Genres: Dystopia
/SFX/ CLOCK TICKING, FADE TO
/SFX/ DOGS BARKING IN DISTANCE
SAM: Like?
BECCA: Like.
SAM: (growls like a dog, sexy)
BECCA: Like?
SAM: Like.
/SFX/ DOGS BARKING IN DISTANCE
BECCA: Lick?
SAM: (giggles) Like.
BECCA: (howls like a dog)
Genres: Genetic Engineering
Recorded at Balticon 43, May 23, 2009
Read by:
Joe – Jared Axelrod (of The Voice of Free Planet X),
Maddie – J.R. Blackwell (of Voices of Tomorrow)
The Farm – Evo Terra and Sheila Dee (of Evo at 11, et al.)
Brenda the Barkeep – Dee Reed (of Nobilis Erotica),
Wendy the Rat – Laura Burns,
Art the Boy Toy – John Cmar,
Bob the Dog – Earl Newton (of Stranger Things),
Narrator – Serah Eley
Special Thanks To:
Paul Fischer (of The Balticon Podcast) for instigating and organizing
Nobilis Reed (of Nobilis Erotica) for engineering
“Buggerit, I don’t have time for this,” Joe muttered. The stable waiting for the small herd of cloned spidercows cluttering up the north paddock was still knee-deep in manure, and the tractor seat wasn’t getting any warmer while he shivered out here waiting for Maddie to come and sort this thing out. It wasn’t a big herd, but it was as big as his land and his labour could manage – the big biofabricator in the shed could assemble mammalian livestock faster than he could feed them up and sell them with an honest HAND-RAISED NOT VAT-GROWN label. (Continue Reading…)
Rated 13 and up for language
The building sat in a small clearing in the jungle, its stone walls radiating solidity and the midday heat. Giant statues of warrior-gods crushing skulls beneath their feet flanked the doorway. Xnab looked from the ornately carved keyhole to his customer and back again.
“And the key is where, exactly?” he asked.
“In the treasure chamber,” the big man said in a small voice. “We had just finished putting everything away and, well, it had been a long day. I think I must have put the key down on the altar or something. The problem is, the place locks automatically, and our entire fortune is in there. We had a few locksmiths out to work on it, but they didn’t get very far.”
Xnab nodded. He had already noticed the blood spatter around the keyhole.
“So that’s why we called you. Everyone said that if anybody could get in there, it would be you.”
Xnab accepted that, not as a compliment, but a statement of fact. He was a specialist the design and construction of booby traps, deadfalls and other, largely fatal, security options. He was a small man, thin and wiry, his shaved head still smooth and unwrinkled despite years of working in the sun. Despite making a very good living, he wore a plain tunic and no adornments at all. In his business, he considered it a bad idea to have anything extra hanging around, and he was very good at his business. In fact, anyone who knew anything considered Xnab the best death trap designer alive.
Which typically would have been reason enough to turn down a job like this, but in this case it was actually why he was there.
“How long have you owned the temple?” he asked the man, who had introduced himself as Tuak.
“Just a couple of months, actually,” Tuak admitted. “It’s not really a temple. I think the statues of the gods are just there for show. The family who used to have it used it to store their treasures and they spared no expense on the security.” He sighed heavily and stared up at the tiers of stone vanishing into the jungle. “It seemed like a good idea when we bought it.”
/SFX/ CLOCK TICKING, FADE TO
/SFX/ DOGS BARKING IN DISTANCE
SAM: Like?
BECCA: Like.
SAM: (growls like a dog, sexy)
BECCA: Like?
SAM: Like.
/SFX/ DOGS BARKING IN DISTANCE
BECCA: Lick?
SAM: (giggles) Like.
BECCA: (howls like a dog)
Genres: Space
Show Notes:
Next week… A very, very good dog.
“But my name is Simon.”
Molly shook her head and chuckled. “With a head of hair like that? Nope, from now on your name is Red.”
Simon felt his young face flushing with embarrassment, which would further cement his new nickname. “What if I don’t want to be called Red?”
“Too late, should have shaved your head before I bought your contract.” Molly winked at him, executed a back flip in mid-air and launched herself out of the Labor Mart. “Come on, Red. We ain’t got all day.”
Show Notes:
FRIDAY
SATURDAY:
SUNDAY
Next week… the podcast comes on a special day: June 1. And it shows us that love is relative. And so is Reno.
For her entire adolescent and adult life up until three weeks ago, Lynda had been the queen of junk food. Aside from the briefest blips of non-junk spending due to occasional failed diets, she had purchased only the most fattening, high-cholesterol, chemical-soaked foods available from grocery stores, restaurants, vending machines, and mail order websites.
In short, she was the perfect woman. Though she was on a diet that day, she had eaten non-nutritious foods in great quantities all her life. Though her last purchases had been salad greens and bottled water, her 250-pound body told the true story.
I knew she was just waiting for someone like me to come along.
Recorded at Balticon 43, May 23, 2009
Read by:
Joe – Jared Axelrod (of The Voice of Free Planet X),
Maddie – J.R. Blackwell (of Voices of Tomorrow)
The Farm – Evo Terra and Sheila Dee (of Evo at 11, et al.)
Brenda the Barkeep – Dee Reed (of Nobilis Erotica),
Wendy the Rat – Laura Burns,
Art the Boy Toy – John Cmar,
Bob the Dog – Earl Newton (of Stranger Things),
Narrator – Stephen Eley
Special Thanks To:
Paul Fischer (of The Balticon Podcast) for instigating and organizing
Nobilis Reed (of Nobilis Erotica) for engineering
“Buggerit, I don’t have time for this,” Joe muttered. The stable waiting for the small herd of cloned spidercows cluttering up the north paddock was still knee-deep in manure, and the tractor seat wasn’t getting any warmer while he shivered out here waiting for Maddie to come and sort this thing out. It wasn’t a big herd, but it was as big as his land and his labour could manage – the big biofabricator in the shed could assemble mammalian livestock faster than he could feed them up and sell them with an honest HAND-RAISED NOT VAT-GROWN label.
“What do you want with us?” he yelled up at the gently buzzing farm.
“Brains, fresh brains for baby Jesus,” crooned the farm in a warm contralto, startling Joe half out of his skin. “Buy my brains!” Half a dozen disturbing cauliflower shapes poked suggestively out of the farms’ back then retracted again, coyly.
“Don’t want no brains around here,” Joe said stubbornly, his fingers whitening on the stock of the shotgun. “Don’t want your kind round here, neither. Go away.”