conversations.from: human
conversations.value: a description for a book titled Kilroy Was Here about Missouri, Poplar, Bluff with the genre: Science Fiction & Fantasy, Science Fiction
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: the author was born and raised in Poplar Bluff, Missouri, and started writing stories about a ghost hunting cat named Midnight when he was only eight years old. He is a writer, actor (stage and screen), teacher and director. Jeff maintains a blog, Upstream of Consciousness, where he writes about fi lm, television, books, music, pop culture, and the occasional memory of growing up in southeast Missouri.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first five paragraphs for this book. Start with the sentence 'Kilroy Was Here
  The entrance to the lair rises'.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Kilroy Was Here
  The entrance to the lair rises. Jeff taps several times on the dashboard screen then flips a switch causing the radio to rotate. A new panel now appears with several orange switches.
  Jeff opens the glove compartment and retrieves a prescription pill bottle. He drops a couple of red and blue capsules into his hand and offers me one.
  Jeff puts on his top hat as two muscular creatures approach the car. Their bodies are covered in scales the color of pond scum. They snarl their stubby snouts to reveal sharp teeth and their yellow eyes nearly glow. They're the same eyes I saw on Clint on the Night Jeff Came Back. My stomach knots and twists in fear. I don't like carnies, spiders, or those people in mascot costumes, but I'd take all three of those hiding under my bed over these bastards.
  We are pushed toward the front of the garage where Jackleigh stands holding Simon Tybalt in the air with a death grip. He gasps for air but manages to cough out one word.
  We all wait in silence. The remaining seconds tick away on the F Bomb and I wince in anticipation of the timer hitting zero. I curl into the fetal position even though I am not convinced it is ample protection against whatever the F Bomb does, even if I did take a red and blue pill. A few more seconds pass and it becomes apparent the F Bomb doesn't do anything.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: five more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Marlene's knee greets Clint's crotch with a violent upward thrust. He cries out and falls to the ground. She straddles his chest and pounds his jaw twice with her fist. I fire the Existential Crisis Inducer at Tyler and Dalton, but my shot misses and hits the grill of the Truck of Overcompensation.
  Marlene jerks her awesome sci-fi nun chucks from her back waistband and hurls them at the fleeing boneheads. The weapon clocks Dalton in the back of the head and he hits the ground in a heap. She sprints to Tyler, jumps on his back, and wrestles him to the ground.
  Jeff taps a few buttons on the Cosmic Bus's touchscreen dashboard display and a video image of Randi on her phone fades into view on the console monitor where the radio normally would be. She is crouched in an enclosed area I can't quite determine.
  I'm not asking because I've been shooting myself repeatedly with the Existential Crisis Inducer. This time I'm asking in the metaphysical, meaning-of-life way. Is this the moment my life has been leading to? Does God exist and did He/She/They determine my life path before I was ever born? If so, then God knew before the creation of everything that I would be sitting in a 1969 VW Bus with my best friend preparing to raid the headquarters of a mysterious private company which specializes in the protection of an intergalactic portal so we can rescue our co-worker and prevent spider-like artificial intelligence called Araneae from being unleashed on my unsuspecting hometown. If I'm to believe in a benevolent higher power, then I'm also to believe He/She/They preordained all of this. Those are a lot of moving parts for one kid's life.
  We enter the parking lot at HQ and Jeff pulls into a space specifically reserved for visitors, but he's always been a rebel like that. Our moms sit in a Winnebago on the fairgrounds. We don't know where Simon Tybalt is. Jackleigh has been eerily silent and Grandor the Malevolent left us to do whatever he does. Yet, here I sit in the passenger seat of the Cosmic Bus as Jeff listens to "Renegade," by Styx, to get pumped up.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last paragraph
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I also have to deal with a sudden and random ability to spout off information I never knew and a neurotic alien real estate developer bent on turning Earth into a resort planet.