Paingod and Other Delusions
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Robert Heinlein says, ?This book is raw corn liquor ? you should serve a whiskbroom with each shot so the customer can brush the sawdust off after he gets up from the floor.? Perhaps a mooring cable might also be added as necessary equipment for reading these eight wonderful stories: They not only knock you down?they raise you to the stars. Passion is the keynote as you encounter the Harlequin and his nemesis, the dreaded Tictockman, in one of the most reprinted and widely taught stories in the English language; a pyretic who creates fire merely by willing it; the last surgeon in a world of robot physicians; a spaceship filled with hideous mutants rejected by the world that gave them birth. Touching and gentle and shocking stories from an incomparable master of impossible dreams and troubling truths.
“Nosir, nuh-nosir, I just, uh, I was uh just follerin’ along to see maybe I could tap yuh for a coupla cents tuh get some chic’n noodle soup. It’s kinda cold…‘n I thought, maybe…” Colin Marshack’s wide, somehow-humorous face settled into understanding lines. “You’re right, old man, it’s cold, and it’s windy, and it’s miserable, and I think you’re entitled to some goddam chicken noodle soup. God knows someone’s entitled.” He paused a moment, added, “Maybe me.” He took the old man by the arm,
done exhaustive research on sociopathic behavior for a two-hour NBC dramatic special recently, I won’t give you the faintest murmur of an objection that there are freaks and whackos walking the streets; they’re as liable to shoot you dead for chuckles as they are to assist you in getting your stalled car moving out of the intersection. One reliable estimate of the number of potential psychomotor epileptics undetected in our midst is 250,000 in the United States alone. And if you’ve read Michael
loincloth and top hat to burnoose and riding boots. Darfla gave one sharp, tiny squeal and then let her hands fall limply to her sides. “All right, you want your say, so say!” Anger and annoyance fluttered in her voice. A short, pock-faced man wearing a suit that appeared to be made from ropes of different colors stepped forward. “We thought negative (click-click!) and wanted to talk on this at Cave (click-click!).” Themus listened with growing amazement. Not only did the man intersperse every
elbows on knees. He sat. And sat longer. And still sat. And remained seated. Deere walked over to him and looked down. “What is the fifth act of madness?” “There isn’t any.” Deere looked away, and began to turn, as though satisfied by Watcher’s answer. More quickly than anyone could follow, he had swivelled back and his head seemed to revolve on his head in a blur, “There isn’t any?” “I’m going to sit here and not do any more.” The crowd murmured again. “What?” cried Deere. “What do you
stood smiling. Themus just stood choking. The elder Watcher grinned at the confusion swirling about Themus’s face. “How did—when were you—” Themus stuttered. Furth raised a hand to stop him. “I was an unbending Stuff for a good many years, Themus, before I realized the Crackpot in me wanted out.” He grinned widely. “Do you know what did it? I was kidnapped, put in a barrel with a bunch of chattering pegullas, and forced to think my way out. I finally made it, and when I crawled out, all