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June 09, 2005

Volume 2, Issue 9

Choose your own adventure...

YOU are the hero of this story!

Be a deliveryman transporting something vitally important.

Will you accept? Or will you be just another Les Nessman? The choice is yours!

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Michele: All I Want For Christmas

Becky Forrester is the only one out of millions who gives me hives. I itch just thinking about her.

Each year it’s “But I waaaaaaaant a pooooooony!” Her parents do nothing to downplay Becky's equine lust, even though I told them eight times I do not deliver animals.

Last week at Gardenia Mall, Becky grabbed my beard and told me if I didn’t deliver a pony this year, she’d have her father beat me up.

Fine. She’s getting her pony this year. Godfather style.

I grab Dasher’s reigns and pat the bloody package.

Ho, ho fucking ho, Becky Forrester.

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Tanya: Night Flight

I'm flying to Peoria, hidden by darkness to avoid awkward questions. Some of the younger guys have cloaking devices so they can fly during the day, but I'm old fashioned. Been with the company since they were fledglings. I'm retiring next week, actually.

I land in the back yard and rap on the door. Mrs Jacobsen opens it a crack and peeks out. Shrieks. Dashes outside and grabs me about the neck, snatches the parcel away from me, and flees back inside.

I tip my hat to her receding back with one wing as she screams, "George!! It's a girl!!"


Laurence - The Hunt For Wilson

Podcast of this storyThe diamonds that Yuri stuffed into the volleyball were priceless.

Lost in transit, said Fedex.

Years later, Yuri read: FEDEX EMPLOYEE FOUND AT SEA

After watching Chuck Noland deliver a package to some ranch, Yuri learned he had spent all that time on the island talking to Yuri's volleyball.

Where was it?

Yuri turned on the news, sighing.

Chuck was being interviewed. Again.

"My friend just floated away," mumbled Chuck.

"Who?" asked a reporter.

"Wilson," said Chuck. "He was a volleyball that had a-"

Yuri switched off.

Wilson? Friend?

Should have used Airborne, he thought. Those Fedex employees are nuts.


Andy: Everytime

It's ugly early when the alarm bell rings. I'd ignore it, sleep in, but there'll be hell to pay if I'm not out the door in five.

Every street's the same, shiny and clean, lined with mansions full of beautiful people. I find the address, walk to the door, and knock with faux good cheer.

It opens and there's this blue-eyed cherub of a kid standing there. He sees the box and bounces on his toes.

"Here are your wings," I say, shoving it into his arms. "Tell that George Bailey to kiss my ass. I'm going back to bed."

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Ted: Big Trouble

So I looked at this girl I'm driving, at her perfect green eyes. Egg better be right.

Lo-Pan was waiting at the loading dock.

"Jack, nice to see you again, especially after our last meeting."

"Last I heard, you were dead. But, hey, you were dead before."


"Well, here she is, just like you wanted. Can I get paid now?" I took the purse Lo-Pan held and backed away. This was not my operation. I jumped in my truck and took off before any of Egg's weird shit started happening. I was blocks away when the warehouse blew up.


From the Comments: Pyrrho

I was held up in Toledo for 15 microsecond but I was really booking now. If I made it through San Fran without getting diverted through Australia like last time (wtf was that all about?), I ought to arrive in the acceptable time window, a cool 72ms after recieving the delivery request. Sure, I'd like to have gotten it there in more like 20ms, but 72ms was considered acceptable.

SF went fine, then LA, San Diego, Carlsbad, Vista, 5 Parker Place... I'm here! "All right sir, here is your web page. I am the internet. You're welcome. Enjoy your porn."


Stacy: Precious Cargo

I roll down the window, accept the envelope from the shadow.

"Deliver this to 19 Ville de Sanchez, Cartagena," the accented voice says. "Ask for Senor…"

I hold up my hand. "Rule number two, no names."

The shadow steps back silently. I accelerate away.

I must get into a better line of work, I think irritably. The transporting of items for anonymous clients was interesting, but hard on the nerves.

I arrive in Cartagena at sunrise, pull up to the address. A man in silk pajamas rushes down the steps, rips open the envelope.

"They’re here!" he exclaims. "Knicks tickets!"