A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Book Reading…

On Thursday last week, Dear Reader, I was booked to read one of my short stories at the Metal/Essex Writer’s House literary festival…

*I was so fucking nervous, Clicky… /lights up… I’d never done anything like that before…*

…Unfortunately, when I got there, the place was closed and my spot had been cancelled due to a leak in the ceiling…

*No, that was a leak in the sealing, Clicky… /drags… plus it ‘appened the day before…*

… But fortunately the open mic slot for Saturday had become available that morning, so I re-booked to return at the weekend…

*Good thing that creative writing class broke for food when they did… /smokes… It was nice to have an audience, Clicky. I hope I didn’t put them off their lunch…*

… Thank you for listening, Dear Reader, and have a Song…

Missive From ‘Merica: Doodlebugging

Dear Reader, the release of Underdog Anthology 8: Transgenre Dreams in imminent…

UA8 Cover

… At 230 pages it’s a bumper edition and, fingers crossed, will be available to purchase later this week. Butt for right now… Cade F.O.N. Apollyon, who has written two wonderful stories – one of which made me pee myself laughing; the other made me sob – and five lively poems for the latest anthology, has sent through a lovely missive. To tide us over 😉

Antediluvian Animals Ark.gif

*Know ‘er will be the next post, Clicky… /pats snout… Patience…*

*******

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THE PROSECUTOR: Tries to get them in.

THE DEFENSE: Tries to get them out.

THE JUDGE: Tries to get them to where they need to be.

Is that right? Am I right on that? Notwithstanding corruptions of all kinds, is that the basis of a legal proceeding? It just occurs to me, that any competition is always a minimum of 1 v 2, not 1 v 1. Kinda 3  on 3, ‘cept, just 3, battling for 1.

So confusing
^MS MR – Hurricane (Official Video)^

What? You don’t get it? Well fuck me runnin’…you can’t have a contest without a rule set, rule sets, or some kind of governing body of some kind. Without that extra layer, there can be no contest, right? What happens if both competitors show up, all juiced up on steroids and blasted out of their minds on cocaine?

Yeah...the law...it wins.
^Bobby Fuller Four – I Fought The Law(1966)^

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Yeah, Brexit is on my mind since March 29th has come and gone. See, here in Texas, we have these things called Antlions. I included a pic at the beginning of this whatever.

Antlion

An ant or some other creature wanders by, they fall into the pit these Antlions construct, and the more the wayward creature struggles and tries to escape, the more the pit collapses in on itself…keeps the hapless fucker trapped. I mean, who the fuck would go to all that trouble of creating a capture infrastructure that also lets individuals come and go as they please?

^Hee Haw Where Are You Tonight^

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Today I learned that April Fool’s pranks cannot be played after noon. I actually think I’ve heard that before, but I’ve never adhered to that rule because I’ve a weird clock. Seriously, if I work the evening shift, I may not see many of my friends until sometime after noon. How can I participate if there are all these conflicting rules? Not only that, but what does it say about the current structures of the modern workday(s)? Do the modern modalities and stipulations with respect to employment leave any room for the employee?

Or is that too much of a stretch for you?

Holidays, work, nah…not related in the slightest.

^Pixies :: No. 13 Baby :: Extended Version (not official) :: with lyrics^

Ever heard of something called HTA? In 1971, Esso had “three new fuels” with something called HTA in them. I guess some kind of additive to reduce engine hesitation via fuel performance.

Q: Is it possible to find out what products a company had available at a specific time, and if so, what those products contained and why?

A: ? ¿

I’d like to know what kinds of materials a pair of socks contained back in the 1970’s, but it would appear my quest is akin to finding a needle in a stack of needle-stacks.

Digress

Esso

Nope…no mention of “HTA” there. Let’s go straight to the source.

Esso

Hrm…it would seem that for North America, Esso only has retail locations in Canada now, so I’d imagine that any 1970’s products and their components would likely not be mentioned. But, let’s give it a whirl anyway.

Esso Canada

Nope. Went to the search function, searched for “HTA” (without quotes), and “no results found” was my reward. I know! Let’s us try this!

Exxon

FUCK! No mention of HTA there either. OK, so, let’s go the corporate route.

ExxonMobil

“Your search returned no results for HTA”

/me scratches head

OK…so…let’s just go to Google, and see if we can search for “what is HTA in gasoline”, and see what we can find via that.

High Temperature Accelerant Fires

Shit…just took a turn…for the surreal. But what’s this?

Improved Fuel Distribution-A New Role For Gasoline Additives

Le sigh

You can read the article for free, but you have to create an account to read the article.

^Esso (Exxon) Gasoline Commercial (1971)^

On my last gasps here, it appears that The EPA has a list of all registered gasoline additives.

List Of Registered Gasoline Additives

I guess “registered” is the key word. No “HTA” on that list either. But, there’s hope I guess…

Uneasy Rider: The Interstate Way Of Knowledge

To be honest, my Google searching has so fucking many HTA’s, and these HTA’s mean so goddamn many things, no telling what in the fuck HTA was…or is…or will be…

Dennis Klein’s Gas Engine Water Additive

But what’s this? Can it be? Have I finally hit…paydirt?

Encyclopedia of Chemical Processing and Design: Volume 2 – Additive to Alpha

Seems that some someone somewhere invented some something called “HTA”, and this some something is

“a mixture of nonpolymeric amines”

which are

“said to minimize wetting by gasoline of the intake system metal oxide layer.”

And so, we’ve possibly got our “HTA stuff” figured out, and what this HTA stuff does, but this is where shit really gets interesting, because the author goes on to possibly tell how it does it.

“Rather, small droplets are formed which tend better to be entrained in the air stream, thus reducing maldistribution due to a high inertia liquid film.”

OK, so, “polymer” is mentioned in a “nonpolymeric” context, and what immediately popped into my head was stringy, springy stretchy things, and “bubbles”. “Misting” of fuel(s) is usually required in order to get a particular fuel to burn the way you want it to. But gasoline is already quite unstable, so it’s usually a case of keeping it from burning until you want it to. Are they trying to keep the gasoline from creating bubbles/droplets and create “sheets” instead? There’s mention of film, and more than that, a high inertia liquid film. I wonder what that could mean?

Film – a thin skin or membrane

God does not play dice?

^Prodigy fans line the streets for Keith Flint funeral | ITV News^

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Braintree? Keith Flint and Prodigy were from Braintree? Stephen King had a “Braintree Texas” in his book/movie The Stand.

Weird

Braintree is not a real town in Texas btw. Neither is Arnette. But there is an Arnett, TX.

Local time: Monday 11:33 AM

Weather: 49°F (9°C), Wind NE at 5 mph (8 km/h), 55% Humidity

That’s the weather for Arnett, TX on this fine Monday of April 1st.

How are you today?
^Primus – Too Many Puppies^

There was something in the news recently about churches and roller skating/roller skaters. I guess there were a couple of assholes brought swords to the party, one took the other’s sword away, and some motherfucker wound up getting cut because one of the swords was a shade more “swordy” than the other.

Hebrews 4:12?
^Chvrches – “Now is Not The Time”^

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So back to the HTA crap, um…where were we?

Nonpolymeric
Polymeric
Polymer
Polymer

K, so, they are indeed trying to keep some stretchy and stringy things from forming, but what is this “ amines” crap?

Amines
Amine
Amine
Ammonia, eh?

Ammonia has been appearing on my radar a lot lately, but you don’t care about that, so let’s keep going with whatever in the fuck HTA is, how it works in gasoline, and why it was there in the first place.

Sheeting
What is Cascade’s sheeting action?
Wetting
Thin Film
Wafer (Electronics) (Redirected from Thick Film)

You think any concepts like these are applicable in…the spiritual realms? It’s just, I’m about to have to wander off into concepts like detonation, pre-ignition and all kinds of abnormal combustion that you prolly have no interest in.

It's sapping my will to read/type
^CHVRCHES – Lies^

Here’s the thing, earlier today, there was some more nonsense about “junk food” and it causing cancerous advertising or some such nonsense, and it really got me to thinking about my own relationships with sustenance. I don’t think some people realize what kind of razor blade I sometimes have to ride with respect to eating. Or maybe, they do, and they just want me to buy their junk food instead of someone else’s. Or maybe they couldn’t care less about me and my needs. That said, it has occurred to me from time to time that there are those that are well aware of some of the cancer dynamics, but ain’t saying nothing.

Like maybe, that there is a structural societal cancer build on top of disease that is so embedded, that removal of the disease is likely to be fatal to these systems that our societies function in and upon. Google is telling me that there are 18 million healthcare workers in the US alone, and there’s no real qualification as to what that means. Is someone who manufactures the sheets that go on the beds of an MRI machine considered “a healthcare worker”? Irrespective, I doubt very seriously that 60+ million healthcare workers worldwide are ready to be out of work. What does junk food and shaving have to do with Newtonian physics and HTA gasoline additives from the 1970’s?

I dunno yet. Working on it tho
^’Zdarlight’ DIGITALISM by Åbäke^

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Meh…this Brexit shit has me down.

I'm leaving
^White Magic^

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cYa | cFa

^Tangerine Dream – Love On A Real Train (State Azure Cover)^

*******

Roo B. Doo Chalkwell Hall

*I told you, the next post, Clicky… /sigh… Come on, we need a Song to end…*

Have a Song, Dear Reader ❤

Trans-Genie Dreamy

The wait is near over, Dear Reader, and I’m not talking about Brexit…

UA8

*/lights up… Hey! That’s not the cover, Clicky… /drags… Leggy’s still working on that…*

*/smokes…*

… With the window for submissions closing fast, Underdog Anthology 8 has so far attracted 10 authors with 18 short stories and 11 poems, not including my mutilated offering in the Afterword

*So far on the Dead Poets Page, I’ve managed to… /counts on fingers… stitch up Shakespeare, ravage Routhier, lacerate Lazarus, willingly torture Wells & Tormé, wanker Wheatley, pillage Poe and obliterate Oliphant… /flicks ASH… About time I butchered Blake don’t ya fink, Clicky… /smokes contentedly…*

So, Dear Reader, with a hat-tip to Dr Seuss – never mess with Seuss – the LoL is pleased to present my perverse verse for Underdog Anthology 8 from Leg Iron Books. Of course it’s about Brexit…

crouching tiger hidden dragon 1

The Creeps (that stole Brexit Brexit)

by Roo B. Doo

 

Brexit Brexit, MPs blight,

In the politics of Fright;

What immoral Hansard lie,

Could frame their shameful skimitry?

 

What the distant Creeps despise,

Disbelieving of their lies?

In Labour town & Tory shire,

People chose Leave as their desire?

 

And what bluster, for their part,

In twisting syntax off the chart?

And so the Creeps began to cheat,

Safe in smugness, if not in seat.

 

“What the horror? Why the pain?”

“The People didn’t know thy brain!”

“What the oldies failed to grasp,

It’s not long ’til their final gasp!”

 

When the Creeps threw down their sneers,

Made amendments, with loud jeers,

Did they smile their work to see?

Do they know they’ll have to flee?

 

Brexit Brexit, MPs blight,

In the politics of Fright;

What immoral Hansard lie,

Could frame their shameful skimitry?

crouching tiger hidden dragon 2

*/stubs butt… Those fuckers are gonna rue the day, Clicky…*

Until next time, Dear Reader… Have a Song…

Missive From ‘Merica: Split Peace Oops (Part 1)

It’s been an very busy week or so, Dear Reader. Apart from requisite time spent in the Tower, I’ve been writing and editing short stories for ‘Underdog Anthology 8 – Transgenre Dreams’…

bogof

*/lights up… My story is two love stories… /drags… For the price of one… /stream smoke… Of course I called it ‘BOGOF’, Clicky…*

… And Cade sent through a missive, which I have been very remiss in not posting. So, here’s the first part. I’ve decided to split it…

Enjoy! ❤

*******

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Ya gotta look and play the part.

Doesn't matter what the intent is/intentions are... 

Ya gotta look and play the part.

Can you spot the difference between an authentic designer item and... 

a knockoff/counterfeit?

The Real Deal. The Genuine Article. The Real McCoy

False Etymology

Can't be havin' us no false metamologies in the age of meta.

Just acquire the requisite uniform and…

Bob's your UNCLE, Fanny's your AUNT, and you're in like FLYNN. 

Or in like Flint, depending on which “false etymology” you choose to chase/adopt.

The meaning and origin of the expression: In like Flynn

How do you know who to believe when a discrepancy is discovered and/or a dispute arises? Your first instinct will likely be to look for some authentic looking uniform/clothing, insignia, credentials, etc.

Different people sometimes carry different things in order to identify themselves…say for example,  polycarbonate riot shield and a baton.

Others may show “they mean business” by comporting themselves in other ways.

You just gotta stay on top of the game in order to stay in it. Me? I’m not very hep or hip or whatever. I had no idea his name was Keith Flint. The only member of The Prodigy who’s name I knew, was Leeroy, and as far as I know, he’s been out of the Prodigy for some time.

/me shrugs
^The Prodigy – Take Me To The Hospital (Official Video)^

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I can only imagine what a nightmare that crap above was to format.

(sorry Roob)

Oh btw, if you’re looking for the “master tapes”…

they’re in the library…

with Colonel Mustard.

Something about a key,

but I have no idea what any of that means.

Sounds like some kind of argument to validate authenticity.
^Poison (Remastered)^

*******

*/smokes…*

Missive From ‘Merica: It’s a Sin. ‘K?

*The obvious choice, Clicky…*

I’ve not been hiding, Dear Reader. I am currently in the midst of writing a short story for Underdog Anthology 8, and it’s a struggle…

*Quite!*

…so I am really happy to be able to take a break, and present a brand new missive from Cade Fon Apollyon, the Okie Devil, for your delectation…

*Yeah, I don’t think living in Text US automatically makes him a cowboy, Clicky…*

Dude Cowboy Bowling

*******

ikkx4voxebdz

I need all of you to line up in a non-quiet and disorderly fashion.

I just wanna see what kind of line forms out of ordered chaos.

Yes…I’m ordering you…to be chaotic.

GO!!!

CHOP CHOP!!! I ain't got all day.
^Netsh – sleep.exe [ARTS037]^

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People sometimes talk as if fate is some kind of cakewalk. Just kick back, and it’ll come your way since it is preordained. The thing is, that you can typically only see synchs backwards.

A – You experience an odd coincidence.

B – As a result of the odd coincidence, you go left instead of right at the next intersection.

C – Godzilla attacks the video store you were headed to had you turned right instead of left, and everyone in the store dies.

D – You do not die, hence, the Universe signaled you at “A”, you listened, all is right with the world.

('cept for the dead people of course)

You are viewing all that shit backwards, not forwards. You had no idea any of that nonsense was going to happen, but it did, and you’ve got a marker to hang on to…

the synch. 

But you may want to consider that had you turned right and continued your jaunt to the video store, that’s no guarantee that you would have died, nor anyone else for that matter. Perhaps if you had turned right, Godzilla would have diverted his/her wrath on the vape shop instead of the video store. Maybe all this “synch” and “sync” nonsense is sometimes just a certain level of awareness at certain points in time. You are part of this crazy nonsense afterall. I’m sure The Universe is just as concerned about you as they are anyone else. With that in mind…

Q: Are you concerned about The Universe?

A: ¿?

Of course, when this “preordained” destiny of yours doesn’t come your way, or doesn’t come in the way that it was preordained, you are likely to take matters into your own hands and start chasing this destiny that was supposed to fall into your lap at some point.

Don’t sweat it tho.

     Prolly just a scheduling error.

Time and times can be funky sometimes.

^E-Z Rollers – Tough At The Top^

Cade: Yes, I know…there is a discrepancy.

X: And what would that discrepancy be?

Cade: You.

X: Me?

Cade: Well, no…I mean the participant.

T: Think you can clarify? You’re giving me a headache.

Cade: You, as in the participant in a “sync” experience as it happens.

Z: But you have to explain it to others, backwards. Is that what you are trying to say?

Cade: Yes. You experience it forwards, you reflect on it internally in a simultaneous forwards/backwards way…

0: But have to share the experience with others backwards, we get it. But why didn’t you just say that in the first place?

Cade: A job worth doing is worth doing right?

X: …

Cade: OK, so, I don’t like editing what I write.

X: And why would that be?

Cade: Because it leaves a bunch of shit out. Important shit.

X: The stumbling and bumbling…mistakes and the like.

Cade: Correct. It turns what could be a dialogue…

B: Into a one-way conversation. A statement. A speech. A diatribe.

Cade: A mother-fucking monologue.

X: And these, uh, “monologues” that you mention, they are bad?

Cade: They certainly seem apt to leave you standing alone.

0: And what exactly is wrong with being alone pray tell?

Cade: Nothing. If that’s where you want to be.

X: Where are we?

Cade: Here.

X: And where do we want to be?

Cade: Here.

X: And where is that?

Cade: Here.

X: That’s where you’ll always be.

Cade: I know that anyone reading this will unlikely pick up on the vibe that I’m feeling based on your thought/statement, but there’s a weird simultaneousness to the thought of “still being where I’ve been, as well as I’m already at where I’ve yet to be, all while I am where I am.”

X: Destiny.

Cade: Something like that.

0: Woah woah woah…what do you mean “something like that”?

Cade: The past is many times just as fuzzy as the future, and sometimes the present is fuzzier still.

Z: Care to elaborate?

Cade: Trying to explain something that has happened and/or is happening, to someone else who has no reference points, nor baselines except for what I tell them. Dunno about you, but that’s pretty fucking fuzzy to me.

Z: Any examples?

Cade: Now.

Z: If you’ll expand on that, I’ll listen.

Cade: Fair enough. I was thinking about JAL Flight 123, and the movie ‘Unbreakable’. However, while thinking about those examples, I decided that they were both impertinent.

Z: Impertinent in any all contexts and by all definitions?

Cade: Yes. They are both similar, not same.

Z: But those examples are both poignant and relatable, and based in both fact and fiction.

Cade: The fantastic. I shouldn’t have to use some fantastic or incredible anecdotal evidence completely unrelated to me in order to tell my own story.

Z: What if it helps?

Cade: What if it hurts?

Z: Touché. But where does the listener/reader come in?

Cade: I think that a lot of times, using “the distant” distances us even further.

Z: I could use a bit of expansion on that thought.

0: Join the club.

X: You are thinking both “god(s)” and “religion” there aren’t you.

Cade: Yes. You’ve got these secretive clicks that strive to keep their shit hidden. Participation seems to distance us even further.

X: Maybe that’s a construct that drives how The Universe keeps expanding. Ever think of that?

Cade: You coulda just said “get away from me”, but yes, I do think about that. I think about it all the time.

B: And is that why that line from Star Trek Beyond hit you so hard?

Cade: Yes. Chasing something that is forever out of reach.

B: Basically, chasing something that isn’t there.

Cade: The unreachable is just as much there as anything else.

T: Just, unreachable?

Cade: I can’t be what I am not. And, I’m pretty happy with who I am.

Z: Took you a while to get there tho.

Cade: So what? I’m here.

Z: Now what?

Cade: /me shrugs…dunno.

Z: …

Cade: Look, I’m not fond of editing my “as I go” bullshit because I feel that it creates a false impression.

Z: What type of impression are you trying to create?

Cade: That’s a good question. One I can’t really answer other than say that I stumbled around for decades trying to say all the right shit, and it never felt right.

Z: Once you start in one direction, forces work to keep you in that same direction.

Cade: Yes. No room for fuckups. No room for controversy. No room for anything other than this implied perfection that results from peer approval(s).

Z: You’re only as good as they say you are?

Cade: That’s how I fucked up in music. I shoulda just kept making my music, my way instead of judging everything I did based on whether or not people liked it/approved of it.

Z: Wasn’t that the point though? To make a living making music?

Cade: It shouldn’t have been. I enjoyed the hell out of making music, I had a “normal” job I loved, what more do you need?

Z: It didn’t happen that way tho, did it.

Cade: No. I was very unhappy in a lot of ways. The job I had was great, but didn’t pay well, I was working overtime all the time just to pay the bills, and the job was becoming unstable because of all the changes going on in the airline industry.

Z: Are you really going to sit here and rant on and on for another page or so?

Cade: Not here. Not in this fashion. Thanks for the heads-up.

Z: No problem.

Cade: …

^deadmau5 – Closer (Cover Art)^

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Do you have a detractor in your life?

‘There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way of death.’

– Proverbs 14:12

I just sometimes wonder… You’re sailing along, everything is great, everything you are doing seems exactly correct, you are bubbling with pride at being all great and awesome and stuff, then suddenly….

BLAM!!! 

The Universe broadsides the living fuck out of you with some crazy nonsense that you never saw coming, nor would you ever have seen coming. So my question to you is…

do you have a detractor in your life? 

Someone who reminds you what a complete fuckhead you can be when the cameras aren’t on, or the crowds have all gone home? That you are mortal. That you are fallible. Not suggesting that you need a lackey that does nothing but call you names and make fun of you, but someone that speaks their mind without fear of reprisal. More than that, someone that you listen to. Someone you don’t try and dominate. Someone that is neither disposable nor indispensable. Someone who is there because they choose to be, and someone that you want around because they want to be around. An equal, and potentially an equal that is far above you in many ways.

I'm lucky like that.
^Closer – Nine Inch Nails (with lyrics)^

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It’s weird the things that suddenly materialize in your life.

Things that you saw, you remember, but remember kinda wrong.

Then suddenly…what you were looking for but couldn’t find…appears outta nowhere.

There’s no doubt that this is the one.

Or maybe there is doubt.

Pretty sure this is the one tho.

^MIRROR: The King of Love is a Dead Man^

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I recently had some fuck named Neil Gaiman wander into my life and crush the shit out of all my hopes and dreams. I’ve had some time to reflect on the powdered remains mixed with many a crocodile tear, and I guess it’s more of a fact that I’ve had to reevaluate a lot of things that I’m working on. So in effect, the guy has helped sharpen my focus.

THANKS DICKHEAD!!! 😛

Powdered dreams + crocodile tears makes for some good clay.

Here's hoping anyway.
^Kings of Leon – Closer (HQ)^

I’d read his book ‘Sandman’ a few years ago. Or at least, the first one. Anway, not long ago, Roob suggested a movie called ‘Stardust’ that is based on some book by Neil Gaiman. Watched the movie, and it was really good, but there were some themes in there that really crushed the shit out of me because they were similar in nature to some of the themes in some story ideas that I’ve had.

My stories are different, but the similarities of some of the things gave me pause. Flash forward a few weeks, and Roob suggests a series called ‘American Gods’ by this same dude, Neil Gaiman. Watched it, same deal. Lots of similar themes.

WTF?!?!? 

Gotta keep in mind that I’m new to writing, I’m smart enough to know that there’s only so much in the world to write about, and it’s a pretty goddamn big world. I can’t know it all. I only have my experiences, my stories, and that’s all I have/all I’ll ever have. So now, I’m right back to that phase of…

Q: Do I need to read everything ever written in order to come up with something unique and original?

A: No.

I’ve been through something similar with music. Just write your music, and it is what it is.

WHEW!!!

Thanks for the education Neil.

^Charlotte de Witte – Closer (Original Mix)^

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So back on this sink/sync shit – who manufactures it/them? It’s your sink, you are going to use it, and what are sinks for? Washing up? HA!!! I KNEW IT!!! Yer FUCKED!!! You’re washed up.

Digress.

Sinks, as far as I know anyway, are for channeling/funneling water in and out of your home/business or whatever in an orderly and convenient fashion. It’s with that in mind, let’s us chase that/those water(s).

^Aphrodite superman jungle rmx^

There’s likely a lake or river or aquifer or some other combination of water tables that some group has connected to, and they’ve created an infrastructure of pipes and pumps and valves and monitoring systems to distribute these waters. These pipes and pumps pull and push these waters to a tap that is conveniently located near your personal proximity, and you can turn your tap(s) on and off at will to get the waters you need, when you need them. Also, there is a drainage system that allows these waters to flow on, and continue their journey after you’ve gotten what you need out of them.

Sewage/waste waters will flow away from you, where they’ll go to any number of various places via various methods, and various things will be done to these waters to possibly even return them to you at some later time. In effect, and even tho these waters are quite voluminous and expansive themselves, the bits in time that you get these waters are actually quite short in both duration and amount(s). You see/use/interact with them for only a short duration.

Filling a glass.

Rinsing a dish.
Washing your hands.

Taking a dump or peeing

Taking a bath of shower

Watering the yard or plants.

Blips on the radar screen. Odd when you think that it’s estimated that 2/3’s of our planet is said to be covered in water, and 90% of the world’s freshwater is said to be frozen in some really remote place at the South Pole. So with respect to “syncs” or synchronicities, are they any really different than what goes on in our sinks?

How much thought do you give to your water usage outside of the bill that comes due each month? Maybe this is why synchronicity is such a jarring concept. They are jarring when they happen, and they are equally jarring when they no longer happen. To relate, when the water is off because of some malfunction at the pumping station, or a broken water main, you fucking well know it eh? Your whole life is instantly turned upside down because when you turn the spigot, nothing happens. What you need…

just ain't there.
^Wicked Wicked Jungle Is Massive (Ali G Indahouse)^

Just thinking aloud that maybe being aware or being enlightened or whatever, is much more than strutting around with a mysterious and glowy Möbius strip/infinity symbol hovering above your head. The concept of ascension is great. But where’s the love for descent? How are you to handle adversity if you have an aversion to anything but up, and someone or something pulls that rug out from under you?

Meh fuckit...you'll figure it out.
^DJ Aphrodite – Acid to the sound^

9lnx

BTW, is that water in your sink order, or chaos?
^when the milk hits the cereal wrong^

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Not trying to sway any opinions as to what is order/chaos, just interested in your thoughts on the subject. I mean, that bullshit above looks like complete chaos at some point right? Well, if you take a moment to consider the simulation that allowed for the ordering of that chaos in a structured and coherent fashion?

Um...not so chaotic at all, eh?
^DJ Zinc – Ska^

tenor

cYacFa

^Public Enemy Who Stole the Soul^

*******

*Actually, it’s pronounced more like ‘Guyman’, Clicky… /pats snout… Butt nice try…*

We hope you enjoyed that, Dear Reader. I’m now going to get back to my scribbling, but hope to be back later in the week with a new LoL post. Until then… Have a Song 😀

Holiday Reading

I am on holiday this week, Dear Reader…

holiday (n.)

1500s, earlier haliday (c. 1200), from Old English haligdæg “holy day, consecrated day, religious anniversary; Sabbath,” from halig “holy” (see holy) + dæg “day” (see day); in 14c. meaning both “religious festival” and “day of exemption from labor and recreation,” but pronunciation and sense diverged 16c. As an adjective mid-15c. Happy holidays is from mid-19c., in British English, with reference to summer vacation from school. As a Christmastime greeting, by 1937, American English, in Camel cigarette ads.

*Camel, Kamala is rather tenuous, Clicky… /lights up… At best… /drags… Although I did receive a book… /cough… er, in the post today from Legs…*

*/plumes smoke… No, that’s the first in Leggy’s delightfully demonic series, Clicky. It’s set during the English Civil War and the heroine is a witch called J…*

*No, Jessica. It’s in the title… /smokes contentedly… What kinda wussy name is ‘Jussie’ anyway? …/flicks ash…*

*Not SAMuel’s Girl either… /drags… butt nice catch on that Tweeter’s name… /blows smoke ring… I dunno, Clicky, what with all the Brexit and Trump bashing…/blows another… Mainstream media must take us for mugs…*

Normans House Stash

*Yes! …/final drag… A signed copy of Norman’s House, plus branded mug and magnets arrived today…*

*The Leg Iron Books fridge magnets will come in handy next month… /stubs butt… when I do that open mic reading, Clicky… /bites lip… I’m fucked if I know which of my stories I’m gonna read…*

Arsy Darcy

*It won’t be one of Mum’s stories… /squints… And thanks for the vote of confidence…*

…I’m going to spend my week away from work, at home, writing for the next Underdog Anthology – due out in Spring. I’m also going to be practicing reading aloud for an event. It’s a long story, Dear Reader, and I’ll tell you about it later. In the meantime, have a Song 😀

 

Story Time: Waste Not, Want Not

*What a good idea, Clicky… /pats snout…*

Happy Valentine’s Day, Dear Reader. I’ve no chocolates or flowers to give you, so please enjoy ‘Waste Not, Want Not’, one of my Halloween short stories from Underdog Anthology VI: The Gallows Stone

… And have a Song ❤

*******

Waste Not, Want Not
By Roo B. Doo

The dark October morning was filled with urgent lights – red ones, amber ones, blue ones that flashed – and urgent shouts, pounding footsteps and screams. Lance Parrish took in the chaotic scene around him in quiet disbelief, until he caught sight of the remains of his bicycle – his new Genesis Skyline bicycle – crushed beneath the filthy wheels of a gargantuan waste removal lorry.

He bunched his hands into fists and shook with rage. In all the years Lance had commuted to work by bicycle, he had witnessed plenty of traffic chaos, but none of it had ever directly involved him. Until today.

“Jesus Christ!”

He stalked round to the front of the vehicle and craned his neck up to catch sight of the driver, but the cab was empty. Desperate to see the face of the menace that had mangled his bike and nearly killed him, Lance scanned the faces of the gathering crowd, looking for an expression of guilt. “Where’s the driver?” he shouted hoarsely. “Which of you is the driver of this death trap?”

Nobody replied, the crowd’s rapt attention was firmly fixed on the activity around the front wheel of the truck. Several bystanders had their phones out, capturing the scene. Lance was torn between feeling contempt and gratitude toward the ghouls; he would need all the evidence he could get when he sued the waste company for all it was worth. “Do any of you know who the driver is?” he called out again.

And then Lance spotted him, or rather the logo of the waste company emblazoned on the back of a hi-viz jacket. The driver stood away from the crowd, yabbering into a mobile phone. He looked burly and mean – not the type to mess with – but Lance didn’t care. Filled with furious indignation, he strode over to front it out with the man. “Hey you! I want a word with you!”

“No, it’s-“  the driver spoke into his phone, rubbing his meaty hand across his furrowed brow, “-it’s not good.”

“Hey! Are you the driver of the truck?”

“Yeah. Emergency Services are here.”

Lance reached the driver. “I want to talk to you.”

The driver continued his conversation. “Of course. You’d better let the site know. I think I’m gonna be stuck here for some time.”

“You cretinous oaf. Don’t ignore me!” Lance bellowed in frustration.

“Yeah okay.” The driver smiled ruefully, “Okay, okay yeah. Will do. I’ll let you know. Bye.” He ended the call and started scrolling through the contact numbers of his phone.

“Excuse me!” Lance said pointedly but the driver continued to ignore him. “I’m the person you very nearly killed. You know, the one on the bike that you’ve utterly destroyed.”

The driver lifted the phone back up to his face. “Hello Kath? It’s me. Don’t worry, love, but I’ve been involved in an accident. Nah, nah I’m okay…”

Lance was incandescent with rage. Not only was the truck driver completely ignoring him, but he was calling people up to brag about coming through it all unscathed. Lance could scarcely believe the obtuseness of the man. Unless…“Oh my god!” Lance howled with righteous scorn. “I just bet you voted for Brexit!”

The driver turned and walked away toward the doorway of a nearby shop, continuing his telephone conversation, and leaving Lance in his wake. “A cyclist undertook me as I was turning left…”

Lance was gobsmacked to hear the lies pouring from the man’s lips. “What do you mean, I undertook you?” He followed after the driver, who was now slouched against the shop window, looking back out at the truck and the crowds. “You didn’t bloody well indicate, you moron! What’s your name? I’m going to have you for hazardous driving.”

“I didn’t see him, Kath.” The driver’s face seemed to suddenly crumple. “Believe me, there was nothing I could do.” The driver’s eyes brimmed over with tears. He sniffed back a wet sob. “Nah…”

Lance had heard quite enough and squared up to the brute. “Now look here. I insist you put the phone away and talk to me.”

“… he didn’t make it.” The driver’s chest heaved once before a stream of hot vomit landed where Lance was standing.

“Ugh! You’re disgusting!” Lance jumped back. “You’re a complete disgrace!”

“He didn’t hit you, you know,” a voice said from behind Lance. It had the timbre of a box of gravel.

“What?” Lance asked, furiously shaking his feet. “What do you mean he didn’t hit me?”

“Well yes, yes he did hit you. Earlier. But not just now, not with his breakfast. Look.”

Miraculously, Lance’s trainers were free of vomit. Not a splash of what looked like it had once been a full English fry-up, adorned either his shoes or legs.

“But that’s incredible.” Lance marvelled at the lack of spew on him. “Hey! Where are you going?” he called to the driver, who having wiped his mouth, lit a cigarette and was now walking quickly away. “Don’t run away from me now. I order you to stop!”

Lance started after the retreating driver but the voice from behind halted him in his tracks. “Lancelot Graham Parrish, let him go.”

Everything stopped. The driver, a cloud of cigarette smoke shrouding his head, froze in mid step. Traffic in the distance stood still and the noisy din of the hectic morning was suddenly replaced by cacophonous silence.

“Turn around and face me,” the gravelly voice entreated.

Lance didn’t move, standing agog at the morning’s turn of events. He didn’t know what the hell was happening but he was quite certain that he did not want to turn around.

NOW!” The voice commanded and then sighed, like a shifting sand dune. “If you would be so kind.”

With shuffling steps, Lance slowly inched around.  Everything appeared frozen in time. He could see the offensive waste removal lorry and the crowd held in suspended animation around it. There was no movement, no sound and no owner of the voice; Lance was perplexed.

“Down here.”

Lance lowered his gaze until they alighted on a black-robed figure that stood barely tall enough to make eye contact with his hips. “Who are you?”

“Who’d you think?” the robed figure said, producing a spinning scythe from thin air.

Lance jumped back, a reflexive action due to the sharp proximity of the flashing blade to his groin. “I thought you’d be taller.”

The scythe ceased spinning, the wicked blade pointed directly at Lance. “Did you just assume my height?” the robed figure asked coolly.

“No!” Lance blurted out, intensely aware of the crackle of electricity that coursed along the edge of the scythe blade. “You sound taller. Look, I’ve never been in a situation like this before. This is all very new to me…”

The robed figure watched on passively as Lance tried desperately to collect up the scattered rags of his thoughts.

“Am I dead?”

“Well, let’s see shall we?” The robed figure quickly turned and suddenly the world was animated once more. The crowd in front of the waste removal truck parted to reveal two men hauling a body out from beneath it. Lance heard the shrieks and groans of the onlookers, as the body being carried out broke in half, falling to the ground with sickening thumps. Several witnessing bystanders duly followed suit.

“So I’m dead?” Lance was slightly perturbed as his own lack of squeamishness. “I’m dead, so that makes you Death.”

“Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!” Death cackled good naturedly. “Welcome to the other side, Lance. May I call you Lance?”

“Sure,” Lance replied numbly. His attention returned to the antics of his so called ‘rescuers’, who were slipping about in his remains, even as they attempted to scoop them up from the road.

“Good, good. And your preferred personal pronouns are ‘he, him, his’?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Lance replied, tearing his gaze away from the scene of his death to look down at the small black robed figure of Death, who was unsheathing an electronic organiser from its leather case.

“Well, you look more like a ‘xe, xem, xyr’, but I don’t like to make assumptions.” Death switched on the organiser and started tapping on the keyboard. “Sorry, formalities. You are Lancelot Graham Parrish. Date of birth 29th February 1972. Date of death 31st October 2018…”

“Aren’t you meant to use an hourglass for that sort of thing?”

Death gave the electronic organiser a shake. “This is an upgrade.”

Lance bent down to get a better look at the gadget held in Death’s bony grasp. “But, but that’s a Psion!”

“So?”

“They’re so old fashioned.”

“And an hourglass isn’t?” Death paused for Lance to reply but was met by embarrassed silence. “Psionic, from Psi, 23rd letter of the Greek alphabet, pertaining to psyche. Spirit, soul, you know. You may think the portable tech of 2018 is all singing and dancing, but believe you me, it would be nothing without the introduction of these babies.”

“Psion organisers?” Lance asked incredulously.

“Psions were made specifically for use on this side.”

Lance shook his head in disbelief. “Then how come my father was able to buy one from Dixons in the High Street in 1984?”

Death visibly stiffened. “God knows. We don’t like to talk about it.” The electronic contraption disappeared back into the folds of Death’s robe. “Come on, Lance, we’ve got to move you on.”

Lance watched Death glide away in the same direction that his Brexit-voting killer had taken. He took one last look back at the scene of carnage where he’d met his grisly end, before following the tiny figure, robed in black. “So tell me, Death,” Lance asked, picking up the pace, “you said ‘God knows’. I take it then that there a god?”

Death stopped, nonchalantly spinning the scythe, waiting for Lance to catch up. “I don’t know. Why don’t we go and ask her?”

*******

*Come on, Clicky… /lights up… Let’s go and what Cade and Leggy are up to…*

Chinese Whispers

abdstreamssmoke

*Adora Belle Dearheart from the last post, Clicky… /lights up… I really did enjoy remote viewing ‘Going Postal’ with Cade this week… /drags…*

‘As is obvious from Moist’s nickname for her, “Spike”, she isn’t that adorable, nor is she a ‘dearheart’.’

abdspikes

*/winces… Okay, okay I’ll get on with it. Sheesh…*

Not sure if you’re aware, Dear Reader, but on the 4th of February, in a couple of days time, the Chinese Year of the (Earth) Dog comes to an end…

… And the Year of the (Earth) Pig begins the very next day…

*Indeed, the female, Earth pig, Clicky… /smokes… Pug to pig, nicely done. A game! My turn… /pats snout…*

‘According to the Chinese Horoscope theory, Female Earth is connected to the farmland. Pig mainly contains Male Water with Male Wood. Male Water is river and Male Wood is tall tree or wooden boat. The sign of 2019 Female Earth Pig year is a river flows over the farmland. It might cause flooding.’

fountainspeak

*/flicks ash… Aha! That’s 2-2… /sucks teeth… Well Lashy does say the Aeon Sophia has a wicked sense of humour… /final drag… *

gpunderdog

*Underdog Anthology VIII: Mo’ Biomass Strip will be out in the spring, Clicky… /stubs butt… I suppose I could write a story about a diamond pig…*

*/gulps… Yikes!*

Enjoy the Chinese New Year festivities this weekend, Dear Reader… And have a Song ❤

*You win, Clicky… /rolls eyes…*

 

 

Story Time: Caesar’s Were-Wife

Dear Reader, I thought I’d share with you my tale from Underdog Anthology VII…

uavii-cover2

*Fanks, Clicky… /pats snout… Be ready at the end with a Song…*

Enjoy!

*******

Caesar’s Were-Wife

by Roo B. Doo

Caroline Kempton-Truss closed the slim, pink folder in front of her, and placed it on the stack of coloured folders in her tray, ready for filing. Her desk was neatly spartan, like the rest of her office. She preferred to keep her surroundings like her thinking – lean, clean and tidy; everything in its right place. As the Local Authority’s newly appointed Director of Public Health, she fully intended to encourage her way of thinking throughout the workforce.

She gazed out of the picture window at the car park below. A steady stream of employees were leaving for the Christmas break already, tightly wrapped up against the bitter winds that swirled around the building regardless of the time of year. To Caroline they looked like ants – a slack army of fat ants that merely required whipping into shape. Now that the January health campaign was complete and ready to roll, she felt content to start their transformation.

There was a soft rap on the door behind her. Caroline returned to her desk and sat down, smoothing the crease in her tailored trousers as she crossed her legs. “Come in.”

Her secretary, Natalie, opened the office door and stepped inside. “Hi Caroline. I was wondering if I could possibly leave now. I have accrued sufficient overtime.”

Caroline looked at the slim, gold watch on her wrist. “It’s only two o’clock.”

“Yes, but it’s Christmas Eve,” Natalie spluttered nervously, “and the offices are closing early today at four anyway.” She hopped from foot to foot. “Plus it’s very quiet out there. It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Yes, I know it’s Christmas Eve,” Caroline snapped, immediately regretted her tone at Natalie’s flinch. Velvet glove, Caroline, she reminded herself, Velvet glove. “Of course. Yes of course you can leave early, Nat, but come and sit down first. I have a couple of things I need to talk to you about.”

Natalie closed the office door and sat down dutifully next to Caroline’s desk, hands tightly gripped in her lap. “Should I go fetch my pad and pen?”

“Good thinking, but not necessary,” Caroline replied, sliding open the bottom drawer of her desk. “This is for you. Merry Christmas,” she continued, handing over a cellophane wrapped basket filled with tubs and bottles, nestled in straw. “Smellies. They’re all natural and sustainably produced.”

Natalie sniffed the cellophane package gingerly. “Oh yes, I can tell,” she said, blushing, and placed the basket under her chair. “I’m sorry but I didn’t get you anything.”

“That’s okay.” Caroline leaned back in her desk chair and surveyed the secretary she’d inherited when she’d taken the job. Natalie was efficient, attentive and punctual; everything she could wish for in a PA. Her extensive knowledge of Local Authority protocol and procedures was a boon for Caroline’s ambitions. But Natalie was irredeemably flawed in Caroline’s eyes: she was a mess in need of fixing. “How old are you, Nat?”

Natalie raised her eyebrows at the bluntness of the question. “Oh.” She shifted in her seat, deciding to sit on her hands. “Um, well I’m going to be forty-five tomorrow.”

Now Caroline felt uncomfortable; she thought Natalie looked much older. “Tomorrow? Your birthday’s tomorrow?”

“Yes, that’s why my parents called me Natalie. Because I was born on Christmas Day.”

“Oh well, very many happy returns for tomorrow.” Caroline smiled broadly but thought, Forty-five? You look at least ten years older. Perfect. “Nat, I hope you don’t think me rude but you are exactly the type I’d like us to hit, and hit hard, with the ‘New You’ health campaign for January.”

“How do you mean?” Natalie asked, her eyes narrowing. “You want another secretary to look after you?”

“No, not at all,” Caroline exclaimed, realising her gaffe. She attempted to reign in the situation. “You’re brilliant, Nat. No, I was thinking more broadly about middle-aged women in general. You know, too busy working and maintaining families to have time to look after themselves properly. No time to cut out the vices that, they wrongly believe, help them to cope.”

“But I don’t drink or smoke,” Natalie replied cautiously, “and I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.”

“Ah but you do vape.” Caroline licked her lips. “I’ve seen you downstairs in the car park at lunchtimes. The vapour clouds those things make are hard to miss.”

Natalie cocked her head to one side and gnawed at her bottom lip. “But vaping helped me quit, Caroline. Without it, I’d still be smoking twenty a day.”

“And it’s commendable that you’ve quit smoking, it really is. Tobacco is the worst,” Caroline said emphatically. She herself had tried smoking once at college but the taste disgusted her, so she had no trouble in not taking it up. “But when you’ve gone through the pain and strife of kicking one disgusting vice, why replace it with another?”

Natalie shook her head. “I don’t think of vaping as disgusting. I find it relaxing and it’s much safer than smoking.”

“Ah but the jury is still out on its safety, Nat. When smoking first became popular, the long-term health problems it causes weren’t known. In fact smoking was promoted as a good thing. The same could be true of vaping. We just don’t know.” Caroline re-crossed her legs, again smoothing the crease of her trousers. It was a sound argument, regardless of her personal view of the practice.

Natalie continued gnawing her lip. “And it would only be for January?”

“Yes!” Caroline smacked her hand flat against the surface of her barren desk. “Exactly. For the ‘New You’ campaign. Think of it in terms of Caesar’s Wife.”

“Caesar’s wife?”

“Yes. It means to be seen to be above reproach. Look at it this way – how can we persuade the public to change their ways if we are not prepared to do it ourselves?”

Natalie’s lowered gaze flick up toward the office door. “I will think about it over Christmas.”

“Don’t think, Nat. Do!” Caroline chuckled. “‘Do for the New You’. It is the campaign’s strapline after all.”

“Okay,” Natalie murmured. “Is there anything else or can I go now?”

“Well,” Caroline mused, “You eat an awful lot of red meat. Bacon sandwiches at your desk for breakfast several times a week. I’m vegan, but fortunately I can tolerate the smell. Others though might find it too enticing – going vegetarian is one of the key planks of the ‘New You’ campaign.” Caroline could tell from the look on Natalie’s face that she was still sceptical but ploughed on regardless.  “It would really help others around you if the bacon butties could be knocked on the head for the month as well.”

Natalie stood up. “No, I mean is there anything else you need me to do before I can go home?”

“Oh sure, well just this filing, thanks.” Caroline grabbed the stack of folders from her tray and handed them over to Natalie. “And then you can go. As the Duty Officer until we close up at four,  I’ll be here for a couple of hours yet. There’s no rest for the wicked, eh?”

“No.” Natalie turned to leave. “Merry Christmas, Caroline.”

“You too. And have a very happy birthday, Nat. I look forward to seeing a ‘New You’ in the New Year.”

After Natalie had left, Caroline turned her attention back to the scene outside her window and contemplated how the conversation with Natalie had gone. True, she hadn’t got a firm commitment from her, but Caroline felt confident that it had gone pretty well, despite the shaky start. Every journey starts with a single step, she reassured herself smugly.

The sky was already starting to darken and the stream of departing employees had turned into a trickle. Soon I’ll be the only person left, Caroline thought and stifled a yawn. She decided that a brisk walk around the emptying building would liven her up. Stopping only to pick up her mobile phone, Caroline left her office.

Her stroll took her through several desolate floors of the building. She sighed and tutted at the desk clutter on display, safe in the knowledge that hardly anybody was still around to see her displeasure. Caroline passed bank after bank of desks that heaved with paperwork, tacky personal effects and garish Christmas decorations. The kitchenette areas on each of the floors told their own horror story. Sweet tins full of uneaten cakes and biscuits were piled high on counters, just waiting for staff to return after the break. The fridges were no better, packed as they were with plastic milk bottles, all at varying levels of emptiness, marked with each owner’s initials in thick, black ink. This whole place is infected, she thought disdainfully, I’ll have my work cut out for me here.

It was just past four o’clock by the time Caroline returned to the deserted Public Health department. With everybody else gone, the overhead lighting had switched off automatically, and the floor felt abandoned. Caroline shivered and wondered if the heating had also been turned off.  She walked smartly back to her office, glad that she could finally pack her things up to go home, but when she got there, it wasn’t empty.

“Nat?” Caroline stopped in the doorway and called to the shadowy figure, looking out of the window. “What are you doing standing in the dark. I thought you’d already left.”

“I had,” Natalie replied. She turned her head toward Caroline. “But I forgot to take my Christmas present, so I walked back.” She pointed at the cellophane basket still sitting under the chair next to the desk. “And I also have a gift for you.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Caroline chided with a smile. The flutter of concern Caroline had felt on spying a shadowy figure in her darkened office had dissipated to be replaced with warm glow of acceptance. She decide to push her luck. “You know, your active participation in the New Year campaign would be present enough.”

Natalie shrugged and turned her head back to view outside the window. “Look. The Moon is rising. It’s not quite full.”

Caroline joined Natalie at the window. “Oh yes.” Caroline smiled, “Thank God it’s not a full Moon. The last thing anyone needs on Christmas Eve is a werewolf on the rampage.”

“Yeah,” Natalie laughed softly. “It’s a fiction created by Hollywood, you know.”

“What is? The Moon or werewolves?”

“Oh the Moon is real, but so are werewolves. The first has no effect on the other though. Except in the movies.”

“Really? How do you know that?” Caroline checked her wristwatch; it was all very well chitchatting with staff but time was ticking on. She moved away to collect her handbag and coat.

Natalie didn’t move. “In Poland, where my grandparents came from, there is a long tradition of werewolves, and many legends. Practically the whole of eastern Europe has them. And none of them involve the cycles of the Moon as far as I can tell. Still, everyone believes it does.”

Caroline pulled on her coat and started buttoning it. “Have you made a study of it?” she asked distractedly.

“A little because of my birthday. According to Polish myth, werewolves are born on Christmas Day. It’s an affront to God or something.” Natalie turned to Caroline and grinned. “I’m not one, by the way,” she said, holding up her hands.

“That’s good to know,” Caroline said, belting up her coat and hoisting the strap of her handbag over her shoulder. “Well, I think it’s time we pushed off. Do you live very far from here? I can give you a lift.”

“Not far, but no.” Natalie retrieved the gift basket from under the chair and joined Caroline at the door. “I’m meeting my brother downstairs. Actually there’s something I wanted to ask you about.”

“Sure. Let’s walk and talk.” Caroline led the way through the darkened office to the brightly lit lift lobby. She pressed the button to call for a lift and smiled at Natalie. “What’s on your mind?”

Natalie watched the progress of the lift’s journey up from the ground floor on the electronic display above its doors. “It’s about what you said earlier and Caesar’s wife. Is that going to be in effect for all our health campaigns from now on, or just the ‘New You’ one?”

“Ideally, yes-” A whistling howl of racing wind filling the lift shaft interrupted Caroline’s reply. She grimaced at the noise. “Leading by example is so important, I think.” The lift arrived and she ushered Natalie to get in first. “At the very least I’d like us to be seen to be practicing what we preach.” She hit the button for the ground floor.

“Like a religion?” Natalie asked slowly, gnawing softly on her bottom lip.

“Well no, but in many ways, yes.” Caroline tittered at the analogy; she hadn’t thought of Public Health quite like that before, but now that she had, she rather liked it; she would use it in the future. “Our bodies are temples after all.”

They reached the ground floor and started toward the exit to the car park. Caroline’s elegant heels click-clacked on the polished stone floor as she crossed the Reception area. A lone security guard sat behind the counter, looking bored. “Merry Christmas,” she called to him as she passed.

Natalie stopped at the counter, placing the gift basket on it. “Hey Caroline!” she shouted at the retreating figure of her boss. “Caroline. Have you met my twin brother Gene?”

Caroline stopped and walked back to Natalie and the guard, who was prodding at the gift basket with his finger, nose wrinkled.

“I didn’t know your brother worked here, Nat,” she said, apprehensively. She’d barely paid the security guard any attention before, but now that she looked, she could see the resemblance between him and Natalie. He was darker and hairier than her, but they had the same eyes. “So it’s your birthday tomorrow as well? What time will you be finishing?”

“Tomorrow,” Gene replied sullenly.

“Oh well. Happy birthday for tomorrow anyway.” Caroline nodded and turned to leave. “To both of you. And have a lovely Christmas.” Pleasantries concluded, and with the exit in sight, all she wanted to do was leave.

“Caroline’s a vegan, Gene.” Natalie’s voice rung out clearly across reception. “She wants us to give up eating meat for the New Year.”

Caroline stopped in her tracks. “Now Natalie…” She turned and was enveloped in a cloud of steam.

“And vaping,” Natalie said drawing on her vape contraption and releasing another cloud of steam in Caroline’s direction. “She’s thinking of starting a religion.”

“What? Another one?” Gene sneered. “Is there a fucking seminary, churning out Public Health priests?”

Caroline held her breath and batted the vapour cloud away. She was lost for words and perplexed at the sudden change in her secretary; she’d never encountered such insubordination before. “You’re not allowed-”

“Not allowed?” Natalie roared, interrupting Caroline. “I’m not allowed to vape inside? Why not? There’s nobody else here.” She turned to her brother. “Is anybody else left in the building, Gene?”

Gene’s jaw jerked forwards several times, as if it was trying to leave his face. “No, sis. Just us,” he barked and gnashed his teeth. “They made sure they all left in good time,” he croaked.

“Now look here-” Caroline was interrupted again, this time by Gene falling off his chair, his body convulsing violently. “Oh my god! Is he okay? Natalie?!”

Natalie peered serenely over the reception counter. “Yeah, he’s fine. He’ll just be a second.” She turned her attention back to Caroline. “But you might not be,” she said coldly. “That’s up to you.”

Caroline’s mouth flapped silently. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing or hearing. The sound of tortured whines and yelps coming from behind the desk hurt her ears. The stretching, cracking and snapping noises were turning her legs to jelly. “I… I… I…”

“That’s right,” Natalie spat, “it’s all about you, isn’t it Caroline? You want to turn everybody into an replica image of you because you’re so wonderful.” She blew another cloud of vape in her boss’s direction. “Don’t think the rest of us here don’t know what you’re up to. The way you constantly judge us. We’ve seen it all before. And to be frank, we’re fucking tired of it.”

A maleficent howl reverberated around the empty reception lobby. Caroline’s bladder gave way, as did her legs, and she collapsed to the floor with a sodden thump. She sobbed in horror as the howling suddenly stopped, to be replace by a deeply sinister growl. What is happening? her mind whimpered.

Natalie crouched down next to the quaking Caroline. She put her arm around her back and held her upright. “It was funny you mentioning werewolves earlier. It must be your obsession with transformation that made you think of it. Time for your gift, I think.”

She lifted the shaking woman to her feet and walked her closer to the reception desk. Pulling up Caroline’s coat sleeve to reveal her trembling arm, Natalie gave three sharp whistles. A snarling maw appeared.

“I like you Caroline. I don’t want to have to kill you like all the rest,” Natalie cooed. “They’ll just install another knob, exactly like you, to try and change us.” She gave another whistle, low and long.

Caroline shrieked in pain and terror as Gene’s slavering jaws clamped around her arm. She felt a viscous pooling of blood and saliva on the desktop beneath her arm. She screamed again.

Natalie smacked Gene’s snout firmly and whistled again. Caroline’s arm fell limply from his jaws and he backed away, growling and licking his chops.

“That, Caroline, is your Christmas gift from me and the rest of your work colleagues,” Natalie whispered fiercely into her ear. “Transformation. You are going to be amazed at how different the ‘New You’ will be next month.”

*******

Have a Song, Dear Reader 😀

More Of US

I meant to post about this earlier, Dear Reader, but have been rather remiss due to other matters requiring my attention…

On the evening of the 20th November 2018, the Red universe of MEROVEE disappeared…

Merovee gone blue

*Poor Frank! Tremayne-dos fella… /sparks light… Oh no, Poor Us! Everything we’ve posted there over the past six years, cruelly snatched away… /lights up… I gotta say, that’s a fucking weird image for WordPress to backdrop their message with, Clicky… /drags… Cheering crowds? …/streams smoke… Arms raised…*

*/smokes… Hmm… /thinks*

Weirdly enough, four days later on Saturday 24th November 2018, Dear Reader, an army of ‘Yellow Vests’ took to the streets of Paris, Franc-e, demonstrating against a rise in Green taxes…

*If you take the yellow out of green, you’re left with blue… /flicks ash… An’ if you take the red out of purple, you’re left with blue…*

*Didn’t Brazil recently elect their own ‘Orange Man’, Clicky? …/stubs butt… Witch means if you take the red/excretion/piss out of ‘Trump’, you get yellow…*

Fortunately, Dear Reader, there is a new MEROVEE sight, although its address has changed to Meroveus…. More Of Us… Sounds scary 😉

Have a Song…