“Knock knock, anybody home?” Menelaus poked his head through the doggy flap.
“Go away!”
“I brought ice cream.”
“……”
“Soy ice cream.”
Ulysses lifted his head off the sofa.
“When’s the last time you…did anything?” Menelaus tried to tame his untamable beard.
“I took a poop four days ago.” Uly said through a mouthful of soy ice cream.
“That’s a medical concern. Not an achievement.”
Papers littered the floor and had been used as a litter box, garbage cans were thrown about like garbage, and a rotting plate of eggs benedict was currently hatching.
“Uly. You’ve got to get over her, man. Or apologize. No woman or amount of pride is worth this.”
Ulysses’ eyes glazed over as he rubbed a glazed donut on his face.
“I am over her! And I’ll never give up my pride. Or my hubris. Besides, I love it here.”
“In the doghouse?”
“Yes, in the doghouse!”
They heard a key in the doggie door.
“Oh shit, that’s my roommate. What a bitch he is.”
The door swung in and Argo trotted in.
“You worthless pothead! I told you to take your shoes off inside!” He howled.
“See? I told you he was a bitch.”
Paris was going to Tashi Station to pick up some power converters when in a flash he was struck by lightning.
It was unbearable, but he couldn’t complain. It was over prettly quickly. And he was unconscious.
Like all people who are unconscious, he had a vision that changed his life. It was an image of a woman who was really really sexy and a virgin. And she was visited by an angel and the angel told her: “Rejoice, you highly favored one! The Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women!” and she was like: “WTF?” and the angel said: “You’re gonna get some sweet sweet loving. And if not…you’re a virgin, what do you know?”
Paris woke up and screamed to the heavens “What does the vision mean?!” And no answer came.
Until ten seconds later when in a flash, he was struck by lightning again (which doesn’t happen often). Like all people who experience rare flukes of chance, he had a vision. In it, he saw himself making sweet sweet love.
He woke up feeling rather refreshed. But wet and sticky in his BVDs. “Ahh, man.”
Argo had poured a round of gin and tonics and set himself before a bowl of Kibbles ‘n’ Bits. “I’ll tell you what, Uly. You’ve got to get out of this doghouse.”
“Thanks for worrying about me, Argo. But I really think its over between me and Penelope.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about you. I’m worried about my white carpets which now have stains all over them, my couch which is getting tattered to shreds, and a front lawn that’s gone yellow from urine.”
Menelaus lifted his shirt, revealing a tattoo of a broken heart with a rat chewing it.
“Love hurts, man. You’ve got to buck up. Get a spine. You’re acting like you’re spayed or something.”
“Hey!” Argo tucked his tail between his legs and licked his wounds.
“Maybe you guys are right. Maybe I should just let go and let God.” Uly said.
“That’s the spirit!” Menelaus popped out of the papasan. “When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom: let it be.”
“Who’s Mary?”
“My mother. I just said that.”
Ulysses looked out the doghouse window at his castle across the backyard.
“There’s my love, my life. Just thirty feet away. But it feels like its could be a million miles. All I want is my wife, my life, my family back.”
“Well,” said Menelaus. “Yesterday’s gone and that’s a fact. Now there’s no more looking back.”
A knock on the doggie door. Argo went up on all fours and went barking like mad to answer the door.
“Uly, you’ve got a package!”
The twin suns of Tatooine felt very weak indeed from deep within the sunken adobe vacation home of Paris, humble shepherd boy, and letch.
Currently, he was the Man in a Manwich sandwich nestled between the buns of a Manbun and the bosom of a Ladybun.
His face was wide and glorious, like the face of an openfaced sandwich.
“I’m so hungry I could eat an entire goat right now.” He sighed.
“I’d be happy to feed you some funky pig foot–” said the Manbun.
“Oh, you rascal. No, honeybuns. I mean I’m really hungry.”
“I’ve got a jellyroll if you’re interested–” said Ladybun.
“And I’ve got a donut hole–”
“And I’ve got a beef taco–”
“And I ‘ve got pull pork–”
“And I’ve got a buffet of week old clam chowder.”
“And I’ve got a bag of haggis–”
This went on for another half an hour until Paris finally ordered a “Lollipop” and found out neither of them were talking about real food at all.
“Gods damn it. I mean I’m actually physically hungry for edible sustanance with caloric benefit to maintain my metabolic functions!”
“Ohhhhhhh.” in unison.
Argo the Golden Retriever, Menelaus The King of Sparta, and Ulysses S. Groan The King of Ithaca stood looking down inside the opened FedEx box.
“What the fuck are you dumbshits looking at?”
“I think its a teenaged boy.” Argo said, sniffing.
“I think we should shoot first and ask questions later.” Menelaus said, with a snort.
“I think its my son.” Uly said, sniffling.
The Boy sat on the ottoman texting and sexting with hundreds of people he didn’t know or knew from World of Warcraft. Occasionally he’d go into the kitchen and eat three days worth of cereal.
“So tell me again what that thing is….” Menelaus said.
Ulysses explained to Menelaus and Argo how just before the wedding of Thetis and Peleus, he had implanted a FastGro Seed in Queen Penelope’s nutrient bath.
“I thought that she hadn’t put a new power converter in it…but I guess she did. And now…I’ve got a son. I’m a father! Hey, I’m a dad!” Uly was so happy he thought about getting off the couch to go into the kitchen and give the boy a hug.
“There’s a letter here. Its from Penelope.” Menelaus handed the scroll over.
“Dear Ulysses. As you might have guessed, I put a new power converter in the nutrient bath. Here is our son, Telemachus. He doesn’t answer to that name, but he doesn’t react to anything an adult says. He’s a teenager. Try getting his attention with food. That usually works.
Do you know how hard it is to be a Queen with children at your feet ? Wonder how one manages to make ends meet?
Who finds the money when one pays the rent? Did you think that money was heaven sent? Having a child is no easy task. Children will be the end of us! Take this week for example: Tuesday afternoon was never ending, Wednesday morning papers didn’t come, Thursday night my stockings needed mending. See how they run! [here was included a video of socks embedded in the text] So I’m giving you Telemachus to deal with. I can’t take it anymore! By the way, can you stop urinating on the lawn? Its killing the grass and the motion lights turn on at night and it keeps me up. [signed] Penelope.”
Back on the farm…the moisture farm that is:
Paris lounged with his lovers Beru and Owen thinking thoughts of thoughtless days of June when the moon is full and flights of fancy are at any dandy’s hand. Yes, it was the good life for Prince Paris, Son of Priam King of Troy.
Since Aphrodite had given him the power to seduce any person he wished, Paris was finally content. The world was his oyster and his ears were filled with the sounds of music, like the hills were alive with it. It was as though Blue Oyster Cult was playing on repeat through a Coclear implant.
In a flash, several Chupacabras crashed through his door and mauled Owen and Beru. They then drug the bodies near the front door and burned them.
Paris was…..flummoxed.
“Why? Why Chupacabras?”
They pointed in unison at the closest closet.
Paris opened the door slowly as Blue Oyster Cult was replaced by high pitched violins.
There, hiding in the closet was Elian Gonzalez.
“You little trouble maker.”
Elian fell in love with Paris immediately.
Just then, Beru and Owen appeared as if in a dream.
“Am I dreaming?”
“Did you go to sleep?” Said Owen.
“No.”
“Then what do you think?” Beru said.
“Geez, what’s your guys problem?”
“We were mauled and cremated by magical Mexican beasts, douche!” said Owen.
“Right.”
“We’re ghosts, Paris.” said Beru, “And we’ve come to tell you…go to Atlantis City. There you will meet the most beautiful woman in the world at the Ms. Universe Beauty Contest.”
A knock came to the doggie door.
Argo barked.
Telemachus played video games.
Uly drank gin.
Menelaus answered the door.
“Its an invitation. To the Ms. Universe beauty pageant in Atlantis City.”
“Roadtrip!” shrieked Telemachus.
Arizona–Jan Brewer lifted her voice in triumph, mimicking the blood lusty shriek of a teradactyl this morning as she surveyed her dusty wasteland. She celebrated the passing of SB1070, known as the “I’m Not Racist Or Anything…But” Bill by wiping her lily white pure European blooded ass with a copy of the Constitution.
“It feels good to begin the final solution of our alien invasion.” She said, clogging a toilet with a copy of the Bill of Rights and mounds of her steaming filth.
Many white people applauded the Bill. One Scottsdale resident, Yancy McGreagor, put a sign in his yard reading: “I Am Willing To Cheapen My Own Humanity For Some ‘Us Versus Them’ Politics!”
Mr. McGreagor told reporters, “I don’t care who this Bill is against. So long as its not against me. Has anyone seen my landscaper, nanny, pool guy, dog walker, housekeeper, or my daughter’s boyfriend? Man, where is everybody?”
The Bill, requires police to request proof of citizenship of any brown skinned people they may suspect of not being in the US legally.
The Bill has a number of other clauses including:
“Article 45: Police are required to congratulate White people for being White and give big hugs to redheaded or really pale people.”
A number of Americans are reacting with anger and disgust at the new Bill, many citing “the Constitution”, “Common sense and decency”, “the rule of law and not being an idiot”, “Christian morals” among other arguments many of which contain swear words and head shaking.
Jan Brewer spent the rest of the day looking at pictures of James Earl Ray and masturbating.
The full mailing address is:
The Honorable Jan Brewer
Governor of Arizona
1700 West Washington
Phoenix, Arizona 85007
We will soon be facing the reality of being able to be essentially immortal. Surely within the lifetimes of our younger generations it will occur that barring a tragic accident of physical trauma, there will be little danger of dying.
So its very agreeable that Newitz is bringing the conversation to the table. There’s plenty of issues our societies will do well to tackle now so that when immortality is a reality, we’ll can have the ethical groundwork in place to ease the transition.
I do agree with Newitz’ stated value that medical improvements and technological advancement should not come with the cost of depriving other’s the same access and dignity afforded to ‘elites’.
Newitz makes a conflation of ideas that is ultimately damaging to her argument against choosing immortality: societal health and the continuation of the human species. Categories of species are difficult and fluid, and I would assert sometimes quite arbitrary. What we know as our human ‘species’ is transitional–as all biological forms are. To make our form even more plastic, we are defined by our grasping beyond our present situations. We endeavor through culture, especially technology, to expand upon what is given. Humanity is not now nor has it ever been a closed equation but is rather like a syntax which though it has certain constraints can provide infinite possibilities.
I am convinced that there will be in a few generations many humanoid special types. Immortality will be a choice to many at first and soon a choice to all current human level species (and other life if one were to desire for a longevity pooch or super-cat to snuggle for the millenia). Of course the compassionate, just, and reasonable value to ever pursue is equal access to these new empowering technological/medical advances. I’m with Newitz there.
And yes, I believe that there will be those who for whatever reason will choose to opt out of immortality. But it remains that immortality is a worthwhile project that will prove to not be vulnerable to the types of ‘downsides’ that Newitz fears.
Her stated reasons are fourfold:
1) We will no longer be human. What is human? Is Newitz ready to define humanity? Even within Martin Heidegger’s great description of humanity as a platform of possibility that leaves out all essentializing and body expectations, I am troubled by his centering the human experience around death. Certainly in Heideggerian terms immortality will not be Dasein, and that’s a good thing. I believe that “Being” is big enough to allow for many “areas of Beingness” and as we expand humanoid and robotic consciousnesses we will get beyond the petty fears of our current specism.
2) Whatever body you’re in, there you are. Well, yes. I don’t follow what Newitz is getting at here. Who would be fooled into thinking that immortality would be a form of escapism or flight from responsibility? It will most likely be the opposite: as we are able to “face consequences” for what was before seven generations, we’ll have to own up to our messes much more than we currently do.
3) Our augmented bodies and minds will be hackable. Protection from outside unwanted hacks and viruses has greatly increased over the past years. Will there be room for wanted hacks? Yes and thank goodness. The specialization and individuality possible in hacking will be a benefit to the future of creativity, freedom, and the poetic intangibles of life. It seems that such a worry of being the victim of an unwanted hack represents an updated form of the fear of “media saturated culture”. There is an attraction to the protected autonomous and isolative self that can exist as a pure essence and must be protected from “the manipulations of culture, media, and brainwashing propaganda.” Bodies’ immunity to unwanted invaders when uncompromised is an amazing feature of evolution and our next steps of evolution through technology will only improve.
And manipulation can be decidedly low tech.
Newitz writes: “…your cool new exoskeleton? Let’s just hope somebody patched that problem that lets kids in Russia take it over remotely and make you hump trucks forever.” Exploitation and cruel manipulation of another does not need computer interfacing or brain hacks. Let’s not be naive–slavery of different types and expressions occur right now and indentured servitude right here in 2010 United States through immigration policy and economics. Let’s tackle the problems we have now realistically.
4) We’ll have to deal with the immortality divide. Add it to the already long list of divides, sheesh. Yes, egalitarianism is the ideal. Equality in access and dignity is a value I support, but distribution of technologies and medical advances is exceedingly becoming more prevalent, not less. We must continue to support the global consciousness of connectivity and justice but let’s not let any current injustices dissuade us from continuing on the path of expanded possibilities. Newitz writes of the movie Daybreakers and while I haven’t seen the movie I know that its probably unnecessary in the conversation of “divides” or unjust social privileging. She writes: “….Democratic human societies might ossify into rigid, caste-based feudalism once again.” Why not, instead of talking about science fiction movies and the feudal systems of old, talk about the current reality of white privilege? Racism? Is it too hard to talk about? To put a name to? That the “digital divide” and “clean water divide” and many other access-disadvantages follow along skin coloring is a shame to our globe. Let’s face it head on and call it what it is: Colonialism and Imperialism’s ugly white privileging.
So while I will respect Newitz and everyone else’s choice to defer treatments to extend longevity indefinitely, I refute Newitz’ reasonings behind her argument.
This morning I was looking at pictures of incense I’d placed on my Gaia shrine
(because incense smoke is so pollutive)
and while in a trance I was visited by the Spirit of Earth Day Past.
I held onto his sleeve and he flew me to Earth Day 1972
where we watched the first time Travis Wells of Dayton Ohio overcame great trepidation
to try out his roommate’s suggestion of “if its yellow let it mellow”. It was not as exciting of an ecological victory as you might imagine.
He then whisked me to Earth Day 1990 when I was twelve
and I was able to watch myself save the Sears catalog’s undergarment section from being thrown into the landfill.
My mother later sent it to the landfill and sent me to counseling.
It was worth it, Earth!
I then met the Spirit of Earth Day Future and lemme tell you: good news is on the way! In the year 2830 most everyone’s forgotten that really embarrassing thing you did during your blind date with Matt.
During this vision, I had to come to terms with the way I’d treated Mother Nature over the course of my life.
To be honest, I don’t have a perfect record in my treatment of animals and the environment.
And the shame of it makes me break out in hip hop.
I lambasted a lamb and basted a ham
a xenophobed a zebu until it got out of hand
gave a snake bite to a snake though it rattled and hissed
and ostracized and scarlet lettered an unmarried ostrich
Because I couldn’t tame it I eschewed the shrew
and never gave the honey bee its credit due
I harangued an orangutang and hounded a poodle
I overfed a German Shepherd hefeweisen and strudel
I shook my fist at a platypus
told a bison to blow me with animus
On Halo3 I owned a hippopatamus
You should watch it on YouTube, it was rediculous
But that was the old me. That was the Tatooine Luke. Now I’m the Endor Luke.
I watched an awesome blockbuster movie this week with great special effects that taught me to reverence the beauty of nature.
It was called “Jaws”.
Its the relatable story of a workaday shark just trying to get by in life who has to face down three antagonists representing the id, ego, and superego. The shark falls victim to a ‘home invasion’ by the three assassins but doesn’t back down–she fights back as any mother would. In the end, the shark protects her home and dignity as a suicide bomber with a high pressure diving tank held in her mouth. Though the shark doesn’t take Roy Schneider or that creepy guy from What About Bob with her, she has performed a righteous act of jihad and will be rewarded with seven buckets of chum.
And I think that’s a message we can all feel good about this Earth Day.
This post is under continual updating and revision for up-to-the-minute news on May 21st 2011.
1) God created the world in 11,013 B.C.
2) Noah’s Flood happened in 4990 B.C.
3) Jesus is going to rapture all real believers on May 21, 2011.
4) The world is going to be destroyed October 21, 2011.
5) Frankenmuth comes from the words “Frankenstein” and “Mouth”. Rendered from the original German, Frankenmuth means “The Kiss Of A Reanimated Monster”
6) May 21, 1988 was the last day of the Church Age, and the first day of the Great Tribulation, during which Satan has been ruling all churches and the entire world.
7) In the 2000 Census Frankenmuth Michigan had a population of 4,838. Eight being the number of completion, four being the number of balance and the Four Gospels, and three representing the holy dietary trinity of Breakfast Sausages, Eggs, and Biscuits.
8) Those who reject that Jesus is returning on May 21, 2011 “are in a spiritual nighttime, a condition that guarantees that when Christ comes they…will be destroyed in the Day of Judgment.”
9) Frankenmuth Michigan was settled in 1845, the same year that the Great Rabies Cloud hung over the Western Iowa Territories. 1845 added together is 18–the legal age to smoke cigarettes. Cigarettes taste really good and look glamorous.
10) “God commands…that true believers are to leave their church…because God’s righteous judgment is upon all local congregations.”
11) Everyone is invited to Frankenmuth Michigan’s World Expo of Beers on May 21, 2011. Everyone will have a good time and people will be cared about and no one will be destroyed, judged, or annihilated.
12) Beer is delicious.
*Numbers 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 10 are all taken from Harold Camping’s website or quoted directly from Harold Camping’s pamphlets titled: “Does God Love You?”, “No Man Knows The Day Or The Hour?”, “God Gives Another Infallible Proof That Assures The Rapture Will Occur May 21, 2011″, and “The End of The World is Almost Here! Holy God Will Bring Judgment Day on May 21, 2011″
Finding good news in times of war is tough. So when an article titled “Droning on: How to build ethical understanding into pilotless war planes” in the Economist detailing a new technology in development from the Georgia Institute of Technology’s School of Interactive Computing I was excited.
The technology reviewed in the article is called Ethical Architecture by the Georgia Institute folks and would be active in pilotless drone planes over battlefield conditions. These drones are operated remotely by specialists safely away from danger sometimes as far removed from the field as to be in Nevada. These drones are a great development over traditional piloted planes with one important area of concern: their use has been involved with missle attacks that resulted in killing innocent people. The Economist cites the tragedy of 23 June, 2009 in Makeen Pakistan where a missle deployed by US soldiers from at least two drone planes killed 80 people.
I phrased that last sentence in a very specific way for a reason. In common parlance, an article might simply say “drone attack kills civilians” and the reader gets a sense of “oh, one of those tiny little robot planes killed people.” This must sentiment must be carefully avoided when writing on these crimes. (I use ‘crimes’ very awarely. ‘Event’ or ‘tragedy’ do not fit for what happened on 23 June, 2009. An event is a catered meal and a tragedy can be a lightning strike or flood.)
On that date, mourners were gathered in a processional and gathering of prayer for two local men who had been killed earlier in the day by remote controlled drones. US intelligene wrongly placed Baitullah Mahsud, leader of Tehrik-i-Taliban Pakistan (TTP) at the funeral and that was reason enough for US soldiers to approve the firing of at least three missiles into a crowd of praying women and children. Mahsud later died in August 2009 by a remote drone fired missile strike.
Context matters, and the larger picture here gives us a good idea of why the Ethical Architecture program for drones is important. Think of it: in this case, operators somewhere in their flight consoles far away from the field have been given intelligence that a high ranking baddie is at the funeral. Multiple missiles are fired into a crowd in hopes of killing him. This action, I submit, is unethical. I invite arguments otherwise but my conscience is sure. No AI here, no ‘robots run amok’. Just decisions made by many military authorities.
That is just one situation. There are others where the operator may not have a clear field of vision available through their camera-feed or they may be unable to keep a solid understanding of nearby buildings or civilians they could jeopardize by firing. This situation is probably common. These operators are called to function at very high levels of stress and attention and in the heat of a split second decision they may neglect to ‘see the bigger picture’.
This is where Ethical Architecture comes is.
As the Economist describes:
“The drone would initially be programmed to understand the effects of the blast of the weapon it is armed with. It would also be linked to both the Global Positioning System (which tells it where on the Earth’s surface the target is) and the Pentagon’s Global Information Grid, a vast database that contains, among many other things, the locations of buildings in military theatres and what is known about their current use.”
The drone would ‘learn’ in the sense that it could collect data from the blast to compare with its previous estimation. If it was wrong, it would update its understanding for the next situation.
Now the cool thing: If an operator began a missile launch protocol, the drone could put on the brakes. If it saw that there were hazards to holy sites nearby, or a blast may damage a civilian building, it could act as a ‘safety’ and require a second human opinion. Of course, its measures could be turned off by the operator.
From the Economist we know that the drone is not ‘learning ethics’. Ethics is a human endeavor as of right now and it is the developers who are ethical. It is the people around the world who will not abide by a single non-combantant death who are ethical. It is the desire to minimize violence and destruction and respect cultures’ holy sites that is ethical. The drone itself just has a ‘wider lens’ than the operator. It can know the battlefield better and alert when the ‘trigger may be pulled’ too hastily.
Many contemporary firearms have safety switches of some fashion to prevent firing until absolutely certain. This is just a multimillion dollar update.
So let me now turn to Inglis-Arkell’s article:
Right off the bat, her title is wrong and misspelled: “A New Program Teaches Ethics to Robot Soliders [sic]“.
Are drones soldiers? That’s a bit of a semantics game. Are they like K-9 dogs who (are rightly) given full credit of ‘police officers’? Or are they tools? I suggest the latter.
Is anyone teaching a robot ethics? Not really. Ethics involve cultural value, desire, relationship, accountibility. This robot assess buildings and geography and basically flashes a red light when estimated munitions damage would threaten outside target area.
It makes for a catchy banner, Inglis-Arkell, but you or your editor are stretching.
She starts off the article with talking about how the armed forces are seeking to create an unmanned frontline and asks:
“How do we do this while avoiding an Asimovian situation where our robots go crazy? And is that even possible?”
Disregard the sloppy writing of whether the second question is asking if “crazy robots” or “avoiding them” is possible.
The problem is ‘unmanned’ right now and for the near future means “remotely controlled”. The issue at hand is important–remote drones–and their improvement through Ethical Architecture is important. Considerations for whether non-human intelligences will be involved in US military action is an interesting subject, but Inglis-Arkell is conflating two issues to the disservice of the issue at hand.
I also feel there is a reductive quality to the way she speaks of ethics. She writes:
“The drone would then compare and contrast the expected consequences of its action with the actual consequences. If they didn’t match, it would then adjust its own behavior. The drone would learn ethics, just the way we do.”
Many people operate their lives on more than outcomes. I realize that there is an amount of interior checking that can occur where intention-behavior-desired outcome/actual outcome are balanced out by an individual and called ‘ethics’ but I personally feel it is important to emphasize the relational/social dimension. A person must be vulnerable to be ethical. They must have ‘stock’ in other’s feelings and beliefs. Ethics requires explanation or excuse for one’s behavior. These are currently out of reach of the drone planes.
So I’m feeling that Inglis-Arkell simply misunderstood the Economist. It may be that she saw the project was called Ethical Architecture and thought that perhaps rather than the project being born of ethical desire to lessen innocent casualties on the battlefield she assumed that drone planes now were social creatures who were prone to regret, responsibility, and diachronic and conflicting agendas.
She quotes Noel Sharkey of the International Committee for Robot Arms Control:
“You could train it all you want, give it all the ethical rules in the world. If the input to it isn’t correct, it’s no good whatsoever, humans can be held accountable, machines can’t.”
As we saw above in the funeral bombing, humans in our military services (or the mercenary contractors that get too little attention) are not held all that accountable if they can approve missiles being fired into crowds without condemnation. This quote also muddies the issue and is a distraction. We know that a machine cannot be held accountable. No argument. It is the designers and operators that we should be concerned with.
Until we have human level AI, we must keep our focus on where it deserves to be: the human element.
And as we hold each operator of a drone and their superiors to the highest accountibility, so must we pressure our government leaders to demilitarize and demand of them an emphasis on non-violent strategies in world relations.
Inglis-Arkell closes her article saying she is doubtful human level AI will ever occur. It will.
I just hope that when our newly created equals arrive we can present to them a world without war to enjoy with us.
On Christmas Eve I found myself camping next to the Golden Gate Bridge. It was pleasantly warm, views magnificent, whiskey flowing, waves undulating, conversations predictable. Around midnight, on schedule like a European train, I spotted Santa soaring over the bay towards San Francisco! My companions were all rubber-stamped hippies with their medicinal medical pot papers and one of them had a gun. He aimed it at Santa and pulled the trigger, trimming Santa’s beard with no harm done. As he aimed again and I tackled this hippy and stuck his trigger-finger in the fire, scalding it to a stump. This was a story of how a Jew saved Christmas.
Blaster fire crackled through dark space. The little corvette was out raced and out gunned, but was giving the Mount Olympus Imperial Cruiser hell yet.
Inside the corvette were Hera, Aphrodite, and Athena still locked in conflict over who should be awarded the Golden Apple but forced into an uneasy alliance as the rest of the Gods exiled them from the heavens.
“Cursed be ye three until you come to some peace!” Said Father God Zeus.
Now they fled across the galaxy as a ragtag rebellion with Imperial Gods in hot pursuit.
Athena clenched at the control panel as another blaster impact shook their embattled ship.
“We’ve got to jump ship! Its our only hope!” Said Hera.
Reluctantly, Athena agreed and turned on the autoturrets and set a course to crash into the Cruiser’s bridge.
“Open hailing frequencies to Hermes!” Said Hera to the ship’s computer.
A moment’s silence was followed by a voice mail prompt: “Sorry I can’t take your call right now–but leave your name, number, and a small devotional sacrifice of a goat and I’ll get right back to you in a flash.”
“Damn that Messenger God! Always busy biding someone else’s business!” yelled Aphrodite.
“Computer!” said Hera.
“Who are you calling now?” from Aphrodite–
“Hail Herpes.”
“Oh no. Not him.” said the Love Goddess shaking her head.
With a cuncussive “Bamf!” appeared Herpes, Brother to Hermes, and second fastest God in the Multiverse. A large sore glowed on his lip.
“Hey ladies. What’s shaking?”
“Get us out of here!” Athena directed at him.
“You’re yummy.” He leered. Before she could hit him, he scooped them up in his arms and “Bamf!” they were gone.
Moments later, on the bridge of the cruiser, a Lieutenant called out: “Sir, we’ve lost our bridge deflector shields!”
Showing his first glimmer of battlefield insecurity, the Commander feigned control as he directed: “Intensify the forward batteries, I don’t want anything to get through!”
It was too late already.
The flaming, now vacant corvette roared towards the bridge’s observation bay windows.
“Intensify forward fire power!”
His XO admitted it before he, “Too late!”
The Goddesses stood in an endless desert and looked up just in time to see the flash of explosion in the evening sky.
Herpes smiled crookedly looking like a dog expecting a treat for fetching slippers.
Aphrodite kneed him in his syphilitic coin purse. Athena threw sand at his eyes but he was gone in a bamf.
“Well, he saved us didn’t he?” Hera shrugged.
“Yeah, but I feel like I’ve got a yeast infection coming on.” said Aphrodite. The other two scratched in union.
Hera’s tricorder read that they were on the desert planet of Tatooine, one of King Priam’s territories along with Troy and Marvin Gardens. She figured that if they didn’t find shelter soon before the twin suns went down, they’d freeze to death in the night or get shot by the maurading Tusken Raiders. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” she said.
Paris skimmed along the red rock crest of Beggar’s Canyon in his T-16 with the first sunrise at the horizon and the second just below–giving him great position to surpise nesting Wamprats in rocky crags.
He loosed another blaster round and down went another, almost a meter wide wingspan twirling like a singed moth to rot on the canyon bottom. “I got one!” He howled.
“Don’t get cocky.” responded his onboard computer.
He arched up over the crest in a swirl of red dust, leaving four families of Wamprat to mourn their loved ones.
Tiny Tim, the littlest of Wamprats held his mother close to him until he could feel her breathing shake her and then cease. He didn’t cry. He knew she’d want him to be strong.
Paris saw a Sand Crawler inching along its treads towards the south and he barrelrolled into a low dive towards it.
He flashed a communication plink toward the mobile city and it plinked back: “Buy?”
and he answered: “Good prices?” and of course the mantra-like response from the Jawas: “Best Prices On Planet!”
He hopped out the cockpit as the Jawas lined up their wares. Paris had in mind to pick up a couple of sex-bots without his father King Priam finding out and the Jawas were the best synth-pimps on the sandy rock he called home.
“Hey. What’s you got in terms of some ‘entertainment’ bots?”
“Oontini!” screamed one to another with an excited arm waving motion.
Down came Hera, Aphrodite, and Athena from the ramp prodded along by a Jawa controlling their restraining rings.
“They sure look rough. That the best you got?”
The Jawas crowed back and forth chittering with anger.
“We usually look a bit better than this.” said Aphrodite.
“You see how you look after a night in the desert and being thrown in the cargo hold of a Sand Crawler.” said Hera.
“Sure. I bet you’re all real beautiful by Anchor Head or Mos Eisley standards. But, I’m sorry to tell y’all. I’m royalty okay? A prince.” said the Prince like a priss.
“Ooooh, big deal.” said Athena.
“Cool it, Thene…” warned Hera.
“No. I’m sick of jerkoff mortals thinking they’re God’s gift to womanhood. Screw you pal!” The War Goddess lifted her hands and with little effort snapped off her restraining belt and the necks of each Jawa assembled. She absorbed what little Mana their souls gave her and transformed–strengthened by bloodlust and the Spirit of Nike, Goddess of Victory.
With a flick of her finger she tossed the Sand Crawler and the Jawas’ bodies over a sand dune where they eaten by The Almighty Sarlacc, The Great Pit of Carkoon.
“And now, my ‘Prince’, you shall experience the true power of the dark side…” Athena’s raised hands began to glow blue with electricity but Hera pulled them to her side.
“Wait!”
“What is it? Let’s destroy him, plunder his kingdom, and then kill everyone on this planet. It smells like Dewbacks here.”
“Can’t you see any other way to solve a problem but through violence?” Hera pleaded.
“She is the Goddess of War afterall.” Aphrodite chimed.
Paris’ stomach clenched. Few mortals had tried to buy Goddesses as sex slaves and lived to tell about it.
“Athena, I think Hera has an idea.” said Aphrodite lovingly. “And I know what it is.”
“Well please indulge me.”
“We’ve been trying to settle who is the most beautiful right? Well here is a simple Prince to help decide!”
Hera nodded “That’s right. Who better than this naive little pissant, uncorrupted by norms and expectations of civilized culture?”
“Look, Tatooine may be remote,” Paris said “If there is a bright spot in the galaxy, this is the farthest from it, but I’m no dummy.”
“Perfect,” said Athena. “A dummy who is confident in himself.”
Paris puffed out his chest confidently.
Thus sang the Goddesses Three, in lilting voice and graceful of spirit: Thou pure spark of life
from great silence deep
you childe of stillness and time–
Thou art the heart of earthen vessels
mere mortals true but of hearts like seeds
to which the cosmos calls like deep unto deep.
Though craggy and cracked, each pot
has greater origin and destiny than
any might imagine.
To thee of wasted powers we plead:
who is the fairest of them all?
A sad race these mortals be,
what strangeness abounds in humanity!
But their greatness lies like secrets in their
shared myths, songs, their fireside stories.
They write of gods and mortals
and presume to know of each:
their difference and their likeness
and that the twain shall not meet.
They sing of lovely young maidens
and continue to mistreat those they ‘love’
strange hearts of hypocrisy and low souls
though their minds wish to soar above.
What pipes and timbrels!
What songs they sing
such gaity and madness a simple rhythm bring.
Yes, their words seek greatness
and poems and songs are uttered
but silence is prefered between lovers
and words their affairs only clutter.
Stranger in a strange land,
O wandering race–
of all you wrongly think you know
please tell us from your razor’s edge:
Who is the fairest of them all?
O animal of contradictions
of lies and self deceit
who has come to see even
simplicity in living as some monastic feat
who pines for one to kiss
but finds in loneliness a bliss
who kick against the goads
yet seek solace in travelled roads–
O double minded tell us if you can:
Who is the fairest of them all?
You who look to yonder wood
with hopes that if you harbor good
that you will bloom again after dying–
In hopes that like the evergreen
that life could not truly be as mean
to exempt you from heaven despite your trying
What if you were to be lost like tinder
and burned like boughs?
You’d no longer worry for where
a loved one’s soul goes-
But hubris ties you to dream of worlds to come.
And this remains your cross to bear.
O unhappy boughs
bid the spring adieu
and rejoice in each morn’
its own world anew!
O sad race,
We gods would wish you more happy love
more happy, happy love!
Yet you pant by streams of water.
You beg for more at a feasting table.
All breathing human passion
is a blistered tongue pleading drink
from a finger dipped in water
when thou rest in pools of coolness
at the bosom of all Creation.
Tell us lover of illusion:
Who is the fairest of them all?
Put aside thy gory gifts
thy rank auguries and tithes
stand up from thy altars
put down the sacrifice knives.
Look onto thy neighbor
and heed first their cries.
You trouble your hearts with infinity
and try to read the skies-
for shame you who would be goddesses
content in devoted sheep guise.
O prince among Kings of Unclaimed Crowns:
who is the fairest of them all?
Mortal, when mountains are laid to waste
and thrown into the sea
one truth will outlast you, your citadels,
and onto eternity.
When your gods are seen for idols
and even your very self as idol also
there stands one truth
extinction will forego–
“Beauty is truth, truth beauty,” – that is all
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
Now tell us Passing Shadow, O Vaporous Air:
Of us Three Goddesses, who mark you most fair?
Paris was a bit shook up to say the least. He had really been looking forward to spending his morning buying a sex-bot and taking it out to his friend Wedge’s abandoned adobe hut behind the Pod Racing arena, and now he was being confronted with existential dread.
He asked to be excused for a moment and he walked into the desert.
There he fasted for 40 days and took enough peyote that the ‘angels’ attended to him.
Then, in his weakest moment, Athena, Aphrodite, and Athena came to tempt him.
Said Hera:
“Vote for me and I will give you all the herds of cattle in the world. You can then have meatloaf every day.”
She showed him grazing cows that were just aching to be ground up into chuck. Said Paris:
“A person doesn’t live by meatloaf alone, but also by a lot of ketchup.”
Said Athena:
“Vote for me and I’ll make you the chief leader of all galaxies’ armies. You will be the most mighty and feared General since Grievous!”
She took him in a vision to look upon ranks of Post Order 66 Clones that would be at his command. Said Paris:
“Away from me woman! For it is written: There is only One Admiral Akbar and He alone shall you serve.”
Said Aphrodite:
“Vote for me and I’ll hook you up with anyone you want to get freaky with.” Said Paris:
“Like hot chicks to have sex with?” Said Aphrodite:
“Yes, and–” Said Paris:
“You! I vote for you! The one who’ll get me sweet sweet lovin’! Yeeeehaw!”
Paris shot his blaster into the air as Hera and Athena shook their heads in disgust.
“I shoulda guessed.” Said Hera.
“Yeah. We shoulda asked that guy on Dagobah.”
