Tag Archives: serial

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.

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Dawson Filter as He Relates to Thumbtacks


“I would like to call Odysseus Packard to the armchair of justice!” The nameless lawyer proclaimed, for the sake of the entire human race. Except you.

Odysseus used his ears to hear said lawyer; and fulfilled the man’s desire, submitting to his exclamation mark’s authority.

“Would you please describe the events of 2:47, February 11, 2113, Mr. Packard?” The man who only wished he could be named Mr. Packard asked.

“Yes. Oh, yes.” Odysseus confirmed. “Yes, well I took a single bite from a stalk of celery; promptly after which I spied with my very left eye a man-yes, a man-walking. I turned my head to see another man, a replacement man; but truly only a little silhouetto of a man, for he seemed to be evading taxes. I shouted ‘You’re not the man you once were my friend, but only a faded silhouette.’ He turned to me and said ‘Sorry, I didn’t see you there’; then he made a triangle around his ear with his fingers. I, yes, I, fired off a few dozen warning shots via gun; and he, yes, he, ran; but not before dropping his birth certificate. I picked it up, put it in my left pocket, and then 2:47 was over.”

“Thank you, Mr. Packard, I know this is hard for you.” The lawyer said, violating his probation by closing his mouth, concealing the firearm he stored within. “I have no more questions.”

Twelve-Anne Stradivari nodded to Dawson Filter, and strolled to the armchair of justice, as though it were possible to simply stroll to the armchair of justice.

“Mr. Packard,” She began “Did you get a decent look at the offender’s face?”

“We will never look back, look back at the faded silhouette.” Odysseus replied, cryptically as the day is long.

“What was the race of the man you saw?”

“Caucasian, with some gold plates about his arms, torso, and legs.”

“And would you care to state the race of my defendant?”

“I refuse allow ethnicity to influence the verdict of this case!”

“Can you confirm that he is of  a different race than Caucasian?”

“He is everything a Caucasian is and more!”

Seeing that this line of questioning was somehow yielding no results, Twelve-Anne decided to try to convince the jury that time travel was a thing, so that they would have an easier time believing that Dawson Filter et al. were time travelers.

“Do you see this thumbtack?” She said, pulling a thumbtack from her right pocket.

“Yes.” Odysseus replied, predictably.

“Do you know the make of this thumbtack?”

“No, miss.”

“This is an Interwell Lp04, my good man, my father used to work at the company. I found it by a vending machine in 2016. According to my research, they stopped making these in 2037; they said the young generation didn’t deserve the superior quality that only an Interwell can provide. Tell me: do you see any rust defiling its flawless surface?”

“No, I do not.” Odysseus Packard replied.

“Would it therefore be safe to say that this thumbtack traveled through time?” Twelve-Anne prodded.

“As safe as it is to say that I can say whatever I want to with no consequences, if not more so.”

“Then is it not also reasonable to say that my defendant, with whom this thumbtack and I were found, is a time traveler, and did not exist at the time of the offence?”

“Yes, I suppose that yes, him being a time traveler is reasonable enough; but even then, there’s no reason under the sun why he couldn’t’ve committed tax evasio-”

“No further questions.” Twelve-Anne interjected, turning to sit back down on the good bench.

The members of the Quest Committee who were already seated on the bench clenched their fists, and pointed their thumbs up for Twelve-Anne; using the common hitchhiker’s symbol to congratulate the weary traveler on a job well done.