Hoppy Easter from the Wingnuttiest Wingnut of All Vignettes by Luke, Mary Catelli and ‘Nother Mike

easter-2174681_1920

Happy Easter and I hope those of you who celebrate it have a good Passover, and those others who are celebrating also celebrate whatever their religion dictates this time of year.

Rituals are an important thing because they bring order our of chaos and put a spiritual dimension onto the material, and puts flesh on the idea that what we do matters, that there is more to life than meaninglessness.  That some things are important enough to observe for thousands of years.  I think this is why even the religiously unattached tend to celebrate the big holidays.  After all, if we don’t celebrate Hogswatch night, what comes up is not the sun, but just a fiery ball in the sky.

So go out there, today, and celebrate renewal and life!

Meanwhile on Twitter apparently I’m being touted as the wingnuttiest of all…  Larry, MZW and even Colonel Kratman himself pale in comparison! And as for the Volks Deutsche expatriate?  He doesn’t get a look in. He can go and eat his heart out!

From my eyes on twiter: Found on Twitter, where one of this years Hugo nominees is moaning about your upcoming book with KJA: “Yeah, Sarah Hoyt is just about the wingnuttiest of the Sad Puppies.”

You heard it here first.  The chick who has no issue with gay marriage and who is mostly a “leave me the F*ck alone” libertarian is their idea of right wing extremist.  No, wait.  Their idea of right wing extremist is a religiously inflexible, morally preachy, racially bigoted (Latin people Uber Alles!), authoritarian.  They just think I’m that.  They’re right.  The resemblance is amazing.  (Ow.  Peeps up your nose HURT.)

The truth is that these people are completely politically and historically illiterate.  But I hate Marx and love Heinlein (neither of which these twits read or understand) and therefore I must be everything they hate.

No.  I’m not offended.  I’m allowing myself to break low carb today, and I almost choked on a peep laughing.  Seriously.  These intellectual infants preen and given themselves high intellectual airs, and actually convince themselves they are the creme de la creme of our intellectual life.  They remind me of when the boys would play in the backyard and claim they were kings.

Vignettes by Luke, Mary Catelli and ‘Nother Mike

So what’s a vignette? You might know them as flash fiction, or even just sketches. We will provide a prompt each Sunday that you can use directly (including it in your work) or just as an inspiration. You, in turn, will write about 50 words (yes, we are going for short shorts! Not even a Drabble 100 words, just half that!). Then post it! For an additional challenge, you can aim to make it exactly 50 words, if you like.

We recommend that if you have an original vignette, you post that as a new reply. If you are commenting on someone’s vignette, then post that as a reply to the vignette. Comments — this is writing practice, so comments should be aimed at helping someone be a better writer, not at crushing them. And since these are likely to be drafts, don’t jump up and down too hard on typos and grammar.

If you have questions, feel free to ask.

Your writing prompt this week is: language

 

 

111 responses to “Hoppy Easter from the Wingnuttiest Wingnut of All Vignettes by Luke, Mary Catelli and ‘Nother Mike

  1. Sorry. Gonna be sleeping off Easter Brunch. He is Risen but my tummy is full. Gonna go into an L-Tryp Doze.

    Will attempt Language later.

  2. > Their idea of right wing extremist is a religiously inflexible, morally preachy, racially bigoted (Latin people Uber Alles!), authoritarian.

    I’d figure a “right wing extremist” is anyone who isn’t on board with the latest Narrative.

    The umbrellas of Diversity and Tolerance are very small…

  3. Actually from the story I’m working on…

    Before, I had never been good with languages. After? Ladies and gentlemen, if you wanted a sexist, patriarchal language that makes Mandarin Chinese look loose and sloppy in comparison, learn High Imperial. EVERYTHING ELSE is liberal and polite in comparison. Also, conversely, you develop a really good skill at learning other languages. Picked up French and Spanish in less than two weeks, at the same time I picked up Japanese and Russian and German and Latin and the three major dialects of Chinese.

    Hilarious comedy note, High Imperial is extremely precise in its terms and definitions, in what you can expect for a language that has earned the title of “the language of magic.” A single word in High Imperial can easily be a six word descriptive sentence in English. Just a simple phrase like “I love you” could be translated from High Imperial to about seventy different sentences, from “I adore and think well of my parents” to “I want to passionately take you sexually in every hole you have in alphabetical order.” And, the structure of the language is such that you have to build your sentences right, or it doesn’t work. If you’re speaking in High Imperial, you have to say exactly what you mean. High Imperial love poetry ranges from beautiful platonic adoration to outright violent pornography-and the porn is beautiful in how it flows.

    Anybody that can pun in High Imperial is a dangerous, dangerous person indeed.

  4. Yeah, Sarah Hoyt is just about the wingnuttiest of the Sad Puppies.

    You would think a Hugo nominee would employ better grammar, but that’s just a sign of how the award has deteriorated now that political correctness has become its primary criterion.

    Refusing to express the sexist-dictated correct female babblespeak, instead opting to think your own thoughts and speak your own mind is what has confirmed you as a White Mormon Male (’cause that’s the script you rely upon) albeit with a great rack. Instead of raising your consciousness you have raised your middle fingers. Bad Sarah! Bad! No treats for you!

    • Christopher M. Chupik

      I looked it up and saw the “wingnuttiest” was by a person responding to the nominee. The nominee herself responded mostly in leftist worship-words like “colonizer” and “White Savior”. But my favorite was this:

      “Elizabeth Bear

      Verified account
      @matociquala
      Follow
      Follow @matociquala

      More
      Replying to @RoanhorseBex
      Oh, Sarah Hoyt, no.”

  5. I hate Marx and love Heinlein (neither of which these twits read or understand) and therefore I must be everything they hate.

    “How do you tell a Communist?
    Well, it’s someone who reads Marx and Lenin.
    And how do you tell an anti-Communist?
    It’s someone who understands Marx and Lenin.”
    – Ronald Reagan

  6. “So, talk then…”
    Simon shook his head, “The problem is, we’re using words thinking it’s language. Communication is not just words, it’s inflection, tone, action and reaction. We talk in their verbal words, but we seem to be missing out on their language.”

  7. Richard Cartwright

    “Stallari William Lehman, that doesn’t seem like a very Astratu name. “ “ Friar Lieutenant Buckley, the Pope before his election was known as Cardinal Matthew Mackenzie was he not?” “ Yes Stallari, I believe you are right. “ “Doesn’t sound very Italian to me.” William replied.

    • Dorothy Grant

      Hmm, making assumptions like that could lead Friar Lieutenant Buckley to a sticky end. Especially is his first name is Joe!

      • Richard Cartwright

        Buckley is always my placeholder name for characters who do stupid stuff. Since the underlying story was inspired by Sabaton’s “The Last Stand” his odds are not good. 🙂

  8. She walked onto the grass. At least this book portal had no writing on it to lure to try to read. So often she did not know the language, and it was always written in a crabby handwriting. Sometimes it looked as if a chicken had walked through a pool of ink and walked over the page.
    A drunk chicken.

  9. Sometimes, Solange thought, it felt like they talked another language, one that just sounded like the one she knew. Maybe they meant something else entirely than what she heard.
    “Shall I tell you why you have an aunt you have never heard of?”
    “Tell her we live here to watch her mother,” said Astra, from the doorway.

  10. Christopher M. Chupik

    It’s pretty hysterical that even in a year when the Puppies did nothing involving the H*go Award, the Usual Suspects can’t stop talking about us. Gives me a warm feeling, it does. 🙂

  11. Yes, a Happy Easter (or, as you say, other Vernal celebration) to all. And that’s no April foolin’!

  12. Christopher M. Chupik

    “There lies Calath Imberon, the Fortress of Sparrows. Known also in the Gnomish Tongue as Vrassa-Nur, though the Ogres remember it as Rag’nak-nag-Huthar, the Place of Blood and Wailing.”

    “Thanks, but I just needed some help with geography, not languages.”

  13. Happy Easter!

    (carefully does NOT click the box for follow up)

  14. During pre-historic times, nobody watched their language. Why you ask? I’m glad you asked. You see, during prehistoric times, nobody recorded history. Nobody wrote anything down. Since they weren’t writing, obviously everything was conducted verbally. Which means there was no language to look at, and hence, could not be watched.

  15. During pre-historic times, nobody watched their language. Why you ask? I’m glad you asked. You see, during prehistoric times, nobody recorded history. Nobody wrote anything down. Since they weren’t writing, obviously everything was conducted verbally. Which means there was no language to look at, and hence, could not be watched.

  16. Of course, this being prehistory, if someone said something you didn’t like, you were free to rip their face off (or any other portions of their anatomy for that matter); rule of law being the old, might makes right. Bad language was considered rudeness, and was considered a capital offense.

  17. Buzz “Get me Edgar Allan Poe on the line…Hello, Mr. Poe? This is the editor of the Baltimore Intelligencer…Yes, we received your article on Wine Appreciation, and — well, frankly, it wasn’t what we were looking for…Couldn’t we have them engaging in some light badinage that — incidentally — brings up some useful information about how Amontillado compares with ordinary sherry? No? I’m afraid we’ll have to return it then…Really, Mr. Poe, there’s no need to use such language. Good-bye.” Buzz “He is? Send him in…Good morning, Mr. Melville. About that 2000-word overview of the whaling industry that we commissioned…”

  18. kenashimame

    It was easy enough to slip the clause into the language of the contract. All Davion had to do now was stay in the shadows and make sure no time cops came to screw things up.

    Once Gadsden and Santa Ana signed the document, Arizona would have ocean front property.

  19. I notice that Scalzi managed to virtue-signal hard enough (or Tor managed to stuff the ballot box thoroughly enough) for him to squeeze out yet another Gernsback Political Conformity Award nomination.

    It’s high comedy how this middle-aged white suburban mid-list nebbish somehow keeps getting awards and million dollar book contracts. Because “diversity”.

    • Christopher M. Chupik

      It’s the only way to fight white male SF authors from dominating the awards!

    • Well, apparently Tor managed to ballot-stuff hard enough that anyone affiliated with them got nominated. From what I have heard, every nominee this year is a Torling in some way. An award that was serious about making sure no group ran their awards would check into that.

      • The Puppy groups did force them to start openly rigging the ballot rather than secretly rigging the ballot.

        • apparently

        • Nonsense! I am reliably assured that protocols are in place to prevent block voting by wrongfans. This year’s results merely mean that nobody but Torlings give a rat’s asterisk about the Hugo award.

          • Legit.

          • May well be true. If the home team is the only one to show up to play, they win by default.

            • Just as likely that Tor got enough employees to buy memberships and vote ‘to counter the sad puppies’ so they could run the vote.

              Yes, at this point i am willing to attribute it to malice.

      • Christopher M. Chupik

        That is a vile calumny, sir! Some of them are from Uncanny!

        So, not much of a difference, really.

    • crawford421

      People like their fan-fiction.

  20. The aliens communicated exclusively by flinging bundles of their own body waste at each other. The human linguists soon developed a model based roughly on the Chomsky hierarchy (a model which worked well for computer languages, though less so for natural human languages). This was promptly dubbed the “Chimpsky hierarchy”.

    50 words.

  21. hoopty easter to y’all

  22. More importantly: The Dragon Award nominations are open as well. But you have until late July, so there’s no huge rush.

  23. She went upstairs early, worn out. But before lying down she wandered to the window to look out. The bookshelf below beckoned. Hours later she turned the last page of a book she found. The language was archaic and the illustrations were black and white woodcuts but pure escapism beat sleep easily.

  24. Aaaaan in honor of the date, and that Welsh is one of the most intriguing languages I’m familiar with… http://www.thebangoraye.com/welsh-dragon-successfully-hatched-bangor-university/

  25. SheSellsSeashells

    It miiiiiight slide in under the “communication” umbrella, but I got enough happy comments on the little vignette I posted a while back that I wanted to show off the expansion to same. Because it decided to *grow* and now I have to buckle down and get to work on it.

    The Hymn to the Helix of Life rose in overlapping layers of sound: sweet, trilling notes from sopranos and capricci, glissandos interwoven over deep bass drones, and pulsing notes at the lower edge of hearing from specially engineered bassomagni. Vast silken draperies tinted the sunlight as it poured down from the transparent roof, from pale gold-green at the cathedral’s apex to deep emerald and amber shades arranged across the polished floor. The colors overlapped in an intricate geometric pattern that shifted with the movement of the sun; they would converge at sunset and illuminate the polished amber globe at the sanctuary’s center. Caretakers swept the floors and tended the fireflies in their globes, and novices knelt in contemplation of the Five Carbons and the Four True Bases.

    In the entry to the novice quarters, below the lacquered floors, business proceeded as usual. The Master of Acolytes straightened his leaf-green robes and looked over the offering from the aspiring apprentice who stood before him.

    “A rose.” He examined the potted flower with careful attention to color, leaf health, and stem integrity. The leaves quivered under his hand. “Lovely color, clearly some influence from the Zephyrine stra—are those clip marks? You pruned it by hand? How very quaint.”

    A dismissive turn of his hand indicated that the postulant might go. The boy bowed and backed away with the rose in the crook of his arm. The rose rattled its leaves and made a rude blatting noise.

    “All right,” Tivill said, when he was safely on the street again. “That could have gone better. That could have gone at _all_. You couldn’t at least have done that color-changing thing?”

    The rose folded all its leaves as if facing a cold wind.

    “Well, nobody likes people like that. They’re supposed to be that way so they can terrify the novices or students or whoever into behaving. It’s not like I was going to get caught.”

    The rose opened a single bud, which held in full bloom for a moment and then wilted. Pointedly.

    “It would so have worked.” He looked up at the towering cathedral, fingers itching for a chance to map it from the inside. “Fine. Let’s get home before Geray starts to worry .”

    The rose unfurled several buds at once, velvety petals flushed a soft pink color.

    “Yeah? Why don’t you ever talk to me like that?”

  26. She could enjoy the walk for a bit, Lenore told herself. There were paths and benches; they were likely to find humanity soon, besides that woman in black and white. And the fields were filled with daises and forget me nots.
    And a rabbit. A black and white one like that, she thought, was probably an escaped pet. Then she blinked and looked back, remembering the woman wearing black and white.
    The rabbit scurried off.

  27. “You mean none of your code could transfer to Gwendolyn?” asked Nigel Slim-Howland sadly.

    “Unfortunately, no,” answered Jenkins. “We were built by different companies, using different firmware. She and I have different languages.”

    “You two are more human than one might think.”

    “The analogy is not lost on me, sir.”

  28. “Moo mmmmoooo, mm-moo-mooo.”
    “Heeeehaaaw?”
    “Moo?”
    “Houyhnhnm Houyhnhnm Houyhnhnm!”
    “Hheeeyooooore.”
    “Moo.”

  29. Cécile doesn’t articulate her thoughts very well, but that doesn’t mean she’s wrong. Give her another chance. English isn’t her first language.

    Is French her first language?

    No. Music. Cécile wrote her first concerto before she could talk. Ask her to play one of her pieces. Her performances are profound.

  30. Today– I talked to other old people who didn’t have family around. I took the dog for a walk. I watched the rabbits sun and run. It was a great Easter except for the running nose. It kept getting away from me.

  31. It was dawn when he arrived home, regrettably still sober after yet another night’s carousing. Setting his gloves and hat on the side table, he saw that the daisies and bittersweet in the porcelain vase were withered and drooping. Something the housekeeper would doubtless deal with shortly.

    He made a quick stop in his study to check for correspondence. A large ewer on the desk caught his eye. It was filled with a very odd assortment of flowers – pink larkspur, yellow carnations, marigolds and candytuft. Shaking his head at the incompetence of whoever had created such a garish arrangement, he made his way to his room, only to find a pot of orange tiger lilies in full bloom sitting on the dresser.

    He puzzled over that during the few minutes it took to remove his evening clothes and wrap himself in a silk dressing gown. He tapped on his wife’s door, and receiving no answer, he opened it quietly and slipped inside. To his surprise, the bed was empty, to all appearances un-slept in. The only living thing in the room was a small aloe plant in a container on the night table.

    Uneasy now, he went past the bed and entered her sitting room. It, too, was empty. But the writing table was piled with dead leaves, and a blooming cyclamen was nestled into them.

    He sank onto the settee, anger battling with understanding and regret in his mind, as he realized his wife was gone. Gone without a word to him, without even a note telling him why.

    No, that wasn’t quite true, he thought suddenly. She had made her reasons perfectly clear. He had just never before considered how very viciously eloquent the language of flowers could be.

  32. I know I shouldn’t go here, but… a wingnut is actually a very useful piece of hardware, one part of the family of nuts-and-bolts that allows us to lock things down tight using just fingers, rather than having to pull out the wrenches and other tools. So it seems to me that being considered a wingnut indicates that you are screwed on tight, without the looseness of too many of the tribe? I guess being called a wingnut might be a reference to a fairy or elven set of wings added to the ordinary nuttiness, but… nah, it must mean that you are fastened down tight? Right?

  33. “Cletus! That there bunny done stole mah aiggs! and he’s gittin awa’ wiffem! Fiarh up tha airboat an gimme tha punt gun, we gonna have rabbit stoo for dinner!”
    “Ma, that there is tha Easter Bunny. He bringen-” *BOOM*
    “Ha! Cletus! I blowed that there bunny inta Gawd Dayummed bunny burgers!”
    “MA! Ma, y’jest caint use that sorta langwidge today! It be the day the Good Lawd Jesus rose up from the daid and forguv us all our sins!”

    (No, I have no idea where this came from. Picture + prompt + tired + beer + inspiration particle is my guess.)

    • Or perhaps it was an inspiration participle; you know, that written language thing.

      • Very possibly. I was just sitting there innocently reading our esteemed hostesses blog and got hit upside the head by the scene in its’s entirety. AND I have never watched the movie Deliverance. *shrug*

  34. black flag corsair

    ” I have not now nor have I ever written sex, kinky or otherwise. ”

    He leaned close, whispered in her ear. Her head snapped back. Her eyes wide, she said sharply, ” That kind of talk will get someone in trouble! ” Then she smiled and reached for the zipper of her jeans. ” Might as well be me.”

  35. Interesting conversations happen when you have to drive your adult children to school because their car broke.

    This morning it was the mention of “manifest destiny” and I realized (and made the suggestion) that at least the term itself was more literate than the modern version of the Exact Same Thing, which is “right side of History.”

    Totally the same thing.

  36. black flag corsair

    I didn’t pay any attention when I hit post. That was supposed to read like this.

    He leaned close, whispered in her ear. Her head snapped back. Her eyes wide, she said sharply, ” Such language! Talk like that will get someone in trouble! ” She smiled and reached for the zipper of her jeans. ” Might as well be me.”

  37. To be fair, Larry doesn’t pale; he warm-beiges.

    😉

  38. I can see I am going to have to spend some time on twitter being even more of an asshole than usual…

    This is actually an exercise in Newspeak, Sarah, so don’t get your hopes up for permanent status as wingnut of the eon. See, 2+2=5; all SJWs understand this, but equally, and what sane people (non-SJWs, IOW) miss, is that this is only true _for_a_while_. 2+2 is, of course, 5 right now. But in an hour, when the movement demands it, 2+2 may equal three, or 5-3 may also equal 3. Truth is and only ever can be what the needs of the moment demand.

    Thucydides got it wrong, you know, in describing the evils of language manipulation for political advantage. Yes, it’s true that for ultimate evil “words have to lose their ordinary meaning” and take on the new meanings given to them, but this is only half a step. To complete the equation, people also have to lose track of time. And that’s why you are currently the wingnut of eternity, and tomorrow you will be something else entirely, and some new unperson will be wingnut at the gates of forever; they are not only idiots; they are not only insane; they are also unstuck in time.

    And yes, by all means copy and post this wherever you think it might cause one of them to die of apoplexy.

    • Absolutely correct – and the cause of the SJWs ultimate failure; for, if what they say has no use in rational conversation AND changes at their convenience, then the sane response is to laugh, and point, and “oh, that’s SO last year/hour/minute!”.
      We see already via the dark and distorted glass of media that people – some of them anyway – are beginning to recognize that the hate du jour is less important than it seems, because it will be replaced by another enthusiasm soon.
      Sad when that happens to valid issues (I’m sure by this time next year a new Weinstein would be roundly ignored as he was in the past) but ultimately this growing realization puts the SJWs in the position of noir entertainment, sad clowns of our society; and that will be a good thing.

      • Hmmm, that reminds me…you know how fascist means anyone winning an argument with a liberal or SJW? Well, fascism does have a meaning and an intellectual underpinning and they, the SJWs, really _are_ fascists.

        If you ask me to find you the specific cite for what I read from Mussolini on this I’d be lost; just can’t. But from observations of Italian Fascism, in practice, and recalling some things Mussolini wrote and said, I’ve long since come to the conclusion that, while Nazism believes in genes and breeding, and Communism in nurture and environment, Fascism, like conservatism, doesn’t believe in either, at least not as something reliable, predictable, and easy. Instead, Fascism believes that man is an almost entirely irrational, emotional, and instinctive creature, that nothing can or will change this, and that the key to societal success lies in capturing those emotions and instincts to ensure greater domestic harmony, greater security, and greater productivity. It’s government by theater. Even the wars are theater. Up to a point, it works, too, and both Nazis and Reds do much the same things to capture emotions. So, for that matter, did we, in our great wars. The problem is that you simply can’t keep it up. Every day requires a new song, a new parade, a new victory…and you run out of both ideas and money. Flesh and blood, too, for that matter. So it ultimately fails. (That, by the way, is why I consider Umberto Eco, despite his reputation for brilliance, to be a somewhat marginal intellect. He had all the clues and hints, yet never keyed to anything about Fascism more than there merely symptomatic. He never understood, or refused to let himself understand, that there is an underlying intellectual basis for Fascism that, while wrong when pushed to the extreme, is true at lesser levels.)

        But what are the SJWs really doing, except trying to rule society by street theater, with every day requiring some new meme or method to keep the emotions going and, as you note, becoming less effective all the time?

        • I consider Umberto Eco, despite his reputation for brilliance, to be a somewhat marginal intellect.

          I’ve long understood that the key to being thought brilliant, to be recognized as a genius, lay in being ahead of the crowd, but not by too much.

          As for the SJW street theatre, it is no coincidence that they are achieving their greatest power as the world becomes a swamp of social media in which true reality is overwhelmed by the virtual. Adam Selene Rules!!!

          • It ends with a portion – what percent is yet TBD – of the people getting bored with/burnt out on street theatre.
            Unfortunately, representative politics is largely implemented through something that looks at lot like street theatre; this means that after peak theatre is achieved, the populace becomes decreasingly interested in governing itself.
            The trick is to set up people you can trust, who will be quietly in power during the times of popular disinterest.

    • But but but I’m already the world’s worst person, …. though I have to share with Kate. Not sure how that works.