Pulp (that House I Robbed)

L. Sprauge DeCamp was a prolific writer of science fiction in the last half of the last century. Among his peers were Issac Azimov and Ray Bradbury, and then there were countless nameless writers. Stoically and compulsively they all churned out reams of fiction. But like today's idle bloggers, they all gave it up during the paper rationing of WWII. L. Sprauge DeCamp continued to work as a transcriber and screen writer for many years to follow. From his witting I remember fondly his ridiculous scenarios and visions of a future world where scientists sought to invent time travel in order to assassinate Einstein. Each assassin disarmed by Einstein's charms, instead worked to channel nuclear power to peaceful uses, but ended up facilitating it's ultimate misuse and roll in the destruciton of earth causing more scientists to invent time travel to assassinate Einstein.

The human mind is a vast intricate and ridiculous tool, and I like it best when it's potential is wasted on such scenarios. It's a shame DeCamp is forgotten in the annals of literature. I only know of him due to X-One recordings and a derelict house full of ancient Science fiction pulp I once robbed. Maybe out there there is a blogger toiling away at something as wonderful and ridiculous as DeCamps writing. We shall never see. But I sure found some great pain pills in that house I robbed.