Ricochet Silent Radio, Part 1: Lord Protector of the United States

 

Turn down the lights! It’s time for another Ricochet Silent Radio adventure in our ongoing series…Tales From the PIT!

Yes, you’ve tuned into 1954’s boldest new radio sensation. Rocket with Ricochet into the infinite horizons of the far-off world of the future. At the beginning of the 21st century, one man will uphold justice…by breaking the law! Incredible…but possible! Is this a Buck Rogers fantasy, or could it be a deadly accurate prediction of America’s tomorrow? Ricochet’s imaginary network of classic radio brings you a daring glimpse into what just might be–(Theme music climax)–Tomorrow’s world!

Tonight, part one of this week’s four-part story: “Lord Protector of the United States.”


Announcer: In 1954 we still merely dream of outer space. Soon, yes, sooner than you think, there will be men living and working in space. They’ll have dreams too, dreams we can scarcely imagine. And nightmares.

A tall, lean and powerfully built man, about 30 years of age, turns over in his sleep. He is floating in zero gravity. We hear the inner voice of Spaceman First Class John Mantle—soon to be known to us as Judge Mental.

“How did I end up here, anyway? When I was growing up, my aunt used to say, “John, you’re being too judgmental.” It seemed to me then and it seems to me now that it’s wrong to put up with the cruel. Some of the kindest people I knew growing up never learned that, and they were taken advantage of. Human nature doesn’t change. It never will.

I’m from the countryside near Cincinnati, Ohio. Like everyone else, I went into the service for my seven-year hitch. I chose Space Corps. Space Corps is where I earned my master’s degree in Data Processing Science. I was hungry for those spaceman’s silver wings on my collar, and I finally got them in 1997 when I was assigned to the crew of Station One, the television relay satellite 22,000 miles in outer space.

(In the background, the staccato sounds of a countdown and the thunderous boom of an atomic rocket launch)

We blasted out of New Mexico at 0500, and by lunchtime I was at my post on the Iron Doughnut, surveying the ground below with the Big Eye telescope. It was an international crew, twenty men and five women. My quarters were the size and shape of a closet, with a locker, a radio, and a sleeping bag. I settled into my temporary floating home in space, and for several months I enjoyed experiencing all the unique things out there that made me want to become a spaceman when I was a kid.

Off duty, we had, literally, every TV program in the world to choose from if we wished. During the World Series, we watched the Brooklyn Dodgers win the seventh game. I’m part Cherokee, so I rooted for the Indians, although most people from Cincinnati love to boo Cleveland.

The Doughnut was quiet by 2100; when you get up at 0400, you cherish your sleep.

At 0330 I was suddenly wide awake in the pitch darkness. The outer skin of a spaceship is as thin as the metal of a beer can. There were stealthy footsteps vibrating all the way through to the inner skin. Yet the airlock was dark. I reached out to slap the intercom button. The circuit was dead. Someone was coming down the chimney, and it wasn’t Santa. I had a rising feeling of dread.

Whoever they were, they were already here. Instead of coming in through the main airlock, they depressurized one of the outlying greenhouses and came in the side door in space suits. I slid into my own pressure suit, closing the lock ring at the waist and on each glove. I lifted the helmet towards my head when suddenly I was struck hard, at the back, sending me flying into the wall and knocking my helmet away. I swung around and just caught another gloved hand, holding a big wrench. I managed a glancing blow with my free arm, but he had a better angle. His face mask was fogging up from the exertion. I landed one big punch to his midsection and he buckled over. The oxy valve was on his back where he couldn’t reach it himself, so I snapped it closed and he stopped bothering me.

Mid-level alarms started going off. I could see my breath fogging up from the sudden drop in pressure and temperature. I was getting lightheaded. Where did that damn helmet go? Still no main lights. I fumbled in the pale blue of the backups until I found an intercom. “Damage Control, Damage Control!” I shouted and released the button. No response. Dead.

Then I realized someone, a crew member, was trapped in the next compartment. That’s where a Russian girl, Svetlana Zolotow, was when the alarm sounded and the bulkheads locked. She looked terrified through the glass; she was losing air too, and fast. She couldn’t open the hatch to get out. “Open it now!” I screamed, but she couldn’t hear me. Now the most mortal of alarms started sounding. Overpressure in the rest of the station. The system was out of control, trying to make up for the air leak, compressing station atmosphere in the other modules until the outer skin would rupture like a metal balloon. I had one choice and I hated it.

Yes. Yes. Yes, damn it, my hand threw the switch that led to her death. When she opened the pressure valve I could no longer save her. All I could do was turn the valve on my side, and prevent all the rest of us from dying with her. A moment later, with a percussive shock, I was looking through the hatch window at nothing but blackness, stars, and a scattering cloud of aluminum shards.

The pressure in the compartment kept dropping fast. I saw another of the invaders on the deck pass below without seeing me. I had the drop on him, all right, dropping onto his shoulders and clamping my legs around his neck. With both hands I undid the lock ring on the helmet I was sitting on, and I heard the faint curse of his dying breath as the remaining air in his helmet propelled me across the cabin. I snapped the helmet on my own head and gratefully breathed in.

Now I could see another invader through the door porthole. He swam towards me with a razor-edged blade. I knocked it out of his glove and it floated away while I kneed him in the midsection. He doubled over, I kicked him into the airlock and hit the Hava Tasta Space button. Then he too was gone, like the others. There weren’t any more of them. I’d gotten them all.

Vacuum kills. Space kills, and nobody knows it better than me.

I was stunned and in terrible pain. I saw station crew dimly through the frosted fog on the hatch port, my rescuers frantically trying to get to me. I was in a frosted fog myself. I partly woke up a few times, like you do in a nightmare.

I was coming to. It didn’t hurt as much. My gurney was floating towards the airlock where a rocket to Earth was waiting. I dimly realized I was in motion thanks to my crewmates passing me hand over hand over their heads.

“We’ll miss you, man.” “Godspeed, John, get well and come back.” “Thanks, Mantle, for everything.” “Hey, Johnny, say hello to the girls, all right?” The crew’s senior British spaceman congratulated me–”Fine show, old boy. Bagged ’em all, did you?” But I have to say they gave me a wide berth until I was safely gone. I hadn’t exactly been a good luck charm. I never am.

Two enormous Sergeants clamped the gurney into place behind the cockpit. Then—to me, this seemed like the strange part—they snapped off salutes. Huh? Was I dead? The flight surgeon gave me a shot. Only then did I realize there was something gold pinned to my shoulders; Commander’s wings. And then I was unconscious.

Network Announcer: You are listening to “Lord Protector of the United States”, a presentation of Tales From the PIT. This is the Ricochet Silent Radio Network.

Local Announcer: This is KRCH 980, Ricochet Radio for greater Los Angeles.

Network Announcer: And now back to Tales From the PIT.

(Voice of Judge Mental): I won, but I’d never be the same. Wariness, ruthlessness, and paranoia: that’s what my big adventure in space taught me. Sometimes I found myself returning to the past, so vivid in my mind. My personality, my outlook—my soul—were beyond the reach of helpful doctors. I was suspicious and watchful now.

I was pensioned out of active duty in Space Corps with a small disability income and “the thanks of a grateful nation,” but first I had to do the rounds set for me by Corps publicity. I did fine, but it was embarrassing to see a copy of Life Magazine at the barber shop and know my face was in it. They had me go on Ed Sullivan and the Today Show, “the spaceman who killed the pirates.” I had fan mail from kids. Marriage proposals from women I never met.

But I was grateful when it was over and I was back to plying the computer trade, all over the country–Indiana, Idaho, back near home in Ohio. The new jets went everywhere. America seemed a couple of hours wide instead of a couple of days wide. Data processing was everywhere too. Even Tulsa, Phoenix and Atlanta were becoming forests of skyscrapers. Life kept changing in all kinds of ways.

I helped set up computers for companies like Maytag, Hotpoint, and Whirlpool. Automated kitchens became a booming business. They usually had a soda dispenser and a Radar-range radio wave oven. It had storage for a month’s dried and compressed meals, ready to eat, their attractive labels lit up and visible through the little glass doors, just like they do it at Horn and Hardart’s, the biggest chain restaurant operator in the USA. Vending machine convenience in modern kitchens led to the next logical step, monthly restocking by delivery drivers working regular routes reaching most American neighborhoods. I got out a quarter, three dimes and a nickel and dropped it in the slot. A minute and a half later, I had a complete three-course dinner on my table, hot and ready for 60 cents.

“If the conveyor belt broke, that woman’s family would starve to death” was the gist of an increasingly common insult joke. Truth is, housekeeping was a breeze nowadays, even for a bachelor. One of the great things about modern kitchens? When you’re done with anything—a container, a spoon, dirty dishes—you just throw them away. Replacing everything all the time kept the economy from collapsing. Throwaway goods were just cheaper.

I kept up with the news. It was becoming a changed country, more restless, its people and regions more critical with each other. (Music fades in; the cry of paperboys in the streets, announcing catastrophe after catastrophe. Sirens in the night. Fire bells.) The most uncertain economic times since the Great Depression, the worst social upheaval since the Civil War.

With the abruptness of a telegram from the Defense Department, I was called back to secret government service. The Federal office in downtown Cincinnati took delivery of one of the new secure terminals for classified information, in banks, on military bases, and in government offices. It was called NXN, the National Crossconnect Network, nicknamed by its creators after the Fifties vice president whose visionary leadership made it happen. Besides the usual keyboard and teleprinter, it had a small TV screen, the first time I’d ever seen that on a computer. I became its technical master. I taught other programmers.

On the side, I found informal ways to follow the Corps’ continuing probe into the Station One “incident”. When, in the course of these readings, there were certain things that needed to be done, I did them, without remorse, and without compassion for those who deserved none.

My space background evidently brought me some attention. One day an Army messenger dropped off an engraved invitation. To the White House.

It was a glamorous, exciting, and mystifying weekend in Washington. The East Room was packed with Negro and white preachers, teachers, and scientists, celebrating a new national program for the nation’s public schools called “Knowledge Is A Blessing From God.” One of the highlights was a speech by computer overlord anonymous, who brought the crowd to its feet with the declaration, “Yes, we’ve come to love our computers and the other tools we’ve created in our image, just as our own Creator loves us.”

The next speaker, a Harlem minister, continued the theme. “We are enjoined by a loving God to subdue the Earth and make it ours, to make it fruitful and productive, to bend it to our needs. (Applause) Over the next generation, we will develop ways of achieving mankind’s oldest dream, control of the weather. We are already making the wilderness more livable, by the humane mass culling of dangerous wild animals. We will continue to fill the world’s undeveloped areas with high capacity roads, built by robots, bringing commerce to every spot on the globe.” (Applause)

A strongly built bearded man in a thousand dollar suit came up to me. “Mr. Mantle?”, he asked quietly. “I’m Skipsul Harrigan, special assistant to the president. Thank you for accepting our invitation. Please follow me to somewhere we can talk”. Silently, we walked down the main hall of the White House and up a flight of stairs to his west wing office.

I like to think I’m a good judge of character. This Skipsul was smooth and intelligent–and ruthless. He gestured toward a chair.

“Have a seat, Commander. I see in your file that you’re another Cincinnati man”.

“Yes, but I gather you didn’t ask me here to talk about Crosley Field.”

“No,” Skipsul said. “Do you still write computer source code?”

“Yes, tight slick code. Why do you ask?“

“You have a new job, Mr. Mantle.”

“Thanks, but no thanks. I’m doing quite well in civilian life.”

“It’s not a request,” Skipsul Harrigan said quietly. He had my full attention.

“The DOD identified the spies who were bribed to betray the program to space pirates. That report was never committed to paper. It existed only in our memory banks.” He stared at me long and hard and then continued.

“Two months ago, suspect Gilcrist was doing a routine visit to one of his oil fields when a computer-operated crane dropped a two-ton crown block on him. Three weeks after that, suspect Phreney died when his electronic brakes malfunctioned coming down Mount Thunder. He said he was called up there for a Corps drill, but there’s no record of any such order. Two weeks ago, suspect Lewis left his office and stepped into an empty elevator shaft. Interesting. Very unlucky men, these three.”

“Very unlucky indeed.”

“Commander, I’ve checked. Your movements cannot be accounted for. You had access to our communications system”. He held up a photo of the wreck of Phreney’s car. There was a mocking cartoon that someone recklessly traced in the dust, a crude caricature of an angry man pointing the finger of guilt. That someone was me, of course.

“It’s important that we understand each other, Mantle”…Skipsul pulled out my high school yearbook and dramatically flipped to my entry. It was, admittedly, evidence that I was once nicknamed… “…or should I say, Judge Mental”. Next to it, in my high schooler’s scrawl, is the damning cartoon of the accusatory man pointing.

“My judgments weren’t arbitrary”, I said heatedly. “Those three dead men in space were responsible for sabotage that killed a girl, and nearly killed the rest of us. I thought of that Russian girl. A moment later, there was nothing. The rich men on Earth who paid these killers, who set up the piracy plan, were beyond the reach of the law. There was no doubt of their identity, or their guilt. There had to be justice for this”.

Skipsul nodded. Now I was theirs, and we both knew it. But what did the White House want from me?

Announcer: You’ve been listening to Part 1 of “Lord Protector of the United States,” a production of Tales From the PIT. Tune in tomorrow night to find out the answers, and to follow John Mantle along his fateful path into the fantastic world of 21st century America.


Disclaimer: Ricochet Silent Radio is a mark of satire, not an official part of Ricochet. Regarding the use of Ricochet members as fictional characters: Dialog, attitudes, and actions attributed to them are not their own.

This is the Ricochet Silent Radio Network.

(Sound of three chimes)

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  1. Barfly Member
    Barfly
    @Barfly

    Gary McVey: A tall, lean and powerfully built man, about 30 years of age, turns over in his sleep. He is floating in zero gravity.

    See, this is the kind of thing that gets my attention. Why would a healthy person change his sleeping position in zero gravity?

    • #1
  2. RightAngles Member
    RightAngles
    @RightAngles

    On pins and needles for Part 2!

    • #2
  3. Gary McVey Contributor
    Gary McVey
    @GaryMcVey

    Barfly (View Comment):

    Gary McVey: A tall, lean and powerfully built man, about 30 years of age, turns over in his sleep. He is floating in zero gravity.

    See, this is the kind of thing that gets my attention. Why would a healthy person change his sleeping position in zero gravity?

    Yet, they do. That’s why sleeping bags on shuttle and the ISS have bungee cords to restrain movement. They find it helps sleep. But in truth, would they have guessed that in 1954?

    • #3
  4. Barfly Member
    Barfly
    @Barfly

    I’m savoring this.

    • #4
  5. Gary McVey Contributor
    Gary McVey
    @GaryMcVey

    Barfly (View Comment):

    I’m savoring this.

    Thanks, Mr.B! Stick around through Thursday night, and I hope you’ll still feel that way!

    • #5
  6. Hank Rhody, Acting on Emotion Contributor
    Hank Rhody, Acting on Emotion
    @HankRhody

    I would like to request a refund for the unused portion of my seat.

    • #6
  7. Matt Balzer, Straw Bootlegger Member
    Matt Balzer, Straw Bootlegger
    @MattBalzer

    Barfly (View Comment):

    Gary McVey: A tall, lean and powerfully built man, about 30 years of age, turns over in his sleep. He is floating in zero gravity.

    See, this is the kind of thing that gets my attention. Why would a healthy person change his sleeping position in zero gravity?

    And if you did, would it matter?

    • #7
  8. Nanda "Chaps" Panjandrum Member
    Nanda "Chaps" Panjandrum
    @

    “Three chimes mean good times on R>SRN.”  They certainly do!  Thanks so much, Gary!  And to have “the man with the golden wings” in the lead again is a real treat. :-)  Hoping to be able to come to the wrap party on Thursday!

    • #8
  9. Gary McVey Contributor
    Gary McVey
    @GaryMcVey

    Nanda "Chaps" Panjan… (View Comment):

    “Three chimes mean good times on R>SRN.” They certainly do! Thanks so much, Gary! And to have “the man with the golden wings” in the lead again is a real treat. :-) Hoping to be able to come to the wrap party on Thursday!

    There’s always an honored place waiting for you, Nanda!

    • #9
  10. Boss Mongo Member
    Boss Mongo
    @BossMongo

    Gary McVey: Wariness, ruthlessness, and paranoia:

    Don’t worry, Judge; it’s a feature, not a bug.

    • #10
  11. SkipSul Inactive
    SkipSul
    @skipsul

    I’ve gone from wiring and networking, or helping assassinate Stalin, to bigger things I see.

    • #11
  12. Gary McVey Contributor
    Gary McVey
    @GaryMcVey

    Someone’s got to run the world. It might as well be Ricochet members. 

    • #12
  13. Gary McVey Contributor
    Gary McVey
    @GaryMcVey

    This first part is an elaborate reboot, meant to bring everyone up to speed on the legend of the Judge. Like Bruce Wayne and Batman, some basic elements of the story are always roughly the same. Naturally, I’m trying to get readers to think “Wow! He’s doing a Chris Nolan!”, not “Yuck! He’s doing a JJ Abrams!” Let alone, “He’s doing the 2016 Ghostbusters!” 

    • #13
  14. Matt Balzer, Straw Bootlegger Member
    Matt Balzer, Straw Bootlegger
    @MattBalzer

    Gary McVey (View Comment):

    This first part is an elaborate reboot, meant to bring everyone up to speed on the legend of the Judge. Like Bruce Wayne and Batman, some basic elements of the story are always roughly the same. Naturally, I’m trying to get readers to think “Wow! He’s doing a Chris Nolan!”, not “Yuck! He’s doing a JJ Abrams!” Let alone, “He’s doing the 2016 Ghostbusters!”

    Yeah, I can’t see Judge Mental as a woman either.

    And even if I could, I wouldn’t want to.

    • #14
  15. SkipSul Inactive
    SkipSul
    @skipsul

    Matt Balzer, Straw Bootlegger (View Comment):

    Gary McVey (View Comment):

    This first part is an elaborate reboot, meant to bring everyone up to speed on the legend of the Judge. Like Bruce Wayne and Batman, some basic elements of the story are always roughly the same. Naturally, I’m trying to get readers to think “Wow! He’s doing a Chris Nolan!”, not “Yuck! He’s doing a JJ Abrams!” Let alone, “He’s doing the 2016 Ghostbusters!”

    Yeah, I can’t see Judge Mental as a woman either.

    And even if I could, I wouldn’t want to.

    His hobbies are his own business, he doesn’t need your approval.

    • #15
  16. Matt Balzer, Straw Bootlegger Member
    Matt Balzer, Straw Bootlegger
    @MattBalzer

    SkipSul (View Comment):

    Matt Balzer, Straw Bootlegger (View Comment):

    Gary McVey (View Comment):

    This first part is an elaborate reboot, meant to bring everyone up to speed on the legend of the Judge. Like Bruce Wayne and Batman, some basic elements of the story are always roughly the same. Naturally, I’m trying to get readers to think “Wow! He’s doing a Chris Nolan!”, not “Yuck! He’s doing a JJ Abrams!” Let alone, “He’s doing the 2016 Ghostbusters!”

    Yeah, I can’t see Judge Mental as a woman either.

    And even if I could, I wouldn’t want to.

    His hobbies are his own business, he doesn’t need your approval.

    I didn’t say that. I just said I don’t want to see it.

    • #16
  17. Gary McVey Contributor
    Gary McVey
    @GaryMcVey

    Matt Balzer, Straw Bootlegger (View Comment):

    Gary McVey (View Comment):

    This first part is an elaborate reboot, meant to bring everyone up to speed on the legend of the Judge. Like Bruce Wayne and Batman, some basic elements of the story are always roughly the same. Naturally, I’m trying to get readers to think “Wow! He’s doing a Chris Nolan!”, not “Yuck! He’s doing a JJ Abrams!” Let alone, “He’s doing the 2016 Ghostbusters!”

    Yeah, I can’t see Judge Mental as a woman either.

    And even if I could, I wouldn’t want to.

    If this was “Tales of the ChixPIT”, we’d come up with appropriate casting, I’m sure. As it stands, RSR series are not exactly sexist, but they are definitely gendered.

    Think that’ll be good enough to get this on the list of “Library of Congress Approved Archive of Imaginary Media”? 

    Me neither. 

    • #17
  18. Judge Mental, Cromwell Wannabe Member
    Judge Mental, Cromwell Wannabe
    @JudgeMental

    Hank Rhody, Acting on Emotion (View Comment):

    I would like to request a refund for the unused portion of my seat.

    Could you explain?

    • #18
  19. Judge Mental, Cromwell Wannabe Member
    Judge Mental, Cromwell Wannabe
    @JudgeMental

    Boss Mongo (View Comment):

    Gary McVey: Wariness, ruthlessness, and paranoia:

    Don’t worry, Judge; it’s a feature, not a bug.

    What, me worry?

    • #19
  20. Judge Mental, Cromwell Wannabe Member
    Judge Mental, Cromwell Wannabe
    @JudgeMental

    SkipSul (View Comment):

    I’ve gone from wiring and networking, or helping assassinate Stalin, to bigger things I see.

    The only guys wearing thousand dollar suits in the fifties were gangsters.  Oh wait, you work for the government.

    Never mind!

    • #20
  21. Matt Balzer, Straw Bootlegger Member
    Matt Balzer, Straw Bootlegger
    @MattBalzer

    Hank Rhody, Acting on Emotion (View Comment):

    I would like to request a refund for the unused portion of my seat.

    You paid for the whole thing!

    • #21
  22. Judge Mental, Cromwell Wannabe Member
    Judge Mental, Cromwell Wannabe
    @JudgeMental

    Gary McVey (View Comment):

    This first part is an elaborate reboot, meant to bring everyone up to speed on the legend of the Judge. Like Bruce Wayne and Batman, some basic elements of the story are always roughly the same. Naturally, I’m trying to get readers to think “Wow! He’s doing a Chris Nolan!”, not “Yuck! He’s doing a JJ Abrams!” Let alone, “He’s doing the 2016 Ghostbusters!”

    You’re going to want to bring back the Russian chick’s zero-G gymnastics routine for the movie version.

    • #22
  23. Gary McVey Contributor
    Gary McVey
    @GaryMcVey

    Judge Mental, Cromwell Wannabe (View Comment):

    Gary McVey (View Comment):

    This first part is an elaborate reboot, meant to bring everyone up to speed on the legend of the Judge. Like Bruce Wayne and Batman, some basic elements of the story are always roughly the same. Naturally, I’m trying to get readers to think “Wow! He’s doing a Chris Nolan!”, not “Yuck! He’s doing a JJ Abrams!” Let alone, “He’s doing the 2016 Ghostbusters!”

    You’re going to want to bring back the Russian chick’s zero-G gymnastics routine for the movie version.

    Damn, he’s good. 

    • #23
  24. Hank Rhody, Acting on Emotion Contributor
    Hank Rhody, Acting on Emotion
    @HankRhody

    Judge Mental, Cromwell Wannabe (View Comment):

    Hank Rhody, Acting on Emotion (View Comment):

    I would like to request a refund for the unused portion of my seat.

    Could you explain?

    Well my good sir, when you purchase goods and services in this country they come with an implied warranty of merchantability. That is, broadly speaking, that the goods and or services will be suitable to accomplish their purpose. Wishing to consume this entertainment product I purchase one (1) seat, intending to rest my backside upon same over the course of this episode. However I was prevented from making full use of my purchased seat by the exciting and, dare I say, thrilling nature of this entertainment product. You see, wherein one normally would expect to use the entirety of one’s seat, I was only able to sit upon the edge of it; the thrills, the chills, the undeniably exciting nature of the story kept me from ever entering in to the state of relaxation required to fully support one’s posterior. As such, as the unused portion has clearly not been of any use to me it fails to meet the warranted quality of merchanability and hence I am entitled to return it for a refund.

    • #24
  25. Matt Balzer, Straw Bootlegger Member
    Matt Balzer, Straw Bootlegger
    @MattBalzer

    Hank Rhody, Acting on Emotion (View Comment):

    Judge Mental, Cromwell Wannabe (View Comment):

    Hank Rhody, Acting on Emotion (View Comment):

    I would like to request a refund for the unused portion of my seat.

    Could you explain?

    Well my good sir, when you purchase goods and services in this country they come with an implied warranty of merchantability. That is, broadly speaking, that the goods and or services will be suitable to accomplish their purpose. Wishing to consume this entertainment product I purchase one (1) seat, intending to rest my backside upon same over the course of this episode. However I was prevented from making full use of my purchased seat by the exciting and, dare I say, thrilling nature of this entertainment product. You see, wherein one normally would expect to use the entirety of one’s seat, I was only able to sit upon the edge of it; the thrills, the chills, the undeniably exciting nature of the story kept me from ever entering in to the state of relaxation required to fully support one’s posterior. As such, as the unused portion has clearly not been of any use to me it fails to meet the warranted quality of merchanability and hence I am entitled to return it for a refund.

    Thanks, Ryan.

    • #25
  26. Gary McVey Contributor
    Gary McVey
    @GaryMcVey

    This soliloquy on Hank’s backside reinforces a crucial point: On Ricochet Silent Radio, we may have some half-assed writing from time to time; but our readers give everything 200%, so it evens out. 

    • #26
  27. Hank Rhody, Acting on Emotion Contributor
    Hank Rhody, Acting on Emotion
    @HankRhody

    Matt Balzer, Straw Bootlegger (View Comment):
    Thanks, Ryan.

    Well, at the risk of ruining the humor of a joke by explaining it, if you’ll recall it was that original request for a refund for the unused portion of a seat which caused Ryan to elaborate on his humorous aside, Arahant to request clarification, Ryan to oblige, and generally things to escalate out of control, thus spawning the time-honored tradition of Ryansplaining.

    • #27
  28. Judge Mental, Cromwell Wannabe Member
    Judge Mental, Cromwell Wannabe
    @JudgeMental

    Hank Rhody, Acting on Emotion (View Comment):

    Matt Balzer, Straw Bootlegger (View Comment):
    Thanks, Ryan.

    Well, at the risk of ruining the humor of a joke by explaining it, if you’ll recall it was that original request for a refund for the unused portion of a seat which caused Ryan to elaborate on his humorous aside, Arahant Judge to request clarification, Ryan to oblige, and generally things to escalate out of control, thus spawning the time-honored tradition of Ryansplaining.

    FIFY

    • #28
  29. Matt Balzer, Straw Bootlegger Member
    Matt Balzer, Straw Bootlegger
    @MattBalzer

    Judge Mental, Cromwell Wannabe (View Comment):

    Hank Rhody, Acting on Emotion (View Comment):

    Matt Balzer, Straw Bootlegger (View Comment):
    Thanks, Ryan.

    Well, at the risk of ruining the humor of a joke by explaining it, if you’ll recall it was that original request for a refund for the unused portion of a seat which caused Ryan to elaborate on his humorous aside, Arahant Judge to request clarification, Ryan to oblige, and generally things to escalate out of control, thus spawning the time-honored tradition of Ryansplaining.

    FIFY

    Recursionsplaining!

    • #29
  30. Nanda "Chaps" Panjandrum Member
    Nanda "Chaps" Panjandrum
    @

    Gary McVey (View Comment):

    Judge Mental, Cromwell Wannabe (View Comment):

    Gary McVey (View Comment):

    This first part is an elaborate reboot, meant to bring everyone up to speed on the legend of the Judge. Like Bruce Wayne and Batman, some basic elements of the story are always roughly the same. Naturally, I’m trying to get readers to think “Wow! He’s doing a Chris Nolan!”, not “Yuck! He’s doing a JJ Abrams!” Let alone, “He’s doing the 2016 Ghostbusters!”

    You’re going to want to bring back the Russian chick’s zero-G gymnastics routine for the movie version.

    Damn, he’s good.

    You both thought of “Moonraker” before Fleming…Impressive, gentlemen! 

    • #30
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