the pocket co

Keith Birdsong Star Trek: The God-Thing Unpublished Paperback Novel Cover Painting Original Art (Pocket Books, 1991). Co-written by series creator Gene Roddenberry and long-time Trek novelist Michael Jan Friedman, this story was set in the era of the first Star Trek: The Motion Picture film. The story was never published, so this fantastic Birdsong cover was never used! Roddenberry wanted to turn this into a film, and despite multiple changes requested by the studio, it never happened. His Estate has previously refused to release the draft for the story, so this single piece of art is as close as you can get to discovering why Spock was a Hippie.

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Who can resist such a lineup of ikemen~~~

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Electrician from hell.

So this story is a continuous thing I’ve been doing for a week or two now. I work in a construction based business doing HVAC work. I usually just float between job sites and help the other guys out.

There is an electrician who is the biggest asshole I’ve ever met. He will find you and scream for leaving your tool bag “in the f*cking way all the time”. Throw boxes full of expensive parts which has had to come out of the pocket of my co worker before. More or less a nightmare to be around. When I see his van pulling up to a job site I die a little inside.

So for the last few weeks I’ve been running my knife all the way through his electrical tape rolls. So he can only get about two inch strips at a time. It’s fantastic hearing him loose his mind. Hopefully he doesn’t catch on.

This belonged to my great-granddad,” he said. “He was in the scrap we had against Pseudopolis and my great-gran gave him this book of prayer for soldiers, ‘cos you need all the prayers you can get, believe you me, and he stuck it in the top pocket of his jerkin, ‘cos he couldn’t afford armour, and next day in battle - whoosh, this arrow came out of nowhere, wham, straight into this book and it went all the way through to the last page before stopping, look, you can see the hole.”
“Pretty miraculous,” Carrot agreed.
“Yeah, it was, I s’pose,” said the sergeant. He looked ruefully at the battered volume. “Shame about the other seventeen arrows, really.
—  Sergeant Fred Colon and Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson (Jingo by Terry Pratchett)

He rummaged in a pocket and produced a very small book, which he held up for inspection.

“This belonged to my great-grandad,” he said. “He was in the scrap we had against Pseudopolis and my great-gran gave him this book of prayers for soldiers, ’cos you need all the prayers you can get, believe you me, and he stuck it in the top pocket of his jerkin, ’cos he couldn’t afford armor, and next day in battle—whoosh, this arrow came out of nowhere, wham, straight into this book and it went all the way through to the last page before stopping, look. You can see the hole.”

“Pretty miraculous,” Carrot agreed.

“Yeah, it was, I s’pose,” said the sergeant. He looked ruefully at the battered volume. “Shame about the other seventeen arrows, really.”

—  Terry Pratchett, Jingo

Co-worker (excited): “We’re wearing purple T shirts to work today!”
Me: “T shirt?”
Co-worker: “Yes a purple T shirt”
Me (confused): “So like a pocket square?”
Co-worker: “No a purple T shirt.”
Me: “Oh I see a purple tie.”
Co-worker (Now yelling loud and slowly): “What? Um, no, a purple T shirt”
Me: “Fine fine. I’ll wear a purple tie and complementing pocket square. No problem”
Co-worker (shakes head, walks away)

He rummaged in a pocket and produced a very small book, which he held up for inspection.

‘This belonged to my great-grandad,’ he said. ‘He was in the scrap we had against Pseudopolis and my great-gran gave him this book of prayers for soldiers, ‘cos you need all the prayers you can get, believe you me, and he stuck it in the top pocket of his jerkin, ‘cos he couldn’t afford armour, and next day in battle - whoosh, this arrow came out of nowhere, wham, straight into this book and it went all the way through to the last page before stopping, look. You can see the hole.’

‘Pretty miraculous,’ Carrot agreed.

‘Yeah, it was, I s’pose,’ said the sergeant. He looked ruefully at the battered volume. ‘Shame about the other seventeen arrows, really.’