*That’s Sarah from work and her mate Nina. They love cosplay…*
*Oh yeah. And Sarah’s a huge Underdog Anthology fan… /grins…*
… from Underdog Anthology IX: Well Haunted. Enjoy! ❤
*******
Secret of the Flaming Zombies
By Roo B. Doo
Fucking Halloween again, and Lol and I were attempting to simultaneously drown and burn the horror of my working day, surrounded by flaming zombies, with a continuous flow of Flaming Zombies. It was Lol’s cockeyed theory and we were testing it to destruction at our favourite watering hole, downing the bar’s ‘Halloween Cocktail Special’.
Of course ‘working’ is meant in its loosest possible sense, as no work gets done on Halloween at F.A. Kontrell. For the past three years, the stupid fancy dress competition, themed staff activities and spurious assertion that “it’s for charity, Harry,” has trumped all else. It was especially galling this year to hear The Fat Kontroller’s echoing predications regarding the fancy dress competition’s alleged philanthropic underpinnings, dressed as he was as the 45th President of the United States. I assumed it was Donald Trump my boss was attempting to portray, but he may have been going for ‘grotesque Oompa Loompa’. Or perhaps he was attempting to recreate what our mouthy receptionist Shazza looks like at her very best. Like there’s much of a difference between any of those. Sad!
It had taken most of the evening and several rounds of drinks, but Lol and I had finally managed to exorcise much of the contempt I felt for my work colleagues, and were about to embark on solving the abomination that is my love life.
“Ya know what your problem is, Harry?” Lol mashed his neatly manicured but highly intoxicated finger against my chest. He leaned in conspiratorially in order to tell me beneath the hubbub of the bar. “You’re never gonna find love ‘cos you’ve still got the hots for Jodie.”
“Who’s Jodie?” I returned his finger prod with an equally intoxicated index finger prod of my own. Not as manicured as Lol’s but then he’s always been something of a tart with regards to his appearance.
Lol looked momentarily confused. “Jodie from your office, Jodie. You know, ‘The Goddess With The Never Ending Legs’,” he smirked.
“Oh you mean Josie. Well, she’s gone now,” I replied glumly.
Josie had been F.A. Kontrell’s HR temptress; the angel with an elfin face, framed by raven black curls, atop of a smoking hot body, had left for another job at the start of the year. I’d felt bereft every day since but more so today, as Josie’s choice of Halloween costume for the past two years were not only glorious to behold in the flesh, but the memory of her ‘Wonder Woman’ and ‘Little Mermaid’ outfits still warms the cockles of my lonely heart. Particularly at night, in bed.
“Come on, Harry,” Lol said, shaking my shoulder in a misguided attempt to lift my spirits. “That girl was always out of your league. She spurned all your advances.”
It could have been the alcohol, or the fact I’d been keeping a secret from my best friend for nearly a year, but I suddenly felt the urge to wipe the smug look off his face. Lol’s a bank manager – they always look smug; it’s part of their job description. “Who says she spurned all my advances?”
“What?!”
Success! I thought evilly and sucked noisily on the straw in my hurricane glass, hoovering up its alcoholic remnants and rattling the ice. “You get another round of these in, Money Bags, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
Somehow Lol managed to sport a look of utter disbelief and wide-eyed wonder. “Really? You actually found where the never-ending legs finish? I don’t believe you, Harry.”
“Certainly did!” I burped indignantly, handing my empty glass to Lol. “Not only found, but explored and defiled. Supped upon her licksure of life.” I giggled at my own joke; it was either that or cry.
Lol’s jaw dropped. “Fuck off, you never said! When was this?” he asked with rising incredulity.
“Last Christmas.”
“Oof, Harry! Wham!” Lol feigned a smack to the jaw.
“Oh yeah, Deadpoo’?” I slurred, shooing him off toward the bar. “Then prepare for a double whammy – I wasn’t the only one on the expedition.”
It never ceases to amaze me why dropping a glass in public elicits a round of applause from strangers.
The story continues in ‘Lust Christmas’, which will appear in Underdog Anthology X: Subtitle tbc. Out in time for Christmas 😀 Dear Reader, have a Song…
I was having a lovely dream. The sort of dream you dream about having. Josie was sat over me, exquisitely filling her Wonder Woman costume with her tanned and taut flesh. Her righteous arse cheeks, spread, hovered tantalizingly above my face, the blue silky gusset that ran between them was nearly within touching distance.
“Copy that, Elvis. Coming in to land,” Josie said curtly, followed by a burst of static. “And I hope to God Harry has managed to get the undercarriage down.”
It was then that I realised we were about to crash. I hadn’t been able to find the invisible landing gear that Josie had implored me to fix. The one on her invisible plane, the plane she was now bringing in to land. I looked down past my feet at the ground zooming up toward me, before stealing one last glance up at the in-flight entertainment above. “Oh fuck!”
I woke in a sweaty start to the urgent buzzing of my iPhone on the bedside table. “I’m up!” I yelled into the cool, empty darkness, before hitting the snooze button and flopping back onto my pillow, clutching the phone to my gut. It felt smooth and hard against my hot skin.
I’d been dreaming of the Josie again, F.A. Kontrell’s HR Manager and the office goddess I’d been lusting after since the Fat Kontroller, our boss, had hired her into the fold two years ago. Last year she’d dressed as Wonder Woman for Halloween, and just like in my dream, Josie had filled the skintight costume to perfection. In real life. Unfortunately, and exactly like my dream, she remains just as elusive. One day, I sighed and snuggled back down under the duvet to review the highlights of this latest dreamy romp. The next time my mobile phone suddenly vibrated into life, the intrusion was much more welcome.
Hallo-fucking-ween again, I thought malevolently when I finally got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. I’d never been fond of the ritualised bollocks foisted on us as markers of time – Christmas, Easter, Halloween – but since the Fat Kontroller had given our bitch of a receptionist, Shazza, carte blanche to organise the festivities, I’d come to dread their arrival for the inevitable disaster that followed.
Last year, the old boy had been railroaded into a last minute ‘dress up for charity’ celebration of all things Halloweeny by Shazza, whilst I’d been out of the country, enjoying the delights of Ibiza on a well deserved break. That sorry episode had resulted in a blood-splattered bathroom, a year’s worth of PTSD therapy for Ian, our lanky and highly impressionable apprentice, and a grand sum of £22.50 raised for a charity – still undisclosed – a fiver of which was extorted from me for not not knowing I needed a costume!
Well not this year; this year I was prepared thanks to Dana Cossetti, high-flying VP of the American conglomerate that has recently swallowed F.A. Kontrell’s biggest client, Clovis, whole. We’d been introduced to each other back in the spring, whilst Dana was making a whistle-stop tour of her firm’s European acquisitions, and the Fat Kontroller was looking to secure the lucrative contract he’d signed with Clovis by any means necessary.
Any initial disgust I felt at being pimped out by my boss was soon dwarfed by lust for his selected john the moment I clapped eyes Dana Cossetti’s legs and heard her earthy, Texan drawl. And being a Yank, she took both Halloween and competition very seriously indeed…
Despite the godawful hour, arriving first at the office does have certain benefits: picking the best parking spot for one thing, lack of Shazza for another. Mainly it allows me to get on with some productive work before the Fat Kontroller rolls in. Today it also meant I could get changed into my Halloween costume with some degree of privacy before the rest of the rabble arrived. Except upon arrival I found the security alarm switched off and the main door unlocked. I pushed it open and peered into the deserted, unlit office beyond. “Hello?”
Shit! I bet he’s here already, I fumed, striding round to my desk, expecting to see the Fat Kontroller. I was stopped in my tracks though by a loud thud from the other side the office. Not him then, I surmised and changed direction, curious to see who’d beat me in to work. “Who’s that?” I called out but was greeted with silence.
Perhaps it was the date or that the far side of the office was bathed in deep shadows, weakly lit by the meagre daylight that eked through from beneath the window blinds, but it felt very spooky. I suddenly felt the urge to creep. What if it’s a burglar? I thought. Why the fuck didn’t you switch the overhead lights on? I shifted the garment bag carrying my costume to over my shoulder and crept forward, Scooby Doo style.
“Hello, who’s there?” Nothing. I picked up a stapler from a nearby desk and held it open in front of me. Oh yeah, that’s bound to scare off an intruder. Why not brandish a fucking ruler and threaten a stinging slap?
“Harry, is that you?” Golden light flooded the corner of the room as the door to the far office opened. Josie poked her head out sideways, her raven tresses tumbling down in a waterfall of curls. She looked relieved to see me. “Oh thank God, I need some help with this thing.”
Pfft, burglar. I strolled up to her office, getting rid of the stapler as nonchalantly as I could on the way. “Sure. What’s the-” I felt my jaw drop. “Problem?”
“It’s stuck,” Josie gasped, looking over her bare shoulder. She was wrestling with the zip at the small of her back. “The zip feels stuck but I can’t see why. Will you have a look?”
If last year’s Wonder Woman costume had been a joy to behold, then Josie’s mermaid effort today was nothing short of a triumph of form over fantasy. Hallelujah! my brain screamed.
“Wow, great costume,” I croaked, sinking to my knees. It was going to take every ounce of willpower to not press my face up against her fulsome, metallic gold arse, and kiss it. Profusely, scaly or not.
“It’s a bit elaborate,” she purred, running a delicate, tanned hand over the flare of her hips and down the curvy, shimmering, fish scale printed fabric. “But I couldn’t resist,” she informed me with a girlish giggle and a swish of her tail.
Oh you’re fucking killing me! I mentally wailed but decided to keep my mouth shut: my hands were shaking, my eyeballs were sweating; I couldn’t be any more nervous if faced with a bomb, pliers in hand and commanded to cut. I furtively licked my lips. “Um…”
“Can you see where it’s caught?” Josie asked pushing her fishtail arse closer to my face.
Breathe, you idiot! I took a gulp of air and dived in. “I think it’s caught on the lining.” I tugged and pulled gingerly with nervous fingers until the zip and lining freed themselves of each other. With a sigh of relief, I fastened her costume up with a smooth zziiipp and sat back on my heels. “You look… magnificent.”
“Oh thanks, Harry.” Josie tottered round and gave me a full frontal of her washboard stomach and the pink clam shells cup bikini top that shielded her perky breasts. I could have quite happily sat there all day but she held out her hand to help me up. She spotted my garment bag discarded on the floor. “Ooh so you did remember to bring a costume this year?”
My costume? I’d quite forgotten all about my costume; my costume had been completely blown out of my mind by the way she looked in her costume.
Missing out on the chance to win a bottle of Glenfarclas for best costume at last year’s Halloween hullabaloo had stung. The Fat Kontroller had donated it as first prize and he only ever drank the finest whisky. I’d idly mentioned it to Dana, who taken this year’s competition as something of a challenge. My costume was really Dana’s costume; the only input I had was to simply wear it, and share first prize with her when next she was in town. A Christmas date I was looking forward to immensely .
“Come on, what are you wearing?” Josie asked impatiently.
Well this is awkward, I thought with a mental grimace. I rocked up onto to my feet and started to unzip the bag. “Funny story, Josie. An American mate sent this to me about a month ago…”
“Oh my God, Harry, we’re both mermaids for the day!” Josie laughed, freeing the fishtail of my costume from its protective casing so that she could fondle it. Strange, she seemed genuinely delighted that, essentially, someone else would be wearing the same frock as her. “We’ll be twins!”
“If you mean like Schwarzenegger and Devito, then yeah… Totally!”
“Oh Harry, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Josie said coyly, perching on her desk and lazily swinging her legs so that her fishtail glittered and gleamed. “You don’t look anything like Danny Devito.”
Fuck! Is she flirting with me? “Whereas you look exactly like Arnold Schwarzenegger?”
Josie picked up a shell encrusted mirror from the desk and peered at her reflection. “Only when I’m on my period.” She quickly placed the mirror back down. “Hey, I know. If you changed now, we can go sit out on reception and wait for the others to arrive.”
Here? She wants me to take my clothes off here? I was confused and still reeling from her flirting. If that was flirting. I decided not to chance it. “Okay, I’ll go to the ladies.”
“No!” She slid off the desk and bunny hopped toward me. “No time to lose. I’ll help you. These things can be a bugger to get into.”
“Well alright then,” I said shrugging off my coat and biting my lips to disguise my grin. “You know Shazza’s gonna be pissed when she gets in and finds us camped on reception.”
“Better than that, she’ll be absolutely horrified!” Josie flashed a wicked smile and plucked the garment bag from my hand so that I could get undressed. “Happy Halloween Harry.”
Doo come back on Thursday for ‘Secret of the Flaming Zombies’, a tale from Underdog Anthology 9: Well Haunted. In fact come back any time you like, Dear Reader. And have a Song 😀
… was provided by a gentleman called Gary V. Foss. A poem by Sam Walter Foss is reproduced by Cade in his new missive, below…
*No idea… /drags… I know Cade met up with MEROVEE Frank this week… /plumes smoke… And it’s possible they share an ancestor…*
*Yeah, Jen was there too… /smokes… Could you butt out now, Clicky? I’m try to introduce Cade’s missive… /sighs… Now I’ve completely lost my train of thought…*
*******
When you make all my dreams come true···
···you’re basically taking all my dreams away from me.
Maybe even taking from me···
···my ability to dream.
Q: Now what?
A: . . . ─ ─ ─ . . .
Unfulfilled dreams potentially being a key to immortality. Almost doesn’t make any sense. Guess it all depends on what type of individual you are, and maybe whether or not you like to share.
^Swedish House Mafia – One (Original Mix)^
How to relate such a seemingly complex concept. I know! Let’s do a sing along type thingie! I’m gonna put a poem here by Sam Walter Foss called “Two Gods”, and I’ll put this here audio recitation of the poem performed by MC 900 Ft. Jesus so you can read along.
Won’t this be fun? We can get our dream(s) back on.
_=_=_=_=_=_=_=_=_=_=_=_
A boy was born ‘mid little things…between a little world and sky.
And dreamed not of the cosmic rings round which the circling planets fly.
He lived in little works and thoughts…where little ventures grow and plod.
And paced and plowed his little plots…and prayed unto his little god.
But as the mighty system grew…his faith grew faint with many scars.
The cosmos widened in his views…but God was lost among his stars.
Another boy in lowly days…as he to little things was born.
But gathered lore in woodland ways and from the glory of the morn.
As wider skies broke on his view…God greatened in his growing mind.
Each year he dreamed his god anew…and left his older god behind.
He saw the boundless scheme dilate…in star and blossom…sky and clod.
And as the universe grew great…he dreamed for it…a greater god.
¯=¯=¯=¯=¯=¯=¯=¯=¯=¯=¯=¯
A step further. I’m wondering about that one further step. That seed which feeds the need to dream and/or continue dreaming when all is done and there’s nothing left to do. One more thing do to. One step beyond? One thing? What makes reality? Is that maybe what made reality? The absence of dreams and dreaming? Oh, and Happy Friday shitforbrains. Only six days until Halloweed.
❤
^MC 900 ft. Jesus – Bill’s dream^
My youngest was in discussion with Whatshername the other day whilst I was in getting a drink, and he commented that, “Halloween didn’t seem to fit the fall model.”
It didn’t fit. Doesn’t jibe. I piped up and said, “That’s the point. Compliment via contrast.”
He told me, “that makes no sense.”
I laughed, agreed, then sauntered away from the conversation.
Have thought about it a lot since then tho. Because of where I live, “fall” could arrive anywhere from late July to late December. Just depends on the amount of rain(s), and/or when the cold finally arrives…if it arrives at all. Not to mention that we here in the USA have that mysterious “Thanksgiving” holiday that baffles the living fuck out of the rest of the planet, and it’s right there in the middle between Halloween and Christmas. My thoughts on “the season of fall” differ somewhat from his. Is it my job as a father to remedy that? Or is it best that I let him formulate his own opinion(s).
I'll keep you posted
^Must Be The Feeling^
Thanksgiving kinda fits a bit with Halloween, and Christmas and Thanksgiving kinda fits with each other, but Halloween and Christmas are like…polar opposites. I guess that’s how he’s seeing it anyway. Makes sense, but also not. When I think about all three of those holidays, I think trees. Food is also a prevalent theme in all three, and so is/are family/families. But Christmas and Thanksgiving are kinda more-closed loops, whereas Halloween is kinda open in that and those regard(s). Public. Strangers. Parties. Trick or Treating. Unknown and unknowns.
Lots of maybes
Maybe that’s where a secret lay in the mystery of the somewhat ostracized nature of Halloween. Or at least, within public perception(s) and/or perceptions of public perception(s).
^Showtek – We Like To Party (Original Mix)^
Ya know, another thing is that Halloween in its current incarnation (at least here in the US) is kind of an evolving thing. It’s no longer just “dress up your house a bit to make it look scary, play scary music out the window and give away candy to trick or treaters”.
Its a growth industry
People are starting to go fucking nuts over it, and not just and only a few weirdos and extremists here and there. Streets are as likely to have houses decorated at Halloween as they are to have their houses decorated at Christmas. I’d imagine the current growth of Halloween is somewhat like the growth of Christmas in the 1950’s and 1960’s. The Great Pumpkin has gone commercial.
^Rocky Horror Time Warp^
DO A BARREL ROLL!!!
^Do a barrel roll !^
When I think of sleep with no dreams, the first thing I think of is death. That’s probably a kinda normal thought amongst “the living”. But my own mind runs to my death-dream/sleep-paralysis, then straight to Thoth and something said about these “12 that sleep forever”. Mainly because I’ve often wondered what it is that provides us humans and other lifeforms with the ability to dream.
Would it be possible that there was an original dreamer who ran out of dreams, dreams no more, and as a result, we can dream our own dreams? Admittedly, if you’re of the agnostic, atheistic or similar faith(s), you aren’t gonna think that there was some original creator(s)/dreamer(s) out there somewhere who thought this whole nightmarish mess up…it just happened. But what I’m also thinking is that maybe there was a “dream pool” and this original dreamer and/or original dreamers didn’t drink the dream well dry. Maybe he/her/them/they or whatever just drank their fill then took a break so that all the shiznit and stuffs they created could actually do what they were created to do. Which, one reason at least, may have been…
to dream
Wait, where was I? Oh yeah, those 12 sleeping fuckers who appear to be able to be able to go anywhere they want, at any time, and can known men’s minds or however it was worded.
^Stealing Sheep – Show Love^
Loads of stuff we don’t understand. Might be aware of something, maybe not. Irrespective of awareness, we may not understand whatever it is we are aware of. Frank Davis kinda touched on this topic a bit yesterday.
Weird. Anyway, we’ve got these fields around us, and these fields around us have other fields contained within this field. So what is driving us? Dark? Light? Both? Some other weird, crazy, and otherwise funky shit we’re missing? Prolly more to light, than just and only light. Gotta consider not only light, but its source and sources. Giving some consideration to the properties and states of light might help. And what I’m thinking here is…
why do work that is already being done?
If you can leech off of an existing process, maybe you utilize an intermediary, you can then ponder the merits of symbiosis and/or more/less symbiotic relationships. What is/is not intrusive, creative, additive, argumentative, complimentary, disruptive, destructive, malicious, benevolent?
etc..
^Highasakite – Mexico (Official Music Video)^
If you’re having trouble following, maybe instead of thinking just and only photons. Maybe venture a bit outside of the “light box” with respect to the transference and eventual dissemination and interpretation of information and data. Maybe think about electrons, associated binaries, message delivery and transportation systems of all kinds, then maybe have a peek at the data(s) that is/are being transferred, via what mediums, why…
shit like that
The Telephone Game is a good representation as to data handoffs and data integrity, what checks are implemented, where and why, etc.. I recently brought back up “the 8 levels of darkness” again. There are actually 15 levels, but the point is how things move, where, and why they move that way, in a particular environment.
8 down
7 in
1 immovable
7 out
8 up
I’ve not given “the light levels” much thought, primarily because the dark levels are in fact “light levels”. They just operate differently. Plenty of light in the dark; it just behaves differently. And if you’re thinking dark matter/dark energy, you’re not on the wrong track.
That said, I don’t know if I am on the right track in thinking that these dark rings are in fact the reorganizational processes that create the dark matter/energy and act as the conduit between matter and antimatter. But that’s what I’ve been seeing for several years now, and the addition of time in any all instances when penetrating the rings tends to kick me out, so to speak. I don’t think it’s necessarily that time does not exist nor cannot exist there. Maybe just a matter of it not existing in the same way and ways.
I do know I had an inkling of how to actually split a Quark this morning, and it scared the fuck out of me. Primarily because a few years ago, I saw, potentially anyway, a way that Quarks might have infinite up/down properties within a single particle. Infinite positive and negative charges. They were ridiculously long, yet finite, and my mind instantly ran to strings. Not given the topic much thought since then. Not till this morning anyway.
^Swedish House Mafia ft. John Martin – Don’t You Worry Child (Official Video)^
That poem was written a really long time ago.
Two Gods
If you had told me at age 10, that a poem like that was written in the late 1800’s, I woulda said you were fucking nuts. Everyone “back then” was god-fearing and pure. So I was told anyway.
^Chromatics – Tick Of The Clock^
Some teachers prolly get sick and fucking tired of certain students. Some teachers prolly get sick and fucking tired of teaching.
Someone recently pointed out and reminded me that even Jesus seemed to get sick of people’s shit.
lolz
I had forgotten all about that.
^Happy Up Here (Datassette Remix)^
A skateboard company. Looks like almost everyone is on board
^I.D. Under – Song X – Genericide 1989^
Your view of me is stylized; it’s not me. Only I know me, and even I don’t know me as well as I’d like to, so I guess in effect, nobody knows me. Same goes for you. Same goes for everyone I guess. Still, anything and everything you’ve got in your head about me, is stylized. Pretty much means that your ideas are…
flexible
Moldable, shapable and able to be molded and modulated via all kinds of ways, means and methods. Outside influence may not even be requisite for you to bounce from opinion to opinion. So what’s going on inside? What are you bouncing around in there, and why. Things like, oh…I dunno…you gave me that crown, and you can take it away. Something like that? The wolf that wins, is the one you feed.
So I'm told anyway
^Ministry – Everyday Is Halloween^
When I think “141”, two things immediately pop into my head, both are aviation related.
With respect to “sync numbers”, one could technically punch the number “141” into my internal memory banks, and this would provide access to related information and data via those two primary pathways via the 141 sequence. For example…
Andrews Air Force Base, McLean Virginia, Paris Texas, Tyler Texas, monarch butterflies, midair collision(s), blue and white, orange and black, 66322, touch and go, Grayson County Airport, Davy Crocket
Those are some ancillary types of things that instantly pop into my head when I hear the number “141” and/or the sequence “one four one”. The more that I think on 141, the more that pops into my head…
Precision, raining and cold, I-66, skeet, neon orange, Aunt Geo, Chesapeake Beach, Route 4, PX, minesweeping helicopters, allergic reaction to tattoos, 3,000 feet, south, hot, rough...it gets more and more clear and cloudy at the same time
These are my memories. Places I’ve been, things I’ve seen, things I’ve done, levels of involvement, levels of removal, hearsay, fact, truth, fiction, fantasy, lies…
its all mixed in there stewing in the same pot
With respect to memory and memories, and in regards to remote access of said information, is it possible to “feed” off of information via intentionally planted/implanted numbers and numbers sets? Something I’ve pondered for a while now, and I’m wondering as to quite a few concepts regarding frequency and/or utilization(s) of the stream(s).
^In Your Machine^
Old video below, but one of the comments on the video kinda caught my eye: the one about Oklahoma, and mainly because I distinctly remember 3 earthquakes here in 2014. And the fact that there’s mention of “the Oso Washington landslide, that killed 39”.
Seems like there was something in the news just this week where 39 people died in a truck/lorry. Did some reading tho, and it looks like the death toll in Oso eventually climbed to 43.
So yeah, no connection(s) whatsoever
^Wyoming Landslide: Slow Moving Disaster^
Let’s say that you gain access to “Memory X” using the 141 sequence. Later, you want to prove to a colleague that you’ve gained access to “Memory X”, you again use the 141 sequence, but it doesn’t work like it did the first time. Meaning, you input your 141, but the output is something different that the original. This could be either a different result entirely, or perhaps nothing at all, but a deviation from the original. So you increase the frequency of the inputted 141 sequence. Eventually, you get the access to “Memory X”, but it took 14 iterations of the 141 sequence to achieve the desired result. Or maybe 41 iterations. Or maybe 140 iterations.
What was and is your base? To relate what I’m talking about, let’s say you stroke the small of your girl’s back for the first time, and she goes bonkers. One soft simple stroke, and she’s starry-eyed and weak-knee’d. Next time however, you stroke the small of her back, and nothing happens. So you repeat the procedure a few times, eventually she comes around to that original point you remember so vividly from your first experience.
Q: Does the second memory muddy the first?
A: What if there is no second memory?
In the context of which I’m speaking, I would imagine that your subject would need to be unaware of your number sequencing/number syncing so that they will rely upon their own internal experiences and data sets, which will give you access to these same experiences/data sets. Anything externalized is likely to provoke defense mechanisms and close off access to the individual’s internal hive.
So, the next question is, how to upload both false memories and modified memories? Provide some varied contrasts so that the original remains more or less intact, but your subject is…well, let’s say…susceptible. Muddy the memory, and the absolute becomes subjective. But only internally. The external can maintain clarity and rationale because the points within the set(s) are distinct and isolated which keeps both the point(s) and the set(s) from commingling in the “fuzzy logic” centers. I mean, this person’s life keeps on ticking. Keeps going. They’re piling more and more data in the banks each and every moment of each and every day. Loads of “similar not same” data piling in there that could possibly not provide the contrast to make better distinctions. Especially if the subject is currently in a loop or perceives themselves as being in a loop or some other dead-end type of situation. Final question…
Q: In an existence with little to no contrast, contrasts and/or contrasting elements, does all contrast become “stark”?
A: ???
Was just thinking how easy that might make the manipulation of emotions. You could corrupt a spirit.
^Datassette – Computers^
Just went back and was reading that Sam Walter Foss article on Wikipedia, and noticed it says he’s featured on New Hampshire historical marker #114. Actually, it says “number 114”.
To be exact, it says (number 114)”
I wonder if 114 and 141 are actually the same number in a different sequence representative of similar not same things + similar and same things + exact same things/identical things. May seem an odd reference, but I’m reminded of the 30 Rock episode where they’re all playing poker and Jack Donaghy discovers he can’t read Kenneth the Page. No tells to tell. No tales to tell?
Q: If someone is dead inside, can you extract anything?
A: ¿??¿
Supposedly, dead men tell no tales, so it makes me wonder about the dynamics of “the deadman” with respect to remote reading. Doesn’t matter the mode(s), method(s) nor reasoning(s) either. The deadman is just as alive as you or anyone else, just a tad…dead. Dead in there. Dead space? Dead zone?
/shrug
Maybe some tactical maneuvering is in order. Also looks like he died in 1911.
^Dead – Pixies (RB3 Expert Guitar)^
Tic, tocs, and what is getting that inertia going in the first place? Get the right matter, with the right inertia, at the right speed, set to the right angle, add the right energy/energies with the same considerations, and you just might be able create an entanglement that’ll go on and on for a very long time. Might explain why certain configurations last for the amounts of time that they do. Especially in certain environments and/or at certain times.
Pre-flood, people supposedly lived for what is now considered to be some very long periods of time. But after the flood, not so much. Above, and below. Different time(s), and different configuration(s), different results. Gonna be some disruptors and disruptions. Might explain the membranous and somewhat episodic nature(s) of many of the things we see and experience. Many of the things that do and do not exist. Periodic tables, maps and star charts. Might also explain the whens and whys of why a lifeform might choose immortality over reproduction or vice versa. Sometimes the episode needs to run a bit longer than 22 minutes, sometimes not.
^Bobby Caldwell – What You Won’t Do for Love (Album Version)^
Star Charts and Sea Larks
I haven’t thought about that in a long time. I wonder what she’s up to.
^Will Sparks feat. Luciana – Sick Like That (Lyric Video)^
Dunno if revisiting old syncs is a good thing. Dunno if it’s a bad thing either. Seems kinda weird to never revisit a somewhere that is important to you. If there’s nothing keeping you away, and nothing telling you to stay away, why not go? Gotta be something pulling you in that direction.
Or pushing
Dunno…maybe I’m just circling the drain, and seeing the same shit on the way out that I saw on the way in.
Sup? Nice to see you again. Catch you on the flipside, I guess.
Maybe
^Holy Fuck – The Pulse^
Can you believe that a thought on having a dream come true inspired all that crap?
What a nightmare, eh?
I do know that the thought of potentially splitting an infinitely long and infinitely massive particle sent shivers down my spine. Considering the self-sustainability angle(s), one has to ponder the contextual nature of what “infinite” really entails, and where. The infinite paradigm itself is well established, it’s possible, plausible, and even probable. Now you just have to consider if you want to be the one to light the fuse or not.
*Oh that looks lush, Clicky! …/lights up… Has Leggy loaded it yet? …/drags… Excellent! Ooh look, a ‘237’ sync… /plumes smoke… So, £2.37 equates to dollars, three? …/smokes… Marvelous value!*
Dear Reader, the LoL is pleased to announce that Underdog Anthology IX: Well Haunted…
*Yes, Clicky…*
… Is now available for you to enjoy. It’s the third Halloween volume Leg Iron Books has published…
… Soil yourself, which is why we’re delighted today to host a new missive from the Okie Devil of Text US, who’s thoughtfully provided some handy toilet tips…
*Aye, Clicky, it’s good stuff…*
… Meet you at the bottom, Dear Reader… 😉
*******
Kinda weird stumbling across that image. Just the other day I was working on my own “two-fold and cross” method. Meaning, the method for folding the paper prior to contact with the soiled crack.
Six to eight sheets
join ends of entire length
join ends of entire length a second time
join two corners at 45° angle.
This gives enough coverage + enough padding without risk of breakthrough. Best part, is that with this configuration, you can wipe/fold, wipe/fold, wipe/dispose. Usually at least three good wipes out of 8 sheets, and it folds nice so there’s little risk of….trauma.
The resulting wad of soiled paper that goes in the toilet can be thick tho. If you just had chili or curry, and you have to use multiple wads, a flush might be in order. A clogged toilet when you’ve got runny poops almost seems to go against nature. And it could get messy quick if you don’t have a plunger handy.
That defeats the purpose of attempting to be efficient with the paper
^Fergal Freeman / Call of the Mystic (Enchanted Mix)^
Another pro-toilet tip?
Never mix fluids/discharge(s)
Like, never blow your nose with toilet paper whilst shitting. You may get confused as to which end has been wiped, and which has not. Would suck to wipe your ass then blow your nose with the same paper because you were multitasking. Not everything “efficient” is worth the risk.
FYI
^deadmau5 – Bad Selection^
Summer is over. Just thought you should know in the event you weren’t paying attention.
And yes, summer is also over for you folks in the Southern Hemisphere too, even tho it hasn’t even started yet. Sorry, but this year you’re just gonna have to tough out winter like us normal humans in the north.
Merry Christmas
^Summer Breeze Seals and Croft^
You spend most of your time in a rectangular room. You’re surrounded by rectangular walls with rectangular doors and rectangular windows, and you move upon and about a rectangular floor, with a rectangular roof above you. Your brain is likely to get somewhat accustomed to processing rectangular geometric information(s). When you venture away from that environment, your being is likely to be somewhat flooded with all kinds of new and interesting stuff.
Q: What if you are blind? Deaf?
A: Gotta get you away from those eyes of yours
Not permanently, just a temporary vacation. Your ears are likely to process a good deal of spacial information. Gonna be kind of a passive thing, but density, distance and relative position is also going to be processed by those big-assed ears of yours. Yes, your ears are fucking huge.
Sorry, someone had to tell you, so it may as well be me
Anyway, the topic of processing spacial information came up today, and the basis was the processing of contextual geometric information(s). Making distinctions as to what should and should not be in a certain somewhere, peculiarities, anomalies, etc.. Maybe even those things that can be in a certain somewhere, but these things themselves contain embedded information that is out of place. How we process geometric information, and what “geometric” even means with respect to processing shape data and/or shaped information.
Let's break out to elaborate
^Hotknife / Time to Party (Original Mix)^
You may recognize this shapeBut what about this variant?
Now, before I go too much further, those two images have some very specific meaning(s). One appears to mean “Jesus Freak”, and the other appears to mean “Semi-Woke Jesus Freak”. I would imagine the second is an “answer”…
to this shapeOr maybe this shape
The first image gave us a base of geometric understanding…
and things mutated and evolvedfrom there
So with respect to processing information, it’s prolly not just/only a matter of learning to make a distinction between known and unknown. We need to make considerations for uncertainty, irregularity, one-off(s), intentionals, unintentuals, mutative/change(s), all kinds of strangeness(es), and of course…time(s).
What does any of that have to do with processing shape information and/or shaped information? I dunno. Guess it depends on what you are looking at/for, and why. Maybe also what you are not looking at/for and why. Yeah…prolly both of those.
Just a matter of time(s)
^Avoure – Aura^
Strange way for two parties to have a conversation, eh? Back and forth over who is right/wrong based on what is basically a preschool drawing of a fish.
At least they're talking
^3/10 Lollercoaster – Melleefresh vs. deadmau5 @ Traffik, Montreal, 25-11-2006^
Lets say that you are looking at a planet, and you are looking for signs of life.
Where to start?
Mirrors? Mirrors suck. What you personally see in the mirror on a daily basis is in no way, shape or form anything like life. Certainly not representative of life as a whole. Just you and your whole life. You aren’t the center of the universe.
Where was I?
Oh yeah, looking for life on another planet. Nothing good going on here on Earth/Terra, so we gotta look elsewhere. With that in mind, chances are good that you are looking for something foreign to this planet. But what would that look like? When was the last time you went walking in an open field, completely unfettered, unhinged, and totally off the hook?
Have you ever?
Don’t get too reliant upon that television if you don’t have to. That thing misses a lot of nuance. Shaped information. Only so much you can see because whatever you are watching has passed through many filters before getting to you. Maybe you aren’t thinking correctly with respect to searching for something that doesn’t appear to be there. Maybe it’s there, and you just aren’t seeing it. Or hearing it. Or feeling it.
^Saltwater (Original) by Chicane^
Hey, I’m just trying to maybe get you to think about how you think, and especially as thinking relates to the processing of geometric shapes. Might keep you safe if you’re running naked through a field, and the shape of a bus suddenly appears in your FOV. If the bus-shape is blurry, stop running. If the bus-shape/image stays blurry, you might want to take evasive action/start running away from this shape.
Don’t ask me what in the fuck a bus in doing in the middle of a field. There’s a naked person running through this field, so this particular field appears to be a field that attracts some weird shit.
^Hotknife vs Mister Tee / Take A Stand (Orignal Mix)^
I must pee. The bathroom…
the door is pulled to, but not closed.
The light…off. The exhaust fan…on.
Something horrible has happened in there, and it happened only recently.
Q: Do you wish to proceed?
A: ???
Life is a story-book adventure, all day, every day, whether you realize it or not.
^Tiny Dancer – Deadmou5 Remix (Elton John)^
I'm getting old in my old age
^Melleefresh vs DJ Kez & Karol N / Pussy (Original Mix)^
Is a looping echo of charitable sentiments indicative of a failure of past benevolent processes? Perhaps even an indication that no real attempts have been made to permanently resolve the need for a certain philanthropic something? I’ll give an example of what I’m thinking here…
The United Way raised $21,700 in its first year of operation. The year? 1887.
The United Way raised $3.919 billion in 2018 (fiscal year ended June 2019).
That's an increase of 18,059,907% in 132 years
Now, adjusted for inflation, that 1887 money is supposedly $586,491.61 in 2019 dollars. But I have to wonder what 2019 dollars will be valued at in the year 2151, which is 132 years from now. Did some reading, and the US GDP was $12.6 billion in 1887, which means that one single US charity in 2018CE raised around 1/3 of the entire country’s 1887CE GDP. Let’s see what $3.919 billion was worth in 1887.
$105,919,844,315.79
Is it possible that $3.919 billion in today’s money is going to be worth almost $106 billion in 2151CE? I have no idea, and I guess it would depend on who you ask. Don’t ask anyone from a local church or anyone from Extinction Rebellion. Pretty sure they’re all convinced everyone and everything will be dead in 2151CE. Oh, and to add some additional perspective to those numbers, the current US President is said to have a net worth of around $3.1 billion as of March 2019CE.
^cube v3 – 5 days + nights with the LA horde^
From the United Way website…
“United Way fights for the health, education, and financial stability of every person in every community.”
United Way fights. United Way...fights
Not only are you and yours fighting, looks like you’re fighting anyone and everyone, everywhere. Prolly would be considered “PC” of me to suggest that you remove “fight”. Prolly more important that you lose the fighting mentality. Who and what are these forces you are fighting? What is driving them? Big corporations? Big interests? Big dollars?
It's easy to pick on the big dogs
^Chris Brown & Benny Benassi – Beautiful People^
We treat you like “this” because you are a woman.
We treat you like “this” because you are a man.
We treat you like “this” because you are…a human?
Is it the ordering?
Watched a doc earlier this week that kinda touched on a lot of the peculiarities that I wrestle with regarding nomenclatures and the implied behavioral protocols that they can sometimes imply.
But, you’re free to watch the doc then make up your own determinations as to how you treat someone and why. Or not.
Whatevz
^Intersex – redefining gender | DW Documentary^
I’m not sure what to think about this. Had some thoughts recently about who can utilize infrastructure(s) to make money and why…
...but yeah, not sure what to think about this
Cept maybe that the à la carte model is being forced via any and all means.
^Demonetization by You Tube of Technical Content on the Blancolirio Channel^
Does steam “open the pores”? Open the pores of the skin. I would assume “heat” does this/helps this, so a hot bath or shower opens the pores.
Is this really a good idea tho?
Open the pores, slather on soap(s), scrub it in, embed bits of these “cleansers” and their different pieces and parts, then cool off and trap that shit in the pores of the skin? Lemme guess…
”it doesn't work like that”
Was thinking about washing in cold water, and it occurred to me that maybe perhaps the skin contracting and getting all those goose-bumps because you’re freezing your ass off, might be a design consideration. As it pertains to functionality. We’re trying to get stuff off our bodies, not get stuff in our bodies.
Or something
^Deadmau5 – Jaded || HD^
Well this is quite the eye opener. I only recently was pondering/wrote about arrays of aircraft because of some things that I saw back in 2013 and again in 2015, but I had no idea “they” were actually doing it. Makes sense that they are tho.
After watching the video below, it’s no fucking wonder that the UFO community has been shitting their pants lately. Trying to stay on the radar. Trying to stay relevant.
Things are about to get muddier in that area
You could bury all kinds of shit behind all kinds of crazy curtains with technology like this. It’s just too bad that the video has that dumb music on top. Would be interesting to hear what all those drones sound like.
^100-Drone Stock Show | Firefly Drone Shows^
That vid tickled my brain-ish type thingie, so I went to YouTube and searched for “drone array” (without quotes) and found this thing below from 7 years ago.
Why is it that arrays of drones don’t seem to be referred to as “drone arrays”?
Also, on the vid about the drone tracking array, I noticed in the description that they
“had difficulty getting the DJI drones to work at 5.8 GHz”.
Someone only recently asked me about “5G” and what it is. But somewhat off on that topic, I’m wondering if maybe some military projects are lagging a bit, and maybe that’s why cell providers are having fits with getting “upgraded” to 5G? As far as I know, 4G is still a pipe dream, and it was “introduced” in 2009. Gotta get the important stuff out of that/those band(s), and at the same time make sure you remain well-entrenched in that band so you can keep track of who is doing what. Lots of data is pumping through the lower bands already, and I can imagine that cresting each band can be a challenge. Especially if you are simultaneously trying to monitor anyone who is cresting bands above your own capabilities.
Can't let the competition get too far ahead of you
If it’s still not clear, maybe think on the concept of “making” a bit.
Make it personal
What you make, when, where, how…all that good stuff.
^Boy Pussy / Unisex (Jackin’ Mix 2019 Remaster)^
I started this back on September 26th. It’s now October 12th. I rearranged some of the sections, which means you did not read them in the chronological order in which they were written. Time to stop this madness.
The largest vote for anything in Britain's history has been spat on, sold out and stitched up by the democracy-denying elite. From Parliament to the Supreme Court to the BBC, the dice have been loaded in favour of the Remain-backing establishment: https://t.co/Gwrngifq38
Thanks for stopping by, Dear Reader, we hope you have enjoyed the visit, and don’t forget to check out Underdog Anthology 9: Well Haunted. Before you know it, the Xmasterpeace will be upon us. Have a Song ❤
‘You’ve been actively participating in discovering “meaningful coincidence” for longer than I in some of the realms that we both swim.
‘Q: Do you ever stop and reflect on what you are doing and why?’
*It’s my own fault, Clicky… /lights up… I did ask… /drags… It was really late… /plumes smoke… Or really early…*
*Not sure, Clicky… /smokes… should I go for the long or short answer?*
*Fair enough…*
The short answer is ‘Yes’ and as to why, perhaps an example of ‘meaningful coincidence’ may be helpful in this regard, Dear Reader. It happened today, in fact whilst I was writing this post. I’ll describe in bullet point form:
I am currently on a long weekend from work, which I booked off back in the summer because the date coincides with the deadline for submissions to Underdog Anthology 9;
Thoughtful Man had other ideas and planned on hiring a skip, so that I could spend part of my long weekend clearing the accumulated crap from the garden this weekend;
Boo! I was not looking forward to clearing the crap from the garden;
Earlier this week Thoughtful had to spend the skip money on emergency reupholstery on back seat of his taxi;
Yay! I didn’t have to spend time this weekend removing the crap from the garden;
Yesterday a skip appeared on our next door neighbour’s drive;
Thoughtful Man comes home from work this afternoon, whilst I am writing this post, and tells me that our next door neighbour had just offered us use of his skip;
The garden is cleared and its accumulated crap is now sitting in next door neighbour’s skip.
Tucker Carlson blasts AOC over how she handled her supporter saying people must “start eating babies!”:
“If someone said to you, ‘we need to eat the babies’ wouldn’t your first response be, ‘what? No! Of course not!’ That’s the one thing [AOC] didn’t say … pretty revealing” pic.twitter.com/PSb0iXhiZz
Before I start this here Brexit shambles, Dear Reader, I’d just like to point out that there is still time to submit a short story for the Halloween Underdog Anthology, if you are of a creative writing bent. To date, 7 authors have supplied tales for the book, but I’m sure Leggy would like to get the author count up to 9 if possible, to sync with the number of the volume in the series…
*Ooh that’s apt, Clicky… /lights up… My first story’s about misadventures in trepanation… /drags… I’m still working on the second…*
*Yep… /streams smoke… It’s a ‘Harry’ story, Clicky, and the first half of a two parter… /smokes… The second story will be in the Christmas Anthology. Touch wood…*
'This Parliament is a dead Parliament…it has no moral right to sit on these green benches'
Attorney General Geoffrey Cox says 'this Parliament is a disgrace' and, referring to Brexit, says 'these turkeys won't be able to prevent Christmas' https://t.co/unwXcvyGXCpic.twitter.com/3nyUOkj2Vi
Dear Reader, it seems we have a Zombie Parliament in session, here, in the UK. It appears that Remainer MPs – a.k.a. ‘The Far Wrong’ – in their crazed desperation to prevent us from leaving the Eewww!, are prepared to go to any lengths…
*/flicks ash… Except fight a General Election and bloody well secure a mandate to cancel Brexit… /final drag… Too risky…
*’No, we’re not allowed to shoot them, Clicky…*
*Yeah, they already know they’re dead meat… /stubs butt… *
… And that’s the number of letters in the English alphabet, if majuscules…
majuscule (n.)
1704, of a letter, “capital;” 1738 as a noun, “a capital letter,” from French majuscule (16c.), from Latin maiuscula (littera), fem. of maiusculus “somewhat larger, somewhat greater,” diminutive of maior (see major (adj.)).
1705, “small (not capital) letter,” from French minuscule (17c.), from Latin minuscula, in minuscula littera “slightly smaller letter,” fem. of minusculus “rather less, rather small,” diminutive of minus “less” (from PIE root *mei- (2) “small”). It refers to the kind of reduced alphabetical character which arose 7c. and was from about 9c. substituted in writing for the large uncial. From it the small or lower-case letters of the modern Latin alphabet were derived.
As an adjective, from 1727 in printing, “not capital, of reduced form, small” (of letters); the general sense of “extremely small” is attested by 1893. Related: Minuscular.
*Ha! Basically, that’s my story ‘BOGOF’ in Underdog Anthology Ate… /final drag… He’s lost a lot of capital this week… /plumes smoke…*
When you discover your favourite full-sugar soft drink that you've been buying for years has had its sugar reduced for no reason, replaced with artificial sweeteners… pic.twitter.com/gRlQsj72sK
— Against Sugar Tax (@againstsugartax) May 25, 2019
*The Ravin’ is all about Tessie Jackboots in Underdog Anthology Sics… /stubs butt… She threw in the towel, too… /yawns… Finally…*
So, I’m not at all stressed at being 52, Dear Reader 😉
*Shut up, Clicky…*
I’ll be home, on holiday all week, relaxing, so we’ll be dishing up more shambles and, hopefully, missives for your enjoyment 😀 Come back then and… Have a Song ❤
*I love that Song, Clicky… /lights up… That whole album is just superb…*
Today is the 22nd of April…
*”Spring tales’ and ‘A Coelacanth in the Bathroom’… /drags…*
…but in another universe, the 22nd April is also…
‘In 2375, Ancestors’ Eve is celebrated aboard Voyager. (VOY: “11:59“‘)
*That’s STtNG, Clicky, knot Voyager… /streams smoke… Oh, I see ‘the world’s biggest ball of string’ is referenced in that episode. Stings and strings, interesting. Cade and I remote viewed a doc on box jellyfish last night… /smokes…*
’11:59′ cropped up on Saturday evening during a remote viewing binge of the Doctor Robert Langdon trilogy with Cade…
*Jesus those movies were frantic and loud… /taps ash… I don’t remember treasure hunts being anything like that in the Girls Brigade, Clicky…*
*You’ve already lost me, Clicky…/lights up… I’m gonna post last Easter’s Underdog Anthology ‘Harry’ story…/drags…*
*Not crying, Clicky, just not sure what your Reggae Sets have to do with my Easter Eggs… /streams smoke…*
*******
Jackanory Jackalope
by Roo B. Doo
“Harry!”
I thought I heard my name being called but dismissed it; only my best friend Lol knew I would be here and he was standing right next to me. We were on one of our regular pilgrimages to London to see Mamma-Mia, a shared passion that we felt fuck-all need to share with anybody else. Besides, there were plenty of people about. Any one of them could be called Harry.
“Harry! Lol! Over here!” a familiar voice bellowed over the hubbub of the hot and sweaty, but very happy Saturday matinee crowd streaming out of the theatre alongside us, and into the fume-choked, twilight air. Oh shit!
Lol spotted him. “Oh Jesus! It’s the Fat Kontroller,” he informed me with a sharp jab to my ribs. “Look! He’s waving at us from across the street.”
Indeed he was. The founder and driving force behind the company I work for, F.A. Kontrell – my boss – was trying to get our attention from the back seat of a sleek, black Mercedes S-Class parked on the other side of the road. He saw that we’d spotted him and waved harder. “Over here, Harry!”
I considered feigning deaf, dumb and blindness, but Lol was already striding confidently toward the car. “Bastard! Can’t I get a bloody day off?” I mumbled to myself, but followed in his wake.
“Farnsworth!” Lol greeted the Fat Kontoller and shook the plump hand proffered through the open window of the car. “What a nice surprise,” he lied jovially. Lol’s a bank manager; it’s a skill that comes naturally. “What are you doing in town?”
I knew exactly what The Fat Kontroller was doing in town, having ordered the nice wheels and driver for him. But never in a million years, in a city the size of London, did I think that I would bump into the old boy whilst he was entertaining clients. Just my fucking luck!
“Hello Mr Kontrell. Is everything going okay?” I asked, dodging a cyclist that stared malevolently at us as he zoomed past.
“Fine, fine. Get in before you’re flattened,” The Fat Kontroller ordered. A suited figure emerged from the driver’s seat and rushed round to open the rear passenger doors. Lol took the front, leaving me the rear, which looked to be already occupied by a pair of long, shapely legs sheathed in a gossamer shimmer. Hello! I thought, as the legs shifted over to make room on the back seat. I jumped in.
“Dana, this is Harry Egg my assistant and Lol Williams. He’s our bank manager,” The Fat Kontroller introduced us to the owner of the shimmering legs. “Lol, Harry, this is Dana Cossetti, VP Europe for Clovis.”
Clovis, F.A. Kontrell’s biggest customer, had recently been bought by an American conglomerate, and the Yanks were visiting to see exactly what they’d bought. Of course I knew that too as I’d arranged a dinner for them in another part of town. What the fuck are they doing over here?
I dragged my gaze from Dana’s luscious pins, up and over the thick, gold rope chain that disappeared between her swollen breasts, until it rested upon her smiling face. She had twenty years on me, but she didn’t half look good on it. I resisted the impulse to ‘Yee-haw’.
“Hi. Have you guys been to the theatre?” Dana asked with a Texan drawl that made the hairs on my neck stand to attention. “I love that show. Have you seen the film version?”
“Yes,” I replied dumbly, transfixed by Dana’s firm jawline and the absence of wrinkles. Botoxed? I idly wondered.
Lol twisted in his seat so as to face us. He smiled warmly but I recognised the mischievous glint in his eyes. “Harry had a spare ticket and dragged me along,” he said as if he’d been doing me a favour.
“You asked your bank manager to go to the theatre with you?” Dana asked me directly. Her eyes were piercing blue, like my own, and her gaze steady. “Are you guys on a date?”
“No, no,” Lol blustered. “Harry and I are old friends from university. It’s just lucky happenstance that we have F.A. Kontrell in common.”
The corners of Dana’s mouth curled in answer, but she refused to shift her stare from me. Crikey! I thought, that’s what it’s like to get a shot of piercing blue.
The Fat Kontroller, who’d been sitting quietly now piped up and broke the silence. “Lol, are you two going anywhere in particular now?I’m taking Dana for a drink at a fun, little place I found in Spitalfields. Can you join us?”
“We were thinking of getting a bite to eat first and then go for a drink,” Lol started to reply.
“Oh no, please join us.” Dana turned to The Fat Kontroller. “Does the place you’re takin’ me to serve food?”
“Oh yes. You can get something to eat there,” the Fat Kontroller replied mysteriously.
Lol puffed out his cheeks and looked to me for direction, but instead caught sight of Dana’s slender left hand resting lightly on my right thigh. “Yes, I think Harry and I can join you,” he said turning back to The Fat Kontroller and nodding vigorously. “Thank you, Farnsworth.”
“Good, good. Artillery Lane, E1, please driver.”
The car pulled out smoothly into the traffic and sped away.
“Where are you from, Dana?” Lol asked. I could tell from the tone of his voice that inside he was laughing his bollocks off; it’s not every day his best friend attracts a cougar, and he was going to make the most of it. “Is that a Texas twang I hear?”
“Yes. I’m originally from Dallas but I’ve lived and worked all over the world,” she replied.
“Really? Are you moving to England?”
“No, I fly back tomorrow evening.” Dana crossed her long legs, giving me an eyeful of shimmering thigh. “But I hope to come back soon. England is a beautiful country,” she said gently squeezing my knee.
“It is that,” The Fat Kontroller interjected, oblivious to Dana’s wandering left hand. “You worked in the States for a bit, didn’t you Harry?”
Dana hardly needed any further prompting. “Oh where was that?” she asked huskily. I swear her skirt had ridden up a further inch.
As much as I was enjoying her attention, I was also acutely aware of Dana’s status as a client. And apart from my occasional bouts of lustful longing for Josie, F.A. Kontrell’s goddess of a HR Manager, I tried not to mix business with pleasure. I couldn’t deny though, that it felt good to be the prey for once.
“In New York. It was only for a gap year. I was working for an AIDS charity.”
“That seems very altruistic, Harry.” Dana smiled at me, raising her eyebrows. Not botox then.
“Admin mostly,” I said with a sheepish shrug. A year licking envelopes, being sent for coffee and sucking jelly out of doughnuts; I’m a fucking humanitarian, me. I gave her my best benignant smile and was rewarded with the soft crush of side-boob, as she shifted her position imperceptibly closer.
The traffic thinned out as we entered the City of London. The Saturday streets were devoid of office workers, but a few tourists congregated in their place. Chatter in the car continued amicably, as we passed St Paul’s cathedral and Guildhall until we at last reached our destination: a bright yellow door along a narrow side street.
“Here we are!” The Fat Kontroller said, as he got out of the car and held the door open for Dana. She gave my knee a final squeeze before unfurling her long legs and exiting.
“The Breakfast Club?” She sounded distinctly unimpressed. I could understand why: apart from the jolly legend – ‘Today is going to be a good day’ – emblazoned above the windows, it appeared that The Fat Kontroller’s “fun, little place” was in fact a workmen’s cafe. Through the window I could see wooden chairs and tables, topped with centre pieces of ketchup and HP Sauce bottles.
“Are we at the right place?” I asked after The Fat Kontroller had told the driver to come back in an hour.
He laughed and tapped the side of his nose. “Follow me.”
Once inside my first suspicions were confirmed: it was a cafe. A very nice, clean one, but cafe all the same.
“Farnsworth, I fear I may be somewhat overdressed,” Dana said worriedly.
Now that we were standing, I could fully appreciate exactly how long Dana’s legs were. She was wearing a little, black dress that shrieked “Money!” It clung to her firm hips and slender waist, accentuating her ample bosom. Sod overdressing. I’d like to see you undressed, I thought lecherously.
“No, this is the place,” The Fat Kontroller stated firmly and approached the counter. There was a small queue of people waiting to give their food order, but he managed to get the attention of one of the staff. He leaned in conspiratorially. “We have an appointment with the Mayor.”
The staff member gave a brief nod of understanding and asked us to follow. He led us toward a large American style fridge.
“Oh smeg!” Lol laughed at his own joke. The staff member gave a tired smile – he’d obviously heard that particular joke before – and opened the SMEG fridge door, ushering us inside.
“Good heavens, Farnsworth. It’s a speakeasy!” Dana laughed.
The Fat Kontroller beamed with delight. “Welcome to The Mayor of Scaredy Cat Town. I was brought here myself a few months ago. I’ve been dying to reveal it to somebody else. What do you think?”
We were stood in a small bar with bare brick walls and wooden floor. The room was intimately lit and a few patrons sat at tall tables made of heavy wood, sipping cocktails. At the back of the room the bar was backed by brightly lit shelves housing an array of spirit bottles. I felt like I’d walked onto the set of Bugsy Malone.
“It’s wonderful, Farnsworth,” Dana enthused.
We found an empty table and perched up on the high bar chairs. Except for The Fat Kontroller – he remained standing, ready to go to the bar. “What’ll you have?” he asked.
I had nabbed the seat next to Dana, and we scooched together to peruse the cocktail menu. She casually placed her hand on the backrest of my chair, and I could feel her fulsome breast pressed up again my arm.
“I think I’ll have…” Dana paused as she scanned the list. Her protruding tongue flicked over her lips whilst she decided. “A pear and cinnamon sidecar, please.”
“Harry?” I was still mesmerized by sight of Dana’s probing tongue, and basking in the heat of her touch.
“Harry?” the Fat Kontroller repeated again, this time somewhat louder. “What would you like?”
What I’d like is for that pink and glistening beauty to flick over me, but I didn’t say; that would be impolite. “I’ll have the same thanks, Mr K,” I replied hoarsely. My throat suddenly felt quite dry.
“I’ll give you a hand at the bar, Farnsworth,” Lol chuckled, standing up. He dropped me a surreptitious wink before he left.
“So, Harry,” Dana drawled. She turned to face me. “Your folks called you Harry?”
“No, they named me Harriet but everybody calls me Harry. Actually so do they now.” I could feel myself blushing under the weight of her naked gaze on me. I delicately coughed to clear my throat. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Unless of course I’m very, very bad. In which case they call me Harriet.”
There was a pause filled by the muted sounds of the bar around us. Dana raised a quizzical eyebrow then smiled slowly, revealing predatory teeth. “Well, I look forward to calling you Harriet,” she growled softly.
Ding dong! I’ve pulled! Then another thought crossed my mind, this one not so euphoric. There’s something not quite right. “Dana, would you excuse me for just one moment, I just need to have a quick word with Lol. I’ll be right back.” I gave her wrist a comforting squeeze, then slipped down from my chair and started for the bar. I nearly bumped into The Fat Kontroller who was his was back with our drinks.
“You’re not off already, Harry?” He looked concerned.
“No, I just need to see Lol. I’ll be right back.”
I collared Lol at the bar. He was sipping on a syrupy concoction through a straw. The cocktail glass was laden with umbrellas and fruit.
“Lol, quick question: did you know that The Fat Kontroller and Dana would be outside the theatre tonight?” I gave him my sternest look.
He didn’t answer straight away, preferring to suck harder on his straw. I waited whilst the liquid drained from his glass.
“That’s brilliant! I’m going to have another one of those,” he answered at last.
I breathed out hard. “Lol. Did you and The Fat Kontroller conspire for them to bump into us tonight? It’s a simple enough question.”
“No, of course not, Harry,” he laughed uncomfortably. “What do you think we are? Pimps?” He turned away quickly and asked the bar tender for a refill.
You bastards! I thought. You set me up! “Oh Lol!”
“Look, Harry,” he said calmly, placing his hands on my shoulders. “We just thought it would be nice for you and Dana to meet. She’s an important client, new in town. You don’t have to sleep with her or anything, it’s just a drink.”
I looked over towards our table. The Fat Kontroller and Dana were deep in conversation. I was torn between outrage at the actions of my best friend and my boss, and lust for the lusciously lanky Texan. I watched her swing her shimmering legs and my mind loitered on the thought of them wrapped around my head.
“Come on, Harry. We’ll get something to eat after this and go home, okay?”
Lol grabbed his drink, telling the bar tender to put it on The Fat Kontroller’s tab, and steered me back toward our table.
“What are you two talking about?” Lol asked when we returned. Dana turned and smiled at me as I climbed back onto the bar chair next to her. I sipped at my sidecar and smiled back.
“Jackalopes,” The Fat Kontroller boomed.
I placed my fingers to my mouth to stifle a burp. “Jacka-whats?”
“Jackalopes,” Dana replied, “They’re ubiquitous in Texas and the most fascinating creatures.”
“Rabbits with antlers?” Lol asked sceptically.
“Oh their antlers are poisonous. If they ram you, it injects poison,” Dana answered drily.
The Fat Kontroller took a swig of his drink, a single malt doubled – his favourite tipple; no fancy cocktails for him. “Jackalopes sound extremely dangerous.”
“Oh they are, Farnsworth.” Dana was warming to the subject. “Their fur is also poisonous. Each hair is like a barb on a sea-urchin or porcupine, and that poison is more toxic than the one produced by their antlers. Not only that but the hair has barbs, so the more that the fur touches you, the more attached the Jackalope becomes. It’s not uncommon in Texas to see a hunter running around screaming with a Jackalope stuck to them.”
She paused to take a sip of her cocktail and her eyes flicked between us, as if to gauge our reaction. Rapt attention, as far as I could tell, but I was still miffed at the situation I found myself in.
“So they’re pretty poisonous, then?” I asked blithely.
Dana suddenly grabbed my arm and turned me sharply toward her. “You don’t know the half of it, Harry,” she said with complete seriousness. “Their claws are also poisonous, but this poison has a more osmotic delivery mechanism. They will climb on the back of a horse, and if it refuses to give the Jackalope a ride, to wherever the Jackalope wants to go, it will slowly release poison from their claws.”
Her piercing blue eyes danced delightfully as they stared into my own. Underneath the table I felt Lol give me a friendly kick.
“The Jackalope saliva is also poisonous, but they spit that at their target. The spit ball is encased in a corrosive acid that eats through the victim’s skin, allowing the poison encapsulated in the spit ball to enter the bloodstream. A Jackalope can spit the poison spit balls accurately for up to 1/2 mile which is..?” Dana looked toward The Fat Kontroller.
“Oh, almost a kilometre,” he replied mirthfully.
Dana nodded to him. “Thank you, Farnsworth. The poisonous saliva makes Jackalope turds toxic, Harry. Toxic, but not fatal. That’s why there are so many college kids out looking for Jackalope turds. They collect the Jackalope turds, then eat them.”
“Eww!” Lol laughed. “Well, I suppose that’s better than eating Tide pods.”
“True,” Dana continued with a straight face. “The toxins in the turds causes the kids see really weird stuff. Of course they won’t see anything as weird as seeing a bunch of people out picking up Jackalope turds just so they can eat them, but they’ll see some pretty weird stuff. Or so I hear.”
She sat back in her seat and took another gulp of her sidecar, the level of which was getting dangerously low in her glass.
“Dana, is there any part of the Jackalope that isn’t poisonous?” I asked sweetly. This is fun! Not only is she smoking hot, but she’s fucking funny with it.
“Only their bite, which is odd considering the toxicity of their saliva. Science never could figure out why. But the bite still hurts like a mother fucker.”
Lol guffawed, nearly choking on his drink, whilst The Fat Kontroller slapped the table. “Have you ever been bitten by a Jackalope, Dana?” he asked, his ruddy face shining with amusement.
“No fortunately. The Ancient Americans thought that someone getting a Jackalope bite, without dying, was a sign of good luck. But what the heck could they possibly know?”
Dana laughed a long, throaty chuckle at our amusement. Once again I felt her hand on my thigh.
“Gentlemen. Harry. If you’ll excuse me, I have to go powder my nose,” Dana said, stepping gracefully off her chair. She craned her head in search of the bathroom.
Lol stared at me with widened eyes; The Fat Kontroller contemplated his empty whisky glass. “Oh, I think they’re near the bar, Dana. Hold on, I’ll come with you,” I said sliding off my chair. “Shall I order another round while I’m up there?” I asked The Fat Kontroller.
“No, we’ll need to push off soon if we’re to meet the others for dinner on time,” he said looking at this watch. “The restaurant you booked is on the other side of town.”
I followed Dana towards the bar, drinking in her swaying figure from behind: her sensuous shoulders, slender waist and flare of her hips. Not to mention those long, shimmering legs. She’s really not that bad for an old girl, I thought.
I caught up to her when she stopped at the bar to ask for directions. “Dana,” I said, sidling up next to her.
She snaked her arm around my hips and left it hanging there. “Harry. It’s been a truly wonderful meeting you. I’m just sorry that we didn’t get to spend more time together on this trip.”
“Me too.” I really meant it.
“When I’m over again in couple of months, maybe could take in a show together?” Dana shot me other blast of piercing blue.
“Yes, I would like that very much.” I could feel the grin plastered across my face. “Mamma-mia?”
“You betcha!”
Yee-HAW!
*******
*A jackalope and aliens? …/pats snout… Nice one, Clicky…*
DO A BARREL ROLL!!!
A skateboard company. Looks like almost everyone is on board
Star Charts and Sea Larks
Have a great weekend
But what about this variant?
Or maybe this shape
and evolved
from there
I'm getting old in my old age
