In a world where spores are the modern nukes, the government can only afford to vaccinate so many. Kids and the elderly are vaccinated first, leaving the working-age adults susceptible to the airborne killer. Continue reading
By Jen P
The geek world mourns today, as we say goodbye to a legend, Mr. Stan Lee. Born Stanley Martin Lieber, he used the name Stan Lee on his first comics, so that he could write “real” stories under his given name later in life. Turned out, he had such a unique take on his superheroes at the time– making them flawed and diverse– that he became the biggest name in the industry. He is best known for creating iconic Marvel characters like Spiderman and the X-Men, and for his cameo appearances in all of the modern films (currently as the Watcher in the Avengers series).
In July of 2017, Stan lost his wife of 70 years to complications with a stroke. He is survived by his daughter Joan, who is named after her.
September 2017, I had the great pleasure of meeting Stan at Dragon Con. I remember feeling super intimidated that I was about to meet a legend, and the moment he spoke in that familiar voice, I knew I was doing something incredibly rare and special. But despite my fears, he was such a nice guy and one of the kindest celebrities I’ve met to date.
Stan, you will be deeply missed by myself and the rest of the geek community.
By Jen P
On my daily trek down Main Street, I realize that Halloween has finally arrived. For weeks, the shop owners have been decorating for the occasion with their banners, orange flowers, and pumpkin carvings—my favorite of the three. I recognize my own likeness on one, so I give it a lick as I pass by. Hmm. That one’s been sitting out too long. But today must be the actual day they’ve been preparing for, as the humans themselves are dressed as witches, vampires and the like. The smaller ones carry buckets and sacks full of sweet smelling treats; while many of the larger ones drink warm cups of apple mead. If I’m lucky, I may catch some of the leavings.
I weave between the legs of the hairless giants, especially careful not to get stepped on by one of the females—as their paw-covers are sharper than those of the males. The few humans who notice me, jump back. Some turn and walk the other way. But mostly, I’m invisible.
I slip into my favorite alley unscathed, then leap into the dumpster behind the seafood restaurant. Looks like their whitefish spoiled. Pity for them. Dinner for me.
Finished with my meal, I hop from the dumpster to the damp alley ground. I then slip back onto the street and continue towards the suburbs. I’m full, but I never stop looking for food. Sometimes my meals have to last me a few days.
As I round a corner, a sharp shoe rams into my shoulder, sending me flying. The female attached to it merely stumbles.
My immediate reaction is to hiss. The female takes two steps back, clutching her heart, and shouts, “Cursed Little Wretch!” before removing the offending shoe. I’m no dummy, so I run. The shoe lands in the spot I just vacated, and the female’s curses follow me as I bolt through a thick patch of bushes at the back of the building. I imagine myself as little more than a black streak to the passing eye as I cover a distance in five minutes that usually takes me fifteen.
Once I make it to Pine Street, I settle back into a slow prowl.
Cursed Little Wretch. That’s a new one. Continue reading