Close CORETECHS. Return to home page


Back to Blogs

Other Blogs

Return to Blog

82 - Tale of Two Titles

It seems my comedy of errors has not yet ended, as I found my status among the uppity snobs at the halls of government in the Consortium is less than respectable (perhaps my last effort to convince Mr. Cool to apprise me of newly available wreckage on a priveleged basis didn't help that), so I need to remedy that before I can even start a syndicate. Well, that's inconvenient.
As I hopped into my fuel-guzzling but insanely fast Porsche, I grabbed a book from the alphabetized shelf to read. By some mistake I grabbed two. One was "The Tao of Pooh," which I found interesting, if I could just understand what is a rabbit, what's a donkey, what's a bear, . . . These seem basic things to the culture in which the book originated. Not so much in this one.
The other book, which I found slightly more insightful and more than a little disturbing, was quite close in title . . . "The Tao of Poop" . . .
It was more information than I really wanted, but I couldn't put it down...literally...My cockpit is kind of cramped. There was nowhere to put it.
If I ever find myself parenting a child, I suppose I am forearmed with some vital knowledge, but I just don't see why I even picked it up. Unfortunately, it got shredded in the cooling fan. I'm not sure how to explain that to the librarian. I may be in a lot of trouble.
Fortunately, by that moment, I was light years away, passing between jumpgates on my way to YZ-Ceti to work on my reputation. I sure hope I don't get in trouble there.


  1. "I have a phonographic memory, you know. ... It goes around and around. Sometimes it gets stuck."

  2. Actually, I think I heard that from some old guy in the Ruins when I got done pelting the punk who'd been trying to rob him.
    I have such a hard time decyphering what the ancients are saying. It's like a whole different language. I'm afraid I didn't quite understand his point. He even brought out this strange-looking machine with a plate that turned round and round, and he spoke of plastic discs like those at the Psycho JumpGate, . . .
    I told him about my trouble with finding out what a chicken is, and he said this would probably be the same for me, that some day I would stumble across my answer.