You're such a beautiful Retro-Tech vintage stereo: I'm the only one who loves you.

Just look at her. She's gorgeous, ain't she? Can't stop gawking at her HUGE KNOBS, can you?

Neither can I.

Born 1978-1980, I remember the day she came to the house. She was unpacked with care, and BAM! -- just like that, the family was finally cool.

At least in my eyes.

Felt the same as buying an iPod three years after all your friends bought theirs. It was like: "Cool stereo, man! Yeah, thanks. We like it because of the quality."

When the parentals got divorced, we kept her in our house. My dad bought an identical model for his house -- only newer, and also a kick-ass dual tape deck. By that time, she had grown old and tired. No longer a novelty, but just a device to make sound.

They just don't make 'em like that no more. Can't believe I'm saying that, but what the fuck, it's true. Circuit City's like Houston and Las Vegas getting hitched at an outdoor wedding in a trailer park -- gawdy graphic displays and thousands of tiny buttons.

I'm not trying to launch the Space Shuttle, here. I just wanna rock a little. Click, click... BANG! Know what I mean?

Anyway, I had break out the lighter fluid and contact cleaner, dissassemble her piece-by-piece and clean out the 30 years of dust inside. She works like new. I think I'll call her Beulla.

Drunk behind the control stick

"I'm telling you, that planet came out of nowhere! I was just cruising along, you know, lookin' at the stars, and WHAM! Just like that -- I was, like, "SHIT! Did I just hit a planet?!"


Spaceman peered at the trooper's prowler stationed outside his cockpit, but he couldn't see the officer inside. They had been communicating over TicketNet, the official communication platform used by traffic officers in this sector of the galaxy. It was new technology, and it was quite effective at insulating officers from the influence of a traffic violator's emotional appeals. Spaceman was unable to catch a glance from the cop. Spaceman felt he needed every advantage he could find. He was stoned to the bone.

"I mean, there was NOTHING I COULD DO. It just happened so fast," he added.

The officer's voice, laden with static in the speaker: [How fast were you traveling?]

"Oh, not fast... The speed limit, you know... Maybe a little faster," Spaceman stammered.

[How much have you had to drink?]

"What? Nothing. Totally. Well, a couple of beers, like, maybe an hour ago..."

[A couple of beers, sir?]

"If that."

[Would you move your face closer to the cockpit window so I can scan you with the Booze-a-tron?"

"Now officer, I really don't think any of this is necessa..."

[I'm not going to ask again. My lasers are trained on your cockpit. Should you refuse to cooperate, I will be within my rights to open fire... ]

"Wait, wait, wait, wait! It's not like I did this ON PURPOSE! It's like I said, it couldn't be helped! Nobody could have avoided this."


[You hit a planet, sir. You've caused considerable damage on the surface. Many people down there are upset. Now please, move your face to the cockpit window. I need to scan you for intoxicants.]

Spaceman slowly moved his right hand to the thruster control by his thigh. The cop's prowler seemed small to him, possibly only a local bird. It was possible he could get a big enough jump on him to reach the sector boundary before they called in reinforcements. His thumb hovered over the thruster release.

[If you attempt to flee, sir. You will be killed. Reinforcements are already dispatched. You won't make it.]

Spaceman slumped in his seat.

[I've engaged my Imbecilitron, sir. The device reads minds of thugs and idiots like yourself. No offense, sir -- I personally don't think you're an imbecile. However, the device only functions in the presence of certain brainwaves found predominantly in beings of low intellect. It's so effective, in fact, that we were alerted when you entered the sector. We knew you were going to do this long before you did. All we had to do is wait.]