He’d read all about Transcender’s journey to Saturn, and the havoc that was wreaked upon that that hotel. It upset his constitution to think that the System’s savior, the genetically-perfected designed to fend off nether-threats, could be derailed so easily. And by such trifles, nonetheless. Alcohol. Women. Drug-beams. All of the vices that, according to many, had done in Earth in the first place.

To the moonbeam death-child, Transcender Yonder had lost his way. Which may have been true. But as seven-year old, there ain’t no way he could understand Transcender’s appreciate of fine pussy and bourbon.

Headphones clamped on tight, the moonbeam death-child tried to tune out his negative thoughts. Rather than dwell on the various ways he’d like to torture Earth’s mightiest drunkard – testicle-electrocution, force-fed glass sandwiches, and atomic bombings at the top of the list – he made his peace with the omniverse. Heck, three songs in, the moonbeam death-child laughed at the thought that people didn’t always realize that music aligns the brainwaves to the same frequencies that neutrinos use to slip between dimensions.

How comical!

So relaxed by the music was the child that he fell into a deep slumber. So relaxed was this slumber that he didn’t notice the blanket being draped over his listless frame. And so gentle was the draping that he smiled the hearty grin of the runt who’s looked after by the alpha male.

Transcender Yonder was finally home, and was glad to see that his moonbeam death-child, whether or not he’d admit it, didn’t hate him.

—-

Thanks for checking out the Monday Morning Commute! This is the spot where I ramble about the make-believe and the real-believe alike, sharing with you the various ways I’ll be entertaining myself throughout the workweek. After you peep my means of destroying ennui, hit up the comments section and share yours. C’mon, you know how it is – work sucks, life rules, let’s party until we’re dead!

Are you ready to rock?

Read the rest of this entry »

Transcender knew he was in for a world of shit.

He’d woken up from his Post-Lunar nap a bit early. Which wasn’t unusual. But rather than waiting for Larissa – the lab assistant with the big smile and bigger bust – to help him out of his pod, he crawled out on his own. Everyone on the Station knew that rule number one is that Transcender was never to be left to his own devices.

Especially after a nap.

Running a hand through his beard, Transcender gazed out the bay window and laughed to himself. “Sweet Man-Jesus, where’ve they sent me now? Is that Saturn? Oh, if Rodrigo could see this, he’d prolapse for sure!”

Had he studied the mission plans as thoroughly as he told Doc he would, Transcender would’ve known that they were far, far past Saturn.

Transcender Yonder’s attention was fully directed out the window, on the satellites and comets he’d soon be smashing to pieces, when a breeze of bitter wonder wafted into his nose. He immediately spun around, balancing best he could while his muscles readjusted to the artificial gravity, and began searching for the source of the smell. Other than his pod, all that was in the room was sterility – medical instruments, monitors, a vacuum.

And, much to Transcender’s delight, a coffee pot.

Fast as he could, the Meta-Man approached the coffee pot, threw back its lid, and poured the contents into unhinged gullet. Having never tasted coffee before, Transcender basked in the wonder of simply experiencing something new. Coffee! Aha! So this is what they drink when they wake up! A fine concoction! Chemically stimulating and socially facilitating!

But then Transcender’s hyper-sensitive neurons kicked into gear.

Larissa walked into the room just in time to see the six-foot-six ubermensch fall to his knees. He clutched at his left eye and screamed, “I have the pressure of a dying star within my skull! Sweet-mammaried  Larissa, save me! I beg of you!”

Without hesitation, Larissa picked up the phone on the wall and dialed zero. “Doc? Yeah, it’s me. Looks like he got into the coffee. Yeah, Transcender’s having his first headache.”

Already knowing the answer, Transcender Yonder looked up and asked sheepishly, “Am I in trouble?”

—-

This is the Monday Morning Commute. I’m going to run through the things I’ll be doing to entertain myself during the week. Then, you hit up the comments section and do the same. Hell, ain’t this the whole damn point of the Internet?

Let’s rock.

Read the rest of this entry »