The Future of Literature

This Wednesday, a few friends and I gathered at a new Indian restaurant called Cumin in Bucktown. Curries were eaten, naans were devoured, and the basic outlines of the two greatest stories ever told were developed. They are as follows, and many thanks to Jeremy, Chris, Sarah, and Phaedra for their co-creation of the two future Nobel Prize winning novels that will both make me the greatest writer since Milton and probably save literature.

Apollo 11 vs. the Space Nazis

Apparently, there’s a video game where the Nazi high command took refuge on the dark side of the moon after the war and is now invading earth again. Great concept. Even greater? What if Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin stumbled across their secret moon base and proceeded to kick some Space Nazi ass? It’s pretty much already made for pulp. I mean, the two heroes have the names “Armstrong” and “Buzz.” Plus, their famous quotes will provide ample opportunity for awesome updating: “the Eagle has landed… on your face, bitch!” and “That’s one small glock for a man, one giant cap in your Nazi ass!”

The climax will feature Neil Armstrong planting the business end of an American flag pole in Space Hitler’s skull. Where it remains today.

The Adventures of St. Patrick, the Silver-back Gorilla

For some reason we decided that the legendary St. Patrick of green beer and drunken frat boy fame was actually a silver-back gorilla. We’re not sure how we decided this. We were not drunk. Curry was involved, though. Perhaps it did the trick.

Anyway, given that St. Patrick’s story usually begins with him being kidnapped by pirates, we decided that our simian saint would have a peg-leg to go with his bishop’s miter. And instead of just driving out snakes, he would fight giant snake monsters terrorizing the ancient Irish countryside.

This epic series of novels, which will make The Odyssey look like particularly subliterate Twilight fanfiction, will involve the canonized gorilla wandering around Ireland converting pagans and fighting giant pythons and monster anacondas.

So, there you have it. The future of fiction, literature, and the printed word.

You’re welcome, universe.


One Comment

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  1. I’ll make sure Evil Man Smells Baby, Stabs Snowman is not published in the same year as your works. I wouldn’t want to give the dudes and dudettes at Pulitzer (which I imagine to be some sort of vending machine) a heart attack.

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