Uncategorized

20
Jul
2026

Ryan Gets Ghosted

The G-Zir Steam District on the mall’s volcanic moon was usually just humid, but today it was haunted. Ryan sprinted past a bubbling sulfur fountain, his security flashlight flickering like a dying firefly. Behind him, a headless Victorian butler in a tattered tuxedo glided through the steam, throwing translucent dinner plates that shattered into harmless ectoplasm against the bulkheads.

“He’s gaining on us, Ryan!” Dover groaned, his metal railing-appendages clattering frantically against the floor. “I can feel his cold, aristocratic judgment on my treads! This is why I prefer the mezzanine; ghosts hate the mezzanine!”

“It is just a Class-4 Echo-Haunt, Dover!” Ryan panted, leaping over a burst coolant pipe. “He’s probably just still upset about the 1890 clearance sale at Bed Bath and Way Beyond!”

The ghost let out a blood-curdling wail that sounded suspiciously like a request for a tip. They were trapped in the Kenwood Catacombs, a dead-end maintenance corridor where the mall’s temperature was regulated by literal holes in space-time. The ghost floated through a solid steel bulkhead, raising a spectral silver tray to deliver a dish of doom.

“Wait!” Ryan yelled, holding up his tattered paper map. “Sir! You are out of uniform! Mall Regulation 402-B states all service staff must wear a visible holographic nametag or face immediate spiritual reassignment to the grease traps at El Pluto Loco!”

The ghost froze. It looked down at its chest, then back at Ryan’s authoritative stance. With a mournful, bureaucratic sigh, the specter vanished in a puff of lavender-scented smoke.

“Did you just HR a ghost to death?” Dover asked, unfolding his accordion body.

“Common sense, Dover,” Ryan smirked. “Nothing is scarier than a performance review.”

Suddenly, a massive, hairy paw smashed through the ceiling, followed by a howl that shook the pipes.

“Is that a Were-Manager?” Dover shrieked.

“Run now, logic later!” Ryan yelled.

(This story created by a California Earthquake on July 19, 2026. Magnitude 2.5 – 3 km ESE of Kenwood, CA URL: https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/nc75399316/executive)

Posted by JOHNDEREVLANY, 0 comments
19
Jul
2026

Table for Two, Tractor Beam for One

Ryan’s first date with Nebula started at the Lithium-Flat Outpost, a retail colony perched on the edge of the radioactive Gamma-Ray Geysers. He had saved three weeks of mall security pay for a table at The Event Horizon, a restaurant where the soup was made of literal stardust.

“It is romantic,” Ryan said, adjusting his itchy clip-on tie. “Look at the twin suns collapsing.”

“I am allergic to collapsing suns,” Nebula replied, her third arm emerging from her lower back to frantically scratch her neck. “And the waiter is a Hive-Mind. He keeps forgetting which of us ordered the carbon-neutral pasta and which ordered the bowl of raw electricity.”

The evening plummeted when Dover the Escalator arrived, clanking across the salt flats on his railing-appendages. “I am here to provide an emergency exit,” the sentient stairs moaned, his voice echoing through the vacuum. “I sensed your social anxiety from the food court. It feels like a structural failure in my soul.”

“Go away, Dover!” Ryan hissed, but it was too late. The Hive-Mind waiter tripped over Dover’s bottom step, splashing the raw electricity directly onto Ryan’s lap.

The kinetic energy sent Ryan flying backward into a display of Grav-Spliced Mannequins. As he hovered six feet off the ground, glowing blue and smelling like burnt hair, Nebula checked her chronometer.

“Is this the part where we kiss?” Ryan asked, his voice three octaves higher due to the ionization.

“This is the part where my father, the High Inquisitor of Sector Seven, arrives,” Nebula said, pointing at a spiked dreadnought dropping out of warp.

The ship’s tractor beam locked onto Ryan instead of Nebula. “Great,” Dover droned as Ryan was hoisted toward the warship. “Now I have to update my insurance policy for accidental human abduction.”

(This story created by a California Earthquake on July 18, 2026. Magnitude 3.1 – 6 km NW of The Geysers, CA. URL: https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/nc75398761/executive)

Posted by JOHNDEREVLANY, 0 comments
18
Jul
2026

Existence is a Tall Order

Ryan and Dover were stranded in the Overflow Dust-Flat of Sector-51, a three-day trek from the main mall entrance across a scorched plain of abandoned space-minivans and sentient tumbleweeds.

Dover’s railing-limbs clicked rhythmically against the salt-crust. Ryan ignored his friend’s complaints, focused on a grease-stained map pointing toward the distant neon glow of the food court.

Their first roadblock was a gathering of Binary Monks who refused to let anyone pass unless they could solve a Rubik’s Cube made of frozen antimatter.

Ryan didn’t solve it; he simply offered them his lukewarm, neon-blue sports drink. The monks, fascinated by the liquid’s unnatural color, declared him a hydration deity and paved a path for fifty yards before vanishing into a cloud of static.

An hour later, they were swarmed by Telepathic Sales-Gnats. The insects didn’t bite; they projected aggressive thoughts about extended warranties directly into Ryan’s frontal lobe. Dover saved them by vibrating at a frequency so miserable the gnats became too depressed to fly, settling into the dust to contemplate their tiny, meaningless lives.

Finally, they reached the gate marked You Must Be This Tall To Exist. The guard was a giant, sentient thumb who demanded a toll in the form of a cherished childhood memory. Ryan reached into his pocket, pulled out a crumpled receipt for a pack of gum, and told the thumb it was his very first paycheck.

The thumb wept, swinging the gate open. They stepped onto the mall’s climate-controlled carpet just as Ryan’s lunch break ended. Mr. Meankinder’s angry head was already screaming into a megaphone, while his kind head offered Ryan a Welcome Back cupcake made of spicy, glowing radiation.

(This story created by a NEVADA earthquake (near California) on July 17, 2026. Magnitude of: 3.64. 45 km SE of Beatty, Nevada. URL: https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/nn00921891)

Posted by JOHNDEREVLANY, 0 comments
17
Jul
2026

Validation Required (for the alien ex)

Ryan polished his security badge while staring through the viewport of the Petrolia Peninsula Parking Hub. Below, in the ammonia-fountains, Nebula was laughing with a guy who looked like a walking disco ball with six massive arms.

“That is Glax,” Dover groaned, his rubber handrails sagging. “He is a star-surfer. I am a staircase to nowhere, and you are a bipedal primate with a flashlight.”

Ryan watched Glax use four arms to juggle flaming donuts while the other two massaged Nebula’s shoulders. Ryan adjusted his baggy belt and marched toward the kiosks.

“Hey Nebula,” Ryan said. “Is this the guy who did not validate his parking? That is a triple-solar fine.”

Glax laughed, a sound like crystal chimes. “I do not park, tiny human. I orbit.”

Nebula’s third arm emerged from her neck to snatch a donut. “Ryan, relax. Glax is just my ex-larva-mate.”

“Does he have a discount card?” Ryan asked, pulling a crumpled flyer. “This Buy-One-Get-One-Void-Cake coupon expires in ten seconds.”

Glax’s eyes widened. “A BOGO?”

The six-armed giant sprinted toward the food court.

“Common sense,” Ryan shrugged.

Nebula smirked. “True, but he still smells better. You smell like floor wax.”

Ryan sighed, and continued his lonely patrol tour of the alien parking hub. “It’s not floor wax,” he muttered. “It’s the mist from that ammonia fountain.”

“Ugh.”

(This story created by a California earthquake on July 16th. Magnitude 2.6 – 20 km WSW of Petrolia, CA. URL: https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/nc75397501/executive)

Posted by JOHNDEREVLANY, 0 comments
16
Jul
2026

Mall of Duty: Modern Guardfare 4

Ryan squinted into the floating lens of a Cybo-Cam. He was patrolling the Ocotillo Badlands Retail Colony, a desert-moon annex where the mall floor was literal glass fused by twin suns. Behind him, a documentary crew from Galaxy’s Most Mediocre followed his every move.

“Day forty-two,” Ryan told the camera, trying to look stoic despite his baggy uniform. “The mall is a predator. You have to be the apex mall-cop.”

Dover rumbled beneath Ryan’s feet, his metal stairs vibrating. “Please tell the viewers that my life is a recursive loop of misery and grease, the escalator sighed. Also, get that boom mic out of my handrail.”

Suddenly, Nebula Norris sprinted past, her floating third arm carrying a half-eaten burger from El Pluto Loco. She was pursued by a swarm of sentient, discount-hunting nanobots from the Outer Limit Factory Outlet. “Ryan!” Nebula yelled. “They heard the store was ninety percent off and now they are trying to discount my atoms!”

Ryan knew he had to act. He turned to the camera with a confident wink. “Watch this. Standard retail procedure.” He slapped a glowing Manager’s Special sticker onto a heavy-duty trash can. The nanobots immediately swarmed the bin in a frenzy of bargain-hunting, tearing the metal apart to find the hidden value.

“See? It is all about psychological leverage,” Ryan explained, leaning against a glass pillar.

Mr. Meankinder stomped into the frame. “You are a star!” Kind head cheered.

“You are fired for stealing the camera!” Mean head roared.

The Er head simply tried to swallow the expensive camera lens.

Ryan sighed as the Cybo-Cam zoomed in on his sweating face. “Can we edit that part out?”

“No,” the camera drone buzzed. “The audience loves the smell of human failure. It tests well in the Andromeda Galaxy.”

(This story created by a California earthquake. Magnitude of: 3.13. 9 km SE of Ocotillo Wells, CA. URL: https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/ci40655194)

Posted by JOHNDEREVLANY, 0 comments
16
Jul
2026

The Golden Ticket To Gastric Distress

The Golden Gift Card for infinite tacos was fluttering through the air like a caffeinated butterfly, and Ryan Random was losing the race.

Behind him, Dover the sentient escalator clattered across the shifting violet dunes of the Mall’s Southeast Ocotillo Quadrant on his accordion-style railing legs. “Why even try, Ryan?” Dover groaned, his voice a blaring trumpet of doom. “We are all just descending into the basement of existence.”

Nebula Norris manifested her third arm from her neck to snag the card, but a sudden gust of solar wind sent the plastic rectangle soaring toward the Bed Bath & Way Beyond loading docks. Ryan dove over a display of self-heating beach towels, skinning his elbow on the synthetic quartz floor.

Mr. Meankinder’s Kind Head shouted encouragement from a balcony, offering Ryan a fictional promotion, while his Mean Head screamed that he was fired for taking an unauthorized cardio break. The Er Head simply vibrated in silent confusion.

The card zipped into the slipstream of a departing freighter. Ryan hijacked a stray electric scooter, weaving through a crowd of six-legged tourists. He was inches away, his fingers brushing the gold-leaf edge, when the card took a sharp left into a high-security disposal chute.

Ryan skidded to a halt at the edge of the pit. The card hovered over the opening, then slowly descended into the abyss of the mall’s central incinerator. Nebula caught up, breathless, patting Ryan’s shoulder with her back-arm. She remarked that “at least it couldn’t get any worse.”

Suddenly, the incinerator belched. The Golden Gift Card shot back out, charred and melted, followed by a three-story-tall, fire-breathing trash-golem that was now wearing the taco card as a shiny tooth filling.

Ryan clicked on his standard-issue flashlight and looked up at the behemoth. I really hate the weekend shift.

(This story created by an earthquake on July 15, 2026. Magnitude of: 3.13. 9 km SE of Ocotillo Wells, CA. URL: https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/ci40655194)

Posted by JOHNDEREVLANY, 0 comments
16
Jul
2026

Ryan Random… the musical?

Ryan is forced to sing in front of mannequins forming a dance troupe.

Ryan ducked as a crystalline dinner plate shattered against the wall of the Dust Bowl Promenade on the Rand-Alpha Asteroid. He wasn’t worried about the flying shards; he was worried about the high-C vibrato vibrating his ribcage.

A canister of Lyrical Leak from the Bed Bath and Way Beyond backstock had ruptured, flooding the ventilation system with concentrated musical theater pheromones.

“Step away from the kiosk,” Ryan commanded, but the words left his throat in a perfectly pitched baritone melody.

Dover, currently in his compressed accordion-walk mode, groaned in a soulful minor key. “My life is a downward escalator of despair,” he crooned, his metal railings clinking like a percussion section. “We are trapped in a three-act structure of misery.”

Nebula Norris skated over from the El Pluto Loco, her third arm waving a taco like a conductor’s baton. She hit a whistle note that cracked the nearby display windows at Abercrombie and Droid. “Ryannnnn,” she belted out, the chorus behind her provided by a group of terrified six-eyed toddlers, “I think the gas is making the mannequins start a dance troupe!”

Behind them, twenty plastic figures in neon hoodies began a synchronized jazz-hand routine. Mr. Meankinder burst from his office, his three heads harmonizing in a barbershop trio. “You’re fired! You’re hired! I’m confused!” they sang in terrifying unison.

Ryan realized the only way to neutralize the gas was to hit a note so sour it would break the spell. He grabbed his security megaphone, dialed it to maximum feedback, and thought of his middle school recorder recital. As the mall reached a crescendo of cosmic choreography, Ryan inhaled deeply.

He didn’t sing. He didn’t hum. He unleashed a tone-deaf, gravelly screech that sounded like a garbage disposal eating a bag of wrenches. The musical pheromones curdled instantly. The dancing mannequins collapsed, Dover stopped sobbing in operatic verse, and the silence that followed was heavy with the smell of scorched glitter.

“That was terrible,” Nebula gasped, wiping stage makeup from her green forehead.

Mr. Mean stepped forward, his angry head vibrating with post-musical rage. “That performance was a disaster!” he screamed. “We missed the standing ovation from the corporate overlords!”

“Wait,” Ryan said, pointing at the security monitors. “The overlords are still clapping.”

On the screen, five eldritch horrors from the Twelfth Dimension were throwing roses at their screens, demanding an encore of the screech.

(This story created by an Earthquake on July 14, 2026, in Coso Junction, CA, magnitude 2.7.
https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/ci40655106/executive

Posted by JOHNDEREVLANY, 0 comments
13
Jul
2026

Everything must slide!

Ryan Random was currently being dragged across the Quartzite Johannesburg Level of the mall by a sobbing, accordion-shaped escalator.

Dover had reached a new level of mechanical mania, his railing-arms gripping a tiny, glowing spirit level. He was convinced that the entire mall, currently anchored to a drifting asteroid in the Obsidian Nebula, was leaning 0.004 degrees to the left.

“It is the vertigo, Ryan! I can feel it in my gears!” Dover wailed, his metal steps clacking like teeth. “If we do not find the perfect horizontal, the whole food court will slide into the sun by lunch!”

“Dover, the food court is bolted down with gravity-pins,” Ryan sighed, trying to keep his footing on the vibrating escalator-treads. “And you do not even have inner ears. How can you have vertigo?”

They burst into The Outer Limit Factory Outlet Center, where Mr. Meankinder’s three heads were currently arguing with a holographic mannequin. Mr. Mean was screaming about shoplifting, Mr. Kind was offering the hologram a seasonal discount, and Mr. Er was trying to remember if he had already eaten his own tie.

“Boss, Dover is losing it,” Ryan shouted over the sound of Dover dismantling a display of sentient umbrellas. “He is obsessed with leveling-out the asteroid.”

“A level?” Mr. Kind beamed. “What a constructive hobby! Give him the mall’s master structural override codes!”

“NO! FIRE HIM INTO THE VOID!” Mr. Mean roared.

Dover did not wait. He snatched the codes and plugged his railing directly into the mall’s core processor. The entire station groaned. Gravity shifted violently. Thousands of shoppers at BED BATH & WAY BEYOND were suddenly pinned against the north wall.

Ryan grabbed a nearby roll of heavy-duty duct tape and a discarded wooden shim from a broken shelf. “Dover, look! I fixed it!” Ryan yelled, jamming the shim under the escalator’s primary tread.

Dover froze, his sensors scanning the piece of scrap wood. “The balance… it is perfect. The equilibrium is restored!”

The mall stopped shaking. Ryan breathed a sigh of relief until Nebula Norris wandered up, her third arm holding a giant novelty slushie.

“Hey Ryan, did you see the window?” she asked, gesturing outside. “A giant space-slug is currently trying to mate with the asteroid. That is why we are tilting.”

Dover’s eyes widened. “A slug? I need a giant squeegee. Ryan, find me a squeegee or we are all going to slide!”

(This story created by an earthquake on July 12, 2026, Magnitude of: 4.31762677888687. 18 km WSW of Johannesburg, CA. URL: https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/ci41292687)

Posted by JOHNDEREVLANY, 0 comments
12
Jul
2026

The Law of Total Nothingness

Ryan pushed his electric scooter through the Northern Void Outpost, a retail district suspended over the swirling gas clouds of the Covelo Gravity Well. Usually, the food court was a riot of multi-limbed shoppers, but today it was eerily silent. Every single employee and customer was sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring intensely at a puddle of shimmering purple slime on a pedestal.

“What is the deal?” Ryan asked Dover, who was currently compressed into his accordion-walking mode. “Why is everyone staring at a spilled smoothie?”

“It is not a smoothie, Ryan,” Dover sighed, his voice a drone of metallic misery. “It is the Great Gloop of Gratuitous Giving. They are practicing the Law of Reverse Desire. The guru teaches that if you want something, the universe hates you and keeps it away. But if you truly, deeply do not want it, the universe gets confused and gives it to you anyway. It is the most depressing thing I have ever heard. I love it.”

Nebula Norris sat near the front, her third arm currently holding a book titled How to Be Your Own Worst Enemy. She looked at Ryan with total apathy. “Go away, Ryan. I am trying to un-manifest a promotion at El Pluto Loco so that the corporate overlords will be forced to give me a raise.”

Suddenly, the three-headed Mr. Meankinder floated over. Mr. Kind was weeping with joy while Mr. Mean tried to bite his own ears off. “Ryan!” Mr. Kind chirped. “You must join us! Stop wanting your paycheck! If you stop wanting it, the accounting department will be overwhelmed by the cosmic vacuum and accidentally double it!”

Ryan realized the entire mall’s economy was about to collapse because nobody wanted to buy anything. He stepped up to the purple slime and pulled out a half-eaten bag of Earth-style sour cream and onion chips.

“I really, really hope nobody eats these delicious, salty snacks,” Ryan announced loudly. “It would be a total disaster if I had to share.”

The Great Gloop pulsated. The logic of the Law of Reverse Desire rippled through the room. Within seconds, the crowd descended into a violent retail frenzy, screaming about how much they did not want the latest tech as they trampled each other to buy it.

“I think I broke the universe’s self-esteem,” Ryan said, as a four-armed toddler stole his chips.

Dover groaned as he expanded back into a stationary staircase. “Great. Now I have to go back to work. I really did not want that. Oh no, it worked.”

(This story created by another earthquake near Covelo, CA, July 11, 2026, Magnitude 2.1. URL: https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/nc75393796/executive)

Posted by JOHNDEREVLANY, 0 comments
11
Jul
2026

The Full Price Prophecy

Ryan stood at the register of The Outer Limit Factory Outlet Center on the Round Valley Retail Rim, holding a plain white undershirt. Behind him, the gravity-distorting forests of Covelo-7 pulsed with violet light through the mall’s massive skylights.

“That will be forty-two Galactic Credits,” the cashier squeaked, its six eyes widening in disbelief. “Wait. You did not scan your loyalty tentacles. You did not even mention the BOGO-Free-On-Tuesday-If-It-Rains-Liquid-Nitrogen coupon.”

“I just need a shirt,” Ryan said, sliding his security ID across the counter. “I spilled Nebula’s hyper-latte on my uniform, and I have five minutes before my shift starts. I am paying full price.”

The cashier let out a sonic shriek that echoed through the ventilation shafts. Within seconds, a crowd of gelatinous shoppers surrounded Ryan, bowing their translucent heads in reverence. “The prophecy is fulfilled!” they chanted. “The Great Consumer who pays full price has arrived to stabilize the Sector’s debt!”

Dover, Ryan’s sentient escalator friend, rumbled up the hallway, his metal stairs clacking in distress. “Ryan, get out of here! The Mall Overlords are descending to witness the transaction. If they realize you are just a broke teenager and not a cosmic billionaire, they will liquidate this entire retail colony to balance the books!”

Mr. Meankinder’s Kind head poked through the mob, weeping tears of joy. “Oh, Ryan! Such a hero! Such a generous spender!”

Then, his Mean head snapped forward, teeth gnashing. “If you do not finalize this sale in thirty seconds, the fiscal singularity will swallow our holiday bonuses! Buy it now!”

A golden beam of light pierced the mall’s dome as the Overlords arrived, looking like giant, floating calculators with laser-pointer eyes. Show us the transaction of legend, they boomed in a voice that smelled like fresh receipt paper.

“Wait!” Ryan shouted, holding up a crumpled piece of paper he found in his pocket. “I have a coupon! It is a Buy One, Get One Half-Off for a psychic hot dog at El Pluto Loco. Technically, this shirt is a fabric hot dog wrapper if you squint.”

The Overlords paused, their logic circuits smoking as they processed the loophole. This is not a savior, they whispered. This is a master of bureaucratic evasion.

They immediately promoted Ryan to Executive Director of Tax Loopholes, which came with a corner office but required him to wear a suit made of sentient, hungry staplers.

“Great,” Ryan sighed as the staplers began gnawing on his belt. “At least the shirt was half-off.”

(This story was created by an earthquake on July 10, 2026, Magnitude of: 4.42. 11 km N of Covelo, CA. URL: https://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/nc75393566)

Posted by JOHNDEREVLANY, 0 comments