Tag Archives: cookies

Ladies and Gentlemen, Your Surprise!

1 Sep

Hello! If you’re reading this that means I’m no longer here. Sorry.

But what it does mean is that I’m now at a different location: www.caustccookies.com!

This is your surprise. You guys have inspired me to take this blog and bring it to the real world! It is now it’s own dedicated place, it’s own site! And the site has a whole bunch of goodies! Many of them will be coming to fruition within the next 48 hours, like the caustic cookie twitter account. Stuff like that.

There’s a forum, a webstore, and a bunch of other amazing things!

To WordPress: I love how awesome your platform is for starting out. It helped me get on my feet. It helped me get my start. I sincerely appreciate it.  And although I won’t be posting to wordpress anymore, I hope you know that this move could only be possible because of all the support of this community.

To the fans: this is yours just as much as it is mine. I hope you enjoy it!

Much love,

Peter.

Advertisements

Tell me what you want, what you really really want.

31 Aug

Alright! This is a quickie: I want to hear from you! Tell me your favorite Caustic Cookies Posts! Post them down in the comments. I want to see what kind of stuff you all like to see from me. *smily face* 

-Peter

Mission Impossible: Textbook Edition

30 Aug

It was an innocent mistake, I feel. I mean, how could I have known that technology was going to be a douchenozzle? Generally, technology and I get along pretty well. I mean, sort of like divorced parents (in this increasingly weird analogy, the internet is the kid we share custody over). So, we’re cordial most times. Other times, I realize that technology gets some sick, demented thrill from running me through an impossible gauntlet of challenges.

For those who saw the original movie, Tom Cruise has to put on some ridiculous harness and do a whole bunch of acrobatic moves in order to defeat the evil robot overlord. Fuck, actually, I never really saw the whole movie. Wasn’t that what it was about?

No?

Well, maybe it should’ve been. But maybe it’s not too late. Tom’s not that old, we could squeeze out a few more action films. Cast him in that role and have him beat HAL’s exhaust port or something.

Anyways…

If you couldn’t tell, this is one of those free write deals. You know how like every other day I actually put serious foresight into what I write instead of a basic outline (like today)? Well, there’s a reason for that. And yes, it does have to do with your super secret, awesome surprise coming next month!

Anyways…Part II. The Return of the Tangent.

Sorry. Next time will be “Focus Strikes Back” and we all know how bad that could be.

Going back to the Tom Cruise reference, I felt like I was on a harness, nimbly navigating the laser beams of the robot guards and delicate, omnipresent pressure sensors. And by nimbly navigating, I mean bouncing into the goddamn wall like I had decided to drink a secret concoction from Wonka’s hidden room. Oh, and my feet had turned into Thor’s hammers.  Fuck my life.

I decided to actually do something more fiscally sensible when it came to my textbook. I decided to invest in getting a nook study textbook.

Oh what a foolish, foolish move.

First step, try to buy the book. Hah! Nope, not in the store.

Second step, hack the mainframe and find the damn book. Failed in hacking the mainframe, but managed to find the book regardless.

Alright, third step, download the book and pray that it will download in time for Latin class on monday an- crap. Not enough time. Abort, Abort! Crap, I’d try again later.

Le Later.

I finally managed to actually download it. I was jumping for joy. I was celebrating, the book would be mine, my homework will finally be completed! And that’s when the metaphorical laser was tripped.

“Please enter your credit card information”

“Again?”

*Type type, clack clack TYPING ONOMATOPOEIA*

“Invalid.”

“Wait? Are you telling me you’re sick (invahlid) or that my card isn’t accepted (invaalid)?”

“Invalid”

“Buh-”

“I HAVE SPOKEN!”

Crap.

So then I called up Barne’s and Noble. Time on the clock is 8:48

“Thank you for calling but we won’t be open until 8 AM.”

Looks at clock. Looks back at phone. “I’m sorry what?”

“Automated message repeats.”We don’t open until 8 AM.”

You have got to be kidding.

This must have been my punishment for that forgotten alimony check.

Called at 10Am. Finally got an answer. Now all I had to do was traverse another gauntlet on my tablet to get the stuff filled in that needed to be filled in while talking to a woman who’s grip of english was only lower than of her pre-written script. Which I managed to do. My textbook is now on my computer and I have defeated the robot overlord/ ex-wife/ whatever weird analogies I’ve used throughout.

You know what, I wished Tom Cruise would have been here though. He probably could have done it quicker.

Nimbler. Right. Sorry Tom.

The Alarm Clock is Not My Friend

20 Aug

*Ring Ring Ring*

Grumble, grumble. Where’s that snooze button? What time is it anyways? 5:00? Shit. Screw that.

I see a bright light. I’m wandering into a paradise. Cookies lining the ground and the air is literally cotton candy. No matter how many sweets I eat, I can’t gain a pound. Somehow, all my dietary concerns don’t matter. In fact, there’s this weird assurance that I’ll get even faster if I eat it. I reach out and touch it, time moving slow as molasses. The ecstasy of anticipation, I want that fluff candy goodness in my mouth. The rush of the sugar coursing through my veins. Yet I tentatively reach for it, as if it’s a delicate treasure. I pinch it, my mouth watering. Eating it isn’t my intention. Savoring every incredible second is.

All of a sudden the cookies begin to crumble to the sound of a blaring alarm. 

“It’s a trap!” General Akbar’s voice rings out. I don’t question it. I try to escape as the sirens wail and the paradise around me crumbles.


*Ring Ring Ring*

Huh? What. Fuck! Seriously! I internalized the alarm clock? What time is it now? 5:05? Why? Why Me?

Darkness. Quick, penetrating darkness. I can’t see I can’t hear. But I’m not afraid. I’m engulfed, but protected. I’m ok. I’m safe. I fear nothing, I feel nothing. I am content. I am in peace. Peaceful. But it’s too peaceful. Surely some sound must exist? Or do I not? What happened to me? Where am I? Where can I find the light?!

I open my eyes and look at the clock. 5:50. Crap! Practice starts in twenty-five minutes! Let’s see, I have a ten minute walk, so that leaves me fifteen to just get my shorts, go to the bathroom, get my shoes ready, make my gatorade and…wait…why didn’t this thing continue to beep after the second snooze? It’s supposed to go off again after a few minutes and stay on.

I swear to God, that thing grew a troll face and looked at me:

“Problem?”

I bolt awake. 5:45. Alright. That was kinda freaky. I get my stuff and go run 9 miles with the team.  At least now I know I’m awake.

I am…right?

Post: Honesty is the Best Policy

25 Jun

We writers are in a bit of a bind when it comes to expectations. We are expected to entertain, but society often demands us to inform. I personally think it’s funny that we have to be the mirror of the world and reflect the faults through an ultimately empty image, but that’s a post for another time. What I’m currently musing about, is the fact that we are told to entertain at all costs, but we are damned if we don’t properly inform.

I don’t think it’s a conscious stigma or burden placed upon us. I feel it’s just human nature. People want to lose themselves in a different reality- but not one so different that they feel truly alien. It’s exactly why 99% of extraterrestrials in books and movies have a spoken language and desires for expansion (in either knowledge or territory). Hell, it’s why they even look like us. Most of the time, they’re bipedal humanoids with only a few differences in proportion. Why can’t we just tell a science fiction story as it is in reality? The story would at least fill our quota for information. Well, because we all know that it’d be incredibly boring. What would we call it? “The Story of the Microbe that May (Perhaps) -Probably- Existed Beneath the Rust?” Even the title makes me want to fall asleep!

So what gives? Why is it that we’re demanded to tell the truth but society has such fickle demands when it comes to entertainment? I think this is something that a lot of writers overlook in the pursuit of good stories. See, if life were a rally, it would sound a lot like a grassroots political event. You’d have a bunch of people yelling “we want the truth!” and a heck of a lot more merely listening to the speeches and being entertained by their notions. Now imagine that this is a Tea-Party rally and just across the park is an Occupy demonstration. If they both manage to go for more than five minutes without starting a riot, I’d be questioning reality- but let’s pretend for this hypothetical scenario that they can co-exist. On opposite extremes, and on opposite sides of the park, they’re preaching two truths. Now, common sense says that only one of them can be right. But, at least in this case, common sense is wrong.

Many writers begin their careers under the false pretense that there is only one truth. Usually, it is the one that they happen to prescribe to, but that’s not egregious or wrong. That’s merely human nature. The fault comes when one is unable to accept the existence of other truths.

There is no such thing as the truth. There are merely perspective. Writers aren’t tasked with telling a facet to a single universal truth, we are tasked with telling a truth. We’re not particle physicists; imagine if you had to connect every single fictional work through some sort of unified literary theory. It’s not just improbable, it’s impossible. These books represent entire universes and realities endemically separate from each other. Sure, you can find patterns (I’m a huge proponent of “inter-textuality”) but aside from the occasional similarity, you can’t unify all works. So how else could you possibly tell the “truth” and simultaneously “entertain” unless they are both part of the same process?

The process, of course, being lying.

You have to, have to, need to lie. As a writer, there is no other way. Everything from fiction to articles, you have to put forward a reality that inherently fails to account for the totality of everything around you. Whether you realize it or not, by not creating a comprehensive encyclopedia filled with every possible paradigm, you are lying. You are omitting, you are being (in a sense) deceitful. Now, is this execrable? Of course not! This is the very foundation of writing! Stories, lies, and fantasies! These lies tell the story of a truth, just not THE truth- only when they disregard reality entirely do they become empty lies.

We as writers are tasked with seemingly conflicting mandates. Entertain the masses, yet tell them the truth. It is ironically through lies which we can fulfill this contract with the world. It just goes to show how seemingly paradoxical and wonderous writing can be. Honesty is the best policy, but deceit is the best means of implementation.