Work was fine. Next Thursday is my workaversary and I'll find out if I got a raise and what kind of raise. Not much else to say at this time.


"Jesus, what the hell are they thinking with Mapp anyway?" Dave banged the steering wheel as he slavishly followed the byzantine route from the navigation software.
"Dad, where are we?"
"I don't know! What's with all these side streets? Stop signs at every intersection? Twenty five miles an hour?"
"Well it seems to be the ideal route to the First Contact center."
"The best route between two points is a straight line! We haven't even been in spitting distane of the Turnpike."
"Yeah this route has more kinks than one of Uncle Dave's girlfriends."
Dad nearly snapped his neck turning around to glare at the boys, "What did you say?"
"Jimmy has a girlfrieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeend."
"Do not!"
"Do so!"
"Do not" punctuated with a squeal, "Look! I can see the Krink vessel parked over Manhattan! We're close now!"
Its heavy underbelly warmed by light pollution, pocked with yellow lights along its hull, the Krink starship that arrived decades ago was still breathtaking.
"We're still lost and we're going to miss FirstFest."
"Well just think of it as an adventure. Look at all the places we never would've seen if we didn't wander around for an hour heading nowhere."
The smartphone's mic picked that up and Mapp felt emself flush with pride. "Everyone's so intent on getting somewhere that they miss out on the journey."
"Hey! That's the pizzeria in the opening credits of 'Everyone Obeys Kravek'."
Steve slammed on the brakes, "What? Really?"
Lined up around the block of O'Caruso's were humans and Krink alike hoping to score a slice of the most mundane and boring pizza on Earth.
Mapp triggered the phone's camera and uploaded surreptitious photos to the company server for then street view, then snagged a few exclusive coupon codes as recompense for their human.
Dave rolled down the window and leaned out to shout, "Which way to FirstFest?" then chirped the same in Krink.
A large magenta Krink hopped over and spoke with a magnificent Brooklyn accent, "'Ey, ya jus' gotta go down dere, turn right, git on da toinpike den take Exit 29. Fugheddaboudid."


"What we have here is powdered magic." announced the plump chef as he wiped off his ruddy face. His apprentice shrugged, "Just looks like #flour to me." And it did. A light, white dust in a burlap bag printed with FLOUR in all caps on its face. "You, of all people, don't appreciate this irreplaceable ingredient?" The chef reached over, broke off his apprentice's finger, and munched it. "I always knew you were half-baked."

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