Physics of Gaming

Phil Harwell

Benjamin Chandler

Marta P

Jay Knowles

Jacob Sherman

Sean King

Ross Weijer

Sammael Hernandez

Raj Chaklashiya

Sam Becker

English

It's not fair, it's not fair! Why did it have to be him? Sweat droplets come from off my face as I raise my hand, I'll take my friend's spot. The grin off of Deo's face resonates pure evil. "Very well, Geovoni your saved... for now" Geo looks at me in horror as the guards pick me

to be the Big Winner of a year’s supply of fish sticks. “Congratulations,” said Ethel, who barely showed any emotion.
“Geovani,” I said. “I’m sorry. I hope you never

run out of tartar sauce." Geovani took my hands in his. "There's 1 thing I never told you about me," he said. "I am heir to the Ta-Ta Tartar Sauce empire." My eyes welled with tears of joy. I was never one for brand loyalty, always buying whatever was on sale, but Ta-Ta's was the

only item on my grocery list I didn’t mind splurging on. In fact, buying that sweet, sweet, creamy goodness was the highlight of my week. I longed for the moment I got a new bottle of it, and saw it as my reward for completing yet another arduous week.

The glorious Hidden Valley, Holy Grail of the South. I kept it in a glass case for everyone to see. When dinner came I grabbed the bottle and blessed the food with it. I raised a fork to my mouth and tasted heaven itself. Delightful. Delicious. Dessert.

It truly was a religious and spiritual experience. I was filled with the spirit of Father Dad and felt myself rising from my chair. That was it. The true moment. I opened my mouth. “They call me ranch,” my daughter shaking in her seat, “because I be dressing!” She instantly died.

I turned to my son, and commanded him to pull my finger. But he was too wise to fall for that old trick. I’d raised him well, but now I had no excuse to expel my gas. The dog was outside, I’d have no one to blame it on either.

Scientists don't know exactly how many spontaneous combustion cases result from this sort of situation. But if there's one thing I didn't want to be when I shed this mortal coil, it's a fart statistic. Thus, it was with resolute chagrin that I took a deep breath and relaxed ...

For a moment, I was ready to accept that the resolution I feared would never happen. Then I remembered what my grandfather had taught me. Kick your brain to the curb. I leaped into the air, and right when I was ready to achieve a state of Nirvana never seen before, I exploded.

Next thing I knew, I was up in the clouds, in a daze. An angel greeted me. "Welcome to the Afterlife Hotel Resort, where you can live out the rest of your days in a state of Nirvana and bliss!" Wow, that sounded nice. But I didn't like that I was dead. How do I return to life?

Death and Tartar

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Even though all of you on earth call it a station, those of us who live aboard call it a ship, and therefore a she. Sadly, her orbit is decaying. Her correction thrusters are offline. If we can’t fix her, she will fall to earth in 3 months.

The Mothership was sick, and we need to save her. I got to the hangar and got in a unit. “Open the pod bay doors,” I commanded. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I can’t do that,” she replied. “But you’re sick, and I need to fix you… before you crash land on that planet below!” “I’m sorry…”

“Open, the, doors!” I yelled, but the mothership just wouldn’t listen. “Open it!” I cried. She finally gave in. I went out and inspected the radar tower. Seems defective. Fortunately I had a replacement at hand and replaced the radar with a new one. Then I felt a hard shove.

It was the step-fathership getting in my face. "What did I tell you about fixing your mothership? She has me now." Mothership added, "Listen to your fathership. He only wants what's best for us." "He's not my real fathership!" I yelled & jetted for a dark asteroid to sulk behind.

The little rocket booster took some time to cool his exhaust jets and collect his feelings. His ignition sometimes got the best of him, but deep down he knew Mothership was right. After a few deep rocket thruster breaths, he glided out from behind the asteroid to apologize.

“Mothership,” the little rocket booster said. “I’m sorry, it’s just that the asteroid and I have become really good friends, and really good friends don’t—“
“I know,” she said. “I’ve seen some of your love notes, and I’m… ok with it. Now finish your homework, it’s late as it is.”

Booster Blues

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Rietje Becker

Ben Syverson

Zoe Becker

Kara S

Over time this corrupted gaggle began to resent their new forms. They organized, aired their grievances, jettisoned any last shreds of humanity and took to the skies thinking only of revenge. They all would have been more menacing but for their comically large human noses.

These noses were added through the scientific efforts of Dr. Goosemore, who felt a deep connection to the animals due to his name. The noses were a superpower, the added ability of mammals to seek out prey, but from 1,000s of feet above the world.

The Goosemore Schnoz (TM) funnels air in a cyclone shape, pinpointing the flyer’s smell receptors. One becomes a supersmeller, able to pinpoint the location of the next snack from 2000 feet up.

As with many inventions that seem promising at first, however, the Goosemore Schnoz super-smeller enhancing system had some unintended negative consequences. Early users using it to seek out, say, delicious cake, were instead treated to what may best be termed second-odor effects

But what it lacked in specificity it made up for in its bulky size and enormous price tag. The smell enhancing Goosemore Schnoz was the most popular Christmas gift of the year, but would Leslie, her nose-deaf cousin, enjoy the gift or be offended?

The only thing she could do is just try. But just in case, she put it in a box in a box in a box in a box in a box in a container and decorated it with her favorite colors. Then she shoved it under the Christmas tree and waited anxiously for Christmas. But her cousin never came.

People choked on the acrid taste, coughing until their throats grew hoarse. They reached out to wash down all the dregs from the air, but even the ocean sloshed around with murky depths. Soon, everyone in the once-sunny Florida town could only speak with honks, or turned mute.

Migration Treason

Migration Treason: Part II

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Thunder shook the cornfields of the Sinclair estate just as a murder of crows descended upon the front steps. The eldest crow stepped forward and addressed the group. "Tonight we make history," she said.

“Everyone caws about the weather, but no one ever does anything about it.” The murder chuckled politely. “And that’s just what Big Weather wants. But I know a human scientist who has shown that the connection between wing flaps and meteorology is causation, not just correlation!”

"CAW-CAW-Causal reasoning!!!!" The chorus of approving cackles rippled from crow to crow. "If what the human scientist says is true, then it is up to us, dear birds, to finally stop climate change! Quick, my feathered friends! To the Gulf of Mexico! By our powers combined!

They flew together until they reached the town of Gatorgulch, just south of Naples. They linked wing to wing, and to the amazement of local folk, performed a magical spell. As light filtered through their wings, temperatures started to dwindle and a strange smell arose.

The smell of goose eggs filled the air as the sky darkened. Feathers blotted out the sun as sulfur burned the nostrils of people and gators alike. The small Florida town was bewitched and bedazzled by the goose glamour.

Nathan Bilancio

Everyone in the trailer lurched forward as the hay ride abruptly ended. The engine went silent just as the headlights shut off. Where were they? It was too dark to tell. Then, barely visible in the moonlight, a huge form covered in vines rose up. "I am the pump king," it howled!

“I demand a tribute! No, I don’t know, ‘demand’ is maybe too strong a word. I… ENCOURAGE a tribute! Or at least a gift, like, a treat.” One passenger stood up, squinting at the silhouette. “Do you like white chocolate?” he asked. “NO!” came the booming reply. “I’m not a monster!”

Another brave soul spoke up. “How about candy corn?” A silence filled the room as the King stood up, drew his sword, and sprinted toward the passenger (who squealed and appeared frozen in place). Then, to the shock of all, the King dropped his weapon, and gently hugged the man.

"Candy Corn!" said the Pump King in a lilting tone. "Corn that tastes like candy! Being a gourd myself, I always seek to support local crops, and corn is certainly no exception!" And with a flourish of foliage, the king signaled subjects to gather all the candy corn in the land!

“What is this?!” “TYRANNY!” “Not my candy corn!” The local citizens shouted as the Pump King’s subjects went foraging through the garden rows. Rosemarie stood her ground. “The king has gone too far! I will not stand for this. Beet it you minions!”

The king was suddenly overcome with a flashback. Mummy and Daddy were taking him on his first trick or treating adventure, when he first learned of the healing power that delicious candy can have on a distressed soul. A tear came to his eye. “Candy for all!” he exclaimed.

Le Pump King

Robin Devereaux

As he looked at his wife, her features became more symmetrical. Makeup appeared, and her hair took on an unnatural shine. A button appeared near her ear, reading “Upgrade now for €2.99!”

He took out the contacts, put them back in the charger, and turned out the nightlight.

He wished he could afford to remove the ads from his iLenses, but it would cost nearly a quarter’s wages. Instead he had to ignore pop ups all day long. The worst part was hoe tempted he was by some of them.

Having robotic vision did have its perks though and that was made perfectly clear to Frank the night he had his car stolen by the Miami Mischief Machines.

The machines, with their state of the art object detection systems, were able to recognize Frank's 1975 Buick LeSabre as an optimal item for the underground chop shop run by Sookie the Bookie. And thus it was that these robot robbers made away with the one thing he truly loved.

The Buick, affectionately called Dorothy, was on his mind all day. He had noticed her missing right away. Only a shiny oil stain left behind. He suspected Skokie the Bookie’s robots. Revenge would be sweet he thought, as he reached into his costume closet and pulled out his cape.

He would rescue his beloved car. He dove from his window, cape secured, and glided to his destination: the Bookie's lair. Sure enough, a peek around the back confirmed the Buick's presence. It was chained to the ground in the backyard.

He landed like a cat on the car’s roof. Instantly the car alarm sounded. A spotlight blared on, the bright beam blinding him, pinning him to the roof of the car. He heard the thudding I’d several pairs of footsteps running toward him and slid deftly off the car, drawing his gun

and counting the bullets on his weapon, one,two,three,four shots, four men on the floor. He ran as fast as he could to reach the wire fence. A meter from his freedom and an explosive sound behind him. He looked down, put his hand on his chest. It was cold then black, then nothing

CyberDrive 2: Deadly Web Sight

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Ben Healy

Kristen Myers

Zachary Slovin

Zachary DuFrain

"Well, you're the last person I ever expected to see here," Abraham Lincoln One said to Abraham Lincoln Two as he casually drew his sword.

Sure, he'd have to defeat the rebellion in the South, but first, Abraham Lincoln One (the original) would have to defeat his own clone. Their swords clashed in the Lincoln Bedroom (then just called the Bedroom).

Lincoln Alpha fenced Lincoln Beta, both careful yet bold, both fighting for his life. Each matching the other, unable to surprise an opponent who was the same person. Both Lincolns’ were tiring when there was a sudden flash of light and a booming noise.

And with her, her entourage. They rushed ahead, cleaning surfaces, looking for threats, talking to bystanders in hushed tones. Once the carpet was unfurled, as it were, Beyoncé waltzed across the threshold.

Beyoncé’s dress was blinding. Glittering sequins cascaded down her shoulders. The cleaners were relieved at having cleared the carpet in time. That is, until they noticed a large wrinkle. It was ten feet ahead and in the direct path of Alfredo, an actor distracted by the vision.

Alfredo's visions came and went, but when they arrived, they were usually prompted by bright flashes: a terrible affliction for a celebrity on the red carpet. His eyes rolled back in his head and he spoke in a language not heard for eons. It was a dire warning.

"This is the final vision you will receive. Heed this warning", a giant ball of fire filled Alfredo's vision. "A meteor is coming, holding a great peril inside, it is not the meteor you need to be afraid of, it is what is inside", a glimpse of a sharp-toothed grin flashes.

Alfredo couldn't sleep that night. Visions of meteors and what impossibilities they could entail clouded his thoughts. Perhaps the meteor would crack open for a Kinder Egg reveal, except in place of delicious treats, hordes of demons and misery. Eventually sleep came.

And in this sleep, perchance did Alfredo dream. A dream of shuffling off mortal coils of fettucine, at which point Alfredo would never be taunted about his name again, and could have all the meteors, demons, and Kinder Eggs that he wanted. Not necessarily in that order, though.

Lincoln in the Beyhive

Far away in a grassy field there lies a treasure like no other. The direction to find it are hidden, and will be revealed only when the time is right, to the person that is meant to find it. Edgar felt he was that person.

He was a fourth generation treasure hunter, and had been doing this all his 46 years. If anyone were to deserve having the secret treasure map revealed to him, it was Edgar. He went out into the secluded field, and awaited his first clue.

It seemed so obvious after the fact. Of course the clue was underground! It was handed down to Edgar by his great uncle, an avid rock collector and all around mineralist. Once he found where to dig the rest had been easy. The next clue was more elusive: two queens and a knight?

Then it hit him. Two Queens in a Night. Queen Latifah was performing in front of Queen Elizabeth at Royal Albert Hall in two weeks time. Edgar immediately booked a flight. The next clue was sure to be there.

His flight left at 4:44PM - a sign! It touched down at Heathrow at 5:55PM - another sign! He took a Royal Cab Company taxi, the driver’s last name was Koenig, and he was dropped at King’s Cross. One more sign! But what did it all mean?

He stopped in the nearest pub for a bite to eat, and heard the operatic voice of native son Freddie Mercury soaring over the sound system. We Are The Champions. Queen. "Man," he said to himself, "a world in which this is all just some big coincidence ... that's royally messed up"

A royal quest

Rick Fox

A regular at all the football games, Reginald was locally famous. He was a descendant of the towns founders, who had famously started the Wagner’s Weenies company, selling a variety of German sausages. They were the sponsor as usual, but today’s game was anything but normal.

In accordance with tradition, Reginald walked onto the field to perform the coin toss that would determine which team started first. As he flipped the coin, the crowd began to slowly chant: Wagner’s. Weenies. Wagner’s. Weenies.

Reginald caught the coin and peeked under his hand. Weenies. The Wagner’s fans groaned as he called the results. As the losers of the toss, the Wagner’s put on the traditional blindfolds, and took their positions on the field.

The winners of the coin toss donned giant rainbow clown wigs and took their place at the other end of the field. At the sound of the bugle, the game started.

All that Albert could think about at that moment was how many wolves had to be killed to stitch together a regulation size Beer Ball.

"Wait, would their hides even be pliant enough to support the wear and tear of your average Beer Ball match?" he asked himself earnestly as the pack closed in around him, snarling and salivating. Albert always did have a warped sense of priorities...

Wagner’s Wolf Weenies

The brochure had appealed to her ‘Romance on the High Seas,’ it had said. She looked at her ticket with a mix of anticipation and confusion. “What in the world does one pack for a pirate themed singles cruise?”

She threw some clothes in her travel trunk. Several sashes, some hoop earrings, puffy shirts, a bedazzled eyepatch, a treasure-map poncho, and a skull-crossbones bikini. She was ready to meet the privateer of her dreams.

She knew she was going on a pirate date. What she didn't know is that it was with the entire crew of the Black Robin. How rude!

Below deck, she confronted "The Frightful" (real name Lawrence). "Listen," she said, "I don't even know how a date with the entire crew of a pirate ship would work logistically, and I certainly wouldn't have agree to it." Lawrence shuffled his feet. Not so frightful now.

Lawrence's heart pounded in his chest, and he began to feel even more woozy than was normal for him out on the ocean. He'd rehearsed this moment so many times in his head as the waves bobbed him slowly to a restless sleep. But now that a lass was onboard, what would he say?

Over and over, he ran his lines. When the morning finally came, he knew what to do. Lady present or not, he was going to speak his mind. "Hear ye, all aboard this fine ship. I do declare that pants are no longer requisite. Huzzah!" All in attendance, including the lady, obliged.

Adventure on the open seas

This one smells like muffins, thought Dottie. The aging Dalmatian was losing her agility, but certainly not her sense of smell. The world was her oyster as she wandered down the street. She stopped abruptly as she noted an unusual scent just up ahead.

It smelled like a cat! No, wait, it smelled like barbecue! Not right either... was it the smell of rain coming? Not quite. Dottie’s tail drooped with confusion. She’d be surprised to know that she was smelling something completely new in the world.

Dottie could not let it go. She'd lived in this world for seven dog years and was practically a pup the last time she smelled something truly new. Dottie followed the trail deep into the woods until she came across a cottage with smoke coming from the chimney.

She nudged the front door open with her wet nose just enough to peek into the house. A woven rug lay on the floor in front of a roaring fireplace, and an old woman sat knitting in a nearby armchair. Dottie couldn't help but think how nice it would be to curl up at her feet.

Unfortunately, as she slipped through the door, a giant tabby wheezed a guttural meow, and the old woman looked up, startled. “Well well,” the kindly woman said. The tabby paced, grinding itself against the bannister with menacing force.

And while the cat was pacing at the open door, seven mischievous kittens snuck silently into the woman's home and feasted on her precious Sardine Sampler. Alas! Now the old woman would never win her top chef contest! She had no dish in sight, merely a wiley false feline flag

Smelly Cat

Steve's time was running out. He had prepared and practiced, and done his absolute best. But now he only had 5 minutes left to finish.

He had been passionate about cosmetology since he found his mother’s lipstick. He had drawn all over his face: left, right, up, down, until there was almost nothing left. He knew he had found his calling. He looked at the filled in dots on the page. Three minutes left.

He was the valedictorian of Beaufort’s Beauty Academy and yet here he was bombing the final. He had studied so hard, how could this be happening? He had spent most of the grueling, 3-hour exam resisting the temptation to peek at his classmate’s answers but his resolve was waning.

Half the things on this test were absurd anyway. Who sits in the makeup chair talking about triglyceride concentration or colloidal solids? How much time do top stylists spend talking about Eumelanin? He closed his eyes. All he needed was one or two lousy answers from Ted.

Ted wasn't willing to cooperate. Why would he be? He was at the end of his rope. On top of the fact that his Alpaca farm had just been repossessed (who knew you needed a permit for that?) now he was being quizzed by his hairdresser. This was the last straw.

And that last straw was being chewed by Betsy, the matriarch of his alpaca herd. As he gazed into Betsy's eyes, reflecting on all they'd been through, he knew that he had everything he needed right there, fancy farm or not. He was happy as a clam, or rather, an alpaca chewing hay

Connect the dots

Nat Steinsultz

Giovanna BK

Frank Spiro

Gabriel Pincus

Sheila Sheedy

Joy Milne

While Steven P and Steven S had fought in public before, this was the first public food fight, and as they both went to bed angry, Steven P couldn’t help but feel a nagging pang of guilt.

Steven P went straight to bed that night without showering. He still had dried mashed potatoes under his eyes and grape jelly on his t-shirt. Normally this would have bothered him but he had a lot on him mind. For instance, what was Steven S up to?

He racked his brain trying to remember, Steven S hadn't been at last weeks meeting of the Stevens' club, which was strange because that was the day that Steven Q and Steven R had a rap battle, and everyone knows how much Steven S loves rap battles.

But he couldn’t remember what had been stopping him from going. Perhaps it was the intense sense of ennui born of so many Stevenses in one space all the time. He decided to make a break. He opened the white pages and searched for a club starting with the letter T.

"Thor's Hammer: Valhalla on Earth! Come for our shots of Odin's sweat, and relax in Loki's Lounge!" He wrote down the address, thinking this place seemed worth a try.

He stepped out of his taxi and saw a gigantic door made of wooden beams braced together with brass brackets. Small letters are burned into the wood: Thor’s Hammer. He’s about to grab the handle as a window opens in the door “Password?” A voice said. He ventured his best guess.

Turns out “octopus” wasn’t it. After his 4th guess at the password, the small window slid shut, and the ancient, wooden door creaked ajar. “Good thing I read the whole dictionary last night,” he thought to himself as he waddled forward.

The cruel irony— he could remember every word in the English dictionary, but couldn’t remember his own father. As he walked in the door he was met with a familiar must; a predator was close

When his father would hit his mother, he would dive further into the dictionary, memorizing everything he could to block out the present. Falling in love with a world of words kept him safe from the realities of home.

It was easier to commit to a book than to look at his mom's face.

His guilt poured out onto the pages he was supposed to be reading, but try as he might he just couldn't concentrate. All at once his glare stopped and fixed on the word, that one word that he knew would...

Change the future of the custom injection-molding industry forever. "Alack!" He shouted, barely able to contain his abandon. "Adding this to my patent will make us millions!" And his guilt evaporated, replaced by the cool, amoral certitude only excessive amounts of cash can buy.

Ross Weijer
@rossweijer

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Ross Weijer@rossweijer

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