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Second Challenge: Research Skills

“The second contest! Cracked interns will frequently have to research some disturbing, horrifying material as fodder for the shining brilliance of our articles. Find me…the best examples of Quantum Leap Slash Fiction on the Internet!” As they hurried at their tasks, I passed the five minutes by drumming "Another One Bites The Dust" on Stowalski’s head. I hope the subtle foreshadowing was not lost on him. Wheeler Sam rose from the couch and approached me with a positively predatory look on his face. "Now that's the Admiral I know and love. I figured it out after the leap into that bar. I just had to get back to the beginning. If I could fix the retrieval program from the beginning, then I could trigger it myself when I was ready to come home. And, Al, I'm really ready to be home." Sam leaned down and took my face in his hands. "Hey, kid. I love you too." We joined together in a deep kiss, the kind that rocks you to the base of your soul. I felt myself growing hard as Sam moved to kiss my neck. My voice was rough as spoke. "Did you lock the door?" Sam practically purred. "Oh yeah. I also got Ziggy to lock out the security systems while you weren't looking."

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“Wonderful, Wheeler! The sensuality, the emotion, the inclusion of Ziggy – this is everything bizarre gay fan-porn regarding a seminal 80s science fiction series should be!” I showed my appreciation by kicking over her desk; women love a forceful man, I am told. Meyers Al liked to love Sam most in the quiet hours of the morning, just before dawn crept over the skies. In those moments of peace, every touch of Al's hand and movement of his body loosed a symphony from Sam's skin. Sam's body held a richness of history, of experience, of unrivaled intelligence and profound love and loss. It was more than words, more than music, more than any image or thought. It was the very element of Sam, basic and abstract at the same time. And in those moments, Al could thank him for the gift of his love.

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“Good, Meyers,” I said, trying to hide the tears spilling down my face, “but perhaps a little too good. We don’t want the reader to start thinking there are better writers than us out there - writers capable of treating the love that blossoms between a hologram and a man displaced in time with such simple beauty as this.”

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Third Challenge: Photoshop Prowess

“Now the final contest! Though our Photoshop skills are legendary, we writers are frequently overcome by the awesome sex-cocaine parties that we all totally have all the time,” I said, gesturing to the cocoa powder I had ingeniously left all over my desk as evidence, “we don’t always have time to Photoshop, so sometimes you’ll have to do it for us. For your last challenge: Bring me a Photoshop of famous inventor Nikola Tesla spliced with a bear!” As they sprang into motion, I took the opportunity to practice the killing blow by swinging my hammer repeatedly just inches from Stowalski’s face. I wondered if he got the hint. Wheeler “Masterful, Wheeler! The cuteness offsets the deadly danger inherent to the Tesla Bear. It sets our hearts aflutter, as it cramps our balls with terror. Truly great,” I went to give her a congratulatory buttock rub, but reconsidered after she punched me half a dozen times in the crotch. Something told me this was just not the right time. Meyers “Not bad, Meyers. But nothing special. While I do appreciate the massive creepiness of the face you chose, it’s just a little bland,” I informed him gently, flipping him off with one hand while pointing to the finger with the other. I wanted to make sure he didn’t miss the intricacies of my constructive criticism. Stowalski “God. Damn. It. Stowalski. You useless motherfucker! You screw up every task I give you, and just when I think you can’t get any more useless…you go and do something completely awesome like this! You thought outside the box, Stowalski! You’re a rebel which no oppressive box may contain! I cannot, in good conscience, murder you like a feed cattle right here in this office after this,” Stowalski let out a sigh of relief, his stupid bovine nostrils breathing out his stupid breath everywhere. “I may not like you, but I recognize greatness when I see it.”

Final Round: Stowalski

“Meyers, I’m sorry” I said, wiping the word ‘coy’ off my chest and quickly painting in ‘bloodrage.’ “I’m really distraught about this decision, and afterward I’m going to go out and get hammered to kill the pain. I just wanted to say I’m sorry once more; I hate to repeat myself, but I really wanted to hammer that point home. It’s just that Wheeler really nailed this contest, and Stowalski murdered you with a hammer in that final round,” I could tell he appreciated my dilemma by the way he cursed my name and fled for the door. *** Sometimes I miss those pearly white teeth, shining like a lighthouse in the fog, guiding me through the dense miasma of agony that is this mundane world. And it’s times like that when I take out the necklace I made from those teeth and rub them, and I think of Meyers.

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Read more from Robert at his own website, I Fight Robots, because you're obviously a serious fan of the written word if you still want 'more reading' after slogging through that epic mess.