baloonworld

Susan woke up very excited. It was his fifth birthday, and that meant fuss and excitement and cake and presents which would surely strengthen his personal power. He ran down the stairs dragging on his sinisterly tailored dressing gown as he did so.

There were brightly wrapped gifts at his place on the breakfast table and he tore into them with joy and anticipation.
Mother had got him a duster. It was long handled and fuzzy and attracted dust electrostaticly; a quick investigation revealed that the head, while fuzzy, did not conceal any sort of weapon.
“It’s a duster”
“Welcome to adulthood. With age comes responsibilities, and one of these is fighting entropy in the bedroom. Good luck.” Father explained the tribal taboo with the same certainty he explained flawed approximations of physical laws to undergrads.

Mother interposed before Father could explain further. “You’re five now, which is a very grown up age. Being grown up is about responsibility; as well as being bigger in body you have to do bigger things."
“Being five is an arbitrary distinction based on a fluke of local conditions.” Father got as far as “B” before Mother silenced him. He changed tack; Mother had been reading the children bed-time stories, in an attempt to head off the effect of Grandfather reading them stories from the Telegraph.
“Zombina,” said Father, “Is not allowed the duster. She is not yet grown up enough.”
“So I would have a state mandated monopoly?”
“Yes. I still despise Tom Sawyer.”

Later, Susan was explaining to Zombina how dusting was the best thing ever, and how grown-ups would never let little kids do it. To some extent, he was jealous of boys who’s sister did not have a venomous bite and a distinct lurch to their step; Zombina could be clumsy. Embarrassment, however, hardly factored; playground taunts over his sister did not compare to the ones his name got him.
“Arrrr rou shroua? Rit roocsh rearrerrarive ran rointress.**”
* Are you sure? It looks repetitive and pointless
Zombina did not have much idea of an indoor voice yet, which sometimes made involving her in your schemes a bit of a security hole.
“You have to wait until there’s enough dust to see. Then you swoop all up into the air. Its just like your snowglobe only your inside it.”

“Rath roo rot eyoug eet?”*
*Have you got enough yet?
“Not yet.” Hook
“Ren roo ret eyoug ran rI ray?”**
** When you get enough, can I play?
“Father says your too young.” Line.
“Rheeese?”***
***Pleeeeeese?
“If they find out I’ll be in so much trouble”Sinker

A day later-
“Rath roo rot eyoug uus eet?”*
*Have you got enough dust yet?
This
A day later-
“Rath roo rot eyoug uus eet?”

Was begining
A day later-
“Rath roo rot eyoug uus eet?”

To get annoying
A day later-
“Rath roo rot eyoug uus eet?”
“Yes!” Hopefully, this would be worth the annoyance.

“Rheeee!”*
*Wheeeee!
Zombina swiped with impaired grace at the shelf, throwing up a cloud of dust and than ran through it. It danced in a sun beam from the window.
“Rheeee!” The second cloud was smaller, but joined the remains of the first and continued to dance in the sun.
“I think you missed some around the corners.” said Susan with helpful smugness.

Chili stepped out from under the chair, yawned bigger than his face, focused on the end of the duster, settled claws into the carpet, wriggled his tail and pounced. Zombina squealed in delight and dodged the end of the duster around.
“Oh, You’ve found the dusting game. Its great isn’t it?” said Mother, checking in on the noise. “It's really very kind of you to let your sister play too.”

Susan joined Father downstairs.
“I, also, despise Tom Sawyer.”

`And so, through the free flow of capital, and lifting of taxation on anyone except the very poor, the bourgeoisie became immeasurably rich, and everyone who mattered lived prosperously ever after.' And with that, Grandfather closed the paper with a rustle and kissed Susan and Zombina goodnight.
`I liked the bit where the workers paid an immeasurably wealthy capitalist to tell them to be outraged by people breaking irrelevant dress-taboos.' said Susan `Workers are teh dumb.'
`rray rrr rrooro rrurssrurer rand rrth rrooro reen rolled ru rree rroutrrragger rry rrerulll rithh renderr rinarrorrrit raaarrrns*' pointed out Zombina, somewhat primly.
`It doesn't matter if you're an immeasurably wealthy. There's no taboo stronger, more useful or logically defensible than the one against being Donald Trump, but he still is.' Susan was uncertain as to the purpose of pretending to be a businessman when you had inherited all your wealth.
`Rrandrarrter, rryy rroant ree rrerk'rerrsss rrink?**'
`You see, workers don't really want to be rich and sucessful, so they come up with other things to do instead of think about how much better it would be for them if they were. In the old days, they used physical exhaustion and religion. These days they don't work so hard so they self-proscribe vast, meaningless choice instead. And television. Until recently they were allowed both at the same time, but the government took it away because it was making them happy and the capitalists rich. The government doesn't like it when everyone is happy. That's why they make us pay income tax.'
`I think she's asleap'
So Grandfather made sure she brushed her teeth, and her into her ossuarious bed. It was very pleasent to visit the grandchildren during the holidays.

*They are also muscular and have also been told to be outraged by people with gender-inappropriate names.
**Grandfather, why don't workers think?

A challange also set to aleksrothis:

Biscuit
34. Not Enough
42. Triangle

"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Biscuit screamed at the tree.
"What's wrong? and you oppressed and in need of salvation?" Paladin Blaine came running at the sound of distress.
"NOT ENOUGH TRIANGLE!" gestured Biscuit at the absence of geometric form which didn't lie on the ground in front of them.
"Errrr... okay then. I'll be over in the next village protecting the innocent if you need me."
"STUPID ABSENCE OF TRIANGLES! ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" screamed Biscuit. Very kindly, Biscuit had settled outside the town before he started screaming. Otherwise, how would people sleep?
"My mum had a triangle once." volunteered ranger Orchid appearing out of the undergrowth silently. Or at least much more quietly than the howling priest "My mum is awesome."
"We really need to get him laid under pleasant circumstances with a female of approximately the same species." thought Biscuit "His mother fixation may be enough to cripple his personal growth."
"THAT TRIANGLE NOT HERE!" Biscuit expounded "SO STILL NOT ENOUGH! THANKS THOUGH"
"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
"Did I help?"
"If I say no he will talk more" thought Biscuit.
"YES"
With that assurance, Orchid vanished into the trees.
"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" agreed Breeze, who had just arrived
"FOOLISH ABSENCE OF LINES!"
"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
"WHAT ARE WE SCREAMING AT? ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
"LACK OF TRIANGLE!"
"DAMN THEM!!"
"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Mr Skeleton stalked off the road and up to them, and shuffled his cards.
`What'
`You'
`Do'
`?'

"NO TRIANGLE!"
If ... then commands tumbled through Mr Skeleton's rudimentary programming
`Follow me and the bitch dies'
"YOUR ASSISTANCE IS NOTED. THANK YOU"

Father already had the breakfast on the table. Wholewheat cereal and half fat milk, toast, fruit juice. Neither of them had been given opportunity to develop a taste for sugar or E-numbers. Zombina was perched elegantly at the end of the breakfast table, sipping tea. Father was encouraging her to slouch more.
`You'll never inspire terror at a world gone suddenly mad if you sit around all dainty. Good morning Susan.'
`What,' asked Zombina `If I do not want to inspire terror?'
`I know that you want to be your own person, follow your dreams and all that, and I'm behind you all the way, I really am, but you're young yet and I feel I would be remiss in my duties as a parent if I didn't teach you a solid skill you could fall back on if things go wrong.'
Zombina finished her tea and, concentrating furiously on her deportment, walked out of the room without lurching once.
`I just want you to have a chance to be in the forefront of the lurching legions of undead when hell is full and the dead walk the earth!' Father's cheerful voice came up the stairs after her, and she resisted an urge to moan wordlessly. As many world leaders had cause to regret, father's patience, imagination and cheerful demeanor were apparently the one inexhaustible resource that the planet had. She still wasn't sure how reports of her had become first a crowd, then a `thousands strong army of the recently deceased', and finally an inescapable reason for Kim Jong-il to let father inspect his weapons of mass destruction, but she had. `REPORT SAYS MISSILES UNLIKELY TO ANIMATE THE DEAD BUT OTHERWISE VERY NICE'; the newspaper was framed at the top of the stairs.

Bathroom. Toothpaste on brush. Scrub. Taste of carrion in mouth. Wordless scream.
`Farrrfer!' She was slurring, dammit! She never did that anymore.
`I'll be up in a minute, just putting the breakfast away'
Some parents, Zombina reflected, would panic when their children started screaming. Then again, some parents wouldn't have planned making their children scream.
`Harmless vegetable extract. Thought it would help.' his voice preceded him up the stairs.
`From the Amazon, it flowers about once every 30 years. Very rare, but not too hard to find; you can smell it from about eight miles away'
`Ersatz rotting meat scentable from eight miles away will help?' There was emphasis on the last word but no hysteria in her voice. Zombina, he reflected proudly, had a spirit equal to virtually any challenge. Susan was already fighting against his early conditioning. He was only eight, or eleven, or one of those ages.
`Your breath, its been a bit...fresh recently. Not really becoming in a shambling undead, fresh breath.'
Zombina put the toothpaste tube back, opened a fresh one, and resumed brushing. It was too much to hope that any chemical compound provided by father would wash off, but plaque and gum disease would give bad breath in the long term, if not to such monstrous proportions, and only a fool suffered unnecessary nerve damage, even to the stupid nerves in teeth.
`It attracts blowflies you see, for pollination. I doubt it will have that sort of range around here though; we've got a lot more wind than you get in the rain forest'
Zombina spat a stream of foam into the sink. `Blowflies.'
`Yes.'
`For pollination.'
`That’s right.'
`My mouth. Daddy, it does not need pollinating. It is a perfectly functional organ already. It does mouth-things like speech and eating and breathing and so forth.' Although it was not, she was forced to admit to herself, going to be involved in kissing boys, at least not while it smelt of a (vegetable-based) charnel pit.
`It could provide rotting meat to a family of maggots.'
`I have no rotting meat for the dear little maggots father. Now, I need to get ready for school. Don't you have a regime to measure?'
The maggots had been one hell of a challenge, as he was virtually phobic of wriggly things without skeletons, but he had managed, largely by lying unconvincingly to himself, so he was very happy to hear about them still being dear to her. Both of his children flew with an easy unconcern he could only imitate through vast effort of will, too.

On the way to school, Susan took her to the pharmacy, and they bought toothpaste.
`Hide it. Don't let him know you've got it. Squeeze a dollop of the stuff in the bathroom in to the sink every morning and scream at him if appropriate, brush your teeth with this.' He worried that being machiavellian for goodness was a bit dubious, but he had sworn off evil, rather than masterminding.



I didn't mention before, but The Sarah Jane Smith adventures are the king of France. They are so in my land it is untrue. The first episode, they had a boy who wanted to be called Susan, and copious lurching hordes. In conclusion: They have seized my castles, tied my seneschals to their house’s tails and are doing as they will with my lawful possessions.

I was watching 30 days with elmyra. There were christians who were confused by athiests. They didn't know with what intent atheists brought up their children. Therefore, I proposes to raise Susan (my never-born son) to be evil. His equally never born sister Zombina, I will of course attempt but fail to raise to like spicey brains.

Zombina is a recent addition to my non-familly, cause by elmyra mumbling one of her collegues names earlier today in such a way that I though she said Zombina. I thought this was a fantastic name in a "A girl? whoops, we wanted a zombie" sort of way.

I think I should start writing Susen and Zombina stories, in the hopes that my real children, should they ever exist, find them and are appropritely greatful for all the things I could have got so much more horrificly wrong in their own upbringing. At this stage in the plot, Susen is rebelling agains his me by being excessively kinda and thoughtful:

Zombina woke up. She hated being called Zombina, and wanted a name like Sarah. She openened her eyes, it was dark, proberbly because father had snuck into her room while she was asleap and burried her in the garden again. Father was such an arse. Yes there were rough pine boards a few inches in front of her. She pushed, and it moved. Good, he hadn't had the time to fill in the soil; although Susan ("Call me James" was not technically a lie when said in responce to "What's your name?") was stong for his age, it still took him hours to dig her our.

First sentance replaces last sentance of previous entry. for mili


“None of us are; we only have a mass of one point six seven two times ten to the negative twenty seven kilograms”
“Well then, it can’t be gravity” The second proton looked at the first proton oddly “we could both be here if one of us was a neutron.”
“But we’re not” the first proton said, and because the second proton was paying careful attention, the second proton noticed that there was absolutely nothing evasive about the way that the first proton said this. Despite this reassurance, the second proton went on
“I heard that most subatomic particles in neutron stars were neutrons.”
“Yes, there were thousands of them, all over the place. I’ve never been so crowded.”
Satisfied by this, the second proton said, “So if its not gravity, which I realize was a very silly idea, what else could it be? Are we constrained by an external electrostatic potential?”
“I hope not. They always make my wavefunction tails look fat.” The first proton wondered vaguely about its own momentum, thus puffing out its position slightly, to show it was joking.
“I’m sure you have lovely exponential tails, except in the case of infinite wells, of course” said the second proton reassuringly. Then the second proton realized that the first proton had significant ∆x, and trailed off.
“Oh! You were joking.”
The second proton looked embarrassed for a moment, before continuing brightly “It was very funny, and there must be some sort observation we could make to see if we’re constrained by an electric field”
“Lets go this way, and see if we bounce off anything.” The first proton stopped. “I’ve never tried to point before. I can’t can I?”
“No, we lack the structure necessary to do that. Lets travel along the line defined as including both of our positions, I’ll lead” The second proton felt slightly odd taking the lead like this, and put it down to wanting to impress the first proton, who had had such an exciting life.
“But our positions can not be known accurately, so the line you describe is more a probability cone, and since delta ex times delta rho is always greater than aych bar upon two, we could well end up moving at vastly different speeds.” The proton didn’t want to lose the second proton, who the first proton thought was very cute when embarrassed.
“Or equal to atch bar. If we try to travel very slowly with root atch bar certainty, and pay equal attention to our position, we shouldn’t lose each other. We can stop after we’ve traveled a bit and check neither of us has got lost.” The second proton had a feeling that they wouldn’t lose each other, despite the first proton’s statement, and was eager to find out if it was right.
“Come on Mr. ‘I was in a neutron star, I broke the pauli exclusion principle’ no hanging around” and with that, the second proton set off, leading the first proton. It is always possible that they swapped position without anyone noticing.
“See? Still here.” said the leading proton. “Also, movement has broken symmetry, so we can experiment with different designations”
“That’s convenient” agreed the following proton.
After a while, the following proton added “Our motion does not appear to be impeded by an electrostatic potential, although it could be that we’re traveling perpendicular to the field.”
“but a well would have impeded our motion. If it didn’t, it wouldn’t have held us together.”
“Yes,” agreed the first proton, “we’re still no closer to working out why we haven’t both pinged off somewhere. Not that I’m complaining”
The first proton thought a bit more “Maybe it’s the weak nuclear force, I never really understood…”
“Maybe” interrupted the second proton, synchronizing wavefunctions, “it’s love”, and then the second proton kissed the first proton.