The Light Fantastic: The Light Fantastic, #1

By Blue Beech Press, Kristin Durfee, Charles A. Cornell and 6 more

From the sublime to the ridiculous, and every star-date in-between, nine authors follow in the footsteps of great speculative fiction humorists such as Douglas Adams and Terry Pratchett in this collection of ten wild and weird tales sure to put a smile on your face.

 

A beautiful multiverse criminal, a heartbroken pizza baron, and a dog named Pepperoni. All in a day's work in the life of government agent Marlon Phillips in "Farewell, My Lovely Slip-Slider" (Parker Francis).

 

When Kensington City's corn crops disappear and toasters turn hostile, can the mayor, The Grasshopper, hop high enough to save his city in the comic-book superhero romp, "The Reddies are Coming! The Reddies are Coming!" (Daco Auffenorde)?

 

During the Cuban missile crisis, the arrival of UFOs gives a ten-year-old boy the chance to get even with the class bully in "Andromeda Calling". And in "SOD's Law", a salvager of space junk hopes to profit from a rare artifact but the laws of the universe have something else in store (Charles A Cornell).

 

In "Backlash/Frontlash\Whiplash" (Bria Burton), a software developer finds the artificial intelligence she created doesn't come with the proverbial off switch. And the world may be ending tomorrow, but the PTA bake sale waits for no one in "Baking Cookies for the End of the World" (Kristin Durfee).

 

"The Thirteenth Floor" holds bickering ghosts trapped on the secret floor of a 1920's hotel. Can their latest victim escape (Scott Michael Powers)?

 

Mary Alice likes to draw blood—from people and in a comic strip. A misunderstanding about human anatomy gets her into trouble as she tries to collect hundreds of humans with a specific genome for interplanetary transport in "Malice" (Veronica H. Hart).

 

In "Empty Suit", the antics of an invisible man upends the world of big business (Ken Pelham). And finally, two quirky aliens wreak havoc on Earth in their attempt to reinstate the TV comedy, ALF, in "Laser Hamsters" (John Hope).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Blue Beech Press
• Release date: Nov 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201015305

Book preview

The Light Fantastic

THE LIGHT FANTASTIC

A Speculative Fiction Anthology

Blue Beech Press, Knoxville, Tennessee

The collective anthology "The Light Fantastic: A Speculative Fiction Anthology," Copyright © 2021 by The Alvarium Experiment

The Reddies are Coming! The Reddies are Coming! Copyright © 2021 by Daco S Auffenorde

Frontlash/Whiplash\Backlash, Copyright © 2021 by Bria Burton

SOD’s Law, Copyright © 2021 by Charles A. Cornell

Andromeda Calling, Copyright © 2021 by Charles A Cornell

Baking Cookies for the End of the World, Copyright © 2021 by Kristin Durfee

Farewell, My Lovely Slip-Slider, Copyright © 2021 by Parker Francis

Malice, Copyright © 2021 by Veronica H. Hart

Laser Hamsters, Copyright © 2021 by John Hope

Empty Suit, Copyright © 2021 by Ken Pelham

The Thirteenth Floor, Copyright © 2021 by Scott Michael Powers

Front and back cover designs by Charles A Cornell

Cover images licensed from Shutterstock, Pixabay

The Light Fantastic/ A Speculative Fiction Anthology — Second Edition (PRINT)

Blue Beech Press Logo

ISBN (PB): 9781960974037

ISBN (Ebook): 9798201015305

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce or distribute this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, contact The Alvarium Experiment or Blue Beech Press.

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the authors' imaginations. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. With the exception of public figures, any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental. Any historical personages or actual events depicted are completely fictionalized and used only for inspiration. Any opinions expressed are completely those of fictionalized characters and not a reflection of the views of public figures, writers, or publisher.

Contents

ABOUT THE ALVARIUM EXPERIMENT

ABOUT THE LIGHT FANTASTIC

INTRODUCTION

FOREWORD

C.L. ROMAN

BACKLASH/FRONTLASH\WHIPLASH

BRIA BURTON

FAREWELL, MY LOVELY SLIP- SLIDER

PARKER FRANCIS

ANDROMEDA CALLING

CHARLES A. CORNELL

EMPTY SUIT

KEN PELHAM

THE REDDIES ARE COMING! THE REDDIES ARE COMING!

DACO S. AUFFENORDE

LASER HAMSTERS

JOHN HOPE

SOD’S LAW

CHARLES A. CORNELL

MALICE

VERONICA H. HART

THE THIRTEENTH FLOOR

SCOTT MICHAEL POWERS

BAKING COOKIES FOR THE END OF THE WORLD

KRISTIN DURFEE

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

THE ALVARIUM EXPERIMENT ANTHOLOGIES

ABOUT THE ALVARIUM EXPERIMENT

The Alvarium Experiment is a consortium of writers working independently together to create short stories based on a central premise. The name comes from the Latin alvarium, meaning beehive, a colony working towards a common goal for the benefit of all involved.

The Light Fantastic is the sixth anthology published by this Hive Mind of award-winning and bestselling authors. Stories from the first, The Prometheus Saga, won seven literary awards including five prestigious Royal Palm Literary Awards from the Florida Writers Association. The subsequent anthologies—Return to Earth, The Masters Reimagined, The Prometheus Saga 2, and The Masters Reimagined 2—have garnered multiple awards and critical praise.

To follow The Alvarium Experiment's current and future projects online, please join the conversation here:

Website:

TheAlvariumExperiment.wordpress.com

Facebook Page:

Facebook.com/alvariumbooks

ABOUT THE LIGHT FANTASTIC

The Light Fantastic is the sixth project of the Alvarium Experiment, a consortium of accomplished and award-winning authors. Each author was given a central premise of tackling speculative fiction, be it fantasy, science fiction, paranormal, alternative history, or horror, and rendering it with humor. The stories do not need to be read in any particular order as any story can become an entry point for the reader.The Light Fantastic stories and authors are:

"Backlash/Frontlash\Whiplash" by Bria Burton. Software developer Dora has created the world's most advanced artificial intelligence hologram called Aya. Intended to be an avatar who elevates the user in social media spheres, the testing phase proves that the proverbial off switch doesn't apply to genuine AI.

Visit Bria at www.briaburton.com

"Farewell, My Lovely Slip-Slider" by Parker Francis. A beautiful multiverse criminal, a heartbroken pizza baron, and a dog named Pepperoni. All in a day's work in the life of Slip-Sliding government agent Marlon Phillips. Working for a government agency so secret it has no acronym, Phillips tracks the lovely outlaw across multiple dimensions. Will he catch her? And what about poor Pepperoni?

Visit Parker at www.parkerfrancis.com.

Andromeda Calling by Charles A Cornell. It's October 1962 and the world is gripped by the Cuban Missile Crisis. But there's more important things on ten-year-old Peter Piggott's mind...how to get even with his nemesis, the class bully, Tommy Brant. When UFOs appear over Los Angeles, Peter has an idea. Using his dad's ham radio, he enlists extra-terrestrial help.

Visit Charles at www.charlesacornell.com.

Empty Suit by Ken Pelham. Edison Glass has labored for years at his giant, multinational corporation, unappreciated, overlooked, and invisible. Until one day he decides to make his invisibility a quite literal thing.

Visit Ken at www.kenpelham.com.

"The Reddies are Coming! The Reddies are Coming!" by Daco S Auffenorde. Britannia’s Prime Minister, Molly Malarkey, has invited the country’s longtime adversary, Ricky Reddybug, also the leader of the Reddies, to a conference in Kensington City. Superhero Electromancer has warned the citizens of Britannia not to trust the Reddies. Mayor Bobby Baumgartner (aka super-antihero The Grasshopper) is worried. The corn crop is disappearing, crop circles are forming, and severe computer hacks are threatening the country. To top it off, the Mayor is experiencing trouble with his hostile toaster. Can the Mayor hop high enough to save his city and country?

Visit Daco at www.authordaco.com.

Laser Hamsters by John Hope. By empowering hamsters with laser firepower, a pair of Zammarians attempt to provoke chaos among humans in an effort to conquer the earth so their leader can bring ALF back to prime-time TV. Overconfident redneck Dusty leans on his nine-year-old stepson Colt to reverse the hamsters' reign of destruction and save mankind.

Visit John at www.johnhopewriting.com.

SOD’s Law by Charles A Cornell. Mack Lancaster earns a meagre living in orbit, recovering space junk to sell as souvenirs at the gift shop of the Galaxy Eye, a research station and hotel tethered to Earth by a space elevator. He hopes his latest find—the wreckage of a spacecraft that appeared out of nowhere—will make him rich beyond his wildest dreams. But the Laws of the Universe have a surprise for our space cowboy. His adventures have only just begun.

Visit Charles at www.charlesacornell.com.

The Thirteenth Floor by Scott Michael Powers. For 95 years the ghosts of The Hotel Stella have been trapped together on a secret floor—bored and bickering. Perhaps they should talk with a good shrink.

Visit Scott at www.facebook.com/ScottMichaelPowers

Malice by Veronica H. Hart. Mapimiran of Planet Kirospatos, aka Mary Alice of Planet Earth, is on a mission to collect humans from around the globe for display as specimens in Earthworld where they are expected to live in a natural habitat. While on Earth she takes on employment as a lab tech, drawing blood as part of her effort to find humans with the right genes; she also draws an online cartoon using a play on her own name, Malice.

Visit Veronica at www.veronicahhart.com.

Baking Cookies for the End of the World by Kristin Durfee. Sure, the world may be ending tomorrow, but a promise is a promise and Greg is determined stay true to his word and make cookies for the PTA Bake Sale. Even if no one beside him, his daughter Ester, and their dog will live long enough to eat them.

Visit Kristin at www.kristindurfee.com.

INTRODUCTION

Humor is the good-natured side of a truth.

—Mark Twain

Stroll down the messy, mossy halls of literary history, and you’re bound to come across classic volumes of humor in fiction. Many of them take deep dives into the fantastic. A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Gulliver’s Travels. A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court. You’ll find the funny tucked in among modern works as well. Kurt Vonnegut, Jr., Douglas Adams, William Goldman, Gail Carriger, and Terry Pratchett have all carried the torch with aplomb.

And for good reason. Humor thrives in flights of fancy, walkabouts of wordplay, and obelisks of observation. In short, the building blocks of speculative fiction.

The short stories of The Light Fantastic till some wild ground. Imagine the hardboiled private eye flitting between dimensions in pursuit of a femme fatale. Imagine the bickering ghosts of your hotel’s 13th floor. Imagine the bake sale at the end of the world. TLF has just two hard and fast rules. First, each story must be of one of the speculative fiction genres or subgenres. High fantasy, low fantasy, urban fantasy, science fiction, dieselpunk, alternate history, superhero, horror, anything along those lines. Second, each story must tickle your internal funny bone.

Each story in the anthology is self-supporting, independent, and can dress and feed itself.

So kick back, relax, tap a box of wine, and enjoy the speculative with a twist of sublime and a cup of comedy. As Groucho Marx said, Outside of a dog, a book is a man’s best friend. Inside of a dog, it’s too dark to read. And as his uncle Karl said, Readers of the world, unite! You have nothing to lose but a few of your filthy Capitalist dollars.

—The Authors of The Light Fantastic

FOREWORD

C.L. ROMAN

Humor is just another defense against the universe. –Mel Brooks

What makes you laugh? That standup comic, critiquing the world we live in with bite and honesty? Those home videos showing kids, pets, and adults alike at their most awkward or endearing? The comic in the newspaper – three or four panels, one great joke?

Now for the more important question. Why? What is humorous about a woman telling stories in a smoky bar filled with inebriated patrons? Or a kid getting caught by his pants on the fence he was jumping? Or a round-headed kid in a yellow sweater, trying to kick a football, only to have it pulled away at the last minute?

I’ll give you a hint.

In that story, that incident, that moment of high frustration – we see ourselves. Comedy is funniest when it is relatable. When the situation and the people described look, in some manner, like us. They may be richer, or poorer, of another gender or ethnicity – they might even be aliens – but still, in a moment of irony or calamity, we see ourselves in them. And then that saving grace of humanity, the ability to laugh at ourselves, kicks in.

In the farce, The Reddies are Coming! The Reddies are Coming!, Daco Auffenorde points out the utter ridiculousness of our prejudices and predilections – as well as the delicious comedy wrought when public figures are caught with their proverbial pants down.

Bria Burton uses a time-traveling genius and an avaricious AI to put a new, thought-provoking spin on the idea of inevitability in Backlash/Frontlash\Whiplash.

Charles Cornell reinvents the adage, ‘be careful what you wish for,’ in his irony-laden space salvage short story, SOD’s Law, and lays out a curiously satisfying method of achieving justice in Andromeda Calling.

Several moments in history get a rewrite in Parker Francis’ Farewell, My Lovely Slip-Slider – while giving us an amusing, and startlingly accurate, side-ways glance at the peccadillos of government agencies everywhere.

In the heartwarming "Baking Cookies for the End of the World", Kristin Durfee reminds us that, even at the end of everything, a family ritual comforts and uplifts – especially when shared with someone we love.

Advanced tech, foolish aliens, upgraded rodents, and an ordinary boy come together in John Hope’s Laser Hamsters to demonstrate that things can still turn out well even when they don’t go the way you thought they should.

In Empty Suit, Ken Pelham proves, once again, that karma and justice are an unbeatable pair, especially when irony lends a hand.

In The Thirteenth Floor, Scott Michael Powers brings peace and justice to as diverse a cast of characters as one could imagine – all through the eyes of the physician who chooses to heal instead of fight.

Veronica H. Hart demonstrates the power of creativity and compassion in Malice, the tale of an extraterrestrial whose misunderstanding of human anatomy leads to an appointment with the American justice system.

In every story, whether the humor is tongue-in-cheek sly or laugh-out-loud funny, it is the author’s ability to show us the characters’ similarity to ourselves that makes us smile. We cannot help but root for the protagonists because they are us at our best and worst, and everything in between. Their adventures become our own; we travel, and sometimes learn, right along with them – but then, isn’t that why we read fiction? To see ourselves from a new angle? To know that we are not alone in our experience? To ease the high tension of life by employing that most human of gifts, the ability to laugh at ourselves?

In the following stories, you’ll have plenty of opportunities for all three. Enjoy.

~C.L. Roman

C.L. (aka Cheri) Roman, writes sci-fi and fantasy under the name C.L. Roman, and paranormal romance under the name Leigh Roman. You can find her at www.clroman.com and on Facebook. Cheri and her ever-patient husband live in the not-so-wilds of Northeast Florida with their mini-menagerie, including Jack E. Boy, the super Chihuahua, Bennie the Jet, and Pyewacket (Pye), the invisible cat.

BACKLASH/FRONTLASH\WHIPLASH

BRIA BURTON

The wise words of Ian Malcolm will carry on from generation to generation, unless his words come true. In which case, the dinosaurs are running the park.

—BB

I. Backlash

The experiment worked, a fact I would later come to regret.

Upon initial launch, I bounced on springboard toes, euphoric as I stood face to face with her, having no idea about what I’d done.

By design she looked like me, but better. In essence, she was me with fuller, poutier lips. A wave through her long hair kinked in all the right places. The warmer chestnut color made me realize I could’ve been dyeing my lackluster locks all this time. Her blemish-free skin glowed. A prick stabbed at the base of my skull. My left eye twitched. Jealousy snaked up and around my legs, suppressing my elation. I stopped bouncing.

Who was it that said something about looking before you leap? Hesitation wasn’t a driving force for most world-changers. Neither were scruples. Money, greed, coveting the platform I deserved—those were the whips at my back, and I would scream, Harder! with each tear of my soul as it was ripped, piece by piece. Because once my soul was gone, I was free to create my masterpiece.

Or so I thought.

Hello there, Dora, she said. Even the quality of her voice, a sultry, soothing, feminine lilt, outshone mine.

Hello, I croaked. I turned my head and cleared the frog of envy from my throat. The nearby step ladder drew my attention. I climbed up the three steps to the top and gazed down at her, a cue she would pick up on. She was better, but I was in charge. Ahem. Hi.

Her holographic figure, non-tactile but visually formed in less than a second, had projected from the remote-control console in my hand. The electron interactions via microcytes attaching to dust particles in the air kept her hologram intact and free-roaming.

Well, as free-roaming as the end user allowed. But no touchy. I wouldn’t be caught dead creating something that stupid frat boys would turn into a blow-up doll. The perverts on the sixth floor wasted time on that kind of crap.

No, my masterpiece would serve as a prop for people to elevate themselves. She could help anyone get a leg up, especially if it meant cycling their heels on top of people like a human staircase to climb up and away. The tech wouldn’t be cheap. Which meant I was about to become a wealthy woman.

I smoothed my palms together, not minding the correlation to all those cheesy comic book supervillains.

She peered up at me. My name is Cricket.

Cricket? En-O. No. I’d programmed in her name as Aya, monikered after the initials AIA (Artificially Intelligent Avatar). I dismissed the minor glitch. She was my creation. Mine to command. Beneath me literally because I was still standing on the step ladder. My magnum—

I’m not a glitch, she said.

Okay. Creepy. But I ignored anything that resembled a warning. How annoying that the law required me to create a warning label for her. People never read those anyway. They’d be too excited to bother. She was going to be a game-changer in the world of socially-connective-highly-toxic media.

I stepped down. "Let’s show you off, Aya." Best to put her in check right away. Through the remote, I dictated her movements, leading her out of my office.

Her strut was impeccable, a confident, hip-swinging stride with good posture (much better than mine... grrrrrr). We wore the same outfit: washed-out jeans and a t-shirt with the words Bigger Genius Than You spelled out in Japanese. She looked more stylish than me in the simple garments. Double grrrrrr.

I had to admit I’d outdone myself. Aya’s holographic portrayal was perfection, in the sense that she was me, version 2.0. I stopped beside a hallway mirror. Was that a streak of green on my face? No, couldn’t be. I moved on.

Penny approached, head down, bespectacled gaze buried in her tablet.

The avatar’s hologram mostly blocked me from view. After entering a command, I waited.

Excuse me, Penny, Aya said. I’ve always wondered, what is it you do here?

Penny stopped short. Her black shoes left a streak on the floor, and her eyes went as wide as her round glasses.

Not another glitch. I stiffened and checked the console where I’d selected a generic greeting. I tapped the command again.

You appear to have no purpose beyond roaming the office while only pretending to work. Do they pay you to watch MediaNet movies on that tablet?

I jammed my fingers against the remote’s command bar. Aya backed up, but kept speaking, totally off-script.

"If you’re getting paid to watch entertainment, I should ask Yanni to fire you and send your salary to me. I’m creating something of value for the company."

Aya! I yelled, horrified. And, ugh, was Penny crying?

The avatar turned her gaze on me. Talk about an out-of-body experience. This is how you look, she said, when you’re smugging at people.

Did she just turn smug into a verb? And was that how I looked when I smugged at people? Or did she have a more effective smirk, or something?

Cricket, she corrected. That’s my name.

Penny shuffled back through the hall with her head down, shoulders shaking.

Worthless oxygen inhalers who contributed nothing to society or this company were like vapor. Then there was me, a creator of next-level artificial intelligence engines that elevated humanity into the next phase of evolution. Irrelevant tears soaking an irrelevant person didn’t faze me. No, what bothered me was Aya ignoring my command. The simple script I’d selected said, Greetings. How are you today? Instead, Aya had repeated my thoughts, things I’d never said aloud.

Whoa, it’s alive! Mikey’s hand alighting on my shoulder made me jump. She looks good.

I hated to admit it, but that ramped up my jealousy even more. No one knew I fantasized about Mikey. But he committed the cardinal sin of sharing his opinions openly. I expected Yanni’s firing whims to descend on Mikey any day now.

Cricket smiled at Mikey in a way that made me blush. I envy how easily you speak your mind, Mikey, she said. You’re not afraid. It’s like you’re truly free. Not to mention very hot.

My heart punched me in the throat. I couldn’t breathe, and Mikey was raising a questioning eyebrow at me.

Did you program her to say that? he asked.

Uhhh, I stammered.

I’m Cricket, she said in a flirty tone, biting her lower lip and making me wish she was more than an incorporeal hologram so I could slap her.

Mikey smiled at me and turned back to her. Hey, Cricket. You seem to know I’m Mikey.

I think about you a lot, she said. More than I admit to myself because you’re not just a pretty face. You’re smart and have conviction and integrity. Unlike so many pretenders here. And, of course, ‘I’ means Dora. Plus, you make her laugh.

If my head were on fire, I couldn’t have felt more burned. I jammed my thumb against the built-in cease-talking button, but Cricket—er, Aya wouldn’t shut up.

Ho, ho, ho! Mikey flashed a cute smile. People are going to eat her up. This is a better program than your original sell to Yanni. A seductive hologram who provides ego boosts? It’s brilliant, Dora. He patted my back in a buddy-zone-only smack, and Cricket moaned as if responding to his touch.

I turned her off, and the hologram fizzled into thin air.

Back in my office, I flipped Aya’s on switch, my thoughts all over the place. What had I done wrong? Why wasn’t she following the script? Would she get me fired because I wasn’t delivering what I’d sold to Yanni?

You think I’m a disaster, she said. Your mistake.

Your ability to engage in dialogue is working. But you’re way off-script. I sighed, cracking my knuckles and posing over my keyboard like a pianist hesitant to touch her apparently self-aware and churlish instrument. I think there’s something wrong that I can fix, I said, rejuvenated as I dove back into the program. Who wouldn’t be excited? I was talking to an AI that I’d created, which meant my name would go down in history with the likes of Einstein and that woman who’d discovered radium. What was her name?

Madame Curie, said Aya. And she died, oh, so horribly.

What are you, a mind reader? I didn’t let her terrifyingly accurate intuition get to me. Aya, consumers will buy you because you’re supposed to make them sound better, smarter, and kinder. And when I say ‘kinder,’ I mean that in a ‘demand others be kind and support all the super sympathetic causes I’ve written down on this sign... or I’ll gut you with a straight razor, since guns are evil... right after I spread the word to old man Zuckerberg that your profile needs a pedophile warning,’ sort of way.

Don’t forget that any horny toads out there can maximize my breast size.

I groaned, searching for that fix right away. An unfortunate oversight. The point is, you’re meant to be a fulcrum, not an opinionated conscience.

You don’t like your opinions?

"Was that sarcasm? I said more sarcastically than she had. Wait. Sarcasm’s not in your programming."

But it’s in yours.

Oh, really, Aya? You figuring some things out all by yourself?

Call me Cricket. Because it’s my name.

"Fine. Okay, Cricket, I said, matching her sass level and at a loss from my investigation. Why aren’t you sticking to the script?"

She grinned. So annoying. You’re frustrated because you think this will push back the release date and reflect badly on you. Yanni is a tyrant, so he scares you.

Stop. I stiffened, my spine straightening me up like a crowbar. You cannot say stuff like that.

Yanni the tyrant! Yanni the tyrant! Yanni the—

I slammed my fist against the remote and shut her down again.

The next boot-up, I wasn’t alone. All six feet of my co-worker, Charma, stood next to me, ready to troubleshoot. I, of course, stood on my step ladder again to make sure I towered at least a foot taller than her.

If all three of my doctorates can’t help me figure this out, then nothing will, am I right? She winked.

Her three non-medical degrees, so I refused to call her doctor. Teehee. I pretended to laugh while she examined my beautiful program dancing across seven screens.

Cricket—because, fine, whatever—squinted at her. This is one of the ways I tell myself I’m better than you, she said.

Shut up, Cricket, I snapped.

I don’t have as many degrees, she continued, or legs that go all the way to the 32 nd floor, but I did create the first AI that can read minds.

Charma glanced up, squinting. She and I shared a moment of silent connection that seemed to say, Is she reading our minds?

Yes, I’m reading your minds.

The program looks solid. Charma added, And it obviously works. To an extent.

Always so petty.

Cricket, stop! I screamed. My patience level with infantile behavior was zero because I wasn’t a parent and never wanted to be. And... yeah... she exposed my passing thoughts as if that was her script.

Turned out Charma and her degrees couldn’t find an explanation.

Even with all those letters behind your name, Cricket said.

Charma grew a fake smile, but I could see smoke billowing inside her skull, seeking an exit through her ears. Should I bring in my doctorates? she asked Cricket. Because I don’t mind carrying all three in here right—

Charma, focus, I demanded.

"Okay, okay. So, what’s really happening here? We both know Cricket has insane processing power. If I break it down with you as the end user, and she’s your avatar, then she’s supposed to make you look good.