They walk among us!

Dearest Comrades!

We do not understand the ways of the future! When we walk our feet tread only upon the ground, we have not perfected teleportation, solar power, and especially this, the skin of man was not meant to survive naked in winter.  We made a jacket, we made a knife, we made fire, and like this, we survived, we ate only potatoes, but we survived, we were still cold, but we survived. Persevered. A science teacher in middle school once told me, that if a starving human and a cow were locked in room,  the human, without tools, would starve to death. He cannot chew through the hide, nor tear at the jugular. A tiger has large canine teeth and claws. Not to mention that the raw meat would most likely upset the human's stomach. But as I said we do not understand the ways of the future.
However, Peter Prometheus-Winters does.
This man found me in a crowd.  I am from Morgantown. Were his first words. I knew this was bullshit because of his plastic suit. Comrades, in Morgantown it is not the fashion to wear plastic suits. Especially not with zipper running from top of ass to bottom of belly-button. This man could only be from the future. In the future we will wear these suits to reflect our moods, much like the mood ring, the mood necklace, and mood nail polish. Peter Prometheus-Winters was an artist. He designed this very suit and many like it. Though he primarily deals in statues of snails and photographs of feet. His futurist knowledge made him a Da Vinci of sorts.  He told me to come with him if I wanted to live, then he asked me for forty dollars, so that he could get some diesel gasoline to go, and see his mother who was dying of cancer in Wheeling. It seems odd that we would not cure cancer in the future, and especially that his mother was here and not there. Alas! Peter continued on, in 1981, Peter Prometheus-Winters approached president Reagan and attempted to mandate that all of America's children wear the plastic mood suits. He was arrested. He tried again in 89, but H.W. Bush did the same, as did Clinton. In 2000 he retured home.  To Morgantown. Man was not ready for the plastic mood suit. Perhaps it is the zipper that deters our interest?

The Lion, the Witch and Windoor!

Dearest Comrades!

Usually, when you open a wardrobe within lies clothing, or a snow covered country with a giant, creepy satyr wearing a vest or a pair of lederhosen. In Pittsburgh, however, there exists no such animal. When opening a wardrobe one must be extremely careful not to plummet to their death below.  This has since caused a panic among Pittsburgian parents due to the increasing number of children falling out of various windoors throughout the city.  The windoor was invented in the early eighties when a man, Koresh Davidson, saw an ad for patenting inventions. He was fascinated by the rising fame of the man who had invented the slinky, or silly putty and could not imagine a world where these toys were not a part of every child's growing up. Koresh had a problem, he found that the security provided by a thin sheet of glass was dogged and without use. Fed up with repeated burglaries, he removed the front door to his house and placed it where there was once a window at the end of a long hall. The burglar never entered through that window again. Instead, he walked in through the gaping hole where the door once was, and carried off Koresh Davidson's sofa and a gigantic, normal-sized-at-the-time 1980's microwave. On his way out, he found the window, and broke it anyway. The next morning when Koresh found the shattered window he decided that vengeance would be his. That evening when the burglar arrived, Koresh slid a large dresser in front of the door so as to camouflage the point of regress. After taking a bite out of all of the fruits in his refrigerator, and then, afterward putting each one back, the burglar attempted to leave. He wandered the house, sure that the exit was just around the corner. He ascended the stairs, but was sure that the exit was not beyond three stories. Finally, a door appeared, at the end of the hall. Koresh Davidson leaped out! The burglar sprinted for the door and swung it open. Two things never happened again, one, the burglar never burgled again, nor did he ever walk, and Koresh Davidson never found a job again. In fact, the burglar sued Mr. Davidson and won the suit citing that the house was built out of the specific zoning for the area. Broke, and with no job, Koresh Davidson moved to Waco, Tx after finding a job prospect in the personal ads.

An End of the World Romance

Freytag Guntag and his wooing styles!

We may have carried on, but, in truth, the world ended on the 21st of May  2011. Now people didn't die, the earth didn't open into a gaping hole and swallow us, and it really wasn't as dramatic as it is on TV. Little changed. PBS is gone, so is NPR, and the Pirates are winning. There is one major drawback, and that is, that there are some noxious gases floating about that can cause:

• Abdominal pain
• Blurred vision
• Constipation
• Diarrhea
• Dizziness
• Headaches
• Loss of appetite
• Memory loss
• Improved Memory
• Palpitations
• Bradycardia
• Problems with coordination
• Ringing in the ears
• Deafness
• Skin rashes or hives
• Swelling of hands or feet
• Syncope (loss of consciousness or fainting)
• and Death

MONA

  Freytag Guntag a man chronically in love, and savvy to the May 21 situation, created a social networking sight dedicated to reconnecting post doomsday romantics. He called it Amore Apocalyptica. His plan was to repopulate the earth, but mostly, he wanted to find a date. You see comrades, this man, in his past life was hideous. He had pimples since birth and a beard too. The beard and the rest of his hair, fell out at the onset of puberty. This gasmask fashion would prove beneficial to Freytag Guntag. Or so he thought. The website was an instant hit. The mighty Yinzers took to the streets and cafes of the city. Suddenly everyone had dates, people were promiscuous, and happy. Everyone except Freytag Guntag of course.  His drought had turned to a cracked earth famine. Initially he tried adding flare to his gas mask. He painted flames on the sides, he added glitter, and a sticker of his favorite band. Unfortunately for him, flames were not popular, glitter was not manly, and respectable man of middle age or earth listened to the Strokes. He had no idea what he was doing wrong. Then he one morning he received an instant message.

MARCELLA

You need to brush up your profile. Try writing something like: "I like hot dogs and apple pie" Instead of, "I like slappin that ass." And for dislikes try, "I dislike intolerance" instead of, "I dislike fat bitches." Oh and for attributes, you should tell us something nice about your personality, not, "I'm part horse from the waist down."                  Hope this helps.                                                                                    -Marcella

He put some thought into it and just like that his luck changed. He had more dates than he had time. He went with Mona to the planetarium. The Allegheny River with Megan to catch mutated turtles for dinner, and countless other dates. 

Life was good. 

MEGAN

MARLA

MIRANDA

Marla, Miranda, Megan. He never did find Marcella again. His many messages of thank you, and appreciation went unanswered. Eventually, Freytag Guntag had a family. He could never thank Marcella enough, hiding the fact that he was indeed horse from the waist down proved beneficial to him in passing on his genes. Nobody likes a braggart, but centaurs weren't exactly chick magnets either. 

   

Wilhelm: the Head in the Trashcan

Dearest Comrades!

My father was a wise man. He often bestowed bits of philosophy that remain present in my mind to this day.  He said, "Don't trust anyone! Not even yourself. This world is a festering hole of shit. Remember that time you gave that mechanic 500 dollars up front to overhaul your engine, and he disappeared, you called him for weeks, and you never heard from him again? You see that confirms my philosophy. Especially the part about don't trust yourself! I can't believe you would do such a stupid thing. Money up front! Or what about when you gave that guy with the bible on the dashboard of his volkswagon Jetta $1000 up front to paint your house, and he did the same thing! He drove off and went to the Red Parrot to watch the naked ladies dance on stage to "Sweet child o' mine" I know because he bought me a drink. Don't trust yourself, son, especially not yourself!"As you can imagine, this conversation left my mind in a tailspin. That is until I came upon a trashcan in the distance.  There was nothing extraordinary about it, I watched it the entire time as I passed, suddenly, I noticed two eyes looking out. It was a head resting peacefully in a trashcan. Before I could escape I heard a calm voice calling from behind me. "Do you want to live?" I looked back, but found nothing but the trashcan.

Ahem! I heard the voice call. He repeated the question. When I answered he responded: Nothingness! I didn't see how this could get my money back from the mechanic, nor how it would get the guy with the bible on his dashboard to paint my house. I did not! The head's name was Wilhelm, and he spoke, "Ask for it." Wilhelm was somber as the words came slowly from his mouth. As if he knew what I would say before  I could. I can't ask the mechanic I said leaning over the trashcan to catch a better glimpse of the head. "Then do not ask the Mechanic." But the Guy with the Bible on the dashboard of his Jetta is nowhere to be found. 

"Then do not ask the Guy with the Bible on the Dashboard of his Jetta." This was when Wilhelm revealed the truth. Everything is nothingness, he told me. You must start off by hanging out around a hospital. Approach the first person you see that is smoking. If you have a cell phone, speak on it until you are close enough so that the other person can hear you. Then hang up and ask them for a cigarette. Tell them you do not smoke. Not usually. Then start off by saying you're from Morgantown.  City people are not always from the city, and one of their ancestors may have been from a small town such as that. It creates a bridge to catharsis. When Wilhelm said catharsis his eyes doubled in size. He may have said CATHARSIS! It is the key to money. You also have to tell them you have a job, a good union job. If you're a guy you're a professor or a flight attendant if you're a female. Then go on. 

You see my daughter has to get a heart transplant done, and I just got in to visit her. Unfortunately I parked in _____(insert name of dangerous neighborhood here) and they broke into my car and stole my wallet. I had no idea. But the worst part is that they stole the copies of her CT scan and I need to drive back home to get the others. Can I borrow $45 to get some diesel fuel so that I may drive home? Offer to take down their number so that you may call them later in order to return the money.  Give them your number in turn. People want to help, and they think that a phone number can be traced.  The wise Wilhelm carried on. To be honest I made five hundred back in a few short weeks. One day, comrades, I will buy a car of my own. I returned weeks later to thank the illustrious Whilhelm. Alas! He was nowhere to be found.

The Garden of Failed Robots

Dearest, Comrades!
This may also go under the name, "Things built by felons on community service." Alas! I am a romantic and below is the true tale.

Before the Carnegie Mellon Department of Robotics, before Star Trek and Star Wars, there was the Homestead Strike of 1892. Between the Carnegie Steel Company and the Amalgamated Association of Steelworkers (the AA). The Carnegie Steel Company would win the battle, kill off many workers, stifle union efforts, and ultimately morph into the Robotics Institute. While the Amalgamated Association of Steelworkers would morph into a support group for alcoholics. 

Hey Kids meet: Ass-barrel the Alligator

The strike itself would last only a month, but what would occur in that short time period would forever change the world.  Mr. Carnegie realized that union labor had the distinct inconvenience of being run by humans. Humans, they had to eat, had to sleep, had to love; humans,  he felt, would be a thing of the past, and so he hired someone to make that change. Lacrimus S. Vulcan PhD.  

Hey Kids meet: Tikitus the Roman Tiki-Robot

Dr. Lacrimus, a somber man, with chronic tears, and sulking ambiance, worked day and night.  He insisted upon working alone, and ran off any and all who approached. Dr. Lacrimus would create metal people to carry on the endless works man refused to do. His previous projects were the Alligator barrel, wound with cogs and wheels, and armed with a giant saw-like tail to guide him through the water from the oil tankers and back again.  Unfortunately, he forgot to give the alligator a head and eyes, so that it may look and see. Many swimmers were chopped to bits in the Allegheny, and many a tanker was sunk by this paddling, oil-filled torpedo.  Then he planted sprockets and tried to grow one from the ground, but plants were never great walkers. That one was a complete failure.

 Hey Kids Meet: Headless Robot Hockeystick Arm Man

His one success, came after the strike was lifted and the money had run dry. He created a robot much like himself. This metal person could talk and follow some primitive commands.  Dr. Lacrimus being low on funds used a turbine ventilator he had removed from a house. The good doctor rejoiced at his creation, and rushed home to call his boss. While he was out the angry owner of the turbine took back what was his.
After that, Lacrimus made other attempts, each more bold, and daring than the other, all were met with defeat, including the flying house, which plummeted thirty stories through the sky, crushing himself, and his workshop. All that remains is a tiny garden in Garfiled On black street  between N. Fairmount and Chislett. It is my understanding that many children have lost digits here.      

The Turkey House, originally named the Spectacular Flying House, but renamed so after its devastating failure!

The Maiden Flag and the Baker's Tears

In Bloomfield at Sapphire and Liberty, long, long ago, there was a baker. Baker Amato, whose muffins, were dry, whose toast, was bland, and whose cookies were harder than stones. They were so hard in fact that Baker Amato broke his rolling pin and spoon at least once, on a weekly basis. The baker would send his wife, Pasqualina Pingolo, to buy him yet another spoon, and yet another rolling pin. As he had done the week before, and the week before that.
Pasqualina Pingolo walked out into the windiest of days. Her apron flapped wildly as she walked along to the supermarket. Suddenly a gust of wind lifted her off of her feet and carried her down Liberty avenue. Pasqualina Pignolo reached out and grabbed onto the stoplight, but the wind did not stop. It continued to blow, and spin around her. The Fire Chief saw her dangling from the stoplight and asked one of his men to, "Quick! Go get that baker that makes the shitty cookies that broke all our teeth! Run!" Pasqualina Pingolo's fingers began to slip. They slipped one inch at a time. When Baker Amato arrived it was too late. Pasqualina flew off into the Pittsburgh sky. She swirled, and swooshed leaving only her apron, spoon, and rolling pin behind.
Baker Amato hung his head and returned to his shop. He baked no more stone cookies, and leavened no more bland dough, his muffins were not heard from for weeks. There was no peep, nor no light from the Amato bakery. Until one day the man woke up to find himself elbows deep in a bowl full of batter. He was sleep-baking again. Realizing this he began to cry. Buckets of salty tears poured onto the table and into the bowl. He sobbed and howled the entire night and morning. He sobbed when he turned on the oven, he even sobbed when he turned it off.  Everyone in the neighborhood could hear the noise within, and they gathered around to see what the ruckus was about. They could smell the deliciousness, and as the scent travelled further and further, more and more people came to see where it was coming from. Baker Amato hadn't even looked outside. But when he finally did, he opened the doors to let everyone in. His muffins were no longer dry, but moist and fluffy. His toast disappeared from the countertops, and not one person chipped a tooth on his cookies. The crowd was so pleased by the baker's job that they stampeded to the store every morning. They say that if you stop in just after midnight, you might still hear the baker crying into his dough.

Massacre in the Cathedral: The Hell Button

 In Japanese folklore there is a demon. Jigoku Shoujo. Who specializes in vengeance; to obtain this, all you had to do was go to the temple, write the name of the person you wanted to get revenge on, and nail it to the announcement board.  Shortly thereafter the demon would appear, give you a tiny straw man with a string tied around his neck, and when you pulled the string said person would be banished to hell. Unfortunately, when you died, you would go to hell too. Let's say you get pissed off real bad at someone; like a kid getting pissed at his parents cause they grounded him and he can't use the Nintendo, or you get bullied, or someone breaks up with you and you're devastated, or a veterinarian doesn't save your pet dog because he wants to go golfing instead. Let us say one of the above occurs and your pissed. Some one did _____________ and you're pissed, and you want to exact a cruel revenge upon them.  In the land of the rising sun (that is Japan, and no it is not in Mexico), you call Jigoku Shoujo. In the Burgh, there is a hell button in the Cathedral of Learning.

There are three men living in the stairwell in the Cathedral of Learning. Bigelow Bill was the most visible of the three. He was helping the others nurse diabetic ulcers, and often times he was sent out to find food and remedies. I know this, because I jog everyday up and down that flights of stairs. This morning on my jog I saw a hand. It was dangling through the wrought iron bars of the handrails. I tell you my comrades I am usually the type to never get involved in such chicanery. Obviously it was a dead woman as you can imagine. Unfortunately she died between the 11th and the 12th floors. She died, in fact, at the exact middle point. As you can see this proves to be a severe dilemma. Which floor is responsible? Is it the Hispanic languages department? Is it Slavic languages? I mean there are some floors with at least two or three departments. Does the door closest to the stairwell take the dead?
I am unsure if you are aware, but I am a chronic rule-follower. It took every ounce of strength and will power for me to step over the body and continue on. However two flights later I came across another young woman strewn about in the exact same spot. She was expired. Pale, rigor, dead. Worst of all was her term paper. I read it, I find it best that she died when she did. The paper was ungraded, and with her death maybe some other piece of work will be used to remember her by.  I am hoping she was a good dancer, or weightlifter.
This woman died somewhere between philosophy, and classics. This time I could not get away. Bigelow Bill appeared, he appeared to hop like a tiny bird, coy at first, but then he begged me for assistance. I asked him, "How now Bigelow Bill, what have you there in your the hand behind your back?" He told me had seen the hell button. He said he saw it work too. He did not push the button, but was more like a witness. These are the honest words of Bigelow Bill:
Bobby Bogart was popular with the women. What he was not was popular with, was everybody else.  Dangling-Arm girl pressed the hell button to get rid of Shitty-Term-Paper girl. Then Bobby Bogart pressed it to get rid of Dangling-Arm girl.
Bigelow Bill requested that I be a character witness, for when he went on trial. I believe this to be on account of him having to go door-to-door to tell people he's moving in. But notwithstanding,  I conceded his request. It did not matter. Bigelow Bill was taken into custody and tried for the murder of both young ladies and Bobby Bogart. Apparently undergraduates are a great source of protein, and can aid in the recovery of Diabetic ulcerations.

As for the Hell-Button my delicious little comrades, go to the cathedral. It is located right by the elevator next to the computer sciences or engineering or some kind of machine based departement.  If you seek vengeance upon a veterinarian, or something of the sort, you must search there.