Thu, Mar 28, 12:11 PM CDT

My Father Was a JPG (for Rod)

Writers Fantasy posted on May 03, 2017

Contains profanity

Content Advisory!

This artwork contains mature content: profanity.

View Anyway
Open full image in new tab Zoom on image
Close

Hover over top left image to zoom.
Click anywhere to exit.


Members remain the original copyright holder in all their materials here at Renderosity. Use of any of their material inconsistent with the terms and conditions set forth is prohibited and is considered an infringement of the copyrights of the respective holders unless specially stated otherwise.

Description


Ok...Before you dive into this lonnnnnnnng, insane tale, at least read the intro, so you can leave wishes for Rod! This Friday---May 5th---Rod (RodS) is having hernia surgery. Now I'm sure he'd rather be known for something else, but we all want him to get through this with flying colors, so I'm posting this idiotic tale for his recovery. I hope it makes him smile... Rod: I know that recent months have brought their share of madness into your life: With your job, the flu, computer problems, health issues, and now a few medical procedures. You wrote (and I quote), "age sucks". Yes: Age sucks. It knocks twice, takes over the living room, orders-out food, invites friends---incl hernias, gallstones, 2 million pains, and a lotta other sh_t no one asked for---and it never, ever leaves. So I say to you: You're one of our perennially young souls: May you get through this procedure like a gazelle: In and out like the wind, and spry and healthy as all get-out, when it's over. (Oh, and I'm gonna say it: Rod has a 'basement'. That's what he calls it. But I have it on good authority that, in his 'basement'---wink, wink, nudge, nudge, what I affectionately call "Fermilab West"---he has 2000 insulators, several hundred printing presses--with attendant rolls of paper--at least 40 computers, and a research lab where he's building---just this month---6 atomic reactors, 12 high rises, and a new OS which will allow you to travel to Mars and back in under 14 seconds. ((This is in his spare time.)) Further: His TNA ladies are real: They have a resort in his boiler room, plus a spa, a fleet of jets, a secret bunker that puts NORAD to shame; and all that next to a small but effective Particle Accelerator. I have the paper work on this. I can prove it...) Ok, so to give you a send-off, I've written another idiotic-tale, where I pay homage to your detective series, your tale-telling, your women-P.I.s, and your knowledge of computers; all graced by my wonderfully unbearable prose. May our maven of meticulous and wonderful stories, amazing and complex visuals, great photography, wonderful drawings and a whole lot more, come through Friday with flying colors! To healing and health, Sir R, with my very best for the speediest of recoveries possible! Mark (This tale's insane, but I hope it brings a smile...)
* * * My Father Was a Jpg
OK. Dad---a dashing 3 TB of pure jpg-dom, and one of the great Digital Lovers of the last century---dated all kinds of visuals before he met Mom. He wanted to be a RAW file, but his father---a bottle of KorecType---always said: "Accept what you are, Son. Don't be what you aren't..." Now, Dad dated other formats, don't get me wrong: He dated gif's, rar files, zip files, even a few png's; but in the end, he married Mom. (Mom said that png's were "sneaky little bitches"---her words---'cause Mom was human, and feared that Dad would go head-over-heels for one of those "digi-whores," as she called them: But Dad married her, they stuck together, and lived happily ever after. "She doesn't have a pixel in her body," he told me: "But she's a gem...") Now. Mixed marriages have problems. My parents had an analog bed but digital pillows. Their sheets were postworked, their blankets, not. In fact, the whole bedroom was postworked---and they lived in a "No Postwork Township," where you'd be fined if you were just 'seen' near Photoshop. But then our neighbor---an old strain of Fortran code---used so many sharpening filters on his wife, she cut a 40 foot hole in the basement and broke the town's Main. Our place had pixels all over the place, fractal-scripts strewn on the rug, and our dog---a 12-Point Times Font---could bark in bold and italic; and his Sans Serif could scare away an army. Incredible. He barked in Truetype too...but that's another story... Me? I was born a 6 MB Mp3. My sister was a Crash Log. (Later she became a USB hub, and had lots of little cables with her hubby, an ISO setting for a Leica Rangefinder. Their kids could see in the dark, needless to say...) I became a Digital Investigator. That's right: A "D.I.": A Pixel-Policeman, a Software-Shamus, a SCSI-Sleuth, a Digital-Dick, a GUI-Gumshoe: I solve Digital Capers. I solved the "Sistine Chapel Caper," where 16 viruses broke into the Vatican and put all of Michelangelo's frescos through softening filters. Who did the authorities call? Moi. That's right: Someone turns your art into 'pixellated porridge', you call Moi, ladies and gentlemen, the Digital Dude. I was the man. I was the Guy in Charge... But I had a partner: Meet Mona---Mona Lisa: a TNA-er before there were TNA-ers. Mo was one of the hottest, bestest D.I.s in the biz; and if you think this lady just sat in a da Vinci painting with some half-assed smile and a bunch of veils, no sir: This lady was tough: She lured those Sistine thugs into her web by blurring herself until she resembled a bowl of chocolate pudding; and when they were about to put whipped cream all over her---actually, it was Reddi Wip, but hey, they were cheap thieves---she cuffed 'm, dragged 'm to the precinct, threw 'm into a chair, and questioned them all night long until she got what she wanted. She was fierce. Afterwards, she smoked a camel---a real camel, mind you, which she kept just for this joke: 15 feet long, humps, wasn't too crazy about being 'smoked', but anything to be in a great piece of fiction (am I right?)---and she pecked me on the cheek, hailed a cab, and went back to the Louvre, where her painting patiently awaited her, for the morning crowd... Btw: Our work was such a success, I got a fruit basket from Michelangelo, and the Chapel got 2 million hits the next month. (Ok, it got only 6 zooms, but hey...)
* * * The Cache Case
ONE FINE DAY, I got a text from the Wisconsin D.I.:
"A bunch of teens applied Mandelbulb Scripts all over Milwaukee! Get here NOW!!! MANDELBULB! YIKES!!!"
Hoo boy. See, Mandelbulb scripts were the worst. They wreaked havoc. Whole streets turned into paisleys. Buildings sprouted curls and little balls. Stuff grew outa stuff--- it was awful. (One thug desaturated Lake Michigan: But desaturization is a ton easier than de-fractalization...) Anyway: I'm home watching the Cubs and Dodgers play chess, when I got the call: "They what?" I cried. "Wisconsin??? Shit!!!" I threw on my coat, bid Mona goodbye, at which she said "again???", gave me the finger, sashayed away in a walk that could turn a man into jello, and went out with her friend (Venus di Milo) to pick up dudes. "Excel files," she told me. Fuck. How do you compete with Spreadsheets? Pie graphs and cross-referenced formulas? Riiiiiight. It wasn't looking good for me... But I had a job: I stepped on a hyperlink, flew to Milwaukee, and landed in a cellphone in one of the hacker's purses... I grabbed her: "Where are your accomplices?" I shouted. She demurred. Then she gave me a list as long as the Yangtze River. I turned her in and left. To Milwaukee: It was so much worse than I thought... Milwaukee had been fractalized. And cropped! One hacker cropped the entire north side, cutting off roofs, chimneys, whole trees. In addition, 2 high school teachers were converted into Thumbnails. (Nice looking people too...) What did I do? What every school child learns, their first day: I restarted the State. I hit "Restart": The state turned Black. Lonnnnnng wait. A circle showed up. It circled forever. (This state needed a faster processor...) Then the state turned white---bing!---then a progress bar. Then houses appeared. Then trees, grass, water, clouds, everything. Some people were pissed---restarts cause injuries. And, after 2 million wheels of cheese rolled onto the desktop: I knew I'd done it: We got back Wisconsin! "Yesssss," I thought. Then--- YIkes! Kenosha---a city to the south---had been erased! How did I do it??? Years I'm in this business---I never overwrote a city! But I'd over-written Kenosha, partitioned and re-formatted the fucker. Shit. The people were furious! "You couldn't leave us alone???" they shouted. "I can't help it!" I cried: "It was a bug! But I saved you from Mandelbulbs! That's what counts, people!" "But the Mandelbulbs were in Milwaukee!" they cried. "Oh, but those scripts spread," I cried: "Those fractals move: (I leaned forward:) They do things when you're not looking! Listen to me: (Whispereing:) Fractal artists are all spies: They work for aliens! They 'act' like the rest of us---ohhhhhh yeah---but they're all devious. You see those "scripts" they publish everytime they post their art? Those are instructions for alien civilizations. You see a Mandelbulb user, run for your lives: 10-20 years from now, we'll all be fractals! Besides: Do you know how many towns'd give their left cahones to be over-written? You're clean, shining, new!" The mayor grabbed me: "You got us into this: You get us out. Or you can kiss your Mona goodbye!" "But I always kiss my Mona goodbye," I whispered. "It's an expression," he said. "It means we'll get her!" And he left. So......... I pulled out my trusty Disk Warrior, and Nortons and TechTool Pros: I repaired their File Directory. I gave their Bad Hard Drive Sectors hell. I de-fragmented, optimized, and got rid of their duplicate files (bunch of slobs!). I stood back, thrust my chest out: A complete overhaul: Did it work? Nyet. Damn. We all knew what this meant... A deep silence fell upon the land. The big one was at hand. The Nuclear option. The Dreaded... I couldn't even say it. I thought of Mona. And the kids. Odd, we didn't have kids, but I thought of 'm anyway. And I thought of the dog and the cat and the pterodactyl. (That's right: We had a pterodactyl.) I thought of little Johnny and little Mary. And I thought of Betty-Lou and the corner malt shop, and my '52 Chevy---which I drove to the levy---and suddenly I realized: I was in a '50s comic book with Archie, Betty, Jughead and Veronica, and people with names like "Higgenbottom" and "Pointdexter". It happens. I lose my way. I wind up in the '50s. So I jumped over the decades and came back... "You know what this means," I said: "We have to------" They knew. "Empty the Cache," I said. Huge gasps Yes, the Cache, ladies and gentlemen. The Digital Demon. The Crux, the Breadbasket, the Motherlode. The big, crammed, fucked-up, packed-to-the-gills-with-files-you-wouldn't-keep-if-your-grandmother's-life-depended-on-them place: The goopy, droopy, murky cesspool-of-a-septic-tank---and this State hadn't emptied their Cache since the last Ice Age: Why? Because diving into that mire was like diving into Hell itself: My old partner---Sully---died in a Cache: He got hit with a corrupt emoticon and perished on the spot. (Couldn't wipe the smile off his face...) But it was my turn now. For Sully. For Kenosha. For the world. "We may puke!" said everyone. Never mind! I ran across town, stormed the OS---a big bunker, buried beneath the earth---and confronted the guard: She was a Poser model with a figure that could stop a herd of thundering elephants. I said: "Sugar: Where d'ya keep the Caches?" She didn't like me calling her 'sugar'. I didn't care. She did. "Ok, fructose?" I said. (Nothing.) "Stevia?" "Skip the sweetenings," she said: "Get to your question!" I moved closer: Suddenly she grabbed me: "No," she said: "No go, Mr. D.I.: I say you're the one who caused this catastrophe! You're the one who murdered Milwaukee, ossified Oshkosh, mangled Madison, gangrened Green Bay: Tell me who you're working with, or I'll sick you in a pile of defunct passwords so thick, you won't be talking for months!" I grabbed back: "You got it wrong, toots: I'm the good guy! I'm on your side!" "Then we'll solve this together!" she said. I threw down my bag of chips---memory chips, barbecue flavored: I apologized for the joke, threw on my coat, and took her hand. When we got to the Site, I looked into that big bubbling cauldron of Digital Detritus, and said: "Here it is: the Cache." She gasped. I gasped. She shuddered. I shuddered. She sweated bullets. I sweated bullets. We'd have preferred to sweat softer stuff---grapes, blueberries, things like that: But we sweated bullets. That's the way it was written. They hit the floor: "Ping! Ping!" We looked at each other. We stepped to the rim of the Cache, and---------
In the Bowels of the Earth
SPUH-LASH!!!!!! We dived in the Belly of the Beast! Oh, I'd seen Caches before---but I'd never seen anything like this! A big, bulging maelstrom of cookies, broken screenshots, discarded passwords, defunct URLs...this was more than a Cache, dammit, it was every discarded thought, image, memory and desire since the dawn of time... But, as you know, Danger's my name/Risk is my Game: We swam through the mire, banging our heads on old email attachments, discarded selfies, decomposed Daz files, sloshing our way through a cesspool one can only call a massive Digital Vomit, until we came to the foot of the File Menu, where we found---looming in the air like an alabaster god---the "Empty Cache Command"! No wonder so few ever got this far: High above the simmering sludge, the Command hovered up there like an Eagle, circling and shining in Clarity and Cleanliness: Our final destination had arrived! We scaled the Great Menu, scratching past the "Copy" command, dragging past the "Export as PDF" command (one D.I. got his hand caught there and wound up as an Instruction Manual for Vacuum Cleaners for 6 years). I nearly fell into the "Print" command, while my partner ran to the Font Menu, cavorting with a young Helvetica whose physique and youth left me staggering in the dust. "GET OVER HERE!" I yelled. She came back: After all, who was I to Helvetica, or Helvetica to I, that she should prefer him to me? We scaled and scaled, the air getting thin and the Desktop gasping miles below: Her heart raced. My heart raced. Her heart won by half a meter, but I was close. She rubbed close to me. I rubbed close to her. She mentally undressed me. I mentally undressed her. Then I realized: This was turning into a 3d rate porn novel. I ripped up the page. But it was too late: "I want you," she cried: "Even if you are short and disgusting. And bald." I thanked her for the compliment, but told her it wouldn't 'work': Fog rolled in. Propellers started. Cue the music. I said: "It doesn't take much to see that the problems of two people don't amount to a hill of beans in this world: You need to get on that plane. I don't know why---I don't see a plane, I mean there isn't a plane within miles of this shit-hole: I didn't even write propellers, so why would there be a plane???---but you need to get on it. I'm just a street thug, Mona: That's right, I know it's you, you snuck in from the earlier chapter 'cause you couldn't keep away, and who could blame you? But I pound the pavement, meander the mean streets, I hover in those hole-in-the-wall hovels that a lot of us call Home: I'm not the one for you, sweetheart: Why do you want me?" "Good point," she said. Silence. "I was kinda hoping for a compliment here," I said. "I can't marry an mp3," she said: "I dated a .wav file once, and broke out in a rash. You're right. We weren't meant for each other. I'm gorgeous, you're short and bald. I'm hot, you're---not funny. (I mean reeeealllly not funny.) I'm getting on that plane. (Although, next time, write a plane. My big exit and I have to 'walk' out. Why have propellers and no plane? It's cheap, that's all.) Here's lookin' at you, kid..." And she left. "Cache," I said, as it shone, now empty and clean: "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship..." Kenosha gave me a parade. Milwaukee gave me a medal. Mona gave me a headache. I went home...
Epilogue
Well I sauntered to my favorite watering hole, sidled up to a hard-boiled beauty named Flo, we schmoozed, got close, went back to my place---as men and women have done for ages (which was why my place was such a mess) (that's a lotta fuckin' people for one small place!), and had a night of unbridled lust. We married, had 15 tweets, and a small forward-slash. We lived happily ever after... Mona got a job in da Vinci's "Last Supper". She said, "I just shtupped a Samaritan. What a trip!" (I apologize to all my religious friends.) I became an organic raisin. Flo got her degree in Medieval History, and became a halberd---which is a weapon, I think, but I'm not sure... And Raymond Chandler, Dashiell Hammett and Mickey Spillane sued me for "one piss-poor imitation"; but the judge said this piece was so bad, it wasn't worth the trial. The TNA ladies read this piece, and pasted a huge "THE END" on the bottom. (Shit. And I was just getting started...)
THE END All healing to you, Rod!!!! ---------

Comments (19)


)

Madbat

4:48AM | Wed, 03 May 2017

LOL!!! I read this in Joe Pesci's voice. Try it, I dare you!

)

auntietk

9:20AM | Wed, 03 May 2017

LOL! I loved this! God, I hope Rod reads it BEFORE he has his surgery, or he'll pull his stitches laughing so hard! This is funny stuff, my friend. Well done!

)

Faemike55

9:49AM | Wed, 03 May 2017

I read it Humphrey Bogart's voice - what a trip! I haven't been on a ride like this in centuries, eons, even. While reading this story, an animated gif of a cat falling off the tv got my attention, but only briefly as it was only 3 seconds long. I laughed, I cried (someone in the other room was cutting onions), I belched (good burrito) and thoroughly enjoyed the trip you sent us on!

)

eekdog Online Now!

11:14AM | Wed, 03 May 2017

Rod will be extrearly overjoyed with this, Mark. You always have the right way of saying things with great detail and enjoyment.

)

LivingPixels

1:25PM | Wed, 03 May 2017

A truly unique and incredible tale my friend a magical surreal vision using your craft as a wordsmith to dazzle and delight us a hearty round of applause magnificent masterpiece Mark happy to be a sharer Thanx!!!

)

helanker

1:29PM | Wed, 03 May 2017

HA! This was so fun reading. Thank you for the laughter, Dear Mark. I was gonna say exactly what Tara wrote about Rod to read it BEFORE he gets surgery. ;) OK. I just popped in to Wish Rod the best of succes with the surgery. Be Well soon, Rod :-)

)

durleybeachbum

1:37PM | Wed, 03 May 2017

Very best wishes, Rod! Mark, I shall keep this to read at my leisure, I just love your silly stories!

)

alida

1:57PM | Wed, 03 May 2017

such a lovely story and all the best to Rod

)

T.Rex

2:04PM | Wed, 03 May 2017

Couldn't get half way through, laughing so hard. And foggy glasses. I may need to get new ones after this! Ever hear of rusting glass? My poor Kitty must think I'm gone bonkers. Just as long as she doesn't pack her bag and become a cat GIF falling off a TV! Thanks for the great story. We need more of this kind of stuff. Good for the health! Keep up the good work! :-)

)

DennisReed

3:59PM | Wed, 03 May 2017

Awesome READ!

)

RodS

8:09PM | Wed, 03 May 2017

😂😂😂 DEAR GOD....................... It's gonna take me all night to comment on this, because I CAN'T SEE MY FRIGGIN' KEYBOARD!!! Or monitor - or the other side of the room...... Holy crap, this is the most hilarious thing I've read since my subscription to Mad Magazine expired sometime in 1975! Oh, my lord......

My surgeon just called.... He's gonna be paying you a visit, Mark, because now he has TWO hernias to fix! And that's after the paramedics pick me up off the floor - for the 17th time!

And that intro..... OMG! Damn, I guess my secret's out, now.... Fernilab West..... And here I thought my security was unbreachable - sheesh. What have you got, a direct line to Ed Snowden, or what? I can see I'm gonna have to get the Girls on this case - as if they aren't busy enough searching for alien artifacts, slapping the sh#t out of Kim Dong Dufus, and test-walking robotic dogs. I mean, really....

Dude - seriously.... I don't know why you aren't writing humor for Playboy or something. Your talent with words is just off the scale, buddy! This is getting printed, framed and hung on my wall! Thanks so much for the great laugh (and second hernia), bro!

Dang, I almost feel bad that they moved my op to Monday.... Now I have all weekend to think about it... Gah. Oh, well... I'll just read this again, and they'll have a hell of a time getting the smile off my face when they pump me full of happy juice!

)

wysiwig

11:37PM | Wed, 03 May 2017

Well I was doing OK until you drove that Chevy to the levy and then I just lost it. I didn't have a hernia before but I may have one now. I'll have to go and get that checked out. During parts of this I distinctly heard Groucho's voice. I think you should start wearing a grease paint mustache. Really fine and ridiculously weird work, Mark.

)

Freethinker56

12:28AM | Thu, 04 May 2017

OMG! Mark This is insanely wonderful and funny. I got peace to read this with my coffee this morning. Yes I copy and paced to read at my pace 😂 My mind was spinning around your a master with your tales . I really enjoy them and so LUV.. my friend... you take them to a whole new level Brilliant . And yes, All healing to you, Rod! Cheers with a smile ☕🙂 Take care.

)

romanceworks

8:56AM | Thu, 04 May 2017

Mark, OMG, you are a certified madman and this is a masterwork. I loved and laughed at every bit (no pun intended) of it. And to think, only a few years ago no one would know what the hell you were talking about. We live in a new world with a new language (computereze) and I couldn't believe I understood this crazy story. I'd write more but I gotta go clean out my cache.

)

aksirp

1:21PM | Thu, 04 May 2017

oh... what a story and you know writing! My brain get hot instead reading.. sorry I am not great with english, I understand pretty much, have problems to talk... not used to write... after all hehe, well done and felicitous very last words! :-)

)

blondeblurr

7:57PM | Fri, 12 May 2017

Mr.T, Mr.T, Mr.T !!! ... Now I have to rename you and it's Mr. DDD - I have never read anything like it ! - I'm not LOL but wearing a big grin from ear to ear - like you know who ? you know that cat, don't ya ?

A shade of Casablanca mix with the Matrix revisited: "It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship, [with Ingrid as the Poser model] there is only one thing left to say and you got to listen to me, I am saying it because it's true, some day you'll understand me 'here is looking at you kid ! ' [those were Bogies actual words, don't ya know ?] 😎

PS - I'll buy that book ! 📚

)

flavia49

1:35PM | Sun, 21 May 2017

fantastic

)

Richardphotos

9:54PM | Mon, 05 June 2017

I admire your imagination for writing stories. very creative

)

bakapo

3:36PM | Sun, 20 October 2019

Oh, I remember reading this but somehow I never commented. I'm so sorry about that... I probably was distracted when Mom called me away. Anyway, I re-read this and it made my day. I don't know how you come up with this stuff but I'm glad you do and I'm glad you share it with us. I will never look at any kind of art the same way.


10 174 7

CG Spree
3DS Aaralyn Genesis 8.1 Females
3DS Aaralyn Genesis 8.1 Females
$16.95 USD 50% Off
$8.48 USD
Only 11h 48m 23s left!

Privacy Notice

This site uses cookies to deliver the best experience. Our own cookies make user accounts and other features possible. Third-party cookies are used to display relevant ads and to analyze how Renderosity is used. By using our site, you acknowledge that you have read and understood our Terms of Service, including our Cookie Policy and our Privacy Policy.