検索キーワード： 著者 "Rob Dircks" すべてのカテゴリー

They just stood there. In the dark. On his grass. Three punks. They were always there, roaming the streets, kicking over trash cans, spray painting the train underpass, throwing eggs on Halloween, a stain on his otherwise bucolic Ridgewood, New Jersey neighborhood. Once they left a bag of dog crap on his front porch and set it on fire. He almost stepped in it. But for some reason this new thing, the just standing there, pissed him off even more. Like they owned his lawn. Pot-smoking punks.

Wenn man in Fill City 1 lebt und schuftet, gewöhnt man sich an den Gestank. Wir nennen ihn den Ewigen Mief. Aber hin und wieder, wenn an einem Frühlingstag eine Brise weht, verzieht er sich ein wenig und wir erinnern uns daran, dass es da draußen noch etwas anderes gibt. Die meisten Filler träumen allerhöchstens davon, die Mauern zu überwinden und auf dem Festland zu leben. Aber mein Traum? Der ist ein bisschen größer. Ich fliege zum Mars.

Hi, Rob Dircks here. Join me on my monthly quest to answer questions like “What would happen if a smartphone game was so addictive EVERYONE played it at once?” or “If we’re all in a simulation, who’s running it?” Every month (or so) I write an original science fiction short story and narrate it for your listening pleasure. ENJOY! (A little background: I’m the Audible bestselling author of Where the Hell is Tesla?, The Wrong Unite, Don’t Touch the Blue Stuff!, and more. You can get in touch with me and sign up for episode notifications at listentothesignal.com, robdircks.com, ...

Listen, having kids is great, my little Gigi Collins and Pete’s daughter Hannah are sweet little fluffs of cotton candy, spun from the silk of fairy spiders who live in the clouds. But man, can they cause trouble. Seriously, you’d think a two-year-old couldn’t possibly threaten the very existence of our physical reality, but, well, you know where this is going. So join me and Pete, and Bobo, and of course the man himself, Nikola Tesla, on another spine-tingling, bowel-loosening thrill ride, and remember: bring your adult diapers.

Back when I started this project, I was thinking what the heck, writing a few short stories will keep me fresh, let me try things I might not try otherwise, act as a sketch book of my story ideas: the funny, the weird, the scary, the sappy, and sometimes all of that mashed up together.

Living and slaving in Fill City One, you get used to the smell. We call it the Everpresent Stink. But every once in a while, on a spring day with a breeze, it clears away enough to remind us that there is something more out there. Most Fillers' wildest dreams would be just to get past the walls and live in the mainland. But my dream? It’s a little bigger. I’m going to Mars.

Something called the “Blue Juice" is coming. For all of us. Luckily, me (Chip Collins), Pete, Nikola Tesla, Bobo, and FBI Agent Gina Phillips are here to kick its ass, and send it back to last Tuesday. Maybe. Or maybe we'll fail, and everyone in the multiverse is doomed. (Seriously, you might want to get that underground bunker ready.) Either way, I've got to get home to Julie and find out – woah, I'm not about to tell you that right here in the book description! TMI, dude.

I don't know what the humans are so cranky about. Their enclosures are large, they ingest over 1,000 calories per day, and they're allowed to mate. Plus, they have me: an Autonomous Servile Unit, housed in a mobile/bipedal chassis. I do my job well: keep the humans healthy and happy.

I found the journal at work. Well, I don't know if you'd call it work, but that's where I found it. It's the lost journal of Nikola Tesla, one of the greatest inventors and visionaries ever. Before he died in 1943, he kept a notebook filled with spectacular claims and outrageous plans.