The Robotic Ball: Part 1

I had received the invitation to the Duke and Duchesses ball in the mail via pony express. It seemed in those days the best ways to deliver a piece of parcel was to either surrepticiously send a complex system of horse drawn carriages or shoot a giant, amalgamated cannon containing your desired mail in your immediate vicinity; the latter being approximately 99% less effective. It had accured to me that this very facet of the delivery of mail would prove almost completely ineffective as far as the need of receiving said parcel is concerned, although I had always chosen this method if I had been given the choice, regardless.

When I received my mail (it had arrived through the air, as I had been able to choose the way in which uplifted my heart and calmed my spirits, as the cannon's blast could be heard for miles) I rejoiced in a way that would make elven fairies jealous, as I had been long awaiting an invite to the most highly anticipated shindig that had ever encapsulated Northern England in all of the 19th century.

I was joyously awaiting this night, the night which would go down as the biggest and largest smash hits of the century, until I arrived at the startling conclusion that I had not a date! "This will not do!" I proclaiimed to myself as I sipped on some of the finest Brandy I had ever ingested. "Calvin Killingsworth, The Duke of Yorke, has not a date to bring to the finest gathering of gentleman and ladies in the 19th century? What an outrage! I must make haste of this search for a young gentlelady in which I shall court the laderhosen off of!" (Laderhosen, a fashion import from Germany, had reached it's height in popularity in England in the 19th century).

Where, oh where can I find a fitting darling lady who hasn't already been gobbled up by the rest of the dashing dukes in Northern England? I pondered this many many sleepless hours, until I arrived at a conclusion. This conclusion would have its critics, of course, but these critics were to be silent, since I would speak of my decision to no one! I had chosen to find one in the nearest pheasant village, for it was often thought that by shear numbers alone these lowlifes should produce a looker in the bunch.

I had decided to go by day as for it was rumoured that the phesants had feasted on the flesh of the dying at night, and I wished to avoid this practice as much as possible. I had fetched my garden's flowers and threw it together in a simple marvelous way that would impress any fine lady of royal standards and backgrounds, and thus I would think it would ensnare any pheasant woman that laid her eyes upon it in an instant, and took off from my headquarters in Yorke to
find my companion to this gathering at the pheasant village. I arrived to the sound of my regular pageantry and trumpeted arrival, and looked around the rat infested, sewer smelling trash heap to find the women covered in robes and covered faces, disgustingly hideous those that had forgotten to cover up. Not a looker in the bunch, I thought to myself... until... There was one woman standing alone. Who looked to be so stoic and of such appeal to my pagentry that she tilted her head to the side, as if to invite me to her humble abode. I told my driver to fetch this woman and bring her to me. "Lord Gallington, fetch that woman in the middle of that street! She is who is destined to accompany me to the ball to end all balls. " Lord Gallington was always a wise ass. "That didn't sound too good, sir." "Shutup, Gal Pal and bring her to me."

After all the pointless squabbling between Lord Gallington and I, he had finally agreed to drive up to the woman I had so fondly set my eyes upon. I said to the fair maden, "Hello, my dear! How would you like to accompany me, Calvin Killingsworth, the Duke of Yorke, to the 50th annual Duke and Duchesses ball held in the Northern England city of York? Would that suit you fine?"

The woman again tilted her head. She said nothing.

"Well? What do you think about this proposal? Or are you too awestruck?"

The woman scowled at this remark, and had an emotionless face about her that did not sit well with me. I prodded her again with constant questions, and yet again she still said no. She turned her head away from eye contact.

"Listen, my dear, although you are very appealing to me and my court, I will have to leave you
here if you do not answer my round of questioning. Now who are you?"

The woman turned, quite slowly, and spoke. "I am a T-1000 robotic cyborg machine sent back in the future to kill John Connor, leader of the human race. Do you know of this man?"

After several minutes of laughter, I replied with the following question," What is a robot?"

TO BE CONTINUED...

The Pajama's

The man adored the worn out pajama bottoms, as they had been with him through it all - the great grave robbery, the not-so-edible chicken with corn cob incident ("Don't ask" he would say), the near-fatal incident with the potato skin peeler (who knew?), and so on. The pajama's had been around the block a few times, and then some. This was evident from the various fraying on the right pant legs and some small tearing in small areas; nothing too serious. If you did not know the history behind Calvin's pajama's, you would have thought they were only 3 or 4 years old, at most. He had often grown accustomed to wearing these bottoms outside. People would stare, but Calvin fretted NOT. He would often retort to the gawkers and obnoxious onlookers "These trousers are cooler than you will ever be" in a strict and direct tone. One day he was hanging out with his friends when one of his chums saw him put his wallet in his pajama bottom's pocket. "So tell me, Calvin, what are pajama bottoms for anyway?" Trent was a guy known for getting on the cases of his fellow pals. "Well, Trent, I do believe they are pants for sleeping in. Duh!" he then turned to the rest of the group and said, "Can you believe this guy?" Trent then replied, in an attacking tone "Well then why the hell would they have pockets in them? What the hell were the manufactorers thinking? Probably 'O man they probably need these pockets to carry large amounts of breathmints to prevent morning breathe.' Honestly Calvin, those pajama's suck!" Well this obviously drew the ire of Calvin, as he had stuck through his favourite fabric in good and bad. "LISTEN HERE, TRENT. THE POCKETS ARE NEEDED, NESSASARY, AND NICE! THEY ARE CONVIENANT AND COOL! I AM ALWAYS CATCHING MYSELF SAYING 'DAMN THESE PANTS FOR NOT HAVING POCKETS' AND I WOULD PROBABLY CATCH MYSELF SAYING THAT WITH THESE PERFECT PAJAMA BOTTOMS IF NOT FOR THE ADDITION OF THE POCKETS SO KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!" Trent left the group soon after this outburst.
It was not a week later when Calvin saw Trent on the street. Calvin approached Trent and apologized, "Listen, I shouldn't have yelled at you like that, its just my pajamas are really special to me..." Trent replied "I understand man, it was my fa-" Calvin cut Trent off "NO! Its my fault. Your right I don't know why these pajamas have pockets anyway." This was a lie. "Friends?" Trent replied "Friends." Then, Calvin saw a Lincoln Navigator barrelling towards he and Trent. "Holy Shit, Trent, WATCH OUT!" The Navigator swerved to the right, then side swiped Trent as Calvin dove out of the way. "NO!!!" Trent was bleeding profusely. Thank god Calvin was a well respected medical surgeon who had completed several operations just like this. Trent would be alright.
Weeks later, Trent and Calvin were talking about what had happened. "I was wondering, where did you get the scapal, the stitches, the pliers, the bandage, and everything else you needed to operate?" Calvin smiled. "Simple, Trent. I had my First Aid kit, located in my pajama pocket."

The Cloud Argument

The moment of complete disappointment had hit the man like a large steam engine hitting a brick wall that was fortified by cement casing and metallic wires that gave the enclosure structural support amongst it's bricks. He had waited and wondered for the package to arrived at his house by the afternoon, but snow storm had taken care of this hope that was killed like an elephant stampeding a tiny grasshopper. In Calvin Killingsworth's mind, the day could not get any worse. It was not very much later that he had received a phone call. It was Uncle Albert with the usual rambling. "WHAT IS UP WITH THE CURRENT CLOUD FORMATION?" he would say to Calvin, as if to think he cared about what the clouds looked like. "LISTEN UNC, I AM IN A BAD MOOD TODAY BUT I WILL CALL YOU BACK TOMORROW WHEN WE CAN DISCUSS MULTIPLE ASPECTS OF THE PRECIPITATION WORLD." his uncle agreed. It was the next day when he was awoken from a knock at the door. "It must be my mint condition pencil holder! Gotta love golden enshrined pencil holders!" he thought to himself. He was in for even more disappointment when it was his Uncle Albert, who was teetering on the brink of insanity. He opened the door and said "CIRRUS CUMULUS, BITCH!" and punched Calvin in his jaw. He needed stitches.

The Last One You'd Expect

The five of them stood around in silent anticipation, as they waited for the arrival of the Detective Duncecap. As the door swung open, all five gathered around the detective. "I have completed my investigation, and I have concluded that the killer can only be one of the 5 adults in this very room!" The people within fell silent for several moments. To kill the silence, the ever so curious Calvin Killingsworth replied, "So, do you know specifically who it is or have you just narrowed it down to the five of us?" The detective was puzzled. "I have narrowed it down to the five of you! One of you killed a person! Aren't you afraid or suspicious of this, Mr. Killingworth?" "Yes, of course, I am very intrigued... Whooops!" Just then, a large axe fell out of Calvin's pant leg, "Should have secured that better!" "Hey, what the hell?" said Victor Victim, who saw the axe that had dropped to the floor. "Do you want to explain yourself?" Calvin paused. "Uhh... what? I go hunting with an axe and I had to secure it in my trousers because I didn't want anyone stealing my very valuable axe from my car!" Victor thought to himself. "Oh, that explains it." Allie Accomplice could smell the fear amongst the crowd. She was quite calm. "I'm hungry!" She exclaimed. "Anyone else hungry?" Greggory Gluttony replied with an emphatic "HELLLLLL YESSS!" Allie promptly gave a wink at Calvin Killingsworth, and then said, "Come with me. Let's get some food!" Although he could not put his finger on it, there was something going on in this horrible mansion. Otis Oblivious was determined to get to the bottom of this mystery. "I must solve this case! Greggory, you go get some grub with Allie in that airtight, sound proof freezer downstairs. Calvin, the incinerator is the third door on your right. The fire's should give us a clue. Victor, go with him. Oh, and Calvin." Calvin had a smirk on his face as wide as a country mile. "That room is also soundproof." Victor retorted, "COOL!" The 4 of them left, leaving only the Detective and Otis. "Man that freezer is gonna be pretty cold for those two." The detective replied, "What? Oh yeah your right. Burrrr." "You know what is cold?" Otis asked the wily detective. The Detective then asked him, "What is? See, I am actually quite curious I am native to the Caribbean and... "Otis interrupted ,"A large knife!" Otis then promptly murdered the detective.