Tag Archives: humor

Dawson Filter as He Relates to Sound


For two years, Dawson Filter and Sylvester Denny had been in quest to discover the True Meaning of Feelings. For nearly all of that time, they had no idea whatsoever how to find it or where to start looking. They’d endured attack and legal proceeding, dragon and Scottsman. But now they knew exactly who knew the Meaning, and had a time machine to get to him.

But of course, complications.

“What is the meaning of this?” a thin man in a dark green cloak asked them. He must have heard them in the hallway.

“Well, see,” Sylvester Denny pointed to his eyes nervously, “we’re search – looking for the True Meaning stove Feeling; and Wayne Rubblefish – or some of his goons, I guess, stole our time machine. That’s what this is.” He banged on the side of Felipe’s time machine a few times, causing it to shed lavender-scented dust.

“I gave Wayne Rubblefish direct orders not to waste his time meddling in your affairs.”

“I suppose we can leave, then?” Dawson Filter said.

“No, I think it’s best if we call Rubblefish down here now to sort this out.”

The man pulled a pager from his satchel and pressed several buttons on it. After several awkward minutes, Wayne Rubblefish emerged.

“You wanted to speak with me, Xavier X?”

“Yes. I would like you to explain to me what this time machine is doing in this room against my direct orders.”

“Well, you see,” said Wayne, shuffling a deck of cards, “this is a time machine. You only gave me orders to leave these folks alone a month ago; but I brought them here a year before that. It’s just that they’re arriving now.”

“They say they’re leaving.”

“Umbel-”

“I don’t think you kidnapped these individuals. I think you brought them here to conspire against the Illuminati for the Blind.”

Xavier X pulled back his hood, revealing his glassy eyes and bald spot. Wayne Rubblefish pushed Sylvester, Dawson, and Felipe into the time machine and jumped in after them.

“The moon, 1932?” Felipe asked. Dawson Filter nodded, and the machine twitched.

When the door opened, Twelve-Anne Stradivari and Babe Listowel rushed over to greet the time travellers.

“How did it go?” Twelve-Anne asked, “Did you find the Meaning?”

“No, we picked the wrong Sherlock Dracula. We need to find his twin, Sherlock Dracula,” answered Dawson Filter.

Wayne Rubblefish had run out of the machine, and had set to work knocking items off of the Quest Committee’s tables, making sure to pick items at irregular intervals to maximize unsightliness.

“Where is this Sherlock Dracula?” Babe Listowel inquired inquisitively.

“Franell. It’s a dwarf planet, largely uncharted.”

“Oh! That Sherlock Dracula.” Felipe said, “Nice man, bit eccentric. I have Franell’s coordinates for June 27, 2096. That’s when he likes me to visit. Hey, they’re even on the floor. How convenient.”

Twelve-Anne picked up the octagonal piece of paper to which Felipe pointed. 1889127, 1782. June 27, 2096. She tossed the paper to Felipe, who caught it in the back of his hand. Without skipping a beat or skipping, Felipe typed the coordinates into his time machine. The time machine had the habit of making sounds without any regularity, ranging from loud clanking to rhythmic whistling. It gave the impression that the machine was in need of maintenance, although Felipe was never able to stop the sounds with any repairs. This time it purred.

The Quest Committee and Wayne Rubblefish boarded the time machine. Wayne stuck his foot in the door to try to keep it from closing, but only lost his shoe in the attempt. Felipe pressed the button to travel, and the machine gave a sound very much like chuckling.

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Dawson Filter as He Relates to Iron


Trapped in Saskatchewan, Dawson Filter and Sylvester Denny saw no option but to build a time machine. The main problem with this was that they didn’t know how. They remembered from spending time in Felipe’s time machine that it had a boxy sort of structure, with some sciency bits in the middle. Dawson Filter used the skills he’d gained studying origami to build a few model boxes on Sherlock Dracula’s porch, but it looked unlikely that they’d get much further than that. To make Dawson Filter feel better about his work, Sylvester Denny took a pen from the curb and wrote “Time Machine” on one of the boxes.

Just as Sylvester finished dotting his i’s, a portal opened by Sherlock’s mailbox. Out ran three visually impaired hoodlums, who kicked Sylvester’s shins, took the box, and ran back into the vortex.

“Seems like the thugs who got us stuck here are unsupportive of us leaving,” Dawson Filter remarked.

“Might as well give up now and never try to leave again,” Sylvester Denny added.

Dawson Filter began to recreate a diagram he thought he remembered from Felipe’s bulletin board, but before his 34th mark on the paper, the portal opened again, and a dentist with severe astigmatism lit the diagram on fire.

“Go to the iron store and get some iron,” Dawson Filter said to Sylvester, having an idea.

Paper was light, and easily disposable. Quickly disposable. If Dawson and Sylvester could force Wayne Rubblefish’s agents of destruction to stay longer, they should be able to run through the vortex themselves, quite likely removing them from Saskatchewan. Iron was reportedly heavy, and consequently difficult to lift. Difficult tasks take greater amounts of time than facile tasks.

When Sylvester Denny returned from the iron store, Dawson Filter took out the fire the dentist had left on his diagram; and began to weld the iron into a cube. Sylvester took out his pen to label the cube a time machine, and once again the vortex swirled at the end of Sherlock’s driveway.

“Ack! Terror because the people have come to take our time machine!” Sylvester Denny winked at Dawson to let him know that he was acting.

As four men struggled with the box, Dawson and Sylvester ran through the portal.

On the other side was a shockingly empty room. It had no furniture or dust. It did have air, but it wasn’t all that visible. It didn’t even have doors. After a few minutes of nothing, the portal closed behind them, revealing that the room was the end of a hallway. Walking down the hallway, they passed a door marked “Dry Storage,” and another marked “Moist Storage.” They stopped at one marked “Prisoners,” hoping to ask for directions. Behind the door was one Felipe, an intern of sorts, strapped to the bottom of a chair.

“Felipe!” Dawson Filter exclaimed, “You look very upside down today.”

“They hid inside m’time machine, Dawson. They took me here and now I am here, Dawson.”

Dawson Filter surveyed the room; and after seeing that Felipe’s time machine was not present, made an oral note of this. Sylvester Denny unstrapped Felipe, who, in his freedom, stood up.

“My time machine is dry;” Felipe said, “Now where would a dry thing be stored in a place like this?”

Sylvester suddenly remembered a door that he used to walk by as he was looking for Felipe.

“Inside of a room that says dry storage on the door!”

The trio ran into the hallway and kicked down the door Sylvester Denny mentioned. Indeed, there was a room behind it. Indeed, there was a time machine in the room. And not only in word but also in deed, the trio entered said time machine.

Dawson Filter as He Relates to Visually Impaired Gangs


“Give a man a time machine, and he’ll embark on a quest. Teach a man to catch a time machine, and the first man’s day gets distinctly worse,” Wayne Rubblefish said to his pupils. He’d grown bored of meeting up with Dawson Filter and his band of merry travellers to intimidate them directly, in favour of training others to take action.

Wayne Rubblefish was Director of Human Relations for the Illuminati for the Blind, a secret and largely evil society. Until recently, he had been wholly obedient to the Head of the group, Xavier X. But Xavier and Wayne’s values differed. Xavier X felt that the society’s mission would be best fulfilled by establishing a totalitarian government to the far reaches of the galaxy, with himself as Emperor. Conversely, Wayne said that the group should focus its efforts more on the torment of individuals. In fact, Wayne Rubblefish did support the idea of a totalitarian government; but felt that he would be a better leader for it, and also wanted to be its leader. He felt a duty to thwart Dawson Filter from discovering the True Meaning of Feelings before establishing the new order, though; because that was what an older version of himself had told him one day in April. Besides, devoting the Illuminati for the Blind’s activities to this insignificant mission would give him time to plan his government. But Xavier X became impatient and told Wayne to discontinue the anti-Filter (Contamination, as it was sometimes called) project. Officially, he did; but he was secretly training a small team to find the Quest Committee’s time machine and thwart Dawson Filter and co. indefinitely.

Dawson Filter and co. also had a plan. Using the power of reading, Dawson Filter had determined that the author of the crossword puzzle that started his quest was named Sherlock Dracula.

No relation. source

Felipe, an intern of sorts, had kept and index of everyone in the world when he saved them from a pancontinental fire. There were two people named Sherlock Dracula. Twins. One had an unlisted address, the other’s was listed as “351 Watson Dr. Fallacy, SK.” Felipe, Dawson Filter, and Sylvester Denny boarded Felipe’s time machine. Sylvester set the coordinates for Fallacy, Saskatchewan, 12 October 2026. Felipe pressed a button and travelled.

In 2026, after walking out of the machine, the trio was surrounded by a gang of visually impaired thugs.

“It’s them,” said an elderly woman with one eye.

“We’re here to entrap you,” a legally blind former undercover police officer snarled.

Sylvester Denny darted between two hooligans who appeared to be fully blind. Now that the society members were all on guard, Dawson Filter and Felipe dashed between the two most feeble-looking ones. The thinner one grabbed Felipe’s leg, but in doing so, broke his own arm and relented. On the ground, the thug, blind and broken, called out:

“Go on! Go to Mr. Dracula’s house! We have your time machine. Good luck getting out of Saskatchewan without a time machine.”

The trio looked at one another. The woman with one eye slid into the machine. They were so close to Sherlock Dracula, and it would really spoil the moment to have to come back to Fallacy some other time.

“I can stay with the time machine,” Felipe said, “you go on, I’ll come back for you.”

So sooner had Dawson Filter and Sylvester Denny turned around to walk to Watson Drive than Felipe sprinted through the crowd and hopped back in the time machine, hardly closing the door before the machine shuddered and disappeared.

. . .

Dawson Filter rang the doorbell.

“Dracula residence, Sherlock speaking,” a voice called through the door.

“Hello, we’re Dawson Filter and Sylv-“

“Excellent name, come in.”

Sherlock’s house smelled exactly like the sort of house that would belong to someone in his late 80’s, although Sherlock was clearly 59.63. Potpourri lined the windowsills, and aloe vera plants were strewn across the floor.

“Did you ever write crossword puzzles?” asked Dawson Filter.

“No, you must be thinking of my brother. He lives on Franell, now. It’s a dwarf planet he discovered in the mid-reaches of the galaxy. But don’t tell him it’s a dwarf planet.”

“Okay, thanks for your time.”

Dawson Filter and Sylvester Denny stepped out onto Sherlock’s porch to wait for Felipe. After a week, it became clear that problems had happened

Dawson Filter as He Relates to the Elderly


Dawson Filter looked around the room that he’d just entered. The first place he looked was at a calendar, since he’d come to the room by time machine, and had an imperfect biological clock.

“October 14, 1932,” the calendar said. Dawson Filter initially thought it was lying; talking calendar technology was only invented in 2021, after all. Then he remembered time travel, and it made sense for the calendar to be then.

The second place he looked was at the person in the room, whom he identified as his friend Felipe, an intern of sorts.

“Hello,” he said to the aforementioned person, “where are we?”

“On the Earth Moon, Dawson,” Felipe replied, “on the Earth Moon.”

Felipe had aged. Grey hair grew from his scalp, and his nose had turned downward slightly. Seeing Dawson Filter’s eyes move along the edge of his hairline, Felipe decided to answer as many of the questions in Dawson’s head as possible.

“Do you remember the apocalypse, Dawson? When that arsonist Makayla Pundit burned down that forest and every single fire hazard in the world burst into flames as a result? I saved everyone. Did it in four seconds, by some counts. I counted twelve years. That’s still over 400 people a second, so it was a productive twelve years. Then I went on a series of adventures for thirty-five. I set up this place as my base. As a result of these things, I am old.”

Dawson Filter thought about what Felipe said. He thought about his own mission, to discover the True Meaning of Feelings. He’d given Felipe the time machine as part of an internship program; so Felipe could help out around the quest. Felipe had shown great initiative, and Dawson Filter would be more than willing to offer him a full-time position. But Felipe was over qualified.

“I was thinking that maybe we could work together on the feelings quest,” Felipe continued, cutting off Dawson mid-thought, “You and the rest of the Quest Committee can stay at my base. The Luna programme doesn’t start until 1959, so no one’s going to find us. It’ll be just like the good old days, but I’ll have a few more quests under my belt this time. I told some people in the future about your quest, too. And how to build time machines. Theirs aren’t as nice as ours, though; and they haven’t made much progress with the quest, either, except to establish that it has something to do with the way people feel. I can bring your troop here now if you like. It’ll be even easier if they like.”

Dawson Filter nodded, and saw Felipe come back with Sylvester Denny, Twelve-Anne, and Babe Listowel a few seconds before Felipe left.

“Hello, all,” he said.

“Hello, one,” they replied in unison.

“What can I do for you?”

“Not much, what can we do for you?”

“Equally little. Let’s do the quest things.”

Babe Listowel set down a table he’d been carrying to lay out everything the group had gathered. The crossword puzzle, the IFTB’s Guide to Being, Twelve-Anne’s memoirs. Dawson Filter suddenly realized why Felipe had brought them 1932: because 1932 is a leap year, and it’s symbolic of all the leaps the Quest Committee was sure to make. Felipe sure was good at symbolism.

Dawson Filter as He Relates to Omelets


Returning from Antarctica, Dawson Filter walked into a bank. It was a nice bank, plenty of walls, a flower pot on the windowsill. Not every person in the bank was so nice, though. There was a nanny with a “Support Arson” button yelling at her dog, a gold-plated man robbing the bank, a butler who was a real grouch, and a teller in the habit of beating her ferrets. It was the robber who caught Dawson Filter’s attention first.

“You can’t rob in here! You’ll only bring in an atmosphere of negativity,” Dawson Filter objected.

As the man turned around, it became apparent that he was Wayne Rubblefish, Dawson Filter’s long-standing archenemy.

“I was wondering when I’d get your attention,” Mr. Rubblefish said, “this is the fifth bank I’ve robbed, and the first time you bothered to show up.”

Dawson Filter invited Wayne to a nearby gazebo, where they could talk matters out with fewer shady characters watching. They arrived not long after, wet because of the unaforementioned rain.

“You know, Filter,” Wayne Rubblefish said, “the thing about gazebos is they have to be built to exist. But you can’t build an omelette without breaking some eggs. I had a friend in Reno, Greasy-Palmed Paul, he once tried to built a gazebo without hurting anyone’s feelings. But then there was the guy whose house he wanted to build it on, and then there was the police; and in the end, that gazebo never did get built, became ol’ Paul was afraid of making the pig who owned the house and the pigs who owned the city feel a little sadness. You know what I’m saying?”

Dawson Filter shook his head, as Wayne had mispronounced the word ‘sadness’ as ‘pancreas.’

“I’m sayin’ you’re a pig, D. And your quest is an egg. And I’m going to fry myself up a nice bacon omelet.”

Dawson Filter had set out on a quest some time ago to discover the True Meaning of Feelings. It was the clue to a crossword puzzle. The true meaning of feelings. 241 letters. 132nd was A. The newspaper that would have published the answer was destroyed along with a decent portion of North America before Dawson could read it. He tried to think back to the name of the crossword author. Plaid Stevens? No, that wasn’t it. Oh yes, Sherlock Dracula. This would be a good name to investigate as Wayne Rubblefish opposed the quest.

“Of what omelet do you speak?” Dawson Filter asked.

“I have a list of things I intend to do before I die. Ending your quest is next on the list. This is, of course, a dull item, and one with which I’d like very much to get over. After that I plan to establish a new world order, which I shall call ‘the Official Government.’ But alas, I am a man of rigid schedule. I’d like to skip the item that involves interacting with you directly to make your life worse, and get to the stuff with the government and the fun; but that is not the manner in which I roll.”

Wayne Rubblefish took a chain out of his satchel, tied Dawson Filter to the gazebo, and left.

Felipe, an intern of sorts, arrived in the time machine that the Quest Committee had decided to use when any member was in a real jam.

“What are you doing, Felipe?” asked Dawson Filter, “This is hardly a real jam; I could probably break these chains with my bare hands, if not with my mind.”

“No,” Felipe said, “Wayne leaves you to die if I don’t save you.”

Dawson Filter stepped into the machine, and stepped out with a slight headache into a mostly-white room.

Dawson Filter as He Relates to Ice


Being in Antarctica, Dawson Filter was cold. He made a comment about this to Sylvester Denny, who said that he was also cold; but was worried what his friends would think if he mentioned it. Babe Listowel placed his hand on Sylvester Denny’s forearm; and, feeling no difference in temperature between their respective skins, determined that he must also be cold.

“I bet that we would be less cold if were not in Antarctica,” bet Sylvester Denny.

“We should not be cold. We should not be in Antarctica,” reasoned Dawson Filter.

“We would not be in Antarctica if we left” ~ Babe Listowel, 2026.

“We could leave with a boat,” said Twelve-Anne, who was also there.

Babe Listowel instructed the group to close its eyes. After 8 hours, he told them that they could re-open their eyes, revealing a sailboat he had carved out of ice.

The sides of the ship were rough, and the sail was too octagonal to win any beauty pageants. The ship was only twelve seconds old, and was therefore too young to win any lotteries, either. Still, the sea didn’t really have any standards as to which boats were worthy to enter its waters, so the craft was deemed seaworthy.

The Quest Committee boarded the vessel, and adjusted its sail due north, to Murderville.

Dawson Filter rested his head against the halyard and followed an especially blue patch of sky with his eyes. Sylvester Denny set about chasing all the rats off of the ship, and Twelve-Anne worked on her memoir. Babe Listowel bailed out water that must have leaked into the boat. Dawson, Sylvester, and Twelve-Anne broke from their activities to sing some shanties; but Babe Listowel remained unable to find where the water was coming from.

“Is it raining?” he asked the others.

Sylvester Denny checked his barometer.

“No.”

Science Background for this Portion of the Story:

Ice can melt. When it melts, it becomes water. Water is dangerous, and ought never to be touched. Our heroes are forced to face this reality when their ice-boat begins to melt. Water, when heated to 100 °C, boils and turns into water vapour. This provides one method of escape for our heroes, namely to evaporate the ocean, making the water benign; however, this requires more time and resources than they currently have, which is why they opt to scream for help.

“Aaaah! Help!” our heroes screamed.

Hearing their cry of distress, a group of people dressed as sailors turned their boat to face the crew of the ice boat. The leader held up a resealable bag and a lifesaver.

“We’ll rescue you if you buy these illicit drugs from us.”

“Alright,” Sylvester Denny said.

“Jokes on you. We’re undercover cops,” the leader said, pulling out a badge.

“THAT’S ENTRAPMENT!” Sylvester objected.

“Silence, you degenerate. I’m going to throw you these handcuffs, and you’re going to put them on. That goes for the rest of your crew, too. You’re everything that’s wrong with this ocean.”

A tall woman with a police-officer-ish face threw four pairs of handcuffs that were fastened to a pole with ropes into the ocean. The members of the Quest Committee fastened them onto their own wrists; loose enough to be humane but tight enough that they felt the weight of what they’d done. The officer who’d spoken turned a crank, hoisting them onto the coast-guard ship. A burly, toothless man with custom sunglasses labeled “Luther O’Finn” chained them together at the knee, and threw them into a room labeled “Prison.”

Dawson Filter as He Relates to Chairs


Dawson Filter whistled. He was in Antarctica at the time. Babe Listowel, who had the idea to invade Antarctica in the first place, looked around himself for defending troops. Seeing none, he took out a pen to write down the number of defending troops, and panned the area for civilians to rule. One stood by a table South of the ocean. His name tag read “North Tender.”

“We don’t have chairs, so you’ll have to stand or lie down or sit on something that’s not a chair or kneel or jump or something,” North Tender called out to the group.

“What to you mean ‘we’?” Babe Listowel asked, “There’s only one of you!”

“Then who am I talking to?”

“You’re on our side, then?”

North Tender pointed to Babe’s lack of chairs. “Looks like we’ve got something in common. I’m Tender, by the way; but most of my friends call me North, on account of my first name.”

“I am Babe Listowel, king of Murderville, Nevada. I have come to invade your lands.”

“Nevada…” North Tender thought for a moment, “…I guess that’d be north, wouldn’t it? If you’re planning on living here, you’d better change your name to North Babe. We have certain conventions here.”

The rest of the group introduced themselves, and North Tender called over some of his friends.

“This is North Winnie and North Dallas, and their son Neutral Peter. He born yesterday. People whom I just mentioned, this is other people. I forget most of their names. They’re from up north.”

Everyone took turns making eye contact until they all felt they knew each other adequately.

“Father, do they have any chairs?” Neutral Peter asked North. He could have easily looked up and seen the groups glaring lack of chairs, or stopped being everything wrong with the youth of Antarctica and listened to his elder; but Neutral Peter was only born the previous day, so he can perhaps be excused, although he was 89 in doughnut years. North Dallas took the perhaps and excused his son.

Babe Listowel began to feel the heat of the invasion starting to fade. He took out his pen again, filled it with gasoline, and took out a highlighter. He covered the portion of the lighter that read “high” to deceive the Antarcticans. Holding the highlighter to the pen, he warned them to step back.

“Oh no!” cried North Winnie, “What are we going to do about all this danger?”

“Flee!” two Norths and a Neutral suggested in unison. As they dashed away, they stumbled across a penguin and saw an opportunity. North Tender picked up the penguin and covered the portion that read “guin.”

“Look, Babe, we both have pens; both of us do. We don’t need to fight or something! We can just do something else.”

Dawson Filter let out a clap of agreement.

“See, that one gets it,” North continued, “if we co-operate, we can do something else! Co-can! Co-can! Co-can! Co-can!”

Others joined the chant. Dawson Filter smiled as Babe Listowel threw his highlighter onto the ice. This was what feelings were all about.