Category: Leg Iron Books

Breakfast Embed Part 1 – Ova Easty

Dear Reader, I hate to be the one to inform you of this, but the task has fallen to me to inform you of that, which you do not know. Hang on a sec…

giphy

*wtf was that noise? Nope…no one there. Musta been the wind …/me shrugs…*

Anyway, erm, where was I? OH YEAH!!! Tragedy has befallen RooBeeDoo, and she appears to have lost her fucking mind. Mainly because she asked me to write the opening and closing bits of a post or two. And who am I, you might ask? My name is Mr. Slimey, but I don’t mind if you call me Mr. S.

Begging your pardon, but would you mind hanging on again for one more moment? I shan’t be long.

giphy1

* Hmmm…that’s weird. Strange noises, strange events, but no space dolphin to be found anywhere. How odd…*

The story that follows is a story written by RooBeeDoo called The Inchoate Egg, and it’s a good one. I know it’s a good story because I’ve read it. Good? Nah…it’s great. A great story, that I now present it to you without much further delay. Just gotta close all these random opening doors.

Enjoy your read, and catch ya on the flipside.

*******

airplane glance

*Aww… Nice work with the doors btw, Clicky… /pats snout… Cade’s got a story in the next Anthology… /scratches nose… ’bout a door or sumfin’…*

Thank you, Cade ❤

Dear Reader, as it’s nearly Easter, I thought I’d post my second story from ‘The Underdog Anthology II: Tales The Hollow Bunnies Tell’, last year’s Easter-themed, collective offering…

*Oh I thought it would be fun, Clicky… /lights up… if Cade provided bread… /drags… and I provided the filling for a Missive sammich… /streams smoke…*

I’ve split it in two, so ‘The Inchoate Egg’ will be concluded in a following post. Hopefully today…

*/squints… ‘Vanillin’? …/flicks ash… Do you think they mean vanilla, Clicky? …/shrugs…*

… If not, then tomorrow. Enjoy! 😀

The Inchoate Egg

by Roo B. Doo

“Patience is a virtue, Harry,” Payroll Pammy chimed as she glided past the elevator on the way to the kitchen, carrying a tray of empty mugs. I was inside the lift, gnashing my teeth while I waited for the doors of the ancient mechanism to close. Pammy evidently shared the consensus opinion of the minions at F A Kontrell, that the elevator to our 5th floor offices is ‘very slow’.

More like fucking glacial, I fumed, as I stood over the control panel and angrily jabbed at the ‘door close’ button, each jab accompanied by an entreaty to “close, you fucking bastard.” Slowly, the door halves started their whiny crawl toward each other and were just about to touch when a smooth, tanned hand, topped with exquisitely polished pink fingernails, halted their long awaited reunion by adroitly sliding between them.

“Hold the lift, please!”

I recognised both the hand and voice, and my chest tightened at the thought of being in close proximity with the office goddess I’d lusted after. I felt a tinge of fear too, if I’m honest, as the last time we’d been alone together hadn’t exactly worked out that well for me. Josie looked surprised to see me lurking in the corner of the lift, finger still hovering over the ‘door close’ button. It must have looked as if I were deliberately trying to shut her out.

“Oh, hello Harry,” she said sheepishly. She moved to the opposite corner at the back of the lift, putting as much distance between us as she could. “How are you?”

“I’ve been worse.”

The words hung between us and I wondered if, like me, she was remembering the night several months ago when Alfie, her brick shithouse of a boyfriend, had tried to kill me over a misunderstanding. He came home from work unexpectedly and thought I was trying to debauch his girl with an obscene Secret Santa gift. As If!

Of course I had been trying to gain access to the fair Josie’s knickers, but not with anything so crass as the oversized sex toy that Alfie had seized upon. I’d been using an entirely more tasteful gift, targeting Josie’s weakness for chocolate. It was classy and it had nearly worked too.

I turned back to the control panel and resumed my button jabbing, minus the swearing. For once the lift doors effortlessly glided together first time with barely a murmur, sealing us in. The lift compensated for the unexpected quiet efficiency with a gut flipping jolt before starting its grindingly slow journey downwards.

Well this is awkward, I thought.

Josie and I hadn’t really spoken since that night. She’d been avoiding me and my ardour had been tempered somewhat by the painfully real threat of a good hiding from her boyfriend. Mr Kontrell, a.k.a. the Fat Kontroller, had called me a ‘Good Egg’ after I’d declined to press charges – so reluctant was he to see his company dragged through the mud that he offered me a substantial pay rise in return for keeping my mouth shut.

It was an offer I was happy to accept. Besides, I didn’t want to sabotage any future chance with Josie by being the cause of her boyfriend being locked up, no matter how much the animal deserved it. That I’d survived Alfie’s ire at all was entirely down to the girl herself, who’d stop his murderous rampage with a substantial kick to his bollocks. I only wished I’d been conscious to see it.

The silence between us was deafening over the groaning lift mechanism. I decided to break it. “So, are you bunking off early?”

I turned toward Josie and she smiled back shyly. Fuck, but she is beautiful, I thought, and felt my stomach flutter. I smiled back, drinking in the delicacy of her elfin features framed by glossy, black hair, and not to mention a smoking hot body that would cause Elle McPherson to weep. To think, I’d been that close to sticking my tongue down her throat.

“Yes, kind of,” she replied, “I’ve been asked to attend the county-wide business awards ceremony tonight, so I’m going to work from home this afternoon.”

I took a sharp intake of breath. “The one at the civic centre?” I asked slowly. What the fuck!

“Yes,” Josie hesitated, “Shazza’s asked me if I’d go. Apparently one of the guests can’t make it now.”

“Oh right.” I nodded slowly and tried to keep my voice neutral, “we’re up for ‘Green Business of the Year’. I wrote our submission.”

“Are you going as well?” Josie asked with surprise. There was that awkwardness again and we hadn’t even passed the 3rd floor yet.

“Well yeah, that’s why I’m bunking off. I’ve booked the afternoon off so that I’ve got plenty of time to get ready and arrive before our guests do,” I explained calmly whilst fuming inside. I’d only just left the office, for fuck’s sake! What client? When did they pull out and why the fuck hadn’t our jumped up bitch of a receptionist told me about it? It was my event to organise after all, not Shazza’s. “Did Sharon give you any more detail?”

“Only the dress code and start time.” Josie gently gnawed at her bottom lip with perfect white teeth. “Harry, about what happened at Christmas…”

“It’s not necessary, Josie,” I said holding up a hand. “It was a misunderstanding.”

The slowest lift in Christendom was about to creak past the first floor and now she wanted to talk. “I’m not…” she trailed off. “You know…”

“A raving chocoholic? Yeah you are.” I winked at her. “Look, what’s done is done. I’m happy if we can remain friends.” It was a lie but what could I do?

She looked relieved and I felt relieved we’d finally reached the ground floor. I held back and let Josie leave. One, it occurred to me that Alfie, who chauffeured her to and from work, might be waiting outside, and it probably wasn’t a good idea for him to see us emerge from the building together. And two, I had a bit of unfinished business to attend to.

“I’m just gonna go back up and see Shazza,” I explained when Josie turned round to see if I was following. “I’d better find out who’s dropped out and if there’s anything else she’s neglected to tell me.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later tonight then, Harry.” She gave me that shy smile again and left.

I waited until she was out of earshot. “Yes!” I hissed under my breath and punched the air before returning to jab at the lift buttons once again. “Come on you bastard, close!”

Quel surprise! Shazza wasn’t manning the reception desk, the job she was paid to do but seldom bothered with. When I did find her, she was sitting in my chair, at my desk, looking rapturously up at the Fat Kontroller, who in return was getting an eyeful of her lumpy tits. There really isn’t enough mind bleach in the world to purge me of that horrific mental tableaux. I resisted the impulse to retch.

“What’s this I hear, Josie’s going tonight?” I walked up and sat on my desk between the two of them.

“Ah Harry! I was just going over tonight’s guest list with Shazza,” the Fat Kontroller said, looking a little flustered. And why not? I’d just caught him ogling our fat receptionist’s cleavage. Dirty old fuck – Shaz is at least half his age.

“So who’s pulled out?” I plucked the guest list from Shazza’s hand, looked at it and put it down beside me. “And when did we know?”

“Phil Gutteridge and not that long ago,” Shazza answered defensively.

“That’s my fault, Harry,” the Fat Kontroller added. “I thought you’d gone for the day so I asked Sharon to invite Josie.”

“Okay. But why can’t he make it?” Shit! Phil is one of our more reliable clients, an absolutely corker of a guest for these sort of shindigs. He never passed up an offer of free grub and booze, and watching him eat and drink was a sight to behold, like a ravenous Serengeti lion attacking a gazelle carcass – worthy of David Attenborough narration.

“He broke his arm at the gym this morning,” the Fat Kontroller continued. “Running on the treadmill, apparently. He missed his mouth taking a big gulp of water. Slipped in the resulting puddle and down he went.”

I clamped a hand over my mouth to subdue a laugh – Phil isn’t the smallest of men, or healthiest. “Damn! I warned him about gyms. And drinking water.”

But the Fat Kontroller wasn’t finished. “I’m afraid Mrs Kontrell won’t be able to make it now either.”

“No. Is your wife poorly again?” I asked with deep concern.

“Yes, she has one of her heads on.” At least the Fat Kontroller had the decency to look embarrassed trotting out the familiar excuse. It was uncanny how often the chain smoking, soap opera addicted Mrs K pulled out of company events due to having ‘one of her heads on’. In the two and a half years I’d worked for the Fat Kontroller, I hadn’t met her once.

“So who are we going to get to replace her? A client?” I asked him. I was purposefully not including Shazza in the conversation, but now, from the corner of my eye, I caught her suddenly sitting up straighter, a simpering grin replacing the petulant pout on her face. Oh no, I thought. No, please, not Shaz!

“During Easter school holidays? No, it’s much too short notice to ask any other clients now,” the Fat Kontroller opined. “Happily young Sharon has offered to step into the breach.” He flourished his hand toward a beaming Shazza.

Oh fuck! That was all I needed, having a sneering, drunken Shazza, making sly digs at me all evening and googly eyes at the Fat Kontroller. “Are you sure there’s no one else we could ask? Tonight is kind of a big deal for F A Kontrell. What about Phil’s deputy?”

To give him credit, the Fat Kontroller did look as if he were seriously considering my suggestion, but I could tell that ship had already sailed. Still, it felt good to see Shazza’s grin falter and disappear again. She threw me a malevolent look, which I returned with raised eyebrows and condescending smile. Squirm bitch!

“No, I think we’ll stick with the revised line up,” the Fat Kontroller decided. “Although it probably won’t do us any harm to have a couple of beautiful additions on our table.” He winked at Shazza who visibly preened.

Ugh! I mentally grimaced, I fucking hope you’re referring to Josie and Shaz and not just to Shazza’s tits!

“Right. I’ll make sure not to tell Mrs K that…” If I ever get to meet her. I gave the Fat Kontroller a friendly nudge. God knows he deserved it for the mental abuse inflicted by his flirting with Shazza. As for our ambitious receptionist, I hadn’t forgiven her yet for the role she played in my Christmas beating – it was her inappropriate Secret Santa gift to me that Alfie had taken offence at.

“I’ll make up the new place cards for the table,” Shazza said, peering at the guest list on the desk. “Zander Rhodes? The fashion designer’s gonna be on our table?”

“Zandra Rhodes is a fashion designer, Shaz” I said barely able to keep the contempt out of my voice. “Zander Rhodes, however, works for Green Crusaders. They’re an environmental charity we’ve been tapping up.”

“Networking with, Harry,” the Fat Kontroller corrected me with a chuckle. “I met him at a function in the City. Nice lad, very driven. There’s some synergy there that could be mutually beneficial.”

That’s what I said – tapping up! I thought with a mental sigh. I got up to leave, “Well, alright then, if you and Shaz have got it all under control, I shall take my afternoon off now and bugger off home. See you both later.”

This time I decided to forego the extended lift experience and took the stairs.

Will the Fat Kontroller win his the prize? Does Harry pull? Will Josie allow it? And how much drink can Shazza safely handle?

*The spread… /stubs butt…*

… Find out next time. Now, ova to Cade…

*******

I apologize for all the strangeness and strange events Dear Reader. I’ve not a clue what is going on with all the self-opening doors. Next thing you know, windows will be opening entirely on their own, and entire houses may suddenly be prone to levitation. Excuse me one more moment if you please…

tumblr_n5l4ndl0dw1t9b2qeo1_500

*all kinds of unusual shit going on to be sure, but nothing really…”out of the ordinary”…per se /me scratches chin…*

Meh…I’ll see to that in a minute. But I’m confident that we’ll get, whatever this is, worked out to a logical conclusion. We may even stumble across some help and helpers along the way.

helphasalmostarrived
*no…that’s more along the lines of “professional help”, so I think their particular services are unlikely… /me looks around for anything…fishy…*

And on that note…let’s cue us up a song.

On The Lash: Touring Turing Turning

For the last three days, Monday to Wednesday, John Lamb Lash has put out a new talk a day…

Sew… seeing as I’ve now written quite a number of posts about Sophia’s Correction recently, Dear Reader, I thought I’d preface the titles of future Lashy inspired posts, starting with this one…

*/reaches for fags… Well, Icarus did also fall, Clicky… /shakes lighter… but I believe that was under entirely different circumstances… /lights up…*

MONDAY

Let’s start with a selfie taken in the red universe of MEROVEE…

Roob on Merovee 1Roob on Merovee 2

*/drags… That gnosticism image has a sort of fishy tail to it…*

The Turing test, developed by Alan Turing in 1950, is a test of a machine’s ability to exhibit intelligent behavior equivalent to, or indistinguishable from, that of a human.

The twist on the Turing test is that it is we that are being tested, for our ability to exhibit intelligent behaviour toward this AI scam, and whether we’ll swallow the official narrative unquestioningly…

TUESDAY

Another selfie but this includes Cade, as I told him that another Lashy talk was up, and that I’d specifically asked Leggy to have a listen…

 

 

Roob tells Cade what shes up to

*/puffs… Leggy has written loads about The Righteous, Clicky… /blows smoke rings… and Goetia…*

I was not expecting Leggy to write a post about it!

Racial Superiority

It doesn’t exist.

It’s a meme. An ancient one, started by one tribe in the Middle East – not Islam, not even Judaism. Way before them.

It’s a meme that caused a change from the old Pagan religions to new, highly organised religious structures. It wasn’t created by those religions. It created them.

Some years back I wrote a little thing about the origins of government and control of the people. Where one becomes leader, then a group takes control, and they consider themselves superior to the other members of the tribe. That’s still going on.

*And Cade also mentioned Lashy’s talks in his latest blog post, Clicky… /final drag…*

Roob says goodnight to Cade

*My diagram depicting the long way round…/stubs butt… Last thing I sent him that night…*

WEDNESDAY

“Did you hear about Uber?” Thoughtful Man asked me when he got home from work. He’s been out working the mean streets of Southend all day, making sure Christmas shoppers and celebrators got home safe and sound.

I’d read something about Uber online earlier. “The EU has finally ruled that Uber is a transportation company and will be dealt with as such. That?” I replied dishing him up his evening dinner.

“No,” Thoughtful Man said scrolling through the news feed on his phone. “An Uber driver confessed to killing that woman in Lebanon.”

“The murdered British diplomat found on the side of a road?”

Thoughtful Man had found the article and handed me his phone. “Yes. An Uber driver did it and the Lebanese government is advising everyone in the country not to use them;  they ain’t safe.”

“Well we know that,” I said handing his phone back to him. “That whole company is built on deceit and debt. Weird though…” I trailed off and busied myself refilling his glass.

“What’s is? Thoughtful Man asked between spoonfuls of saucy ravioli. He stopped eating and squinted at me. “What’s weird?”

“Nothing really,” I replied demurely. “Only I finished listening to a talk about the word uber just before you got home.”

*The really spooky thing though, Clicky, is their faces… /lights up… Those girls lined up on the video image… /deep drag… They look exactly like people I work with now… /exhales … The same features… /taps ash… and not just women…*

The Fourth TurningDear Reader, the previous Fourth Turning and the current one have one thing in common. I wonder what a comparative mythologist, like John Lamb Lash would make of this…

And First Mother’s husband called the first plant Skarmunal, corn, and the second plant utarmur-wayeh, tobacco.

“Remember,” he told the people, “and take good care of First Mother’s flesh, because it is her goodness become substance. Take good of her breath, because it is her love turned into smoke. Remember her and think of her whenever you eat, whenever you smoke this sacred plant, because she has given her life so that you might live. Yet she is not dead, she lives: in undying love she renews herself again and again.”

Have a Song ❤

Missive From ‘Merica: “Four?” */buffs nails and waits patiently…*

*Thanks Clicky… /takes off glasses and rubs eyes…*

Four (n.,adj.)

Old English feower “four; four times,” from Proto-Germanic *fedwor- (source also of Old Saxon fiuwar, Old Frisian fiower, fiuwer, Frankish *fitter-, Dutch vier, Old High German fior, German vier, Old Norse fjorir, Danish fire, Swedish fyra, Gothic fidwor “four”), from PIE root *kwetwer- “four.” The phonetic evolution of the Germanic forms has not been fully explained; Watkins explains the -f- as being from the following number (Modern English five).

To be on all fours is from 1719; earlier on all four (14c.). Four-letter word as a euphemism for one of the short words generally regarded as offensive or objectionable is attested from 1923; four-letter manis recorded from 1920 (apparently as a euphemism for a shit). Compare Latin homo trium litterarum, literally “three-letter man,” a euphemism for fur “a thief.” A four-in-hand (1793) was a carriage drawn by four horses driven by one person; in the sense of “loosely tied necktie” it is attested from 1892. To study The History of the Four Kings (1760, compare French Livres des Quatre Rois) contains an old euphemistic slang phrase for “a pack of cards,” from the time when card-playing was considered a wicked pastime for students. Slang 4-1-1 “essential information” (by 1993) is from the telephone number called to get customer information. The four-color problem so called from 1879. The four-minute mile was attained 1954.

Dear Reader, now we have for you the last course of the evening. We hope you’ve enjoyed Cade à la carte. Word of warning: there will be something cheesy at the end. Enjoy!

*******

The other day, whatshername bought what is potentially the stinkiest and most foul smelling Christmas candle ever made. I’ve been nauseated and throwing up ever since I first smelled it. Of course, all of the stress of the past coupla weeks may also have played a role. Not to mention that my foot and leg cramps have been quite wicked over the past few weeks. But yeah…that candle she bought? Holy FUCK does it stink! Smells like some unGodly cross between pine a scented cleaner/disinfectant and modeling glue.

^beauty is the enemy^

While looking for pictures, I stumbled onto the above, and wondered what they were modeling. Luckily for me, Google Images provides a link to the source.

Structure of collagen adsorbed on a model implant surface resolved by polarization modulation infrared reflection–absorption spectroscopy

Hmmm…now why on earth, would someone be tinkering with collagen?

Collagen

I wonder as to the things that are found when tinkering at these levels, and these things came to be where they are so as to be discovered by those individuals that discover them? Lots to think about there.

^Animal Collective – My Girls (2009)^

LegIron made a rather awesome and awesomely interesting post yesterday.

The pointing finger points

That’s what set me to writing in the first place. I spared the comments section of his blog the majority of my verbal wrath, and saved it for RooBeeDoo’s blog. 😛

^Animal Collective – Golden Gal^

So in addition to LegIron’s blabbering, which in-turn inspired mine, someone posted a link to some Google Search results that got me to thinking about some stuff I’ve seen about what is going on in Africa. Much like Asia, Africa is also kinda “The West’s dumping grounds” with respect to not giving a flying fuck what is going on there. That said, I cruised some of the search results and came upon some interesting reading for anyone who might choose to read further.

The dystopian lake filled by the world’s tech lust

Where your computer goes to die: Shocking pictures of the toxic ‘electronic graveyards’ in Africa where the West dumps its old PCs, laptops, microwaves, fridges and phones

Do you care? Are the tiny bits of this from here, and the tiny bits from there important? I mean, we’re talking about finite bits of certain things in electronics…right? You yourself have little to no impact. Not to mention that we gotta keep the economy going…

right?
How many TV’s do you own?
How many computers do you own?

How many cellphones do you own?

How many houses are on your street?

How many streets in your neighborhood?

How many neighborhoods in your town?

Yep...shit gets exponential...quick.

I mean…you don’t think they sell sand by the grain do you?

^Black Sun Empire & Audio – Drizzle^

But what the Google Search results link really made me think of, was Tantalum.

Tantalum

Coltan

Columbite

Tantalite

Tapiolite

I saw a documentary sometime back that showed people walking for miles carrying this stuff to the border of a neighboring country, because it was illegal to export Tantalum from their own country. The country in which the Tantalum was sold, would then sell/export to France, who then sold it elsewhere. I can’t find the actual documentary I saw, but I found one that is equally disturbing, and both extremely uplifting and heartbreaking. Lot more to lots of this bullshit than just only minerals and money.

^Congo, My Precious. The Curse of the coltan mines in Congo^

I’m currently only 22 minutes in to the above video. And with all of the crap that I’ve seen in the above video thus far, one of the most horrifying is @ 22:14 where the narrator mentions that he started to work for MONUSCO.

MONUSCO

Wasn’t it The United Nations that got Congo into this mess in the first place?

Create the wound to create the cure?

One cannot know peace who does not know war?

Congo Crisis

There’s a nature within us to jump to one place or another. Belgium is all over this…

Belgian Congo

…kinda like France was all over Vietnam

French Indochina

France–Vietnam Relations

…and Britain was all over Malaysia.

British Malaya

Being an American, I know that there are schools of thought that sometimes believe that letting European nations flounder in their own messes is the correct course. But there is an underlying creepiness to some of these lines of thinking. As in, let the Europeans rot, then we can swoop in and take over where they failed. Who are we forgetting?

^Starsailor – Four To The Floor (Thin White Duke Mix)^

Q: Where is The UN located?

A: New York, New York, USA.

That’s weird. How can “United Nations”, plural, be centrally located? Not to mention, that if The United Nations is headquartered in New York? I think they’ve been stepping out.

^Joe Jackson – Steppin’ Out Lyrics^

Steppin’ out…branching out…whatevz. Gotta distribute those peace branches equally I guess.

United Nations

UNITED NATIONS OFFICE IN BRUSSELS

Brussels and the European Union

Brexit

Hotel California

“You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.”

Roach Motel (Insect Trap)

“Roaches check in, but they don’t check out.”

Am I being too dramatic there with connections? Or not dramatic enough?

Passive-Aggressive Behavior

Passive–Aggressive Personality Disorder

Relational Aggression (Redirected from Abusive relationship)

Victimisation (Redirected from Victimization)

Aggression

I guess no one wants to give up what they’ve got. Or at least, not give it up without a fight.

From my cold, dead hands

I wonder how that type of thinking translates to other areas of our lives?

Come And Take It

Laconic Phrase

Nut

Anthony McAuliffe

Nut (Goddess)

If you want to get creative and/or clever, there are all kinds of ways of getting what you want. That can sometimes include letting someone else get what they want. Feel free to bend and twist that one six ways from Sunday if you so choose. Just maybe keep Pandora in mind here and there.

^Pink Floyd – Another Brick In The Wall (Vintage Culture Remix)^

If we humans can learn to do things from great distances both far and near, why is it such a stretch to think that other beings can do the same? Or is it because there is no proof that other beings exist? Maybe there’s a reason for that. We’ve gotten pretty high on ourselves. I can see there being the potential for conflict if one party or another is forced to start having to explain themselves. Things could get ugly.

^In-Grid – Tu Es Foutu (Hi Quality)^

Guess what? It’s now currently 11:30 in the morning on December 12th of 2017…and it would appear that I am now officially a published author!!!

Like…in a book!!!

<golf clap>

!!!BOOYAH!!!

“Let’s dance, let’s shout…shake your body down to the ground!!!”

^Showtek – We Like To Party (Original Mix)^

cYa | cFa

^The Jackson 5 – Shake Your Body To The Ground^

*******

Yes, Anthology IV: ‘The Good, The Bad and Santa’ is now available to buy, Dear Reader…

Underdog Anthology 4 Front and Back

 

*Interesting that the name of the restaurant I went to for Christmas lunch today, Clicky, is the name of a character in Cade’s story!*

And now for the cheese… As promised, from the Afterword of Vol. IV, corrupted lyrics this time. Festive one c/o Mssrs. Wells and Tormé… ‘The Fuckwits Song’… Enjoy!

 

Snowflakes melting at the tweets Trump fires

Putin laughing down his nose

“Russian hack!” sings the media choir

Addressing all folks like they’re Joe Schmoes

Everybody knows Kim Jong Un has some missiles too

Wants to set the world alight

Won’t be happy ‘til Japan is aglow

How do the Nips sleep at night

We all know that Brexit’s on its way

Except Remainers who still deny they’ve had their day

And every mother’s child has a new gender to try

We’ll see how that turns out by the by

And so I wonder about this coming year

Asking everyone I knew

I heard it said many times, many fear

2018 will be shit too

And so I wonder about this coming year
Asking everyone I knew
I heard it said many times, many fear
2018 will be shit too, 2018 will be shit too.

Dear Reader… Have a Song ❤

Past Presents Yet To Come…

Yesterday…

*Mellow, Clicky… Nice! …/lights up…*

The 8th December, was the anniversary of John Lennon’s death in 1980, Dear Reader. 37 years ago; I was reminded of that day whilst reading Blue Frank‘s post yesterday about May Pang, John Lennon’s girlfriend, briefly, in 1973…

*Weird, Clicky… /drags… Red Frank has a new MEROVEE post up today about a black hole discovery that’s puzzling scientists…/taps ash… created just after the Big Bang, like…*

Merovee The Grand Unifying Theory of Everything

*GUT of everything? …/drags… As John Lamb Lash mentioned at the end of his last talk… ‘See colon backslash’ …/blows smoke ring… The singularity… /stubs butt… I asked my good friend, ‘The Gut Doctor’ about 137 before, Clicky…*

u8la7yacohdfuy5se8crzu9h

*Roob-ID-I-um… /lights up…*

Rubidium-87 has a half-life of 48.8×109 years, which is more than three times the age of the universe of (13.799±0.021)×109 years, making it a primordial nuclide.

…Knot only that, Dear Reader, it was but a year ago, on December 8th 2016, that the very first Underdog Anthology was published. I was reminded of this reading Leggy update on the upcoming Christmas edition, posted last night…

The Good The Bad And Santa

*Leggy just emailed me a complete final copy, Clicky… /puffs merrily… It looks fucking AWESOME!!!*

Underdog Christmas Anthology Content

*That’s interesting, Clicky… /stubs butt… ‘Christmas Ever’ covers page 137… /lights up…*

There’s an additional treat included with three illustrations Leggy drew way back in the 80s. Three perfect Santa cartoons that illustration Christmas Past, Present and Yet to Come perfectly…

…And, Dear Reader, you may notice from the Contents page that a certain missive writer from Text US has a story included. I had the most enormous fun last weekend editing ‘Christmas Ever’, as Cade wrote it…

There is a real treat in this one for those who enjoyed Brian W. Aldiss’s excursions into the deeper, stranger SF regions. If you re-read his shorts such as ‘As for our Fatal Continuity’ and ‘Send Her Victorious’ (in ‘Comic Inferno’, well worth a read if you can still get it and the title story is in much the same vein too), and his novel ‘The Eighty-Minute Hour’ (which I read several times) then you are going to love this one. I’m not telling you the title yet, but I will when it’s ready to go.

*/squints… What’s that red book Cade’s using, Clicky?*

The Red Book Backdrop

*/rolls eyes… Figures… /continues to smoke…*

Sew… hopefully, Dear Reader, ‘The Underdog Anthology IV: The Good, the Bad and Santa’ will be available to everybody…

children warning

*/coughs… Don’t give Leggy ideas, Clicky!*

… Um, nearly everybody sometime before Thursday. I will post a link when it is and let you have a look at the Afterword corruption. In the meantime, have a good week, don’t be mean and… Have a Song… 😉

*/puffs… Clicky! I find the new title of that Song highly offensive… /streams smoke… Get another…*

Friday Purchases & Other Pressing Fings

Notice anything different, Dear Reader?

different

*The font, Clicky, the font! …/sigh… Why do I bother?*

Running dangerous low on memory space, I’ve had to upgrade the LoL’s WordPress account. I did this on Friday, whilst off work for “Christmas Shopping”. I now have more memory, no ads, a selection of fonts and themes to choose from, and a new domain…

*Ha! …/pats snout… I love that show, Clicky …/lights up…*

Whilst I had the plastic handy, I decided to replace the lost copy of a book I used to own. And it has just been delivered! On a Sunday!

Jessicas Trap

I could have got it quicker by buying it for Kindle, but seeing as it was a Kindle version that was lost, I thought I would indulge in a tangible copy with built-in page turning sound effect…

*And scrolling too… /drags… It’s got it all…*

“Christmas shopping” completed, I spent the rest of Friday morning editing a short story Cade was writing for the upcoming Underdog Anthology…

Cade tells Roob he feels hit by a train

It was funny him mentioning feeling like he’d been hit by a train, as I’d just been atweeting…

… And then it got weirder…

Cade gets to it whilst Roob listens to a talk

*/sings… I’m a singularity, I’m a singularity, I’m a singularity, I’m a singularity, I’m a singularity, I’m a singularity, I’m a singularity. Now up put your hands up…*

I mentioned Part 1 of John Lash’s Archonic Dementia talk previously and this is another longish one. But was so incredibly syncy that this time I took some notes. Kinda…

Roob notes 1

*Familiar themes here, Clicky… /scratches gnos…*

Roob notes 2

*/puffs merrily…*

I didn’t manage to listen to the talk all in one go…

Roob notes 3

Lashy really doesn’t like the proponents of AI and D Wave computing, likening them to “carnival barkers“. And then he mentioned something that brought me up a bit short…

Roob notes 5

‘The cover image is the Seal of Solomon, the seal used on the brass vessel in which Solomon trapped 72 demons and their legions of spirits. I redrew the version in Goetia, scanned it then meddled with it in Paint Shop. It’s relevant to the story, as is the chosen colour and the strange object at the bottom of the back cover. That’s enough hints – no spoilers.’

Roob notes 6

Email from Ruth to Kevin on 2nd July 2014 Norman's House

‘Samuel’s Girl‘, the next book after ‘Jessica’s Trap’, has already been republished and ‘Norman’s House’ will finally see the light of day in the new year. As for what Lashy’s thinks ‘The Singularity of November 2017’ is…

river-song-spoilers

*Er… or Dear Reader could just simply listen to the talk, Clicky… /rolls eyes…*

Have a Song 😀

 

Shock and ‘Owie!

*Terminal 7 eh, Clicky… Nice opening! …/pats snout…*

This post, Dear Reader, will explore the Mandela Effect…

… As decoded by Gnostic teacher John Lamb Lash, a set of 64 71 talks on UTube. I’ve been taking the time to listen…

I’d not heard of Toxy Poxy Ghandi before, so I asked my good friend Legs, who as well as being a damn fine publisher and author, is also a proper, proper scientist…

Roob asks Legs a questionRoob has a popeye moment

*Spoiler alert, Clicky… /flicks lighter… Lashy reckons the Archons couldn’t hack our genes… /lights up… So they infected our brains instead… /puffs… I know… /taps ash… It seems far-fetched but apparently Sophie fell out of the Galactic Centre… /drags… A trip like that is enough to send anyone a bit bandy…*

Sew… The German word ‘Mandel’ can be translated into English in 7 ways according to John Lamb Lash:

And it does. Admittedly my understand of German isn’t great…

*/drags… We only talk like that when we’re addressing Poppy… /stubs dog end…*

… So I looked it up online and took some screenshots…

Mandel Almond TonsilMandel Shock et alMandel AmygdalaMandel Geode

Applying the verb to the nouns implies action, movement even. As for Toxy Poxy Ghandi, well, there seems to be something in his assertions here, too…

‘In addition, “we show that parasites are a little more likely to be found in amygdala [a region of the brain] than in other brain areas,” Vyas said. “This is important because the amygdala is involved in a variety of fear-related behaviors.”

This is very interesting, Dear Reader. I had a bit of a ‘wheat shock’ myself this weekend on Twitter…

*Haha… /grins… No, Clicky, the other one…*

*Warburtons have only bloody signed up for that charadee tax-break as well, Clicky… /sigh… I’d better show Thoughtful Man… He does the shopping… /lights up…*

I’ll delve further into this subject in another post, Dear Reader. Until then… Have a Song 😉

 

Pinch, Punch…

I hope you had a sufficiently spooky Halloween yesterday, Dear Reader…

A prominent American television host has fainted live on air, returning just minutes later to host the remainder of her programme.

Fifty-three-year-old Wendy Williams fell to the ground during a live broadcast of her morning show, in a segment dedicated to her annual Halloween costume contest.

If I may direct your attention to the recent LoL post, ‘Miss Chief Maker‘…

*Overheated, my arse, Clicky… She looked like she’d seen a… mouse?*

The Underdog Anthology Three: Treeskull Stories

bookcovertreeskull

Not long now ’til Christmas, Dear Reader 😉 Have a Song…

 

‘Morning Run’ – An Underdog Anthology Tale

Dear Reader, the next volume of the Underdog Anthology – Treeskull Stories – is on track to be published for Halloween…

UA3 cover

This time I have contributed one story and the Afterword, as well as providing copy editing services to Leggy. This is a pleasure, not a chore, as I get to read the fabulous contributions from the other authors first. And for free…

*Clicky, that’s free knot three…*

*/rolls eyes…*

In anticipation of publication, I thought I’d share one of my stories from Anthology 2 with you, Dear Reader. So here is ‘Morning Run’ for your entertainment… Enjoy! 😀

*******

MORNING RUN

By Roo B. Doo

Gasping with pain, Marcus pulled the graffiti daubed door open and peered into the murk inside. The hinges squealed their resistance in the spring morning that should have been filled with birdsong but was disquietingly absent. He sniffed in disgust at the dank gloominess but the room appeared empty, and Marcus was more than happy about that – the thought of defecating anywhere other than his own bathroom filled him with dread but he doubted he would be able to sprint back home in time. As if in agreement, his stomach growled noisily.

Usually Marcus picked up the pace when he ran past the public toilets on his early morning jog through the park. The low, stone structure, vividly tagged in garish painted symbols, sat at the far point of his circuit. Set back from the path and surrounded by shady trees, it had an air of quiet menace in its seedy isolation, a haven for druggies and vandals, pervs too no doubt. Today, however, a crunching gut spasm had assailed Marcus as he approached the building. He’d pulled up sharply, clutching his stomach at the sudden crippling pain.

Marcus swore at himself for thinking he could just run off the sluggishness he’d felt at the previous night’s overindulgence at the local curry house. And the beery one at the pub beforehand. For months he’d been on a strict diet regime in training for the London Marathon. It was just rotten timing that his best friend Craig had chosen Easter, the weekend before, to get married. As Best Man there was no way Marcus could miss the stag night, and a stag is a stag – there’s no point going if you didn’t stagger a bit as a result. It would be his only blow out and, besides, he’d have a whole week to recover before the big race.

Although his guts were wildly churning, Marcus remained reluctant to go inside. He was okay pissing in public toilets but shitting was another matter. He couldn’t stand the thought of exposing his backside to where other naked backsides had rubbed or smeared, nor the thought of anyone listening in, passively participating and passing judgement on the size of his bowel.

He briefly squatted down in the doorway to scan for the feet of hidden stall occupants, and instantly regretted it. The pressure inside him moved and there was an audible glug! Marcus tensed his arsehole; it felt like a splenetic Vesuvius ready to blow its top. With a final nervous glance behind to make sure nobody was about to follow him in, Marcus stepped inside.

The gloom deepened as the main door swung closed behind him with a creaking thump. Now the eerie silence was broken by a leaking tap’s plink, plink, plink from the wash basin to his left, accompanied by the continued rumble from his guts. There were three toilet stalls in front of him and he made for the nearest, dodging the dirty puddles strewn with litter, tugging urgently at the drawstring on his shorts. Marcus was determined to spend as little time in the place as possible.

The cubicle door swung open at his touch, revealing a filthy, shit filled toilet. A worn and dirty trainer, half submerged among the turds, listed near the top of the bowl. He moved on to the next but that too was blocked. Fresh beads of sweat prickled Marcus’ brow, his dread intensified – if the last one was in as bad a condition he didn’t know what he would do. However, the last stall at least looked relatively clean and it had a lock on the door. Bonus! Marcus thought as he whipped down his shorts, sank onto the toilet seat with a resounding thump and let go.

He braced his hands against the cubicle walls to hold himself up as he felt the world cascading out of his arse, before splashing back to soak his crack and balls. Both relief at the release and cold revulsion washed through Marcus, as his breath rasped with every squeeze.

“Arghhh!” he screamed aloud as his gut achingly contracted again, but by now Marcus cared little if anyone was there to hear him; he just had to get it all out.

He closed his eyes and swore again at his stupidity. He just had to play the big man, didn’t he? Buying another round of beers, choosing the hottest and spiciest dishes on the menu, followed by shots, lots of shots. True, it had been a hell of a fun evening but, by God, he was regretting his decisions now. Not to mention Craig’s wedding was later that day; he only hoped he would have sufficient time to recover before then. With a grimace, Marcus resolved to take a double dose of imodium and have a shower as soon as he got home.

He shifted his position as the stinging flow turned into a trickle, releasing a waft of putridity that made him recoil and hold his nose. Reaching for the toilet roll he found the holder sheathed only with an empty cardboard tube. He slapped at it angrily and looked around but there was nothing else to clean himself up with. Sighing loudly, Marcus pulled off his outer vest top, balled it up and started to wipe his backside. It was one of his favourites but he would have to leave it – there was no way he was carrying it back home.

Feeling drained, Marcus stood up and pulled hard on the toilet chain, eager to flush the contents of his bowels away, but the only thing it made was an empty clank. He pulled again and again. Nothing. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Marcus peered into the toilet bowl as he pulled up his shorts. Shit splattered the inside and dribbled down into a dark brown pool of his slurry. He had to get out there fast before anyone else came by. Flinging the balled vest top to the floor he turned to leave.

The lock on the door refused to budge. Marcus rattled it hard but it was stuck fast. He tried ramming the door open with his shoulder before remembering that it swung inwards. He kicked at it in frustration but the door remained firmly closed.

“What the fuck?!”

Plop… The sound came from behind him. Plop… plop.

Marcus turned around slowly to see movement in the bowl. The shit pool bubbled and burst like the hot mud springs he’d seen once before whilst on holiday in New Zealand. He stood there transfixed as more and more bubbles broke through the surface. Plop pop plop…

A slimy brown finger poked up suddenly, followed by another. Marcus flattened himself against the door, staring aghast as a hand emerged from the mess, fingertips feeling out, looking for purchase on the porcelain. A second hand shot up and gripped the edge of the toilet seat, pulling, heaving first a shoulder and then an oozing head up and out of the bowl.

Eyes wide with horror and disbelief, Marcus turned and hammered at the door, frantically grabbing at the lock. “LET ME OUT!”

A horrendous sucking sound caused Marcus to turn around again and he screamed to see the abomination now had a torso, rippling turds for muscles. A fat, pink worm poked out of the head, like an obscene tongue, tasting the air. Reaching out with dripping hands, the detestation gave Marcus a shit-eating grin before emitting a thunderous burp, sending a foul spray of ordure with a stench like an eyeful of needles.

Marcus screamed again and dropped to the filthy, wet floor, squirming in a frenetic attempt to escape from under the door. He kicked out as slimy hands grabbed at his legs and he felt a squelching slap on the back of his thigh. With an almighty heave, he pulled himself free of the gap and out.

Howling in terror, Marcus picked himself up and ran.

*******

Dogma Shit Demon

*Alright! Sheesh… I’m new to this writing lark, Clicky, let alone horror fiction…*

*Well, let’s hope so, eh?*

So, if you’re in need of a book of short stories for toilet reading this Halloween, Dear Reader, I highly recommend you try ‘Underdog Anthology III’ from Leg Iron Books…

Pounds. Shilling. Portents.

Dear Reader, this post was going to be about steam…

steam (v.)Old English stiemen, stymen“emit vapor, emit a scent or odor,” from the root of steam (n.). Meaning “go by steam power” is from 1831. Transitive sense from 1660s, “to emit as steam;” meaning “to treat with steam” is from 1798. Slang steam up (transitive) “make (someone) angry” is from 1922.

Related: Steamed; steaming.

steam (n.) Old English steam “vapor, fume, water in a gaseous state,” from Proto-Germanic *staumaz (source also of Dutch stoom “steam”), of unknown origin. Meaning “vapor of boiling water used to drive an engine” is from 1690s, hence steam age (1828) and many figurative uses, such as let off steam (1831, literal), blow off steam (1857, figurative),full-steam (1878), get up steam (1887, figurative). Steam heat is from 1820s in thermodynamics; as a method of temperature control from 1904.

We have given her six months to consider the matter, and in this steam age of the world, no woman ought to require a longer time to make up her mind. [Sarah Josepha Hale, “Sketches of American Character,” 1828]

…Thoughtful Man suggested it to me yesterday evening after first reading Leggy’s review of Poundland’s E-cig, yesterday morning…

*/flicks lighter… A good review that I’m happy to share, Clicky, but vaping? …/lights up… Fuck off – they’re just Tobacco Control Lite… /drags… If I want to inhale steam, I’ll boil a kettle…*

…And then during the course of yesterday, Thoughtful Man learnt that Poundland is also branching out into other steamy areas…

*/thinks and smokes… Nooky… No. Oky… No. OK Y?… Nukey… New key… Newgate’s Knocker!… /smokes some more…*

Something else happened though yesterday, Dear Reader. Something unsettling. Yesterday morning, whilst Thoughtful Man read Leg Iron’s post, I was reading an overnight posting by Red Frank, in the Red Universe…

Merovee Gateways.png

A bit of a sleb in the Synchrosphere had paid MEROVEE a visit and left a comment. ‘Goro’ is a name that has been spoken of somewhat reverently by a few of the regulars there during the 5 years I’ve visited the site. And I’ve seen the name mentioned in Dispatches elsewhere. A bit of coup for Frank, you’d think…

coup

*I dunno, Clicky, it could be one of those…/stubs out fag…*

Goro had popped by and, BOY, was he STEAMED with Frank and MJ!

*Perfect choice of Song, Clicky! …/pats snout… It turned into a screaming match… /lights up…*

I suggest you go read it for yourself, Dear Reader. It involves an accusation of plagiarism…

*plak- (1)also *plāk-, Proto-Indo-European root meaning “to be flat;” extension of root *pele- (2) “flat; to spread.”

It forms all or part of: flag (n.2) “flat stone for paving;” flagstone; flake (n.) “thin flat piece,; flaw; floe; fluke (n.3) “flatfish;” placenta; plagal; plagiarism; plagio-; planchet; plank.

It is the hypothetical source of/evidence for its existence is provided by: Greek plakoeis“flat,”plax“level surface, anything flat;” Lettish plakt “to become flat;” Old Norse flaga “layer of earth,” Norwegian flag “open sea,” Old English floh “piece of stone, fragment,” Old High German fluoh “cliff.”

… Which was weird ‘cos MJ had put up a Flat Earth post the evening before yesterday at her site…

Start here – it was the very first comment! I won’t link to Soro’s site; he brought his own links to Frank’s place. I paid a brief visit there, having not ventured there before. I don’t think I’ll be going back… You’ve gotta pay to be a member!

*/sniffs… I don’t care for his tone either, Clicky… /drags… *

In other news, Dear Reader, I had a bit of coup (second meaning) myself this week, having my Afterword accepted for the Underdog Anthology III by Leg Iron Books. This time round each of the stories gets an illustration and so will the famous poem that I stole… to mutilate and use for my own ends at the end of the book. Thank you Emma ‘Dead Rising’ Lazarus!

Leggy has just sent through its illustration, hot and steaming off his virtual press…

The Nuke Allows US

*Oh, Clicky, that looks great! …/grins… Quick, go fetch that Song we like… /claps hands…*

That’s quite enough for one post, Dear Reader. Until next time at the LoL… Have a Song ❤

 

 

 

Missive From ‘Merica: Write On!

I hope you’re enjoying your Sunday, Dear Reader. Fortunately the world didn’t end yesterday, as predicted…

Thank fuck for that, ‘cos I have had a Harry story accepted for the Underdog Anthology III…

… And I still haven’t mutilated a poem for the Afterword yet…

Whilst I get on with doing that, feel free to dive into the latest missive, deep and inviting, from Cade the Okie Devil, below. Enjoy! 😀

*******

!!!Let's Doo Sum SnewZ!!!

I’ve decided to give Bing News a shot today…

…but I have a feeling…

…this might be a little…

…lopsided….

…assuming that Bing routes most of it’s shit through MSN.

^Cliff Richard ~ Devil Woman 1976 Disco Purrfection Version^

On with the snooze…

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Texas asks court to allow its ban on ‘sanctuary cities’

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Marilyn Manson: ‘Columbine Destroyed My Entire Career’

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Magnitude 5.7 earthquake hits off northern California -USGS

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North Korean leader Kim called Trump a what? A ‘dotard’

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What Does Mexico’s Earthquake Mean for California? A Caltech Seismologist Explains
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Elderly deaths: Call for generators in Florida nursing homes
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Trix with artificial flavors is coming back after customer complaints
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France threatens to skip 2018 Winter Olympics in South Korea over security concerns
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NASA SPACECRAFT OSIRIS-REX TO SLINGSHOT AROUND EARTH ON ITS WAY TO ASTEROID BENNU

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HOLLYWOOD ACTRESS TELLS ALL: “I FELT BLOATED, TIRED, AND UNHEALTHY… NOW I KNOW WHY”

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Death Wish Coffee recalls its Nitro Cold Brew over risk of deadly botulin toxin

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‘Game Plan to Survive.’ Teen Gets Locked in Cave for 60 Hours With No Cellphone Signal

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Now…I know what you are thinking.

You are thinking…

DUDE!!! I ALREADY READ ALL THAT SHIT!!!

Well I hadn’t.

Go fuck yourself.
^Three Dog Night – Never Been To Spain^

I saw an advertisement on that last story, that talked about “why doctors will no longer prescribe Metformin”…and the advertisement went on to say…that the ad…was selected…for me.

Q: What in the FUCK is Metformin, and why did it select me?

A: ?!?!?

The link to the story was 500 fucking miles long, so I skipped it, and just went and looked up Metformin on Google.

Metformin

I don’t have diabetes…type 2 or otherwise. WTF?!?!?

Polycystic Ovary Syndrome
Endocrine Disease
Obstructive Sleep Apnea
Epstein–Barr Virus
Dermatomyositis
Heliotrope (Color)
Heliotrope
Adaptive Immune System (Redirected from Adaptive immunity)
Passive Immunity-Naturally Acquired
Passive Immunity
Systemic Lupus Erythematosus
United States Bullion Depository
Viral Tegument

Is everything designed to kill us? Something is not adding up.

Yeah…it’s adding up…but to what?

For whom?

^Alanis Morissette – King of Pain^

Q: How much gold is in Fort Knox

A: According to the U.S. Mint, there are currently 147.3 million ounces of gold in Fort Knox, KY. At a current price of about $1,776 per ounce, this is worth 261.6 billion dollars.

147,300,000 ounces / 16 ounces = 9,206,250 pounds.

9,206,250 / 2,000 = 4,603.125 tons.

$261,600,000,000 dollars / 323,100,000 citizens = $809.66

I’d like mine in cash please. Hell, that ain’t even 1/2 an ounce of gold.

I knew I wasn't worth a fuck

…but damn…that’s some hardcore, cold-blooded shit right there.

^Rafa Barrios – Palabras (Original Mix)^

HOLD THE PHONE!!!

Has the Federal Reserve Sold the Gold at Fort Knox?

This article says…that The U.S. Treasury actually has 8,134 tons in total. So I guess only about half of that is in Kentucky.

8,134 tons = 16,268,000 lbs = 260,288,000 ounces = $462,271,488,000 @ $1,776 per ounce.

$462,271,488,000 / 323,100,000 citizens = $1,430.74

Considering that the year that I made the most money – I made right at $120,000 that year – I paid over $40,000 in taxes, and averaged working about 70 hours per week…um…yeah.

I gotta regroup here.
^Frida – I Know There’s Something Going On (ABBA) (1982) HD 0815007^

WOAH NELLY!!!

SOME LIMEY JUST KICKED ME IN THE BALLS!!!

AND I LIKE IT!!!

Getting metaphysical

😐

I am dissapoint (sic)

j/k

I got a question about your view of “not being able to see time”…

Q: Would you know it, if you saw it?

To relate…let’s think about drag racing, since an interest in both time and trains should certainly be easily relatable to drag racing, from both the participant and spectator positions.

There was a video that I posted sometime back, that showed a guy getting a ride-along in a drag car. There was an in-car video camera, and at the end of the ride, the passenger commented…

“That seemed like a LOT longer time from inside the car!”

The drag car in question, was about an 11/12 second car. Meaning it took about 11/12 seconds to cover the 1/4 mile, which is 1,320 feet.

Find a clock that has a second hand…now watch it click off 11 seconds.

Keep in mind, that a drag car never stops accelerating.

So for the entire time, of that 11 seconds, you are going faster and faster, the whole time.

If you were traveling at the speed of light…186,282 miles per second…you just covered 2,048,882 miles.

BUT!!! What if…you started @ a relative “0-speed” and accelerated from 0 to 186,282 miles per second within that 11 seconds?

^The Sweet – The Ballroom Blitz 1973^

Q: What did you encounter during that 11 seconds?

Q: What encountered you?

So yeah…spin. All kinds of spin and spins. I’m not trying to sell anyone on anything…just trying to describe what I see. I don’t think I’m alone in what I see…just…yeah…alone-ish or something.

😐

Anyway…what is really cool to me, relativistically…is when there is a proximate particle or mass, that appears to be not moving at all. Yet relative to some distant particle or mass…it may be moving at some fucking RIDICULOUS speeds.

Pert near Ludicrous Speed. 😛

Especially if those particles/masses are entangled.

Shit gets really funky from there.

^Sweet – Love is like Oxygen^

For example, if two masses are entangled at great distance…they may swap places, and your never ever know it, save for a change in the mass that you are observing. You don’t actually know that it’s a different mass…you just know that a change has taken place.

We make assumptions that these actions/reactions are local or even localized…but that’s not always the case. By the time out new mass moves in, and replaces the old one, the new one may have been traveling at ridiculous speeds over great distances. The old one and new one, transfer energy/energies and momentum(s), and the old one hauls ass elsewhere.

Further…the old one may transfer it’s entanglement many times as it heads out wherever it is going. Like tumblers handshaking here and there and everywhere. Lots of parts, lots of methods, lots of mediums, lots of time. I dunno…I get jazzed when anyone talks about time. Keep it contextual, and everything else becomes possible.

Grains of sand, to eyes of needles.
^Gary Wright – Love Is Alive^

Where was I?

^Raspberries Go All The Way Mike Douglas Show 1974^

Prolly gonna go find some ice for my balls.

Fuckin’ Limeys.

^Climax Blues Band ~ Couldn’t Get It Right 1977 Disco Purrfection Version^

FBI Misses THIRD Deadline to Hand Over Subpoenaed Documents On Trump Dossier

What does this mean? I dunno. Go arrest the FBI. I guess they could just handcuff themselves and turn themselves in…but I wouldn’t count on that. Maybe pull their funding? Stop printing their paychecks and turn the electricity off in The J.Edgar Building…that might get someone’s attention. Or how about make the FBI go without toilet paper until they produce this shit.

lolz That sounds funny.

PRODUCE THIS SHIT…OR YA’LL GETS NO TP UNTIL YOU DOO!!!

^The Three Degrees – When will I see you again (Ruud’s Extended Mix)^

It occurs to me, that with all of this secrecy, we’ve been operating in a “Minority Report” kind of “Thought Police” kind of mode for a long time. This isn’t about every American having an FBI file irrespective of whether or not they’ve ever committed a crime. That I can quasi-sorta understand on some levels. This is about accountability via secrecy.

With secrecy, there is no accountability. How can there be? We’re not talking about privacy. Government like ours deserves none. I should be able to go to FBI.gov, and look up my own name, and see if I’m being investigated for anything. See if I’ve ever been investigated for anything. See if it’s ever been recommended that I be investigated for anything, on who’s recommendation, and why.

I should be able to look up how much money The FBI spent on coffee last month. How much they spent on sugar. How much they spent on drink cups and coffee stirrers. Who is requisitioning government planes instead of flying commercial. Does that sound good? I can think of some more stuff if you need suggestions. Just let me know.

So yeah…it’s not about this or that, it’s about this and that, and everything else. I thought that’s what accountability was\is?

^The Association – Along Comes Mary^

I guess one could argue that my thoughts on particle and mass motion could be summed up to slight of hand. But…what about preservation of mass? Preservation of energy? Preservation of energy? If you don’t have the balls to countermand your own bullshit, it’s prolly why you aren’t getting anywhere. Hey asshat(s)…I’m on your team.

Ain't I?
^Orleans – Still The One (with lyrics)^

Ah HA!!! A question via The Whatever However Hotline!!!

Q: Cade, what is binding these particles?

Cade: Didn’t see this one coming. Are we talking local, less-local, or non-local? Because you have to consider them all. If we thing of a string as being the current method of binding of some particular particles…which part of the string are you seeing? How would you know? When the energy and energies run out…welp…what about less bound strings?

If you disconnect your machines, or turn them off, or stop the process that was further intermingled with the goings on…why wouldn’t shit stop? I mean…we are talking about operating within time and times here. Are you really willing to go the distance? What if you only get one chance to “tap” an infinite power source, but that source is more like Morse code, and there is a thousand years that will transpire until the next dah or dit?

Yes…I’m suggesting that “tapping” or “harnessing” ANYTHING…can, and will, have consequences. Why wouldn’t it? Just because something is local…you think it’s ours? What…are you drowning and there’s a life-ring nearby…hence…it’s yours? I don’t think things work like that. Certainly not always. We need more information.

Sound familiar?

It should.

^Firefall – Strange Way^

Lactic Acidosis
Biguanide
Galega Officinalis
Coleophora
Coleophora Lusciniaepennella
Wingspan
Gridiron Football

Man…I went from Diabetes to Flowers to Moths to Football in like…nothing flat. Must be football season or some such. Yesterday was the first day of Fall… so…yeah…foosball!!!

Mama Boucher: Foos-ball? Buncha overgrown monsters man-handlin’ each other… ‘Member when dat man wanted you to play foos-ball, Bobby?

Movie = The Waterboy

^Waterboy-I like them too^

It don’t hurt none, to talk about whatever in the fuck I want, do it? I never would have considering yapping about anything at all till just a coupla years ago. Too much pride I guess. Too afraid to be wrong, and even more afraid of being right.

That's no way to live...is it?
^David Holmes – I Heard Wonders^

I’ve had to get a lot of shit out of my system over at my own blog lately. I guess mainly because I can freewheel a shade more in a single direction, and spend more time doing it. When I sit down to write these things here? The objective is to move as rapidly as possible, and cover as much ground as possible. Not really, but my objective is to spend as little time as possible between A and B, and I’ve no idea what that is going to be.

Like tonight/this morning? I really didn’t have much in my head at all. Nothing that I really wanted to write about. I’ve got some other writing that I want to do, but nothing is currently coming to mind. It’s difficult to write a story that you’ve already completed in your head. Not that I’ve ever tried to write like this before or anything…but God bless her…someone has prodded me along in a very clever way over the last coupla days, and I’m thankful for that. But I guess I gotta go the rest of the way now.

Now...what's that bit about announcing your plans and hearing/watching God laugh?
^Knife Party – ‘Sleaze’^

Christmas is just around the corner I guess. I wonder when everything will go on sale? And since when is everything on sale? There’s something vague booping around in this empty head of mine, and has been for a few days. Ever since I saw mention of slavery somewhere along the line, and these Anunnaki fucks keeps bopping in and out of my noggin’.

But yeah...

Being off-balance helps me think. But this shit ain’t like that. To say that it was this kind of thought or that kind of thought, meaning good or bad, would be…kinda…on track…but not really. It’s not really like that. I’m not sure that a judgement call could be made like that with respect to “aliens” or “extra-terrestrials”…mainly because of us.

We are SOOOOooo fucking convinced, that anyone who shows up, is just here to take shit away from us. Welp, who the FUCK owns the shit now? At best, I’ve apparently got a $1,500 stake in the country in which I live, and THAT’S assuming that the other 323.1 million fucks that live here are feeling generous, and willing to let me sell my 1oz stake of gold that is sitting somewhere where I can’t get to it. I didn’t dig that shit up. Where’d it come from?

^orleans-dance with me [lyrics]^

What’s it like to get old? Let’s see.

Fact Sheet: Aging in the United States

 

Who…in the fuck…is PRB?

Population Reference Bureau

Oh. Anyway…

“The number of Americans ages 65 and older is projected to more than double from 46 million today to over 98 million by 2060, and the 65-and-older age group’s share of the total population will rise to nearly 24 percent from 15 percent.”

So…there’s 46 million peeps over 65 in The USA.

$462,271,488,000 / 46,000,000 = $10,049.38.

Here’s your paycheck…go play golf.

^I’M NOT IN LOVE – 10cc^

Considering that the retirement age is now 70, and these PRB fucks say that the number of old farts is gonna almost double by 2060…wait…

WHAT?!?!?!?!? 20-fucking-60?!?!?!?

I’ll be 92 fucking years old in 2060. You really think that anyone, who is 27 years old right now, will give a flying fuck about some 92 year-old asshole in 2060?

Yeah…someone who is 27 years old right now, will be eligible to retire in 2060. What about some young punk that was born today? Yeah…today…as in…September 23rd of 2017…they’ll be 43 in 2060. You think that they will give two fucks about two old fucks aged 92 and 70?

Nope.

They’ll be driving flying sportscars, chasing skirts, and writing child-support/alimony checks in the midst of their mid-life crisis, all while battling Hepatitis L.

Meh…I’ll prolly be on Mars and/or The Moon/Luna by 2060. Maybe even Jupiter or Saturn. The mail is prolly slow getting out that way…so you can keep the Social Security checks.

^Todd Rundgren – Hello It’s Me (1972)^

Damn…it’s 03:05…I could use a hug.

<huggles>
^AL STEWART “Time Passages”^

Human Leukocyte Antigen

Lots of tics and tocs and dahs and dits and beeps and boops to be seen at these levels.

Christian Laying On Of Hands

Don’t need anyone? Good for you. What about those that do? What about those that don’t, and then they do? I dunno either.

Event driven time.

Event driven times.

What kinds?

All kinds.

What cha got in minds?

We got all kinds of fine finds for you to finds.

Hop on in on of the lines.

Sees what you can sees, and finds what you can finds.

Your answers are your own.
^Robbie Dupree: Steal away^

I just remembered that my driver’s license expires in two months.

Yeesh…I’ll have no “valid I.D.” while cruising the motherland. Or fatherland. Or homeland. Or whatever in the fuck it my comrades call it.

A paranoid bunch we are.

We prolly need some secret organizations to keep us safe.

Let’s form some.

We need a manifesto first tho.

I quit.
^Earth, Wind & Fire – September^

I don’t have anything against beliefs and traditions and shit like that. Cept the ones that tell me what a piece of shit I am. Or the ones that tell me how fucking great I am.

Too confusing.

I dunno…I’ll figure it out. But I did address some pomp and circumstance kinds of things over at my own blog earlier this evening. If I need a pound of Wolfsbane, a goats right testicle, and a pure copper talisman in the shape of two figure 8’s bound by three stars and a zero? Where in the fuck am I supposed to get that shit? I gots no monies, and this shit don’t grow on trees ya know.

I don’t mind going without. I appreciate the suggestion, but I’d bet that goat needs his balls more than I need protection from whatever it is that’s hounding me. You think they’ll bargain? Maybe say…two used golf-balls in place of the goat’s ball? Time and a place for everything? Just being nice and trying to do the right thing(s) in my own life isn’t enough? What about over time? Over times?

Yeah…I forgot…works count for nothing. Everyone take 5. Smoke em’ if ya got em’.

😛
^Stevie Wonder: Superstition (Live)^

For Bubba.

^Van Morrison – Moondance^

cYa | cFa

<Earth Wind & Fire – Let’s Groove>

*******

*/daydreaming… Hmm… I hope so too, Clicky…*

*What?*

*Alright! I’m dooing it… /rolls eyes…*