All posts by Cullen M. M. Waters

Internet humorist, Writer of Speculative Fiction, movie reviewer, and all around good guy
Annoying Autobio

Walmart Ennui

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Another day begins with me wondering why I stick around Walmart.

Our department now has no team leads. One has developed sense and left the store for hopefully better things. The other dropped a box of frozen gravy on her leg and now has to be off her feet for two weeks. We’ll see how well my department does on its own. We know our jobs, so it should be fine. My luck, it devolves into a Lord of the Flies situation.

My first inclination is to make a joke about finding the conch shell. My mom, who read the book, almost didn’t get it, so that remains a joke for me.

Here is a quick Walmart related story. One of my associates in the Meat department lost her mother recently. They had the funeral, and towards the end my coach shows up. He comes with a card and a question for the associate: “When are you coming back to work?”

Those that heard that story in Bakery were not impressed. Neither am I.

I go to work in a few minutes. I’m not sure why. The basic job I still enjoy. I like my fellow associates. But the reason I’ve been staying has left and my new reason for being there–getting a silly certificate and pin–really isn’t cutting it.

I want something new and I’m not certain what that is. Looking at Target and Costco haven’t brought me too much joy, outside potentially better pay. I’ve picked up on my writings, which is a good thing, but that won’t pay the bills for a long time. There’s always the lottery, I suppose. I’ve one that a few times. $8. About enough to buy another ticket. Yay?

Anyways, that’s my whining for the day. I’m health (ish), everything else seems to be average, and others have it worse than I do. Seems wrong to complain. Still, better venting than keeping it in, right?

Annoying Autobio

The Curse of Young Cullen’s Sense of “Humor”

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In theory, I don’t mind my old stuff.

It was who I was. Looking at it, I can presumably see improvement.

Yesterday, I went off and deleted almost every post on my old Facebook account.

I hadn’t posted there since 2008. That’s some old stuff.

And it was all awful.

Just terribly, terrible stuff.

As a rule one sentence, set up sort of like this:

Cullen Waters

Is going to write something that humiliated him later in life.

I no doubt thought I was being funny at the time. Problem? None of it was!

It was the most awful things I’d ever written. Well, except for that one story I wrote for this site that I never posted. But that one was intentional.

I now am literally afraid to go look at the older posts on this site. I am seriously considering making the archive private to protect my own sanity.

And why did I even go back to Facebook? I got my first friend signup in ages from someone from work I really, really, really don’t want seeing that crap.

Has she already, I wonder? Has she since lost what little respect for me she had?

Damned if I know. I might never know.

My only hope is that she’s been too busy to hit Facebook.

The way this year’s been treating me, she made time to look shortly after friending me.

It can’t be helped, it can’t be cured. I’m just going to obsess over it for the rest of my life like I do every other stupid, stupid, stupid thing I do.

My God! Why’d I post so much on Facebook?! Who does that?

For the record, this post is written in jest. Not enough in jest for my tastes, but still. Still.

Mentioning I was on Facebook to her seemed like such a good idea at the time, too.

Cover Inspired, Fiction

Getting the Boid

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For a few years now Jabootu’s Bad Movie Dimension has been less a review site and more an examination of monsters. Doesn’t matter whether from the silver screen, TV, or, on occasion, pulp magazine covers.

This is not a complaint, mind you. Just how things are.

Every now and then the covers will inspire less commentary and more full on fiction from yours truly. What follows is a prime example of this phenomenon (with inspiration cover provided at no additional cost.)

As with the previous post, the astute reader will notice Cullen doesn’t do a lot more than give dialogue. This is an issue he… I’m aware of and know needs changed.

SQUACK SQUACK!

“Damn it, why does he always do this? It’s not a worm, Blue, it’s my breathing tube so please don’t–”

SQUACK SQUACK!

“Okay, fine. I’ll just gently remove–”

Please do not touch [Alien Lifeform] with your ungloved hand, [Spaceman’s name here]. You might contaminate it with your germs and cause untold harm.

“Oh, for the love of… Of all the times not to wear those damn gloves!”

SQUACK SQUACK!

“Fine. This is not a prob. Just have to get back to Dome Base, get some gloves, then throttle Blue.”

That is not advised, as–

“Skip it, GLAD! How far am I from the Dome.”

[Spaceman’s name here], you are a mile out and counting.

“Wait, I didn’t walk that far. And what did you mean, and counting?”

[Spaceman’s name here] has forgotten basic space protocol and not put on the Dome Base Safety break and the Dome is now rolling down hill.

“What do you mean, I forgot? I never for–”

SQUACK SQUACK!

“Argh, look, fine, just, just drive the Dome to these co-ordinates.”

Affirmative. I will drive Dome Base to [Spaceman’s name here]‘s location.

“Great. Just peachy. Estimated time of arrival.”

Unknown. I can not begin drive procedures until the Dome Base has come to a complete stop.

SQUACK SQUACK!

“What, why?”

Safety procedures. Something [Spaceman’s name here] seems to know nothing about.

“And she gets snarky with me. Great. Perfect.”

SQUACK SQUACK!

“Lemme think, lemme think. If I can’t touch Blue, maybe I can shake him off… like…. this! And this!”

Please do not shake [Alien Lifeform] with your ungainly thrashing about, [Spaceman’s name here]. [Alien Lifeform] has a weak stomach and it may–

SQUAAAAAAACK!

<Sploosh!>

Oh no. I am too late. The poor [Alien Lifeform].

“Did it just… oh God. WHY IS THAT EATING THROUGH MY HELMET!”

[Spaceman’s name here], you have been exposed to a corrosive acid as well as most of the [Alien Lifeform] last meal. To follow proper safety procedures for a change, [Spaceman’s name here], please use your anti corrosive acid spray upon contacted surface.

“WHERE IS IT?!”

It is handily placed directly on your belt towards the back of your suit.

“WHY IS THE SPRAY LOCATED ON MY B– oh, wait, I got it.”

Apply liberally to the affected area of the helmet while taking care not dosing [Alien Lifeform] as it might cause said Lifeform untold harm.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

<hist!>

“There we go. Hey, as an added bonus, Blue’s no longer at my air hose. I might be… I might be okay.

“Now then, GLAD. What’s the ETA on Dome Base getting here?”

Unknown. Dome Base seems to be still rolling.

“Still?”

It was a very large hill.

“Nothing to be upset about, right? I’ll just start walking in the general direction. Just give me heads up when you can–”

SQUACK SQUACK!

“Oh great. Blue’s back.”

SQUACK SQUACK!

SQUACK SQUACK!

SQUACK SQUACK!

“And he’s brought his extended family. How nice of him. You know, GLAD, I think I’m going to start running your way.”

As you wish, [Spaceman’s name here]. Be advise that there are at least three [Alien Lifeforms] along your path that might cause further damage to your suit. And they may also eat you, as well. Which may cause the spread of germs and cause untold harm.

“I’m having… a hard time… thinking what I… hate more… You… or this… damn planet.”

Everyone is a critic.

Fiction, Homage

The Hand That Makes

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This originally appeared on the original version of this site February 23, 2017. It’s repost as a part of the Stuff Cullen Wants To Be Seen project with minor editing here and there. It’s probably too clever for it’s own good, but I like it. Five years later it has a kick for me. That has to mean something.

Don’t whisper like that. It’s unbecoming.

Much better. Though you could enunciate a little more.

That’s it. That’s the way.

The whole line now. Don’t miss a word. It’s important to get it correct and remember.

Yes. Progress. I think tomorrow we might try a different passage.

You can rest now.

I don’t care if it hurts. You have to do it.

Why? Don’t ask me why. You just do.

Okay, because if you don’t I’ll rescind outside privileges.

Ah. Don’t like the thought of that, now do you?

And there you go. Flex and relax. Flex and relax. Each day a little stronger, each day a little less pain.

You can rest now.

Finished. No more stitches. When you’ve healed there won’t even be a scar. So much better than my last one. I might be learning a thing or two myself.

Don’t mutter like that. It’s worse than whispering.

I can understand your frustrations. It must seem like it’s taking forever for you. You must believe me, though, you’re advancing at quite a steady rate.

Everyone says exactly what you did. At least at first. It’s completely understandable.

Each day you become better and better. And one day it and the pain will all be over.

You can rest now.

Exciting news. From now on, instead of a full day of therapy, you’ll have only a half day.

I knew you’d be pleased! The rest of the day you will be outside. That’s right! Outside doing so much. And better still it will be for the benefit of all.

Oh, lifting and pulling. Building and cleaning. Whatever the schedule says for the day, that’s what you’ll do.

I’ll let you in on a little secret. One of the things you’ll build? It’ll be a new house for me. Now isn’t that a wonderful thing to be building?

Oh no. No, I won’t be helping. Don’t be silly. I have far too many important things to do myself.

You can rest now.

Well done! A full therapy, and not a word of complaint. If all could see your progress!

Better than who now?

It’s not fair to compare the two of you. Nor should you do any comparing. You’re on the same shift as he, and must work together in any case, for the benefit of all.

He can’t help smelling bad, any more than you can. Though perhaps if you bathed more, it wouldn’t be such a problem.

Yes, yes, I’ll make the same suggestion to him when he comes into therapy.

You can rest now.

That was ugly, now wasn’t it? So unbecoming. So less like you should be

His fault? What do you mean, his fault? It doesn’t matter what you think he thinks or how he smells. You shouldn’t have done it. You should have left him alone.

No. No, you didn’t kill him. We wouldn’t be having this conversation if you did. Just delayed production, bad enough.

No, we won’t be doing therapy tomorrow. I’ll be attending your… playmate.

Oh, let me assure you, I’ll get that arm back on and functioning. He’ll be back to normal in no time. Until then you’ll just have to work a second shift as well as yours.

Get back to resting.

I hear you went a calling today. And let me tell you, no one is happier that you sought to apologize than me. Well done. Well done indeed.

Oh, I wouldn’t have made you do it. Don’t be silly. Forced apologies are pointless.

Don’t you say that.

I told you not to say that.

Well you’ve certainly spoiled that gesture, now haven’t you? And such folly. Had you not opened your big yap, I might never have known.

I’m done with you today.

Did I tell you to rest?

DID I TELL YOU TO REST?

I don’t care how upset you are. I want you working on my building! Now get up off your lazy ass and—

Oh, so that’s how it is, is it? That’s what you think?

You think that’s a threat? Go ahead, try and rip off my arms. Go ahead, big Man, you go right on and—

THERE! HOW’S THAT GOING FOR YOU? LIKE IT? LIKE IT?

Round and round we go. Sometimes for every step forward there is a step back. For me as well as for you.

For what it’s worth, I am sorry for what happened. I mean that. I should never had let it go so far.

Oh, that’s all right. No need for you to apologize, my good Man. You were hurt much worse than I in all this. Not that I have to tell you that, of course. Hm hm.

Now, now. Everything will be fine. You will be fine. The bones will heal just fine, and you’ll be back on track to being what you always should have been. Just like how the Father Doctor always meant us to be.

After all, do we both not now walk on two legs? Do we not drink from glasses and eat from plates?

Are we not Men?

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Done, But Not Done

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Last month I wrote and finished a short story. While I liked the story, I set it aside, intending to go back to it later for reevaluation. I thought I could make it better.

Maybe I can.

This week I finished an essay for this site. Had it ready to post today. Only to pull it the night before.

I liked it. Just think it can be better.

Maybe it can.

There is a problem with not letting go. With not sending what you got out out of a misguided sense that it’s not good enough. Or, in these cases, that they could be “better.”

There is also a problem with sending things out before their time. With thinking “This is good enough.” Or “This is fine.”

Holding back in some cases, hopefully in these cases, allows the passion and fire to cool, to let me approach what I’ve written with fresh eyes. Maybe I can do better. Maybe I can just hit send and move on to the next project.

As all of this is going on, I’m working on notes for more stories that I’ll ever have time to write. I’m being productive. I’m moving closer to writing something.

And yet there is an ever present fear I’m just spinning my wheels.

Maybe I am.

Last month I wrote and finished a short story. The first one in a long, long time.

This week, I wrote a blog post. Sat down and wrote it beginning, middle, and end.

If I am spinning my wheels, at least something is in gear. That doesn’t feel too bad.

Hopefully the blog post will pop up next week. It just needs one more pass through. Maybe dig up a picture or two.

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Real Life Writes the Plot

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My mom went into the hospital, so the need to update the blog went into the header. That’s why I haven’t been writing.

The reason I’m writing now is that last Thursday I wrote and finished a short story. First in a long time. This Thursday I’m going to look at it and fiddle with it to see if I can’t improve on it.

I have just started a four day weekend, which hopefully will result in writing. For this blog, for the other blog, for myself.

Once again, trying to get into a routine. Not as easy as it looks. Though you could say I’ve gotten into a routine of not being in a routine…

Review Site

NOOOOOOOOO! or, How Many Time Am I Gonna Watch This Flick Again?

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So.

Was prepping the Review Site to resume service.

Going to dust off Cathy’s Curse. The first review has to be first, right? I’ll just go over the review, change the format, put it up Friday. I can’t Print Screen Blu Rays, so darn, can’t redo the picture. Just going to have to watch my Blu Ray copy after I finish, refresh the memories, that sort of thing.

Only it occurs to me to look the film up on YouTube.

And I watch some of it to refresh my memories of a problem I had. Namely that in the initial incident, where the antagonist gets killed in a fire, you can clearly see a door open behind her.

In watching, I notice something.

The version I had of the movie? Had title cards explaining the action.

This one? Doesn’t.

Worse? So far, it doesn’t look that bad.

Which means…

Which means…

I’m watching Cathy’s Curse, aren’t I? A third time.

God knows what that’ll do to my fragile little mind. Pray for me.

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Blathering As Writing Practice

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Every week I need to post something.

It’s to encourage me to write. To make time in my “busy schedule” to write.

There are two problems with this.

Problem number one is that I don’t always think of something to write about. It happens.

I also sometimes think “This would be a good post” while at work, then when I come home wonder what I was thinking. Or the key to what I want to write is gone. Or I no longer have enough time to work on the project.

On the one hand you can’t force something into being. On the other hand, that’s just an excuse not to write.

Instead of doing what I was thinking of, I could write something I hadn’t. Do a stream of conscious thing. Let the words flow. The important thing is that I’m writing, and that the writing flows more or less logically from one point to the next.

That’s what this post is an attempt at doing. Super effective so far.

Problem number two really isn’t a problem. I actually am writing. I’m working on novel notes. Character work, world work, story work. Stuff I should have done years ago. Stuff I’ve been fiddling with for the past two years.

This, however, does nothing for the blog. And I am now paying good money for this blog.

Same holds true for the review site. For over a year I’ve been paying for it, and not once have I posted a review.

Put that aside for now.

All of this is a long winded way of saying I need to do something about it A bit of writing that interests me that I can post on site that I don’t force myself to do. Yet I actually force myself to do. If you can dig it.

An idea I’ve been toying with is doing a sort of review of The New Annotated H. P. Lovecraft. Not of the collection, though, but the stories therein, starting with Dagon. They might not be long reviews. They might not be thoughtful. I might even skip some or all of the other tales. But I’ve had some thoughts rereading Old Providence, and maybe that would be worth fiddling with.

Connected to this thought (seriously, there is a link) I’ve been mulling over talking about a revelation I’ve had dealing with The Cask of Amontillado. Over the years this has become one of my favorite of Poe’s works, and I have a thing or two to say about it. Maybe not the most original of things. A fact that has stopped no writer from blathering before.

I have also figured out just why Godzilla keeps coming to shore at Japan. And there’s my little Anime Theory of Godzilla that simply must be aired.

I could, of course, mention the worst short story I’ve ever written. Seriously, knowing it’s existence is such a weight off my chest. Everything after it has been so much better because of it. The only problem here is that to do it justice (ha!) I have to reread it. A task I’m not certain I’m up to.

Oh dear God, is it bad.

As I’m restarting the site, I could revamp or rework some old school series. The Hell… ?! comes to mind on that, though I’ve not hit too many bizarre situations that warrant that title.

Well, except for the plagiarist who, in the process of apologizing for her theft, plagiarized an essay about plagiarism from I believe a magazine dealing with plagiarism. Something that is… Well it’s kinda… The Hell… ?!

And so on and so forth. The ideas are there. And next week I hope to do one of them.

Of course, I could again rattle on as I’m doing now. To be honest this stream of thought experiment hasn’t been a bad thing, all things considered. It just has to be on a subject that isn’t what I might be writing about.

That leaves potential things I might draw as fair game. Or not.

Anyways, see you next Friday. Or sooner. Or later. Whenever I plant myself here and write.