H. P. Lovecraft once wrote, “As the dark, moaning centuries conspire to lay waste to the weighty tomes of all literature; as the ink you, and I, and we lay down begins to moulder and fester like the brackish, miserable blood of long-forgotten nightmares; even as all of our worldly efforts are wiped from the Earth’s memory faster than we can make sense of it even occurring — let jest survive after all: for it is in laughter, and mockery, and satire, that the truth of the world resides.” Okay maybe I just made all that up but we did what he asked anyway.
How’s that project coming? How’s your day shaping up? How many things on your to-do list have you crossed off? How many have you added? How many calls have you made or emails have you sent or meetings have you meetinged or works have you enworkified? If the answer is a negative number (measured in kilopascals per liter of deep, rueful sighing) then we got just the thing for you. It is a bright, colorful reminder that you need to just, for God’s green sake, DO YOUR WORK. Do you need to outfit yourself (or better yet, everyone in your office) with a torso-worn reminder? Or do you just need a big ol’ giant poster to stick above your desk so everyone walking by can silently judge you? Either way we are here to help remind you of your priorities and thereby cause you to succeed at your thing, thus directly and absolutely positively putting money into your pocket. In our (admittedly limited and possibly wholly imaginary) tests, when properly and strategically activated these items pay for themselves nearly instantly.
But is too much work also a danger? Zach Weiner would have you think so, with his new cautionary tale about the human condition. Zach’s eerie, profound (semi-autobiographical?) fable raises junk-scratching questions about the fundamental nature of our quest for “progress.” Are we fated, as a species, to work so hard that we eventually collectively force ourselves (via nuclear holocaust, if necessary) to take a much-needed billion-year break? Is it writ in our genetic code that we if nothing stops us, we will eventually work ourselves to the bone, and then our bones will work themselves to their atoms, and then the atoms will work themselves down to the quarks, and then the quarks will cry themselves to sleep every night? Is there any saving the human race?
If we are workaholics by nature, perhaps the solution (for our own safety) is simply to make our work frivolous. Kris Straub’s got the species’ back with the new Periodic Table of Science Fiction. Put this up and you won’t need five hundred DO YOUR WORK prints littering your dang place. You will be drawn to its extreme level of scientific accuracy and your brain will be safely diverted from any extinction-level breakthroughs, all its sinister crannies filling with thoughts like “Oh yeah I remember Space 1999!”
Hey now CLICK ON IT (there’s a link to an enlarged view over on the product page)




















































































