On this episode Al and Tony ruminate on the film adaptation of The Time Traveler's Wife. Tony envisions an entirely disproportionate revenge for the man who smashed up his car; the guys geek out about guns.

 

Spoilers for the book version of The Time Travler's Wife: In their discussion of the movie, the guys suggested a number of ways in which the story did not go far enough in exploring the specifics of time travel element. Upon further research, it appears that nearly EVERYTHING they discussed, including the teleporting fetus, were covered in the book.

 

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Samuel L. Jackson on Talking Bad

Direct download: HEP_-_55_-_Gunning_for_Time_Travelers.mp3
Category:general -- posted at: 3:12pm EDT

This week, Time Travel Month continues as the guys dig up a little known Spanish film, Los Cronocrímenes (Timecrimes). Tony recounts his firsthand experience with the Colorado floods. Albert has crazy fan theories about Dinosaur Train.

 

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Links

Video of the flood in Colorado

Children of Sorrow Trailer

Zach Braff Kickstarter

Free Edgar 2013 shirt

Achievment Hunter Minecraft Lets Play's

 
 

Direct download: HEP_-_54-_The_Dark_Side_of_Dinosaurs.mp3
Category:general -- posted at: 12:18am EDT

Zombies Have No Respect for Plumbing 

by Tony Southcotte

Zombies have no respect for plumbing. They don’t

teach you that when you fill out the paperwork for your

apprentice license. 

Since the plague slowed down, people didn’t see the

need to finish off their family members. You just pay a

wrangler to tie them up, slap a rubber ball in the mouth,

and send them home. They may want to tussle with you every

once in a while, but for the most part they just sit there.

People hold on to some hope for a cure, but I know better.

Christ could raise Lazarus, but Lord knows he wouldn’t try

to bring a pork chop back to life.

I used to just pull hair out of drains. Use a snake or

some other such tool to drag natted balls of bath grime and

shaving leave-ins out of bathtubs.

This brings me to my current predicament. Standing in

the shower of some blue haired granny who just couldn’t say

goodbye to her oaf of a husband. I saw him walkin’ in, that

festering pile of meat. The red ball in his mouth would

have made him look like a pig on a spit, that is, if he

still had any natural color left in him.

She called to tell me her drain was backing up; that

a horrible smell and rusty colored substance was coming

through. I figured it was a sewage back up. Not my favorite

call, but you can gouge these people and they have to pay

Unfortunately for me, it wasn’t sewage.

When I start pullin’ the snake back, the white chunks

start dropping off the cable, little flaps of raw skin.

At this stage, it starts to fall off like a bad sunburn, 

only meatier. The smell hits me and I want to double over.

At least if the worst happens I am in a bathroom and can

easily find the can.

“Ma’am, do you know anything about this?” I ask,

pointing at the muck, retching under the stench. I’m pretty

sure more than a couple teeth are in the mess now.

“Oh dear. Why don’t you plumbers make these drains

good enough?”

“Well, we don’t expect you to push the cherished

remains of your dead husband down the drain.”

“But he needs his shower, his hygiene was never in

order, even before his accident. I just pushed it down with

my toes.”

Now, I normally don’t take kindly to this sort of

viscera, or the type of person who puts up with it, but

something struck me in that moment. Its brilliance was so

simple, but the idea that would revolutionize the in home

zombie phenomenon and plumbing as we know it. “Miss, would

you like me to install a garbage disposal in here?”

“Can you do that?”

Yes. Yes I can.


This week Al and Tony kick off Time Travel Month with Terry Gilliam's Kafkaesque sci-fi masterpiece Twelve Monkeys. Later they discuss the potential perils of CEO worship in American business, and wonder is Edison might have been onto something with D.C. power after all.

 

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Direct download: HEP_-_53_-_The_Twelve_Red_Herrings_of_Christmas.mp3
Category:general -- posted at: 2:31am EDT

Dancing.

Sometimes it looked like we were dancing.

There was nothing for us to hear, we could not verbally communicate anything. And so we 

watched each other. We watched each other dance. The slow motion twirls and spins. We

found we couldn't speed up to reach anyone else, our only means of communication being

found in glimpses when we managed to catch eye contact when our spinning matched up just

right. 

The planet below became the center of my vision. I closed my eyes for this. I always do. It lasts 

for about an hour, until the blackness of space comes into view again. I sometimes imagine that 

the planet below is one I've never seen before. That it's inhabitants did not send me and my 

kind into the depths of space.

Suspended in the shadow of the planet. Freezing. But even the burning of the veins of ice 

creeping beneath my skin was relief compared to the hell that met us under the hateful glare of

the sun.

Leo was nearest to me, perhaps twenty feet away. He was still in his suit from the job he had 

on the planet below. Possibly the least violent of any of us, Leo had created an extraordinarily 

stable life with the mortals. He had even convinced one of them that he had feelings for her.

Finishing off the picture. Past him were the others. Veronica, Leland and Tobias. The mortals

had sent out a larger group of us before, much larger. Perhaps ten thousand. We had managed, 

using pure luck, to avoid their advanced detection methods. The world had calmed until groups 

of citizens, conspiracy theorists, convinced that their neighbors and co-workers and mothers-inlaw were our kind, started using homemade versions of the methods used by each government. 

It was the mist that did it.

The garlic mist.

Some of them flew little remote controlled planes around town, spewing the stuff into the air.

This was effective enough to get one of us when it went out of range of the owner’s controller 

and began dropping low near a crosswalk. It was close enough for her skin and eyes to react - 

enough for the people around her to know.

As for the others, they caught us by leaving the stuff everywhere. The entrance of every grocery 

store and coffeehouse. Doorknobs of houses and clothing hangers in department stores. No 

one was happy about the stench that eventually built, but after they got Veronica, the complaints 

fell silent out of fear and curiosity.

The mortals couldn't kill us, they couldn't trust us, they couldn't throw us in a cage somewhere; 

we'd be meat taking up space many places couldn't afford. 

And so they sent us into space.

The first group was sent in a few pod-like things. Just stuffed in, really to the brim. One of them 

was kept on earth, to supposedly be sliced and diced. Good luck to them - they’ll never break 

his skin.

Later on, they decided that even the pods were too merciful, since they protected us from the

harsh vacuum of space. They designed small ships that were designed to disintegrate in the

later stages of its flight through the atmosphere, leaving us exposed as we are now. To the void 

outside that made the pressure of every pulse agonizing. That made it impossible to breathe. 

That left us with no insulation from the biting cold. And no protection from the sun.

That horrible burning star. And so our immortality becomes our greatest curse.

I would give anything to breathe again. To feel air in my lungs. Wind. Solid ground under my 

feet. Anything. Anything but this freezing void.

I feel a heat at my back as my dead eyes are still fixed on the planet. This isn’t normal; the sun 

won’t find us for another hour. An impact. Solid, excruciating, but not enough to break me. It 

sends me spinning out of control, but I catch a glimpse of the culprit: a small meteor. I watch 

it falling, a fiery tail growing behind it, the rock slowly grinding away as the atmosphere tears 

it apart. Eventually it disintegrates completely. Only then to I realize that I was not watching it 

descend below me.

I had been falling next to it. It had sent me on a path back to the planet’s surface.

I start to feel warm. The ice in my veins is thawing as the friction of the atmosphere tries to 

break me apart as it did the meteor. Tries, and fails. I will not die. I will survive the fall. There is 

so much to do on the surface. They will be made to regret what they did to us.

Finally, I will have my revenge. I will bleed them dry.


In this, the fifty-second episode of the Human  Echoes Podcast, Tony and Al pay off a long-running joke and review Man on Fire (Albert felt cheated by this title as Denzel Washington is not immolated by the end of the film). Also featured in this title is the wonderful story "Suspension" that won the Vampires in Space flash fiction contest.

 

 

 

[Retraction: Tony stated during the discussion of Tony Scott's suicide but, according to the coroners official report Tony Scott had no such illness at the time of his death.]

Direct download: HEP_-_52_-_On_Vengeance_and_Vampires.mp3
Category:general -- posted at: 12:19pm EDT

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