18 Sep 2020
Today’s prompt: “Write down everything you can remember about your algebra teacher.”
Mr. Foley had a propensity for giving his whiteboard markers a hearty sniff whenever he uncapped one. The sniffing was a necessary step, because he would usually forget and put a dead marker back in the three mugfuls of markers on his desk instead of throwing it away. He also never bothered with the erasers. If he made a mistake on the board, he erased it with his hand. By seventh period, his hands were rainbows.
He was also famous for going off on tangents. The students in class would ask questions to try to guide him into non-mathematical territory, in the hope that he’d be so lost in tangents that he wouldn’t get through enough of the lecture to assign homework that day. It was on one of those days that he got on a tangent about Blaise Pascal.
Pascal, probably best known for his triangle that represents the coefficients when taking x + y to a given exponent, also made contributions to religious theory, notably “Pascal’s Wager.” “It’s basically like a bet on the existence of God,” Mr. Foley said. “Let’s say God doesn’t exist. If you bet that God existed, you’d have been a goody-two-shoes your whole life so you could go to Heaven, but you’re not out a whole lot if he doesn’t exist. You’re just dead in the ground anyway, same as the folks who bet he didn’t exist. But let’s say God exists. If you bet he didn’t exist, you’re screwed, and if you bet he did, you get to go to the good place.”
“But what if the Christian God isn’t the one you’ve got to watch out for?” Cory Werner asked. “What if the one who really exists is Baal or Zeus or Cthulhu, and you get in trouble for not believing in them?”
Nice one, Cory, you thought. That should get him going for a while.
“Interesting proposition,” Mr. Foley said. “I suppose you would have to undertake comprehensive religious studies, rule out any gods who don’t treat their adherents any different than folks who don’t believe in them, and do a cross-analysis of how many will also punish you for believing in other gods….” Mr. Foley rabbit-trailed for another 15 minutes. You didn’t get homework that day.
You’ve been thinking about that day more frequently lately. Cory threw out Cthulhu like it was an offhanded remark, but there’ve been a lot of cults popping up lately dedicated to his worship. And today, you got captured by one that apparently needed a human sacrifice for their dread lord. You’re in some kind of dark building with a concrete floor and huge, poorly sealed doors that let light bleed in around the edges. Everything smells musty. Markings are drawn on the floor underneath where you lie tied up, and candles burn in a circle around you on tall candleholders.
The cultists enter the room and stand at the edges of the circle of candles. They’re all wearing robes and hoods and gold-colored full-face featureless masks so you can’t recognize anyone. One of them holds a long scythe in his right hand and carries a candle in his left. He walks slowly toward you as the other cultists begin chanting.
As he approaches, you notice the man with the scythe has a telltale smudge of blue and purple on his left hand.
“Mr. Foley?”
The scythe comes down.
16 Sep 2020
Today’s prompt: “Polite dinner conversation isn’t supposed to include religion, politics, or money. Write a scene at the dinner table where one or more of these topics is discussed.”
“You really should consider joining us for services at the Church of Starry Wisdom,” your Uncle Gregory says.
You nearly choke on your flank steak. “Why?” you ask.
“We’d just feel so much better if you did,” your Aunt Kathy says. “It’d be good for you. It’d be in your best interest.”
“I’m really not interested in any of that cult stuff,” you say, stabbing your fork through some green beans.
“Pass the mashed potatoes,” Uncle Gregory says. You hand him the bowl, and while scooping white dollops onto his plate, he asks, “You know how much a state senator costs?”
You look at him, bewildered. “I have no idea.”
“About $125,000,” he says. “I bought five of them this morning.”
“Now, dear,” Aunt Kathy says. “There’s no need to brag.”
“What do you want five state senators for?” you ask.
“To enact a law forcing conversion to the Church of Starry Wisdom,” Uncle Gregory says.
You pause. “Well. Five isn’t a majority.”
“Enough of the rest were already on board.”
“It’s for people’s own good,” Aunt Kathy says.
“Pass the gravy,” Uncle Gregory says.
You hand over the gravy boat. “Isn’t that against the First Amendment?”
“That old chestnut?” Uncle Gregory says, drizzling brown gravy over his potatoes. “The mythical wall of separation between church and state has been eroded for decades. Guess how much a police commissioner costs.”
“I really have no idea.”
“A bargain at $55,000,” he says. “Bought one of them this afternoon.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to join the Church of Starry Wisdom?” Aunt Kathy says. “The services are really nice.”
“Absolutely not,” you say.
“That’s a real pity,” Uncle Gregory says. “You know how much a district attorney costs?”
“Not enough, I’m guessing,” you reply.
“Right you are,” he says.
“Really, going to church once in a while wouldn’t hurt, you know,” Aunt Kathy says.
“Not happening,” you tell your aunt. You turn to your uncle. “So when do you start your murderous jihad for Nyarlathotep?”
“No time like the present,” Uncle Gregory says, a firm grip on his steak knife.
14 Sep 2020
Today’s prompt: “Write the lyrics of a catchy jingle – for a plumbing service.”
“If there’s an Old One in your tub, call Root! Root! Roto-Rooter!
If your pipes are an interplanar cultist hub, call Root! Root! Roto-Rooter!
If tentacles are snaking up your drain
Or Yog-Sothoth is clogging up your water main
Call Root! Root! Root! Roto-Rooter!”
You stare in horror as Shub-Niggurath’s young ceaselessly burst from your mangled kitchen sink, the Muzak from Roto-Rooter’s phone system unable to drown out their screeches.
12 Sep 2020
Today’s prompt: “Spin around until you get so dizzy you fall down. Write about the first thought that comes into your head.”
You really shouldn’t have done that so close to sharp-edged furniture.
10 Sep 2020
Today’s prompt: “You’ve been caught cheating at a casino. Explain to the pit boss why this is all just a big misunderstanding.”
You’ve never understood the term “pit boss” before. Now, as the boss opens the door to a room with a sign on the door labeled “Where The People With Excuses Go” and flings you, with a strength belied by her slender arms, into a deep pit studded with sharp spikes, you feel you understand.
08 Sep 2020
Today’s prompt: “What is your shrink really thinking when you tell him about your day, your life, your hopes, your fears?”
Jesus Christ, they’ve just started recounting the fourth plot against their life today, your therapist thinks. First someone unleashes their vicious dogs on them during their morning walk. Then it’s an assassin with poisoned blow darts at the next table at Starbucks. Then some unseen hand shoves them down the stairwell at work. Then someone tries to run them off the road on their way here. It’s one thing to feel paranoid, and another still to suffer these kinds of delusions, but get. Over. Yourself. You’re just not important enough for the universe to want dead.
Your therapist will recall these thoughts with horror when the car bomb attached to your Toyota Tercel blows up as you get in the car at the end of your session.
06 Sep 2020
Today’s prompt: “Pick your favorite movie. Now switch the sex of the lead. Adjust the plot accordingly.”
You know, it really doesn’t matter that in this version, Buttercup becomes the Dread Pirate Roberta and rescues her darling Wesley from Princess Humperdink (which maybe isn’t a great name for a princess, but it’s not a great name for a prince either). You’re still Count Rugen, and you still get slaughtered by Inigo Montoya in a very satisfying revenge scene.