors to pull me away from the dream. I remembered dirt. I remembered a small space. I remembered malice filled eyes looking down at me. They wanted me in the small place, to stay there, to keep me there. I don’t know what they were or what animal or nightmare form they were part of. I do know they saw me as sure as I saw them. Intelligent as they were uncaring. I don’t know if they were part or cause of whatever placed me in the filling, pressing dirt but that they wanted me there was without doubt.

I asked Diogenes to stop barking for a moment and tell me what this dream could mean. He brought forth a lit lantern holding it close to my face before asking me how honest I wanted us both to be. I tried to answer but the lantern’s illumination was so bright I had to turn away. 

A hand then fell upon my shoulder. Friendly Seneca smiled at me and asked where it was the dirt came from. I said I did not understand as all dirt comes from the Earth, is the Earth. He nodded and asked how is it in the Lantern’s light my hands were so clean after digging so hard. 

To them both I leveled a finger. I need answers, not lessons! I need truth, not riddles. Be clear or begone for I am troubled and need peace. 

A sudden roar of laughter struck my ears. I turned as the lantern changed in tone but not brightness. A bald cliché of the devil draped in cheap black satin poked his long fingernail at my forehead. You need to get out more, kid. he said. You need to relax and just take in all the angles, dig? It’s all a sideshow. Go west find both your ticket booth and your stage.

He probably dropped them in my river, Anton. came a voice to the side. We turned to face a bearded man in robes. His feet and legs were dripping wet. The dollar store Satan laughed. Your river, my midway, Uncle Bob’s triangle, and Jim’s Dublin, you old fool. 

He shops at the Scottish Rite Aid whispered the first man from the shadows. A women’s voice, hard a railroad spike and hot as steel, shot back. Leave the comedy to those who truly understand destruction. 

Stop! All of you! The ones in the shadows and the ones who are the shadows. Stop it! The ones on thrones and the ones licking the best of gutters. STOP! All your voices. All your thoughts. All your ideas! I AM A WALKING COFFIN. My back hurts and my ears are sore from broadcasting all I have heard. I need to set you all down and just…rest. 

I sob with fatigue and sadness. I have no map and the waves grow higher and higher.  

Excuse me, pips a quiet voice. Do you know what time it is?

Yes, I reply. But longitude is not the problem.

Then knowledge is not the answer.

That’s not a new idea.

To continue is not new. To end is not new. To question is not new. To be mad or angry or contented is not new. That’s the point. 

Where is the Lantern’s light? Why can I only see platitudes now? Is this all I have left after falling? 

Material falls from a sifter. The sifter is not falling. You have what you hold whether you see it or not. 

I tire of this Hidden Master facade. Identify yourself and explain how you are one voice when before I was a multitude. 

You have what you hold.

I need answers!

You have what you hold.

I need…You have.