A Brief History of Time, Edited and Reimagined for the Teenaged Girl

By Natalie McDougal, author of the immensely popular Malnutrition Dawn series of Young Adult fiction.

            There are plenty of novels and non-fiction books deemed as “classics” or as “important” that aren’t really all that entertaining. For example, I recently opened up a used copy of Moby Dick by Melvin Hermville; not only was there no female characters, but there was not a single love triangle nor supernatural fight to death. You would naturally expect a book with so many strong male characters to have at least one homoerotic sex scene, be it explicit or just a night in rubbing down some candlesticks. This series, of which A Brief History of Time is the first, represents a revolution in literature; I will be taking these books and editing them to suit the needs of today’s modern audiences. I can’t really imagine how anybody slogged through them in the first place. This book in particular I found truly dreadful. I read the first three paragraphs and found not a single vampire or lycanthrope; nobody dreamed of a life together in some far flung future; no one even wistfully stared out at a dark sea at midnight, wondering when their ghostly love interest was coming back with the picnic essentials. So I’m fixing these author’s mistakes. Stephen Hawking’s book has been perhaps the most challenging for me, and that is why I put it first in the series; this reediting is a remarkable work of effort by yours truly. When I first opened it, I was shocked by how unliterary it was. You would think he wasn’t writing exciting literature at all!

            What follows is an excerpt from the very first chapter of my revised A Brief History of Time. You’ll notice when the novel does eventually hit stores that Mr. Hawking’s name has been removed from it; we believe this is for the best. If he wanted credit, he would have written it this way from the start.

            -Natalie McDougal, author extraordinaire

  

Chapter 1

A Long Dark Night of Dark Wistfulness

On a Dark Sea of Lament

           

Rose McGowan stared out on the rippling blue tides at dawn. It was a dark night, and the moon reflected a white orb in the pitch-black water; there was no other color to be found in that water. Rose stood in the bushes, tenderly caressing a leaf on a nearby tree, wishing it was Wayland’s hand. As she sat there in the shrubs, she listened to the caw of the morning birds in chorus with the frogs on their lily pads. It was a beautiful sight, that sound.

Her face glinted and seemed to glow in the moonlight, like that of a newlywed bride or a recently pregnant woman. She was also a beautiful sight, Rose. Wayland would be arriving soon, she knew, and she had to look her best. She struggled to absorb as much of the moonlight as she could.

A ladybug crawled up the leaf she was still absentmindedly stroking. She caught a glimpse of it. It almost seemed to wave. Nature was so friendly ever since she met Wayland. Perhaps it was a side effect of his mysterious powers over nature. She had first glimpsed his powers the first night they met, and that glimpse told her everything any more glimpses ever could. The ladybug glimpsed back at her. Rose allowed it to crawl up her arm and she watched it move about for a bit. Growing impatient with Wayland’s mysterious ways, she shook the bug off and stared back out at the sea.

It was then that he appeared, and her heart leapt into her throat. Thank Goodness, she thought, I was beginning to get scared there for a bit. He took her by the arm and held her close.

“I’m sorry I’m so late, my love,” he said, tenderly.

“How could I ever be mad at you?”

“What were you thinking about when I so rudely interrupted?” asked Wayland, lovingly. He pulled her tighter and breathed upon her ear.

“Oh, you know, the usual stuff.”

“Yes, but you know that I love to hear every thought that brims inside that wondrous mind of yours,” Wayland said, majestically.

“I was thinking that, due to gravity,” said Rose, “logically the universe must one day collapse in on itself.” She raised her arms in the air and mimed the image of galaxies collapsing upon one another to create black holes, singularities in space invisible due to the fact that no light may escape them.

“Yes, you would think so,” said Wayland powerfully as he broke apart from Rose. She looked upset at the severing of contact, so he grasped her by the chin and stared into her eyes consolingly. He backed off and pulled a chain from around his neck, placing it gingerly onto Rose. “That is the Nature Medallion that has been in my family for generations. It is the reason I wanted to meet you here tonight. Long ago, during the Ghoul Wars of ancient times, my family found this pendant in the ruins of the old vampire cities. It allows us to commune with nature. While it’s clues are cryptic, it’s wisdom is vast.” The pendant glowed green upon Rose’s chest as she looked down in disbelief.

“Why would you give this thing, so precious to you, to me?”

         “Because you are more precious to me than that powerful gem ever could wish to be,” said Wayland, gingerly. “And to answer your previous query, we have discovered through use of, oddly enough, the Doppler Effect that all planet’s have a phenomena known as Red Shift. Everything moving away from us casts a red light upon us, and everything in the universe casts a red light upon us. Therefore, the Universe is expanding,” said Wayland, as he caressed Rose gingerly.

         “That is very interesting!” said Rose, in her monotone voice that drove all men to love her. “Does the Nature Medallion give us these answers?”

         “No, but it drives us in the right direction. It allowed me, for instance, to find you.”

         Rose and Wayland kissed as Wayland tried desperately to recede his adamantium claws back into his knuckles. The conversation had tired them both, so they laid down in the meadow and began to discuss Feynman Diagrams.

Hope you enjoyed the excerpt! Look for it on bookshelves in December of 2013, along with Volume 2: The Canterbury Tales, and volume 3: Animal Farm.

            -Natalie McDougal, author extraordinaire

Pope Appoints His Secret Son as New Pope

         In a surprise move today, Pope Benedict XVI has announced his plans to resign from his role as head of the papacy. He does this in order to retain his principle from his time as a Bishop that all Popes should resign before their health begins to fail. This has set a new precedent in Popery. A Pope has not resigned from the Iron Throne since 1414, and that was due to the Western Schism in which two Popes reigned from two different seats of alternating bands of gold, iron, and the blood of Jewish babes. The Pope and Anti-Pope lines of succession had been contending for followers in Europe for one hundred years, and the Schism ended with the resignation of Antipope John XXIII of Avignon, returning the voice of God to Rome once and for all*. The main reason cited for John XXIII’s cowardly resignation is the fact that he had a weak stomach, and had recently come into too close of contact with Pope Gregory XII. As we all know, if a Pope and Antipope ever were to touch, they would annihilate into a cloud of energy, much like quarks and anti-quarks.

The Face of Diabetes, oh wait,
I mean the Voice of God.

            The shocking announcement came with the unveiling of further surprises in Rome today; Pope Benedict had fathered a child in Poland during the glorious Warsaw Spring of 1973, when the Acid flowed like wine that had been likened to flowing like water. Also they had a relatively temperate summer, weatherly speaking. This progeny from the Holy Loins, Kevin Truman-Ratzinger, became a blues musician of moderate fame in his home town of Warsaw, regardless that he played exclusively covers of Mississippi John Hurt songs and never recorded a single original piece. Along with the revelation of this Holy Offspring comes the news that Pope Benedict XVI has issued an executive Popal Order decreeing the era of democratically elected Popes to be at an end. Even further shocking news is that Kevin Truman-Ratzinger has been appointed the new Pope by his father.

            “I’m excited,” said Kevin as he played a Johnny Cash song air-guitar style, “I mean, I get to be the fucking Pope!” The Council of Bishops normally imbued with the power to choose the Pope issued a statement in regards to the affair, which is being referred to as PopeGate; “This is fucking bullshit,” said the Bishops.

            No plans have been announced for Benedicts remaining years, but he is expected to finally go through that middle-age crisis he had been putting off for 40 years. “I might buy a Mercedes,” said that now former Pope, “that or a Mustang. Who knows? Gosh this is exciting.” Furthermore, he is expected to roam the Italian countryside wielding a pair of scissors, search for people using condoms during intercourse, and summarily snip their wieners off.

*Everything up to this point in the article besides references to the “Iron Throne”, and Gold, Iron, and the blood of Jewish babes is totally, 100 percent accurate. Popes and Anti-popes are a real thing that have existed, and yes, they really were referred to as Anti-popes. For more information, look into the “Western Schism,” and see that I am totally right about this.

35 Year Old Promises to “Get Into New Music This Year”

             Local man Jim Naybors, who is not and shares no relation to the popular actor famous for portraying Gomer Pyle on the hit Andy Griffith Show, released a press statement declaring his intention to “totally get into newer music this year.” The arbiter of sound could not be reached for comment, but the council of noise issued an endorsement of the 35-year-old’s intentions.

Bon Iver, a musician who makes
music that people listen to and enjoy, but
mostly younger people because it's new music
that is made for people who listen to newer music,
which is mostly young people, because it's the
music that appeals to them, mostly.

            “I like music,” said Naybors, “and new music is still music. There are things to be said for all music and all genres. I think if you ignore newer genres you are ignoring an important part of life.” Naybors has started holding auditions for what he calls his “window into the world of new music.” The auditions consist of Naybors, sitting alone in his wood paneled study by his infinitely-burning fire place, listening to newer albums he downloaded illegally using torrents from The Pirate Bay on his Sony MDR-7506 Professional headphones. Using a round robin approach, Naybors has narrowed the search down. Currently, Mumford and Sons seem to be the frontrunners, but Bon Iver is giving them a run for the money. When reached for comment, the bands stated that Naybor’s project was “enlightening” and “respectable,” but still “fucking pointless.”

            “Old people don’t get it,” said one of the long haired youthful members of the band Fun.. (double period forced upon me by Funs.’s fantastic and groundbreaking choice to end their band name with a period.) “They never have and never will. I mean, if old people could get into new music, it wouldn’t be called new music, would it?”

            Naybors responded to Fun.’s verbal smack down by saying that his attempts to “get down” have nothing to do with his age, and that mentally, he remains a fourteen year old.

            “He’s right,” said Tammy Naybors, Jim’s ex-wife of fourteen years, “he is still a child. He hasn’t paid child support in over three years. He told me it’s because ’14-year-olds don’t have children. I still can’t believe he won that court case.”

            “Music is for everyone,” said Naybors, “and I like it. So I’m going to listen to it. Because it’s fun. And I like it.” Naybors also announced his intention to write a book based on his pet project, simply titled My Music is The Music That I Like, with the subheading Fuck You Tammy, You’re One Cold Hearted Bitch.

Boat Island Famished by Boat Shortage

          Boat Island, the locale made famous by the History Channel’s All About Boats, Bravo’s Boats Boats and More Boats, and Turner Classic Movies’ God Damn That’s A Lot of Fucking Boats, Motherfucker has been hit with its worst crisis since its inception in the final days of the Civil War. A mysterious and devastating shortage of boats has hit the island. Scientists have yet to determine when the shortage began, but most reports indicate early May of 2012 as being the starting point of the island’s decline.

Boat Island's Projected Appearance
in the Summer of 2016 (God Willing it Will
Return to Its Former Glory)

            It was then that boats started to disappear from boat island, and island which, as we all know, consists entirely of boats. When General Robert E. Lee saw his cause was at a loss, he decided to form a new civilization just off the coast of his native Virginia. Founded with a simple row boat and a wish, boat island has been home to many famous denizens, such as Tom Alison from Good Morning Iowa and, of course, the famous General Lee himself, who tragically died of starvation thirty days following his founding of the island.

            Boat Island has been a national treasure for over a century now, and its slow decline in boat-havingness has caused public outrage. President Obama released a statement, which we have reproduced to the best of our abilities below (the president speaks very quickly, and it’s hard to type when your lamenting the loss of a national treasure):

            “This nation is infinitely diminished by the tragedy on Boat Island, and we are doing all we can to combat this catastrophe. We have sent a diplomatic team of schooners to plead with boats that have been mysteriously departing from their former home on Boat Island. We pray them a swift journey.”

            Most of the boats that have left boat island are now drifting south to the Gulf of Mexico. Reports indicate that once they have reached the gulf, they will begin the bartering process with a small seaport (TBD) on the eastern coast of Mexico. We do not, as of this moment, know their demands, nor have we ascertained the reason for leaving their historic homeland, but it is essential that we, as a nation, remain unified during this unbelievable calamity.

            With any luck, we will be able to resuscitate Boat Island, but we must – as a Nation – accept the possibility that this is the end of our national icon, on which many first boats were abandoned, many first kisses were had, and many marriages proposed. If it be so, we shall be forced to forge ahead and re-forge our national identity, an identity that must not accommodate boats in any way, shape or form. I hereby nominate Eagle Mountain, the mountain made entirely of the corpses of slain eagles, as the new national treasure. Polls for alternative suggestions will follow shortly. Stay tuned for updates.

In Surprise Announcement, Movie 43 Wins Every Academy Award

            Despite the award ceremony being scheduled for the 24^th of next month, the prestigious Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences decided to announce the winner a month early. Movie 43, the new joint effort by the Farrelly Brothers, Brett Ratner, and a multitude of other contemporary auteurs, has won every award.

COMEDY!

            “It was really a no brainer,” said Malcolm McMackleby, the leader of the shadowy cabal of philosophy professors from Oxbridge who, each January, decide the best movies of the year. Of their judgment, there can be no question; they are correct. The world decided long ago, in the primordial pool of molten organic matter from which Ernst Lubitsch sprang, that their opinions are the right opinions. “Movie 43 has got it all,” said the esteemed decider, “it’s got fun, it’s got laughs, and most of all, it’s got titties. Oh,” he added, “and it’s totally got a midget. But not like, a real midget. That would be gross as fuck. It’s that ripped-ass guy from 300, Gerald Something, playing a midget. So that’s another thing it’s got – kickass special effects.”

            The movie so blew away the Academy that they were forced to break their own rules and announce their decision before the ceremony began. The traditional yearly televised award show will go on as planned, it will simply be far less exciting than usual (or, depending on your perspective, pretty much exactly as exciting as usual). “We would have cancelled the ceremony,” explained Academy Deputy Director Professor Brightman, who teaches Hegelian Philosophy at Oxford, “otherwise the Nightmare Boars would escape from the Ebony Realm.” Movie trivia fans will already know that the academy award ceremony doubles as the film industry’s dusky sacrificial rite to the Gods of Myhr, the ancient watchers of capitalistic individualism, swallowers of potential artistic innovation and original perspectives. “If you had studied any Hegel,” continued the Professor, “you would understand that we can reduce reality to a more synthetic unity, but only if reality exists in a similar way to the way in which we perceive it. We must perform the asbestos sacrament, or else our perception of reality will be ripped in twain.” The Professor giggled softly to himself, “Twain is a funny word. You ever think about that? Twain.”

            Movie 43 was released last weekend, and you can see it in almost any movie theater across the nation. None of our staff members have seen it, but we have reason to believe that it in some way involves Gerard Butler and Halle Berry continuing to be terrible actors, Emma Stone forgetting that she has comedic abilities, Brett Ratner continuing his descent into coke-fueled madness, and Stephen Merchant disgracing himself. Come on, Stephen. You’re better than this.

Note: This article was written with little to no knowledge of Movie 43, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, or Hegelian Philosophy. I'm really more of a Russell guy.