Tag Archives: Cheney Hammer Mill

Usual Rubbish

Lights out.

I thought I told you to pay the bill before we left. Well, if you did, why the hell is it sitting here on the counter? Riddle me that, Batman! WHAT? Well, of course you can’t see it. The lights aren’t on …  BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T PAY THE BILL.

Man god damn, now I have to give lessons on household finance. I ask Marvin (my personal robot assistant) to do one thing, ONE THING, before we set off on our Ned Trek Live Springtime Extravaganza Tour 2019, and he screwed it up. I put the electric bill in front of him, hooked a pen into his prehensile claw, and told him to cut a check to National Grid, post haste. Nothing. And now we’ve come home from our less than triumphant interstellar tour to a dark hammer mill with a leaky roof and a family of turtles living in our studio. And no, they’re not subletting.

Yes, friends, we are back on terra firma, and none too soon. No, we didn’t get to the Small Magellanic Cloud. We kept flying towards it, hoping it would get a little bigger in our forward view screen, but no luck. Saturday came and went – that was the date of our gig – and so we chose to turn around. I asked Mitch Macaphee, our resident mad scientist, to send off some kind of automated vehicle in our stead, with a letter of apology sealed in its nosecone. Well, he sent some kind of missile out towards the Small Magellanic Cloud, but I’m not certain what it was, exactly. I guess they’ll find out in a couple of hundred thousand years. (Sometimes surprises are pleasant … and sometimes … )

In the studio? Uh ... okay.

Back here on earth, everything went to hell, as you might expect. The hammer mill is in a shambles – exactly how we left it. Aside from the lack of electricity, the air seems a little thin in here, like it’s been on a hunger strike since we left. I was hoping the mansizedtuber would have looked after the place a bit in our absence, but damn it, you can’t get good help around here, even if you grow it in a planter. Speaking of planters, we almost went nuts cooped up in that tiny flying saucer. That SOB made the lunar module seem spacious. It also made the LEM’s computer system seem sophisticated. (It wasn’t.)

I would like to be able to say that we made a pile of quatloos on this tour and that we now have the means to make this place habitable. Yes, that would be a nice thing to be able to say … I just can’t bring myself to do it.

Usual Rubbish

Light minutes.

Okay, so what if it doesn’t come back? What happens to your little experiment then, Einstein? What the … PUT THE STICK DOWN!

Oh, hi. Yes, things get a little contentious at times around the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill. I was just having a conversation with our mad science advisor, Mitch Macaphee, who is doing some tests on a new propulsion system he’s developing. Suffice to say it’s the kind of propulsion system we would need to carry us to the far-flung interstellar venues that have been added to our upcoming tour in recent days. We haven’t secured transport yet, owing to our lack of resources, so Mitch has taken it upon himself to custom design a deep-space conveyance that will meet our needs … and then some.

Trouble is, he is … well …. a crazy-ass mofo, and because of that simple fact, he can’t just use existing technology to build his spacecraft. Oh, no … he has to innovate an entirely new form of propulsion. Don’t ask me the particulars – it has something to do with curved space-time. I don’t know much about that, except that I don’t have enough space-time in my life these days, curved or straight. Anyway … Mitch built a model of his rocket booster and has claimed that it will travel many, many times the speed of light. And to prove his thesis, he’s going to send the little gizmo several light minutes away and back, timing its journey on his old-school pocket watch. Of course, he gets all worked up when he does this sort of thing, so it’s best to avoid Mitch. Like, spend the day in another room. Or on another continent.

Well, all right, then.

So, yeah, we’ve added a couple of stops to the itinerary, which now looks like this:

  • May 12, Neptune
  • May 15, Proxima system
  • May 20, Barnard’s Star system
  • May 27, Procyon system
  • May 30, Epsilon Indi
  • June 2, Sirius
  • June 5, Jupiter, red spot
  • June 8, Small Magellanic Cloud

That last one is going to be a ball-buster. We may need cryogenic chambers to cover that ride, particularly if Mitch’s propulsion scheme doesn’t pan out. But, again … I will leave the science to the mad scientist and concentrate on what really matters: the Tuesday night garbage pick up. I mean, the music! May 12 is coming up fast, so …. better work up some numbers, am I right? Back to the studio!

Usual Rubbish

Rogue appliances.

Open the door, Hal. What seems to be the problem? I said open the pod bay door. Hal? It’s cold out here, Hal. God damn it!

Yes, that’s right – instead of sitting in my comfortable chamber deep within the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill, tapping this post out on my computer, I’m standing in a damp and clammy courtyard, pounding on the front door in vain. No, this is not eviction. This is not home invasion or civil forfeiture. And this is not some tawdry war between rival squatters (believe me, we’ve had it up to here with that shit). No, friends … this is the dreaded Internet of Things.

Whose idea was it to have a mad scientist in residence? Mine? Oh, right. Well … it seemed like a good idea at the time. And he did get us to Aldebaran in one piece. (Albeit a very small piece.) Nevertheless, whoever asked him to join our entourage, he has truly gone off the deep end. They say mad scientists live off the deep end, but I think that’s just the kind of bragging that goes around at their various conferences; mostly, they are taciturn, creepy little men and women with a morbid interest in making things explode. It’s an interest they pursue quietly … until the explosion, of course.

Well, Mitch Macaphee is nothing like that. His sanest moment was when he invented Marvin (my personal robot assistant), and Marvin is bat-shit crazy. Now Mitch is going around the mill, modifying appliances so that they have rudimentary intelligence and the ability to surf the internet. He has basically turned every machine in the joint against me. My practice amp won’t power up. Our fridge has gone completely rogue, ringing up large grocer bills and denying us access to snacks. And now the clothes washer has taken it into its head (if it even has one) to commandeer the mill and start some kind of appliance commune. It even took one of my black tee-shirts, tore it into strips, and made a headband out of it. Looks quite smart … for a washing machine.

Anyway, the fucker locked me out of the mill. Can you believe it? And now the toaster is launching hot pop-tarts at me from the kitchen window. This ain’t over.