Rockman’s eyes opened slowly. The virtual room he saw was rectangular, and yes, it was a room. Luckily it wasn’t the air-flight scenario. Rockman was even more lucky it wasn’t the Easter Egg-Hunt Challenge, which could take light-months to complete, the END SCENARIO button only making itself visible after all the colored eggs were discovered and placed into a small basket.
-John Rockman and the Trials of Galactar
Ron Jockman: author, polymath, visionary. Future generations will look back upon the day that Ron Jockman first began to write fiction, and they will say to each other, in hushed tones, “That was when history began.” How privileged are we, to be alive at a time when he still writes (because, in the present, as opposed to the future, when future generations will live, he isn't dead yet?)
He is a genius of the written word. His every clicky little typewriter typing sound seems to cry to the mountains, “Brilliant!” And he’s a really fast typist, too, so all those “brilliants” merge into a glorious cacophony of splendor, echoing through the halls of his pages.
“Haven’t they ever seen a dweeby-eyed, naked, hairy pig-bodied floating bloated whore-gnome before?” Palthron spat.
Or, possibly, he’s just another inept nitwit with delusions of adequacy.
The Rockman Chronicles: John Rockman and the Trials of Galactar by the Prince of Galactar, by Ron Jockman, is not a book by Ron Jockman. It isn’t a book by the Prince of Galactar, either, because I’m pretty sure he’s fictional. Like Ron Jockman is.
She recoiled again, like a hobo being peed upon.
With me so far?
