FC102 – The

0

Posted on by

FC102 - The

FC102 - The

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

(Download/iTunes/RSS)

Hello, and welcome to FlashCast 102.

Prepare yourself for: Four Loko apocalypse, the bionic Olympics, fake Ukranian diplomats, the age of consent, and Mulligan Smith.

* * *

Huge thanks to:

* * *

* * *

* * *

* * *

Audio-dacity of Hope:

  • Check out the new items on the store!
  • * * *

    Art of Narration:

  • Email Opop about Skinner Co. Ink at opopanax at skinner dot fm!
  • * * *

    Backroom Plots:

  • Proud Mary
  • Park Right
  • Mulligan Smith in Life in the Fast Lane
  • * * *

    Also, many thanks, as always, Retro Jim, of RelicRadio.com for hosting FlashPulp.com and the wiki!

    * * *

    If you have comments, questions or suggestions, you can find us at http://skinner.fm, or email us text/mp3s to comments@flashpulp.com.

    FlashCast is released under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Unported License.

    FP369 – Mulligan Smith in Life in the Fast Lane

    0

    Posted on by

    Mulligan Smith, PI, - A Skinner Co. Network Podcast

    Welcome to Flash Pulp, episode three hundred and sixty-nine.

    Flash PulpTonight we present Mulligan Smith in Life in the Fast Lane, Part 1 of 1

    Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

    Download MP3

    (RSS / iTunes)

     

    This week’s episodes are brought to you by We Are Not Here To Please You

     

    Flash Pulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age – three to ten minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings.

    Tonight Mulligan Smith, PI, finds himself doing some fast driving.

     

    Mulligan Smith in Life in the Fast Lane

    Written by J.R.D. Skinner
    Art and Narration by Opopanax
    and Audio produced by Jessica May

     

    The sedan, rarely driven over fifty, was still moving nimbly at eighty.

    Mulligan, behind the wheel, had banked onto the freeway while the redheaded woman to his right was distracted with her phone, and, as such, the sudden acceleration had come to her as a surprise.

    Rita Perkins was fifty-two, wore her hair in a bushy loose ponytail, and was holding a clipboard emblazoned with a Learning Curves logo over her short green skirt.

    “Where – why are we on this road?” she asked.

    Though there was a brake at her foot the dense pack of high-speed traffic meant she could only use it with careful consideration.

    Pulling smoothly left, Smith answered, “I thought I’d work on my lane changes?”

    Rather than answer, his passenger took a moment to gather her thoughts as he weaved between a transport truck and a harried commuter shouting at his earpiece.

    Watching the man’s bobbing tie as he argued into the air, she bit her lip and snuggled her seat, but, a mile later, with open road ahead, she made a second attempt to approach the conversation.

    “You seem exceptionally comfortable behind the wheel.”

    This was true. While waiting out a philandering husband in the parking lot of a Sheraton, the private investigator had recently calculated that he’d spent more hours that week in his Tercel’s driver’s seat than he had sleeping. Better yet, the little Nissan he was currently piloting handled quite like his rolling office.

    Still, he had inquiries to make.

    Mulligan Smith, PI, - A Skinner Co. Network Podcast“Sure,” he said, “watch this.”

    With a flourish of heel-toe work the car shifted two lanes, ducked in front of a merging minivan, then dropped onto the exit ramp.

    There was another moment of silence as they reentered downtown’s molasses flow, but, once she’d regained her breath, Rita almost posed a question.

    “You clearly don’t need any training time…”

    “You come highly recommended,” Mulligan replied, as if it were an answer. He then retrieved one of the most useful weapons he carried as a PI: The goofy smile he’d practiced in the mirror as a teen.

    It was a grin that could be forgiven anything. It had left most of his childhood punishments without teeth, and he hoped it might now bring he and his instructor closer now that she’d been reminded of her own mortality.

    Grabbing the lip of her V-necked blouse, Ms. Perkins adjusted her cleavage with two indelicate yanks. From the corner of his vision, however, Mulligan judged that there was no change between the before and after – beyond having drawn his gaze.

    He turned, his mask carefully in place, and she smirked back. Smith knew better than to move the conversation along, though – instead he set his left hand high on the wheel and his right across the thigh of his jeans.

    Finally, after a half block, she came to the question he awaited.

    “Who referred you?”

    “Cory Winkler, poor kid.”

    Rita asked, “Cory Winkler?” but he knew she meant, “Poor kid?”

    “Yeah, I mean, clearly he suggested it before everything fell apart…”

    The car had slowed, but Smith could tell it was now Perkins’ mind that was racing – he simply needed to keep it on track.

    “It’s really too bad,” he continued, “such a handsome bugger and doing so well at school. I mean – sixteen is just too young, you know?”

    Turning to give her his, “are you ok?” look, Mulligan took the opportunity to cast a reassuring pat to the knuckles kneading Rita’s clipboard.

    She gobbled up this offered comfort with pinching fingers.

    “What happened?” she asked.

    To add to the gravitas, he waited for a red light before answering.

    “It was one of those crazy new untreatable but hyper-aggressive strains of syphilis. One minute I’m watching him shoot three pointers in the driveway while talking stock options with his dad, the next I’m standing beside an open casket and trying to explain to the old man how sorry I am.”

    “Syphilis?” asked Rita.

    Single word responses were a nice sign of strain, and Smith thought he might just have the race in the bag.

    “The doctors said he probably had it for maybe a year, but it was dormant. Then, a couple Friday’s back, bam, he got hauled into the ER by some hooligan friends who thought he’d drunk himself into a case alcohol poisoning.

    “By Monday he was gone.”

    “Oh my God,” said the woman. Her face was transparent beneath her blush, her lips blue behind her lipstick. She began to sob.

    “You knew him well?”

    “No – yes – sort of.”

    His speed now a steady thirty, Mulligan gave a gentle squeeze from within his hand’s bony cocoon and asked, “you – you slept with him?”

    “Yeah,” she said, then, with a hiccup in her voice, she repeated it. “Yeah.”

    “It’ll be ok,” answered Smith, “but you’ll have to find a new job.”

    “New job? I need to find a doctor, not a job.”

    “Nah, I’m just messing with you. It was his Dad who put me onto you. Little Cory crashed the family Beemer on his test day. He was wondering if Learning Curves was maybe running a straight scam – you know, I’ll pay you a C and you give me an A – but it didn’t take much reading into the hormonal online reviews, written by pleasantly surprised teenage boys, to figure out what it was he learned in his time with you.”

    The storm upon Rita’s face broke into a gale of relieved laughter, and Mulligan retrieved his hand.

    There was something in her giggle that jabbed at the space just behind his right eye.

    Pulling alongside his Tercel, he popped the memory stick from the driver-facing camera Learning Curves had installed as an educational aid. His client didn’t pay him for opinions, but he couldn’t help himself.

    “Laugh all you like, Ms. Robinson, but if you were a fifty-year-old man macking on a sixteen-year-old student the judicial system would run you through a meat grinder.

    “If there’s enough money in a civil suit Winkler Senior’s lawyer still might.”

    Killing the engine, he stood.

     

    Flash Pulp is presented by http://skinner.fm, and is released under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Unported License.

    Intro and outro work provided by Jay Langejans of The New Fiction Writers podcast.

    Freesound.org credits:

    Text and audio commentaries can be sent to comments@flashpulp.com – but be aware that it may appear in the FlashCast.

    – and thanks to you, for reading. If you enjoyed the story, tell your friends.

    FC101 – Tumblr

    0

    Posted on by

    FC101 - Tumblr

    FC101 - Tumblr

    Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

    (Download/iTunes/RSS)

    Hello, and welcome to FlashCast 101.

    Prepare yourself for: Game of Thrones: The Movie, South African Robot Police, Book-Free Prisoners, Belly Dancers, and Park Right

    * * *

    Huge thanks to:

    * * *

    * * *

    * * *

    * * *

    Audio-dacity of Hope:

  • Check out the new items on the store!
  • * * *

    Art of Narration:

  • Email Opop about Skinner Co. Ink at opopanax at skinner dot fm!
  • * * *

    Backroom Plots:

  • Proud Mary
  • Park Right
  • * * *

    Also, many thanks, as always, Retro Jim, of RelicRadio.com for hosting FlashPulp.com and the wiki!

    * * *

    If you have comments, questions or suggestions, you can find us at http://skinner.fm, or email us text/mp3s to comments@flashpulp.com.

    FlashCast is released under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Unported License.

    True Crime Tuesday: Cost? No Man Can Say. Edition

    0

    Posted on by

    Famouse Fantastic Mysteries Pulp Cover

    Amazing Stories - Blitzkrieg in the Past - Dinosaurs & Nazis Pulp Cover

    Everyone involved in today’s True Crime Tuesday was chasing something – but at what cost? All sought something, and some, like Jared Ehlers, (as the HuffPo reports,) simply even took it.

    The U.S. attorney’s office in Utah announced Wednesday that a grand jury returned the indictment against 35-year-old Jared Ehlers of Moab. He is facing up to 20 years in prison on the most serious of four counts.

    Twenty years is serious business – who or what do you love enough to risk twenty years in prison for?

    Did you say dinosaurs? Jared did.

    Authorities in southeast Utah say [a] three-toed ancient track was pried last month from the sandstone on the Hell’s Revenge Trail in the Sand Flats Recreation Area near Moab.

    […]

    Utah Bureau of Land Management District paleontologist Rebecca Hunt-Foster says the dinosaur tracks are 190 million years old. She says they are one-of-a-kind tracks that don’t have a price.

    Still no word on if any amber or mosquitoes were involved, nor if Mr. Ehlers lead police on a high speed raptor-back chase.
    Doc Savage 1933 - Dinosaur Pulp Cover
    Jules Bahler, however, needed money but wanted fame – as mlive.com reports:

    Investigators with the FBI have sworn out a complaint against Jules Bahler, charging him with single counts of bank robbery and using and carrying a firearm during and in relation to a crime of violence. The document alleges Bahler on the afternoon of Wednesday, March 5, entered the Chemical Bank branch at 1513 Columbus Ave. in Bay City, brandished a submachine gun and fled with about $7,000.

    The complaint says Bahler committed two similar crimes in Pontiac, robbing a Genisys Credit Union of $4,300 on Feb. 26 and a Bank of America branch of $4,000 on March 4.

    Another serious bit of business. How did they bust him? Well, I suppose I’ve already given you the hint that he wanted fame, so, did he leave some Riddler-esque clue? Did he call in a cryptic tip to the Chief of Police? Did he taunt the law with letters to the media?

    Nope.

    On Thursday, March 6, investigators learned that Bahler’s Facebook page — where he identifies himself as “King Romeo” — contained images of him brandishing a submachine gun. Investigators believed Bahler’s face matched that of the robber captured by bank surveillance cameras, the complaint states.

    The Facebook page indicates that on March 5, Bahler posted a caption with the photos that reads, “Bought my first house And chopper today … lifes great.”

    Jules BahlerA surveillance photo of the suspected robber from the Bay City Chemical Bank branch on Columbus Avenue. Police say the man is Jules Bahler and have charged him in federal court.
    The page features a photograph of a home in Pontiac, which the FBI and Oakland County Sheriff’s deputies began staking out on Friday, March 7.

    […]

    Officers initiated a traffic stop and arrested Bahler. They found a submachine gun in a duffle bag in the car, the complaint states.

    Bahler confessed to his involvement in all three robberies and gave authorities consent to search his new home[.]

    Famouse Fantastic Mysteries Pulp Cover
    Needs, however, can get rather complex. For example, as ABC news reports, the needs of Barbara Bienvenue and her boyfriend, Paul, might seem rather tricky – after all, they were expecting quints:

    Marie-Pier Gagnon, a reporter for Le Canada Français, a local French-language newspaper that covers Saint-Jean-sur-Richelieu, Quebec, reported on Jan. 23 that the couple was expecting quadruplets. They would be named Alexander, Sebastian, Charles and Rosalie, and they would be born via Cesarean section on Feb. 22 at the CHU Sainte-Justine Hospital in Montreal. Photos of a colorful room with wall-to-wall cribs accompanied the article.

    Gagnon wrote that the news spurred a movement on social networks to help the couple, and donations poured in.

    So – let’s take a moment and talk about cost. For example, knowing this is a TCT, and knowing I’ve just introduced you to a set of quints, are you starting to wonder what cost this piece is going to take on your heart?

    I can assure you that no babies were hurt in the making of this post.

    No babies at all.

    It was only when Barbara Bienvenue, 37, went to the hospital to deliver the babies this month that doctors pulled her boyfriend aside to tell him she wasn’t pregnant and never had been, according to CTV, a Canadian news station.

    “I lost everything, it was my whole life,” her boyfriend Paul Servat told the Toronto Sun, adding that Bienvenue told him she was expecting twins, then triplets, then quadruplets, then quintuplets. He said her belly grew, and she experienced morning sickness and lactation.

    How badly are you seeking something to believe an ever increasing count of children?

    How badly do you need to be seeking something to fake lactation or trick your body into doing so?

    Everybody's Combined with Romance - DANGER pulp cover

    FP368 – Park Right

    0

    Posted on by

    Welcome to Flash Pulp, episode three hundred and sixty-eight.

    Flash PulpTonight we present Park Right, Part 1 of 1

    Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

    Download MP3

    (RSS / iTunes)

     

    This week’s episodes are brought to you by Every Photo Tells…

     

    Flash Pulp is an experiment in broadcasting fresh pulp stories in the modern age – three to ten minutes of fiction brought to you Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings.

    Tonight we present a tale of superheroism and traffic, as seen from the dash of a slightly beaten Honda Accord.

     

    Park Right

    Written by J.R.D. Skinner
    Art and Narration by Opopanax
    and Audio produced by Jessica May

     

    Mort sat behind the wheel and idly finger-drummed to the Rush song whispering from the radio. He’d turn it up, but he knew Tillie would object.

    Instead, he did some complaining of his own.

    “I read a theory on the internet that it’s a modified combat vehicle. If I parked a modified combat vehicle in the middle of the street you can believe someone would do something about it.”

    Tillie looked over from her Twitter post.

    “Like what?” she asked. “Tow it? You think there’s a wrecker in this town brave enough to get that close?”

    Glancing at her furious thumbs, Mort risked edging Geddy Lee up a little louder.

    “The cops should get involved,” he muttered to his window. “It ain’t like he’s got a license for the thing.”

    “If the cops in this city could do anything about guys like him then he wouldn’t need to be here in the first place. Besides, having him around makes me feel safe.”

    Mort frowned. “What’re we even waiting for? Another bank robbery? There’s no goddamn bank on -”

    His rambling was interrupted by the arrival of a dozen figures, in leather pants, who appeared from the alley running between a shop whose sign simply read “CONVENIENCE” and a bar that had yet to open for the day.

    The thick-armed men, all wearing buzzard masks, surrounded the low black car that was the source of Mort’s ire.

    * * *

    “Listen, all I’m saying is that my cousin can get us a gun that’ll knock down a small house. Why don’t we just climb onto a building and -”

    A Skinner Co. Science Fiction PodcastThe squat scavenger was cut short by the leader of the flock.

    “If your ideas were worth anything, Orlando, you’d be picking the head gear. Shut the hell up and get in line.”

    The thugs moved shoulder-to-shoulder, blocking the road machine from Mort and Tillie’s view, as well as that of the three block snarl behind them.

    “Orlando sort of has a point,” said Tallahassee, as he rearranged his flopping beak. “We could just wait till he gets back and -”

    “Nope,” answered Daytona, one of the few birdmen who’d previously encountered their foe. “I ain’t paid enough. You want me to put on this goofy canary face? Fine, I would’ve worn a mask anyway – but you want me to fist fight some crazy sumbitch with access to an arsenal of technologies that probably violates international weapons laws? Fuck that, I’ll go back to pantyhose and liquor stores.”

    The wing leader stood from his stooped position and ran a double check on his remote detonator.

    His face lit green.

    Lifting his arms and flapping his imagined feathers threateningly at the still-staring Mort, he told his companions, “quit talkin’ and get walkin’. Any second now our employer is going to make his bioengineered exit, and we do not want to be standing here when the chase starts.”

    * * *

    Tillie watched the vultures melt into the alley.

    “We’ve got to tell him!” she said.

    “I could leave a note?” replied Mort.

    “This isn’t a ‘I dinged your bumper but had to run, here’s my number,’ kind of situation. What if he thinks it’s just a flyer?”

    “Surely he’s been bombed before, I mean, he’s always parking this beast around town, he’s got to know what’s going to happen?”

    Mort turned to Tillie and was disheartened to realize she was doing the eyebrow thing.

    Knowing if he didn’t move first she’d likely climb up on the hood and wave the lamp jawed hero down as he came sprinting, Mort fished a yellow sticky pad from the glove box.

    Pushing open his door, he said, “I’ll be right back.”

    It was twenty feet to the carbon-black machine, but every step left Mort feeling as if the air was growing denser.

    Fifteen feet and he wanted to puke.

    Ten and he noted that his hands were shaking.

    Five and he couldn’t find any spit in his mouth.

    Finally he was close enough to peer unsuccessfully into the murky tint of the thick windows.

    Lifting pen to paper, he wrote: BOMB BENEATH and applied it to the dim glass, then, considering the angle of approach, he wrote it again and circled to the opposite side.

    His bases covered, he paused for a moment as Tillie raised her cellphone through to his Honda Accord’s dirty windshield and captured his deed for posterity. When he was sure she had it, he took five rapid steps forward.

    It was a bird’s scream that stopped him. A block away, a massive condor took to the sky, its wings two planes of night against the gray sky. The eastward bound shadow passed briefly over the car, over Mort, over the snarl, and disappeared behind the skyrise horizon.

    Even before Mort could again take up walking, however, a new spot formed amongst the clouds, dropped to a hundred feet, then cruised on a cushion of flame to the spot where the monstrous bird had originated.

    The jet, like the car, seemed made of edges and darkness.

    “Probably doesn’t even have a goddamn pilot’s license,” muttered the note dropper.

    Within seconds the summoned aircraft rose and gave chase.

    Mort offered a “lot of good that does traffic,” but Tillie’s attention was already elsewhere. He guessed she was probably tweeting these newest photos.

    So much for his moment of triumph.

    As he lifted his left foot, an engine roared to life behind him.

    He’d identified the cause before he realized the consequences: Autopilot to drive it home of course. Didn’t that mean the dick could’ve moved the thing at any point? Or at least left it roaming in circles?

    It was as he thought, “oh yeah, what about the bomb?” that the explosion happened.

    * * *

    Seconds later, the car was silent except for the fading baseline of Tom Sawyer. Still, Tille could not yet convince herself to open her eyes. The thought that she’d just somehow killed her husband weighed too heavily on her lashes, and so long as she did not look the possibility was not a reality.

    She was startled, then, by the slam of a door.

    “A hover jet?” said Mort, “Do you know what kind of shit I’d get from the FAA?”

    Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the fact that he’d nearly died while trying to save her hero, or maybe she’d actually come around to seeing his point of view – whatever the case, Tillie leaned in close and shut him up with a hero’s reward.

     

    Flash Pulp is presented by http://skinner.fm, and is released under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Unported License.

    Intro and outro work provided by Jay Langejans of The New Fiction Writers podcast.

    Freesound.org credits:

    Text and audio commentaries can be sent to comments@flashpulp.com – but be aware that it may appear in the FlashCast.

    – and thanks to you, for reading. If you enjoyed the story, tell your friends.

    FCM017 – Operation Monkee Meet

    0

    Posted on by

    A Skinner Co. Production

    A Skinner Co. Production
    Welcome to Flash Pulp Minisode 017 – Operation Monkee Meet.

    Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

    Download MP3
    (RSS / iTunes)

     

    Flash Pulp is presented by http://skinner.fm, and is released under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Unported License.

    Intro and outro work provided by Jay Langejans of The New Fiction Writers podcast.

    Freesound.org credits:

    Text and audio commentaries can be sent to comments@flashpulp.com – but be aware that it may appear in the FlashCast.

    – and thanks to you, for reading. If you enjoyed the story, tell your friends.

    1 2 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 189 190