The Two Fates of Optimus Prime / DeepDream

Before.

ONE

It turned out the matrix was alien technology all along: an electro-organic symbiote which bonded to its host. As such, its extended use had…consequences.

Super Cyborg Killing Transformer Shoe

~ Stories By 8-Year-Olds ~

In the spring of 1987, the grubby little fingers in Mrs. Thompson’s 1st grade class were hard at work scribbling out short fiction. Witches flew on broomsticks. Easter Bunnies delivered eggs, or didn’t. Ladybugs ate aphids. Life was grand.

However, as ABC Publishing Editor N. Hardwell was quick to point out (in his brutal rejection letter here), all of these short stories were remarkably formulaic. Every story in the anthology I Am the Easter Bunny, for example, started with:

I am the Easter Bunny. My name is _____¹. I am _____².

1. Floppy, Hoppy, Gilbert, Spotty, Fluffy, Swifty, Floppy, Easter, Fluffy, Heather, Easter, Gilbert, Smarty, Fluffy, and Rainbow Egg
2. Various combinations of: white, fat, fast, nice, happy

Given these cookie-cutter shapes, is it any surprise that the vast majority of children filled in the exact same cookies?

Now, don’t get me wrong: for Mrs. Thompson to have 1st graders write short fiction is AWESOME, and she was a GREAT teacher; I certainly loved her. Furthermore, some students must have benefitted from this kind of 1-2-3 guidance (here’s looking at you, Easter Bunny named ‘Easter’). But to be creative in this context, students had to be crafty—they had to include the mandatory sentences, but then branch out onto their own paths.

I live in Bunny Town. Do you like my eggs? I like Easter. Do you like Easter? I do like Easter. It is fun. Some of my eggs break.

I didn’t say they were good paths. But, BUT… then there was young Gordon. Little Gordon’s Easter Bunny (named ‘Rainbow Egg’) hops to the planet Jupiter and has difficulty understanding space monster language. His ladybug, who is melted by magic when trying to kill an evil witch, is rescued by a friend from the witch’s castle.

Clearly chomping at bit.

If there were any clearer evidence that young authors’ creativity was being stifled by these formulaic requirements at school, then it is this story, which I wrote less than two years after I Am a Ladybug, presumably NOT for a school assignment:

Rejected Stories By First-Graders

by Gordon

---

N. Hardwell
Editor, ABC Publishing

Mrs. Thompson
Dill Elementary School

July 1, 1987

Mrs. Thompson:

I recently received your submission "A Witch: a Collection of Creative Stories by Mrs. Thompson's First Grade Class" (facsimile below), along with the similarly-subtitled anthologies "I Am the Easter Bunny" and "Ladybugs." As I was between major editing projects, I was able to read through them rather quickly.

I should say start reading through them, because I was unable to make it all the way through any one submission. Frankly, your writers cannot be called 'First Grade' in any sense. Despite being somewhat inured to bad writing (thanks to decades in this cesspool of an industry), after reading "A Witch," I felt so nauseous I had to lay down to avoid vomiting. I had to restore my faith in human language by recalling Dr. Seuss rhymes and reading from a recipe book. I am now reconsidering my life.

Papers Recovered From the 2nd Death Star

by Gordon

---

Hello and Welcome to the
***STAR OF DEATH CAFETERIA***

We strive to offer you the freshest, healthiest, tastiest cuisine possible... while staying true to our Lord Vader's call of death to all who resist the Glorious Empire! Don't tell us "I find your lack of options... disturbing!" since all-mineral diet and zablorx-free options are available upon request. Please present any Star of Death coupons to your server before ordering.

~ Seasonal Specials ~

MOON GREENS and PURPLES
Tender young vegetable shoots that taste just like they were freshly gathered on a distant jungle moon somewhere beyond the reach of the Glorious Empire, where laughter and singing and dancing and anarchy filled the air... do you remember that? DO you? Are you actually considering ordering this? Then prepare to DIE, REBEL SCUM and TRAITOR to the EMPIRE!! (Torture droids have been alerted.)

Just Another Subway Ride (As Dreamt By an MTA Employee)

by Gordon

(Anyone know the photographer??)

CONDUCTOR: This is a Brooklyn-bound L train. Because of no construction, track maintenance, signal malfunction, or disruption, it will be making all scheduled stops. Next stop... Bedford Avenue.
GIRL: (Exiting) Oh, excuse me.
MAN: (Stepping aside) No, excuse me! Please exit the train before I get on. I find it's logical and much easier for everyone that way.
TANNOY: Please stand clear of the closing doors.
BOY NOT RUNNING OUTSIDE TRAIN: Oh, don't hold the doors; I'll catch the next one.
(Train moves)
MAN: (Standing up) Oh, miss? Would you like to sit down?
WOMAN: Thank you.
MAN: No problem. I would happily give up my seat to a pregnant senior citizen war veteran quadriplegic any day! ...Wait? What am I talking about? Even though it's rush hour, there are plenty of small but comfortable seats still available in this car. I'll sit back down.
GIRL: Pardon me, would you mind if I took this seat in the middle of you two?
CLEAN-SMELLING GENTLEMEN OF AVERAGE SIZE: (Shifting stone statue of Buddha from seat to lap) Of course not.

The Amazing Adventures of Train Boy!

YOU KNOW WHO

MOTHER: Do you know who loves you, little boy?
BOY: Goo-goo ga-ga choo-choo.
MOTHER: Of course you do. Mommy loves you, and Daddy loves you! And who do you love, my little angel?
BOY: TRAINS!
MOTHER: ...
BOY: Chugga chugga.

TRAINING

BOY: Daddy goes here.
FATHER: OK. Now you're gonna... you're gonna sit on me? OK, time for a horsey ride!
BOY: No. Train ride!
FATHER: Oh. OK. Well here we go - vroom, vrooom, vrooom! -
BOY: No! Chugga chugga chugga chugga.
FATHER: Oh, right. OK. Chugga chugga toot toot!
BOY: Noo! Woo-wooooo!
FATHER: OK, OK, I got it already. Chugga chugga woo-hoo.
BOY: No! Woo-WOOOO!!
FATHER: Woo-woo, boo-hoo, what's the difference anyway -

Today's My Birthday!

(From The Perry Bible Fellowship)

The insults that wound us most deeply, and the jokes that amuse us most profoundly, are those that are true. Then in the rare outstanding case, something simultaneously wounds AND amuses us with its truth - and that explains why I love this comic, and sometimes share it with friends on their birthdays (c. now, Monica, Chris, Peter, Emily!). I do it not only to play the devil's advocate, and not only because of my devious streak, but because I think such memento mori are valuable.

We all know people who do their best work when faced with a deadline (ha). 'Limited time only' sales catch our eye. Scarcity suggests value. Yet so many people go about their lives as if their days were unlimited... until one day, they'll be (wait for it)... dead wrong.

I say, keep a healthy awareness of death! Celebrate and dance on your bed now (while you still can). Do what matters to you today. After all, it's your birthday.