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…

Stack The Deck…

*Tell me about it, Clicky… /lights up…*

Apols! for the lack of posting recently, Dear Reader. It’s been a busy couple of weeks writing and editing for the upcoming ‘Underdog Anthology VII: Christmas Lights… And Darks’…

*/drags… Yep, just waiting on final checks by the authors now, Clicky…*

Hopefully the book will be available to purchase before the end of the week. It’s well worth a read as it contains some absolutely cracking short stories. A perfect stocking filler…

*Not like that, Clicky… /blows…*

Perhaps it’s the general mood, but this time round I’ve had a go at writing a ‘dark’ tale for a change… as well giving a beloved Christmas carol a good kicking in the Afterword…

*Oh that’s way too upbeat, Clicky… /flicks ash…*

Currently in the UK, we’re watching the Brexit debacle unfold. The ‘DisMay’ Deal of Tessie Jackboots is being debated in Parliament, against the backdrop of ‘Project Fear’ projected throughout Mainstream Media. The upside is that it has made choosing this year’s offering for mutilation on the Dead Poets’ Page rather easy.

Musician Thomas Oliphant (born 1799, died 1873) provided the lyrics for the perennial favourite of carol singers everywhere. And as MPs prepare to vote on the future of the country, ‘Deck the Halls’ lends itself to ‘Stack the Deck’ rather neatly. Possibly too neatly… Judge for yourself.

Tweet a load of Brexit Bollocks

Blah-blah-blah-blah-blah, blah-blah-blah-blah

‘Twas the fault of voting Morlocks

Aargh-argh-argh-argh-argh, argh-argh-argh-argh

Back the PM in her deal

Baa-baa-baa, baa-baa-baa, baa-baa-baa

Troll with fear ’til it seems real

Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-HA!

Apparatchiks brag of d’Accord!

Ooh-la-la-la-la, Ooh-la-la-la

Strikes a deal to keep us shackled

Ja-ja-ja-ja-ja, ja-ja-Jawohl!

Says its one thing, means another

Lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie, lie-lie-lie

Make the plebs embrace Big Brother

Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-HA!

Stack the deck with drones and toadies

Waah-waa-waa-waa-waa, waah-waa-waa-waa

Offer bribes of jobs and trophies

Fnah-ha-ha-ha-ha, Fnah-ha-Woo-ha!

Fingers in ears, deal together

La-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la

We’ll stay EU-bound forever

Bwah-ha-ha-ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-HA!

Who knows how our milksop politicians will vote next week, Dear Reader. In the meantime… Have a Song 😉

*******

Friday 7th December 2018 – UPDATE!

Underdog Anthology VII is now available to buy, Dear Reader, for Kindle and as paperback via Amazon, and at Smashwords. This volume of the series also includes photos of the authors… 😀

 

Missive From ‘Merica: ‘K, Ask Cade…

Dear Reader, if you were expecting a post about the Doctor Who episode, ‘The Tsranga Management’, I mean ‘Conundrum’, then I’m very sorry but it’s not finished yet. There was so much ‘synchy’ stuff in it, and I have been busy harvesting gifs…

*It’s Cade’s birthday on Thursday, Clicky… /lights up… He’s gonna be 51…*

Anti Matter Matters 1

*/drags… No, 1967, Clicky, not the 67th century…*

… But fortunately Cade has stepped into the breach and sent through a missive…

Graham Birth Prep

*/plumes smoke… No, you’re finking of ‘breech’, Clicky… /flicks ash… Breach means ‘gap’…*

… And we are delighted to be able to present it for your reading pleasure, below… ❤

*******

!Goo Ten Tauk Scam Baags!

I’m giving serious consideration to changing my name to Auntie Prose. Ya see, it’s like this… I just saw a tweet from the one and only RooBeeDoo, and that Tweet talked about some fuck who appears to be the founder of ANTIFA. Yeah, it appears ANTIFA has a founder. Not to get too far off course here, but shit like that really bends my head and always has.

EX: anarchy/anarchist groups, nihilists, etc.: You’ve got people who need to form groups, to oppose other groups. Now, I’m guessing that if you form some group, and the formation of this group doesn’t inspire the creation of an opposition, it could be said that you stand unopposed. Welp, that’s likely gonna scare some people. No one likes a group that stands unopposed, unless of course you are a member of said unopposed group. Then everything is fine and dandy.

Digresso-supremo.

Anti-Pro’s: It’s not a new concept. Professional opposition. Hired-hands, muscle, goons, soldiers of fortune, mercenaries, private security companies, private security forces, bouncers, luddites, unions, union-busters, and even professional law enforcement and armies…you name it…we like to outsource the muscle work. Professional Antis. Supposedly, even God has manifested a professional Anti that is said to oppose him/her or whatever.

So if George Soros, or anyone else for that matter, really did fund/is funding the hiring of muscle for ANTIFA, so what? I bet that around election time, your own political party hires all kinds of canvassers, phone bank workers, envelope stuffers, signs and poster makers, t-shit and bumper sticker makers, graphic designers, image consultants, accountants, creative consultants, and all kinds of peeps to get your message across…hammer that message in so you can win come election day.

So yeah, muscle-work. Even if they are unpaid volunteers, you are still creating the roles/positions for these volunteers to fall into. Auntie Prose, I’ve acquired a new nickname.

^Adam Beyer & Bart Skils – Your Mind (Original Mix)^

You ever wonder how many miles are on motor oil before it even goes into your car? Seriously, what kind of shake-and-bake bullshit has to transpire to make the different “crude” oils what they are, and how many miles did that oil travel in the process in order to process into what it is?

Method for age-dating oil is developed. STANFORD — The Jurassic (180 million to 140 million years ago) was a very good age for oil formation. So too was the Cretaceous (140 million to 65 million years ago). But, until now, oil industry experts have lacked a direct way to date their crude. – Aug 4, 1994

– Source: Google – 11 November 2018

Damn, no progress since 1994? There are a lot of different crude oil types, so the fact that they’ve not developed a method to date these things say to me that it’s likely that someone has developed a method, but it’s probably locked away as some trade secret. Anyway, so it appears science is still hooked on the notion that dinosaur blubber is the origin(s) of most crude oils, so let’s us use a median average between 65 and 180 million years. 180 + 65 = 245, and 245 / 2 = 122.5, so we’ll go with 122.5 million years.

K, so we’ve got a few dynamics to calculate here. Earth’s rotational speed around its own axis, Earth’s rotational speed around our Sun/Sol, and our Sun/Sol’s rotational speed through the Milky Way Galaxy. There’s also going to be some dynamics that we are going to leave out, like calculations involving the distance(s) that our planet travels as it wobbles on its own axis, we’ve got aphelion and perihelion which are baselines for the distances that Earth/Terra travels toward and away from the Sun/Sol, we’re also going to have the distances that various oil deposits travel to and from each other as our planet’s crust moves here and there, and there are considerations with respect to velocity and speed as to the geographic location of a particular deposit and it’s position relative to Earth’s axis, distance from the Sun/Sol at a given moment, distance from the galactic core.

That’s not all of them, but there is also likely to be some zeroing as some of these planes cross each other here and there, and I personally would prefer not to think about those right now just for the sake of space.

(lolz...”for the sake of space”...lolz)
^Veerus – Heavy (Original Mix)^

Earth/Terra spins at approximately 1,000mph, which is 460 m/s, which is 503 yards per second. That’s why I added that image above. That’s the new Texas Stadium or Cowboys Stadium or AT&T Stadium or whatever it’s called, and the football field itself, endzone to endzone, is 100 yards long. Contextually, your ass is slinging around the planet and covering 5 of those distances every second, of every day. So I guess your ass is indeed pretty big afterall if it can cover 500 yards in a single second.

Earth/Terra spins around our Sun/Sol at approximately 67,000 mph, which is 29,952 m/s, which is 32,756 yards per second. That means that, heading around the Sun/Sol, your ass is covering the distance of almost 328 football fields every second of every day.

Let's recap...

We cover 5 football fields per second around our own planet.

86,400 seconds in a day for a total of 432,000 football fields per day.

We cover 328 football fields per second around our own star.

86,400 seconds in a day for a total of 28,339,200 football fields per day.

We'z coverin' some ground, eh? Let's go galactic.
^Deep Dimension – So 1992 (Radio Slave & P.Leone Remix)^

Just curious about something before we go galactic…

…does that looks like it’s moving at several different speeds in several different directions all at the same time to you? Looks kinda still…almost placid.

Meh fuckit...whatever.

Look, I know it prolly appears that I sometimes employ some delaying types of tactics in my writing. You’d be right to make such an assumption, because I do. I have no clue who reads this shit, nor what they get out of it. However, what I do know, is that if you start thinking about some of this shit, and start getting the hang of visualizing and understanding it, you’re gonna feel it. Yeah, you are likely to actually feel shit being all spinny and wobbly and speedy, and it’s likely to make more than just and only your head spin.

Not saying that it will happen, but if it does happen, I would like for you to have a little bit of a heads-up as to what might be coming. I had no such warning, and had to learn a lot of this shit the hard way. It is not my intention to fuck with your head – would just like to maybe give you something to grab onto should you need to do so. When thinking about this kind of shit when I was younger, I’ve gotten stuck in loops to where I couldn’t stop thinking about it, shit wouldn’t stop spinning and wobbling, and it was some scary-assed shit to experience. Felt like it was never going to end, and I usually wound up in a sobbing mess on the floor crying myself silly.

(softly of course...don't want to attract attention to yourself...another lesson hard-learned)
^B.Traits – I Feel The Music (Original Mix)^

OK!!! So…the Sun/Sol travels around the Milky Way Galaxy at approximately 515,000mph, which is 230,226 m/s, which is 251,778 yards per second. That means that, as our Sun/Sol + our own planet is traveling through our own galaxy, our collective asses are covering the distance of almost 2,518 football fields every second of every day. With that in mind, let’s add one more quick calc that I didn’t mention before, and that is the speed at which our own Milky Way Galaxy is thought to move through the Universe.

Our galaxy moves through The Universe at approximately 1,300,000mph, which is 581,152 m/s, which is 635,556 yards per second. That means that, as our galaxy flies around the Universe, a lot of collective asses are covering almost 6,356 football fields, every second, of every day. Let’s sling some ketchup on this hotdog…

We cover 5 football fields per second around our own planet.

86,400 seconds in a day for a total of 432,000 football fields per day.

We cover 328 football fields per second around our own star.

86,400 seconds in a day for a total of 28,339,200 football fields per day.

We cover 2,518 football fields per second around our own galaxy.

86,400 seconds in a day for a total of 217,555,200 football fields per day.

We cover 6,356 football fields per day around our own Universe.

86,400 seconds in a day for a total of 549,158,400 football fields per day.

So far, we each of us are covering combined distances the equivalent of 795,484,800 American Football fields per day. No wonder everyone is always so tired, eh? And speaking of being tired, can you imagine the numbers that are about to come out the other side when we start trying to figure out how much distance oil has traveled over the past 122.5 million years? I’m thinking this shit already has some MAJOR fucking mileage on it before the first drop ever even makes it to your car’s engine.

^UMEK – Collision Wall (Original Mix) [Tronic]^

Nauseous yet? Me too. Let’s us take another detour.

Emmitt Smith
Walter Payton
Svetlana_Khorkina
Alberto Tomba
San Lazzaro di Savena
Villanovan Culture
Villanova University
Philadelphia
Pennsylvania
Drake Well
Edwin Drake
Titusville, Pennsylvania
Seneca People
Piper PA-34 Seneca

Ever stop and wonder about what it takes to overcome some of these forces that are happening without our knowledge? We don’t even think about this shit most of the time, so when you do start thinking about it, shit can sometimes get a little wonky, and you gotta find a way to reel your ass back into the here and now. We don’t want to be that drowning person that will grab anything and everything to save their own ass, because we might wind up drowning someone else in the process. So let’s think a bit about Emmitt Smith, a dude that likely never would have ran a single step in the NFL had Jimmy Johnson never been hired to replace Tom Landry as head coach of The Dallas Cowboys, and how in the flying-fuck this unlikely guy went on to break the unbreakable NFL rushing record that was set by Walter Payton of The Chicago Bears.

Have you thought about it? Me too...let's move on.
^SRVD – Elevate^

November 11, 2018. Veteran’s Day. Armistice Day. 100 years ago, some guns went silent…for a while. Just thought I’d give it a mention, but what and who I personally am thinking about are not so much the veterans as much as I’m thinking about those that remember.

Yeah, us.

I’m thinking about what we are thinking about. I don’t know you, and I have no idea what you are thinking about. I’ve seen some tweets here and there this morning, and I admit that I have a jaded side to me that wonders why someone would announce what they are thinking with respect to a war that seems to be pretty much a complete mystery to almost everyone. Is it some bandwagon effect that makes people make various remembrance posts on Armistice Day?

Well fuck, what's wrong with a bandwagon on a celebratory day?

I was under the impression that bandwagons were almost a requirement at celebrations. Assuming they are available anyway. War tends to be hard on wagons, carts and other wheeled vehicles. It’s weird what is at a premium, to whom and when.

Octane Rating

I wonder if Mad Max was ever really concerned about the octane rating of his fuel.

^I Love It More Than My Life.^

Did you happen to notice that I selected an image of Cowboys Stadium that had an American flag covering the entire playing area of the football field?

I wonder why I did that.

Prolly all the brainwashing and programming that takes place in order to make me some “rah-rah” type of good old-fashioned American citizen type person. But it also could have been for more than one reason. Like say…letting some overseas friends know the actual length in distance that this 100 yard measuring stick entails. They might get confused and think that the endzones are included in that 100 yard distance, but they aren’t. Not to mention that the lateral distances (width) that are contained/represented in a football field tends to add a largeness to the measure that just ain’t there.

List of Unusual Units of Measurement

We like to break things down into more relatable units, but using an American Football field can be deceiving. I’ll give you an example of what I’m talking about by trying to find out how many threads are contained in the flag that is pictured above.

The story behind the massive American flags at sporting events

K, that article doesn’t tell us how many threads are used in the making of one of these huge flags. However, the article does mention that the flags weigh 1,200 lbs (544 kg), and it also mentions the company that rents these things out.

50 Star Productions

Those poor bastards are gonna have to change their name if Puerto Rico ever gets statehood or Hawaii bails. I hope that happens, because these asshats don’t have a FAQ on their website. Anyway, yeah, football fields are 160 feet wide (53.33 yards), so that width can be deceiving when using a football field as a standard measure of length. Especially since these football fields tend to be located in these massive stadiums that seat tens of thousands of people. I’m not trying to deceive anyone, so I personally suggest you take a single 100 yard long thread out of that flag, then stretch that thread out straight. You can then kinda bop back and forth between the thread and the football field to kinda maintain your bearings a little better.

^Enrico Sangiuliano – Hidden T – Drumcode – DC190 [II – Cosmic Forces]^

Let’s see how far we travel, in football field lengths, in the span of one year. Here’s our base with our bases.

Earth’s Axial Rotation = 432,000 football fields per day.

Earth’s Solar Rotation = 28,339,200 football fields per day.

Sol’s Galactic Speed/Rotation = 217,555,200 football fields per day.

Milky Way’s Speed/Rotation = 549,158,400 football fields per day.

Let’s use a 4 year cycle since there is an extra day in a year every fourth year, which means 1,461 days. We are using a median average of 122.5 million years, so let’s find out how many 4-year cycles are contained in 122.5 million years.

122,500,000 / 4 = 30,625,000

So what we’ll do, is find out how many football field distances are covered in 1,461 days, then see if we can estimate some distances terrestrial oil deposits have traveled over the past 100+ million years. I’m also gonna do this…

Earth’s Axial Rotation = AD (Axial Distance)

Earth’s Solar Rotation = SD (Solar Distance)

Sol’s Galactic Speed/Rotation = GDI (Galactic Distance Internal

Milky Way’s Speed/Rotation = GDE (Galactic Distance External)

Gotta keep in mind that we are observing all this shit from the fixed point that is our own planet. There are both internal and external galactic speeds which will vary, they have varied over time, and they will continue to vary over time. We’re just trying to get the most basic of ideas as to how many miles are on unused motor oil, and I’m trying to do so without taking certain things into consideration. Things like vertical distance traveled from below ground to surface, distance traveled from surface to storage, distance traveled from storage to refinery, distance traveled within the refinery itself, on and on. It never stops.

^Adam Beyer, Layton Giordani & Green Velvet – Space Date (Original Mix) [Drumcode]^

It’s now Sunday evening, I’ve just finished watching a movie called Sleuth, and as you may have guessed, I’m contemplating some dynamics that keeps a curved vector/trajectory curved.

Think about the Earth spinning, but instead of the curve continuing to curve during a rotation, the surface of the planet begins to peel off and straighten. If you think about peeling a tater or apple or something similar, it probably won’t be that difficult to imagine the surface of our planet peeling off. The dynamics that keep a curve vector curved tho?

Yeah, weird shit.

Take peeling an avocado for example. Or maybe a tomato. You are going to encounter forces that are working much harder to keep that peel on, and you are going to have to utilize specialized tools/processes to get those skins off. And yes, I’m well aware of you fucks that are going to say that peeling a fruit or vegetable while on the Earth’s surface is in no way representative of the forces at work which keep the planet’s crust in place. Fair enough….my shit doesn’t fit into your architectures.

But you fucks are missing something.

I sometimes get the feeling that you are looking right at it. It’s right here for us all to see. I’m not trying to find ways to defeat these dynamics, nor am I looking for ways to overcome them. But something very interesting that I’ve considered over the past few months and years is a concept that it may in fact be possible for matter to operate according to two separate governing dynamics. In these instances, two bodies that are independently operating according to opposite sets of dynamics can come into proximity to one another, but only for limited times, interaction(s) is/are limited, and any deviation by either is catastrophic.

^Jay Lumen – Stella Luce – Drumcode – DC195^

I admit that I’m having difficulty getting this bullshit over and done with. I really don’t want to have to start slamming these big numbers together, but fuckit, let’s get this shit over with.

AD

432,000 x 30,625,000 = 13,230,000,000,000 x 4 = 52,920,000,000,000

So, Earth has spun the length of 52,920,000,000,000 football fields in the last 112.5 million years.

SD

28,339,200 x 30,625,000 = 867,888,000,000,000 x 4 = 3,471,552,000,000,000

So, Earth has circled the length of 3,471,552,000,000,000 football fields around our sun in the last 112.5 million years.

GDI

217,555,200 x 30,625,000 = 6,662,628,000,000,000 x 4 = 26,650,512,000,000,000

So, our Sun/Sol + Earth has traveled the length of 26,650,512,000,000,000 football fields through our own galaxy in the last 112.5 million years.

GDE

549,158,400 x 30,625,000 = 16,817,976,000,000,000 x 4 = 67,271,904,000,000,000

So, our galaxy has traveled the length of 67,271,904,000,000,000 football fields around the Universe in the last 112.5 million years.

That’s a lotta miles, in a lotta different directions, all at the same time, over a very long period of time. Now, this is just me, but that brand new oil you just bought to put in your car? Yeah, it’s got some SERIOUS fucking mileage on it already. Might wanna think about changing it.

^Wehbba – Just (Original Mix)^

How was that for you? Pretty good I hope.

What's that?

Yes…I feel better too, thanks for asking. Sometimes I think it’s good to go ahead and explore these things a little bit further to get a better understanding of what kinds of distances and volumes we are talking about. I mean, we are talking about oil, which means that we are also talking about oil fields. With football fields, and even the similar football pitches or rugby fields, we can get a better idea about the size(s) and volume(s) of mass moving through vast distances at great speeds over very long periods of time. Which will bring me to my next point, which is…

Q: As the volume of oil and oil reserves on our planet decreases over time, what effect(s) is that going to have down the road on the orbital dynamics of this planet?

A: ?¿?¿@!#$%^&?¿?¿

Yeah, I don’t fucking know either. But I do think about displacement and relocation a lot, and especially as those concepts relate to the more terrestrial dynamics of things like plate tectonics, the ebb and flow of tides, wind and water currents, and virtually anything and everything that moves or doesn’t move. This is right down to the migratory habits of animals, any aberrations thereof, and the potential causes. I do try to keep in mind tho that Naturalism is still a fairly new concept within the modern context. I mean fuck, The Origin of Species was published in November of 1859.

That ain't that long ago.

Horology is not a popular science so far as I’m aware of, and the lure of the quantum realms seems to be holding the attention of many people. So let’s break on out of here, and talk a bit about that Camp Creek Road Fire that’s causing quite a bit of dismay out in Californy right now.

^Joyhauser – Galaxy Phase (Original Mix)^

Watched a video by the Blancolirio channel on YT today, and Juan is stating that all indications are, at this point, pointing to the fire being caused by power lines. Oddly enough, there was a vague reference in a movie today to an English power provider, but I’ll let Roob expand further on that here if she chooses to do so.

Cade spots name in numberplate Sleuth

*The number plate on that car is too small to properly see, Clicky…*

Sleuth Cade Car Numberplate

*Much better… /pats snout… Although the movie was not as good as the original…*

Anyway, we’ve got loads of high-tension lines that span this great country of ours. Not only high-tension lines, but roads, train tracks, underground pipes and wiring of all kinds, and I’m wondering what this shit has been doing and is going to continue to be doing to ground movement(s). You also got farming and irrigation, plus river damming and river redirection to consider…just sayin. But if land can’t move, is that more likely to cause that land to be less receptive to the absorption of water?

I’m just thinking that if these lateral forces aren’t allowed to move in the ways that they are accustomed to moving in, couldn’t that potentially cause the lateral forces eventually begin to interfere and/or intermingle with the more vertical forces in ways we’ve not previously considered? Maybe soil preparation(s) and/or improvements on land aren’t the only factors involved in all of these sinkholes that keep appearing everywhere. If you force two things together long enough, sumpin’s gotta give.

^Y-Traxx – Mystery Land (Spektre Remix)^

Ever stopped to think about how interstate highways and other roadways affect the migration and movement of wildlife? Or is that kind of thinking only important when some critter jumps out in front of your automobile and threatens your insurance rates. Welp, there’s a lot more caging going on than just only zoos and pet shops.

Q: Do you know what it is to “cage” a gyro?

A: ¿╝0╚|╗0╔?

Maybe you should look that up. It’s kinda on the subject(s) of what we’ve talked about here. Wind turbines and solar farms just kinda highlight a lot of the killing that goes on daily that no one sees or cares about. But yeah, caged gyros and/or gyro caging…check it out if you want.

Or not.
^Pan-Pot – Weltlinie^

I wonder how our planet was able to accommodate the accumulation of all these oil deposits in the first place. I mean, were there at one time, layers of hollow that filled up after all the dinosaurs croaked? Just thinking, that if oil indeed comes from decaying organic matter, dinosaurs are the source primary source of this organic matter, yet dinosaurs were killed by some catastrophic meteor/asteroid or comet? Welp, that prolly doesn’t bode well for there being a bunch of hollows filled by rotting dinosaur flesh. Seems like if there was some acute global trauma, and the planet had hollows, there would have been lots of collapsing and collapses. So how’d this shit get to where it is? Especially all that shit under the ocean(s).

Something don't add up.

Prolly because I never went to school/am uneducated. That said, maybe there was a bunch of hollows that collapsed, loads of shit went in when things collapsed, then it was all covered up over time. I mean hell, The Bible talks about shit getting swallowed up in short order, and not just and only the Bible. All kinds of other stories the recount things getting swallowed up.

^Cajmere – Percolator (Will Clarke Remix) [Relief]^

I just looked down at the page counter and noticed that I’m on page 8/8, so I’m gonna STFU now. I don’t want Roob to have a panic attack upon opening this piece of shit. I hope and trust that your weekend was a grand one, and that your coming week be full of happiness and smooth sailing for you and yours.

Namastate
^SCB – Extinct (ANNA Remix)^
cYa | cFa
^Cirez D – Dare You (Original Mix) [Mouseville]^

*******

*Oh yeah, Clicky… /stubs butt… he’s definitely got imagination. An’ then some…*

We hope you enjoyed you enjoyed the missive, Dear Reader. We’re off now to ‘Demons in the Pun-jab’. Have a Song 😉

Spied ‘Er!

Dear Reader, if you’ve been following my ramblings here at the LoL, you’ll know I’ve been investigating the ‘Fallen Goddess’ scenario, and more specifically the Gnostic Aeon Sophia’s Correction narrative espoused by John Lamb Lash…

*/lights up… ‘Kyle’ means ‘narrows’, Clicky… /drags… I did knot gno that… /fills lungs with smoke… or that it’s a city in Texas… /streams smoke…*

… Witch is why the new female incarnation of Doctor Who is so fascinating to me, despite the show’s makers’ obvious predilection for shoehorning married lesbians into every story line…

*Her? …./flicks ash… Ugh! Hideous! Gno wonder the Yanks elected a complete Tool…*

… But I watched last weekend’s episode with some trepidation, Dear Reader, because… Well, my name is RooB and I am a Recovering Arachnophobe…

*Thanks, Clicky… /drags… but that’s really not necess-…*

*-ary… /blooms smoke… Ooh that’s what I doo when I get home from work…*

… I remote viewed Sunday’s spider episode on Monday with Cade, and discussed it later with – who else? – Legs…

Leggy and Roob discuss Doctor Who Spider Episode 1Leggy and Roob discuss Doctor Who Spider Episode 2Leggy and Roob discuss Doctor Who Spider Episode 3Leggy and Roob discuss Doctor Who Spider Episode 4Leggy and Roob discuss Doctor Who Spider Episode 5

*/drags… That’s an interesting point he makes about Frankie’s phone, Clicky… /blows smoke rings… It contained all the dirt on what the Trump surrogate wanted hidden…*

Frankie Phone Talk

*Whereas the Trump surrogate’s phone…*

Trump surrogate Phone.gif

*…Was left lying next to the sync…*

Trump Surrogate Phone 2.gif

*… And got covered IN dirt…*

 

Trump Surrogate Phone 6

*Good fing… /final drag… I don’t know any Frankies, Clicky… /winks… Or Kevins… /breathes out smoke…*

Suffocating Baddies

*The Remnants from ‘The Ghost Monument’? …/stubs butt… Now you come to mention it, Clicky, they are a bit Archon-like in appearance…*

As for all the Political Correctness paving the show, Dear Reader, I can’t help but feel that the makers of ‘Doctor Who’ haven’t quite grasped where their liberalness with good intentions might possible lead…

Have a Song 😉

 

 

 

 

Story Time: A Goohuul

If you found our first Halloween offering quite tricky, Dear Reader, this next story is something of a treat. It’s by my good friend, Cade the Okie Devil from Text US, and appears in ‘Underdog Anthology VI: The Gallows Stone’…

pumpkin treat

*Faught you’d perk up for that, Clicky… /flicks ash…*

Dear Reader… Enjoy! ❤

*******

A Goohuul

by Cade F.O.N Apollyon

Yarnip County Texas is likely the strangest county in the entire state. It appears on no maps. It does not appear on nor in any registry. There is no county-seat, as there are no towns. It has no courthouses. No sheriff. No police departments. No fire departments. No hospitals nor clinics. In fact, except for the ice-skating rink in the southeast corner of the county that sometimes doubles as a roller-rink, Yarnip County Texas has no real infrastructure to speak of at all. There are plenty of roads that lead to and through Yarnip County, but not a single crossroads in it’s length and breadth. There is only one permanent resident, and yet, at certain times of the year…Yarnip County Texas has the largest population in the entire Universe.

I know, I know…you are thinking that I’m telling some tall-tale in order to spin some investment opportunity or encourage tourism. But if you take a minute to actually ponder the merits of your own skepticism, why would I even need to encourage tourism to a location that is already, at times, the most populous place in the entire Universe? Yes, I am the guy that actually lives there. But I’ve already got so much money I could never spend it, and I’ve also got so many trinkets and gifts from visitors, that were I to sell them all, I’d pretty much have all the money on the entire planet. Plus, I don’t sell any of the gifts that are given me, nor do I sell any of the trinkets that I find. And believe you me, with all the traffic we get here, there is plenty of stuff left behind.

So you are likely wondering if I am a junk collector who is trying to sell off his collection. No. I’m the owner/operator of an ice-skating rink that sometimes doubles as a roller-rink. Junk collecting is more of a hobby that doubles as my attempt at being a responsible citizen due to the amount of flotsam and jetsam that this county accumulates during the course of the year.

Let me give you an example of what I am talking about. If someone passes through on a weekend trip, and accidentally leaves their Blarrchuck Moopeen Grinder, or a pair of Mastelline Vipps? They are going to come looking for it/them. I once found the entire Senate Building for The Realm of Cipotci, but I wasn’t aware of it at the time. I took it home, put it on my dresser, and even contemplated cutting a hole in the top to use as a change bank, although I never did. Good thing that I didn’t, because the Ipo of Cipotsi herself came looking for the building, and it turns out that the entire Senate was actually still inside the building and in-session. Just a misunderstanding that quasi-cascaded into a comedy of errors because of some chance encounters. The Ipo was very gracious though in the end, and she’s now aware of both me and the fact that I lurk and roam these parts with mostly the best of intentions. That said, the particulars about how the Senate Building from The Realm of Cipotsi wound up in Yarnip County Texas is a story for another time.

You’ve likely guessed by now that I am the founder of Yarnip County Texas. Well, technically, you’d be wrong. I only gave it the name. Yarnip County Texas is actually as old as The Universe itself, and I’m just a newcomer that just so happened to be paying attention at just the wrong time, in exactly the wrong place. But those unfortunate events inspired me to eventually give my home a name, Yarnip County. I even gave it a slogan; “Always Passin’ Thru!” But I’m not really here to talk about that, nor even about myself, as much as I am to talk about one particular event that happened about ten years ago. It’s something that is on my mind daily, and I try diligently to neither suppress nor recall that and those events. For the most part, I just sorta try and let the memories be what they are, and go on about my life as best I can.

She introduced herself as Abbey Attrix. I was pretty sure from the start that this was not her “real” name, but it didn’t really matter to me one way or the other. She told me that she had some friends that were meeting her here in a few hours, and wanted to know if she could rent the rink and skate alone until they arrived. I asked her for how long, she glanced at what I assumed was her watch, and told me that she could pay me $50 and would also let me have her watch if I would let her have the rink for two hours. She held up her arm, and around her wrist was one of the most unusual watches I’d ever seen. It had only one hand, a minute hand, and two digital readouts; one for the hours, and one for the seconds. It had a deep red face that seemed to be surrounded by some kind of internal light source that was a combination of blue and red that cycled somehow…it appeared very expensive.

Let me state that it’s not unusual to have individuals show up alone and want to rent the rink for themselves, nor do I personally think that it’s particularly strange when someone wants to rent the rink alone. Afterall, I built the rink for myself so that I could be alone and skate alone, so it’s really no surprise to me that others also seek solitude on the ice. However, when I looked into her face and into her eyes, I perceived there was a distance between us that I could never plumb. I could make all of the observations and conjectures that I wanted, but time itself seemed to be slipping away before me, and I could tell by her occasional glances out toward the rink that she just wanted to get onto the ice. She’d been running from something, but that running was about to cease.

I told her that she could keep her watch, and that $40 would do for two hours as I had nothing scheduled and was unlikely to have any chance renters pop in other than herself. She agreed, retrieved two twenty dollar bills from her bag which she then handed to me, and I asked her what size skate she wore. She told me her size, I went and retrieved a pair of ice skates in her size, returned and gave them to her, then I retreated to the DJ booth to put on some music. By the time I had arrived at the DJ booth, she had already put on her skates and was headed for the ice. I grabbed the microphone and asked her if she had any preferences, but she just smiled and shook her head no, leaving the musical selections up to me. Her hair was very short, and until she smiled at me, I hadn’t noticed just how beautiful she was. I’m a professional afterall; I’m here to operate an ice-skating rink, not pick up chicks.

Abbey had already began to skate a bit, and I could already tell that she knew how to skate as I pressed play on the CD player…

“The whispers, in the moment…of lovers sleeping tight…”

No sooner had Celine Dion finished breathing the first line of The Power Of Love, that I looked out to the ice, and saw Abbey slide to a ice crystal spraying stop, put her hands on her hips and look down her nose at me in mock-contempt as she smiled. I couldn’t help but smile back and laugh a little as she stood there, smiling and tapping the toe of her ice skate the way a mother might. I immediately hit the stop button on the CD player, glanced up and noticed that she was still tapping her foot as I rummaged quickly through the CD’s to find a different song. I admit that I noticed that the Jennifer Rush version of this same song was handy, and I contemplated putting it in the CD player as an attempt at being funny, but this was Abbey’s time. She paid for it, so I decided to hit her with a musical blindside instead, put in a new CD, and pressed play.

“As loud as hell, a ringing bell

Behind my smile, it shakes my teeth

And all the while, as vampires feed

I bleed

I bleed

I bleed

Abbey had started skating again, and I could see her doing the “head-bob” in an approving manner before Black Francis and Kim Deal of The Pixies even began to sing. And that’s how our relationship went on that cold and lonely October evening. Two hours of back and forth without a word between us. She’d slouch her shoulders while rolling her head back in disgust if I played something she didn’t like, and she’d smile, bob her head, and keep skating if I played something that she did. I must admit that I was quite surprised at the varieties of music that she did and didn’t like, and a few times she even gave me a look of surprise that an old fart like myself would know that the song I was playing even existed.

“I’m bigger than that.

Can you tango, can you mango,

mix n mangle, can you flow?

Let me angle more my kangol,

Are you single, can you go?

I’m bigger than that.

Format B’s remix of Skeleton Key by Pleasurecraft & Green Velvet boomed on the speakers as Abbey continued to zoom around the rink while grinning a smile that couldn’t be purchased for any amount of money, and I’d been enjoying the time so much myself that I simply hadn’t noticed that we had already run about fifteen minutes over time…but that’s when the power to the rink went out.

I immediately reached for the small flashlight next to the DJ mixer, and yelled to Abbey to stay where she was until I could get some light, but the flashlight didn’t work. I found this extremely odd since I knew for a fact that the batteries had been changed only recently. The music had been so loud for so long, that I simply had not noticed that the wind had picked up as the sun had gone down. But as my hearing slowly returned, it became quickly attuned to the fact that the wind was indeed blowing quite viciously outside, and assumed that the wind was likely the cause for the power outage.

Probably less than a minute had transpired when my eyes adjusted enough to notice that the watch Abbey had tried to barter with was still glowing around her wrist, and as I looked around and surveyed the rest of the rink, I noticed that this was the only source of light in the rink. None of the emergency exit signs were working, which was odd considering that they were battery powered in a power outage, but even more strange was the fact that not even the luminous paint on the walls was glowing. If ever a person who loved Halloween wanted to be somewhere extra-spooky on Halloween night, Yarnip County Texas was suddenly the place to be.

I recall trying to keep my cool since I was the owner/operator of this place, and ultimately responsible for the safety and well being of my one and only paying patron, and luckily Abbey had worked her way over to the DJ booth by the time that I started getting a shade rattled. Without saying a word, she took the watch off of her wrist and laid it on the table next to me since it appeared that she had also noticed that her watch was the only source of light in the entire place. From the cycling purple-ish glow of the red and blue lights in the watch, I could barely make out the outline of her face and noticed that she was smiling. A large closed-mouth grin that made her eyes sparkle somewhat, but there was what seemed to be a hint of sadness in her eyes. To tell the truth, I don’t know if it was sadness or joy or what it was that I saw in there. After a moment of looking at each other, and just prior to me realizing that my gawping was about to become uncomfortable, she said “My friends are here.”

That’s when all hell broke loose.

The entire building and everything in it moved as if it had just had the ground removed beneath it, and I felt that sudden quasi-sickening feeling in my stomach as if someone or something that was only previously holding me up had suddenly dropped me or given way. I knew it wasn’t just and only me, as the entire building shook as it came crashing down shortly after starting to fall. Judging by the way that my knees buckled, it felt as though the entirety of the building had just dropped about one foot, and it’s unlikely that there was a single object in the entire building that didn’t make some kind of noise. My immediate concern was for Abbey who was standing on the ice in skates in front of the DJ booth. But as metal and glass found their new equilibrium amid much clanging, shattering and crashing, I noticed that I could no longer see her face and assumed that she had fallen in the chaos.

The glow of the watch provided me with my only bearings, and I quickly grabbed it and held it out over the ice from the DJ booth’s lofty position…no Abbey. My heart, weakened in its pulse somewhat from the fear, pounded a first ‘BOOM!’ of approval as my being shifted from the fear of cower to the cape of crusader. I knew it was foolhardy, but I sprang over the counter of the DJ booth onto the ice of the rink without hesitation, and luckily my somewhat aged ankles held as my feet found their footing on the ice of the rink. The soles of my shoes had hardly touched the ice when the power came back on, and it scared the living shit out of me. Deamau5 immediately began blaring on the sound system since I had just put a new song on prior to the power going out, and I quickly looked around and surveyed everywhere, but Abbey was nowhere to be seen. I yelled her name as loud as I could…no response. I reached up and around to hit stop on the CD player, but the song kept playing. In frustration, I reached for the volume sliders, but when I moved them down, no change. I admit that a flush of rage came over me as I looked around at the damage of the place, and contemplated ripping the power cables out of the wall for the whole fucking mess, but then something grabbed me…

“Feeling the past moving in

Letting a new day begin

Hold to the time that you know

You don’t have to move on to let go

Add to the memory you keep

Remember when you fall asleep

Hold to the love that you know

You don’t have to give up to let go

Remember turning on the night

And moving through the morning light

Remember how it was with you

Remember how you pulled me through

I remember

I remember

I remember

I remember

I remember

I remember

I remember

I remember

I noticed that I was still holding the watch, and still standing in the same place that I had landed on the ice, looking around in disbelief listening to a song by deadmau5 & Kaskade blaring on the PA, when it occurred to me that I was a complete moron for jumping onto the ice because I could have landed on top of Abbey had she fallen.

The ice. The ice is unbroken. I looked at my feet in disbelief, then looked around the ice itself…no fractures, no bulges, no shards…no lines? Impossible. I was wearing my Converse All-Stars, but wandered shakily out further onto the ice anyway, and as I surveyed the ice itself there was not a single line to be found. The song suddenly ended and I instinctively looked back towards the DJ booth, and on the railing to the left of the DJ booth hung a pair of ice skates with the laces tied together, and they were swaying ever so slightly as if someone had only just hung them there. I watched them for a moment to be sure that my eyes were not playing tricks on me, and sure enough, they stopped swaying after a moment. I kept watching them for a while longer just to see if they started moving again. The wind was blowing furiously outside afterall, and this building was already drafty even before some Titan decided to throw it off a cliff a few moments ago. The skates didn’t move.

I kept feeling as though I should be scared, but I never really recall being afraid after the lights came back on. I’m not sure exactly what I felt at this point. My entire life has been filled with weird and strange experiences, but I am neither witch nor wizard, alchemist nor mage. If I had to qualify my feelings at that point, it was simply “keep going”…don’t stop. And so, that’s exactly what I did. I had to know. Still clutching the watch, I proceeded off the ice, and straight to the breaker box for the power. When I got there, and without hesitation, I pulled the main breaker lever, and the entire rink was suddenly aglow via the artwork within the rink that had been painted in phosphorescent paint. I flipped the main breaker back on, the lights came back on, and headed out the front door into the parking lot.

Nothing. No cars except my own. Just prior to turning around and going back into the building, I noticed that the front-end of the car was sitting at an odd angle. I walked a little closer and craned my neck to look around the car, and sure enough, the left-front tire was flat. To be honest, it didn’t even phase me because I was already home and had luckily already stocked up on beer and food for the evening as I was planning to grill a steak out in the cold after the sun went down.

It’s likely that at this point, you have many questions. You’ve identified holes, you’ve thought about what you would have done or would have done differently, and maybe even what I should have done. You aren’t wrong in doing so, and I can assure you that I’ve questioned myself relentlessly since then. But I can only tell the story as it happened. I cannot go back and make everything right, nor can I write some instruction manual so that I’ll be better prepared next time this happens. A woman calling herself Abbey Attrix wandered in to my skating rink in Yarnip County Texas on October 31st of 2008, some pretty weird shit happened over the course of about one minute, she vanished from my rink and my life completely, I’ve no idea what happened to her, nor have I seen her since. The last thing that she said to me was “my friends are here”, but I never saw anyone other than her, and I could only just barely see her when she said that. No one has ever appeared looking for her, she has never returned, and I still have her wristwatch.

“Well I live with snakes and lizards

And other things that go bump in the night

‘Cause to me everyday is Halloween

I have given up hiding and started to fight

I have started to fight.

Well any time, any place, anywhere that I go

All the people seem to stop and stare

They say “why are you dressed like it’s Halloween?

You look so absurd, you look so obscene”

Oh, why can’t I live a life for me?

Why should I take the abuse that’s served?

Why can’t they see they’re just like me

It’s the same, it’s the same in the whole wide world.”

– Ministry, Every Day Is Halloween

So if you again are thinking that I’m telling some fantastic tale in order to drum up interest in Yarnip County Texas and/or my skating rink? Well, you are free to think what you want. Just know that my skating rink is only closed one day out of the year…Halloween. Oh, and good luck finding Yarnip County Texas or my rink the other 364/365 days of the year.

😉

*******

p king x mass

*Yeah! I love his ‘Christmas Ever’ tale …/final drag… I ‘ope he’s written some some stories in the next Anthology, Clicky… /stubs butt…*

😀 Happy Halloween, Dear Reader, and… Have a Song ❤

Story Time: Trick or Treat

Welcome, Dear Reader, to a double-bill of stories for this Halloween…

This first story appeared in ‘Underdog Anthology III: Treeskull Stories’ for Halloween last year. If you like it and want to know what happens for Halloween this year, you can find out by purchasing the latest Underdog Anthology – ‘The Gallows Stone’…

next halloween

*Yeah… /lights up… I’ll post ‘Cos Play’s The Thing’ up at the LoL for next Halloween, Clicky… /drags…*

Dear Reader… Enjoy! ❤

*******

Trick or Treat

By Roo B. Doo

Any day that starts with a Grim Reaper confrontation is probably not going to be a good one, especially if it’s your first day back at work, following an all-inclusive fortnight in the Balearics. That’s exactly what I faced, however, when the lift doors opened onto the 5th floor offices of F.A. Kontrell this morning. I smacked aside the knobbly phalanx rudely pointed in my direction, and heard rather and saw it bounce off the wall and skitter across the floor.

“Ow, ‘Arry!” the Grim Reaper cried in an accent more Thames Estuary than Afterlife. The hooded figure bent down awkwardly to retrieve the plastic skeletal hand, and dropped his plastic scythe in the process. “Jesus!”

“Oh no!” I replied, pushing open the door to the main office, “Is he here, too?”

The Bride of Frankenstein looked up from behind the reception desk. Blood red lips that appeared to still be bleeding smiled thinly in my direction. It made a change from the norm; Shazza generally avoids spending any time at her desk doing the job she’s paid to do. “Happy Halloween, Harry! WOooo!”

To think we’d nearly got shot of her back in the spring when her drunken behaviour at the County Business Awards had landed the firm on the front page of the local rag. If only the Fat Kontroller had seized the opportunity to sack the bitch then, my working life would be so much more pleasant. But he hadn’t, probably due to the good mood bestowed by winning the Green Business Award. He’d given Shazza a second chance and, today, as a result, the office is manned by a fucking freak show.

“Nice costume,” Shazza remarked slyly as I signed myself in.

“I’m not wearing one,” I replied slowly. “I’ve been on holiday.”

Shazza lowered her kohl-rimmed eyes. “Oh.”

The silence was broken by an unexpected bark of laughter from the Grim Reaper, who’d followed me in from the lift lobby and now slouched against reception desk, gazing longingly at Shazza. Far from being the Angel of Death, with the hood down, the Collector of Souls turned out to be none other than Ian, the gangly six-foot apprentice, with acme acne and unibrow. F.A Kontrell had taken him on during the summer, and Ian had taken an immediate shine to Shazza. Fuck knows why, but she was absolutely loving having a teenage acolyte hanging on her every word. They were turning out to be a match made in hell. My hell.

“Go anywhere nice?” Shazza continued, ignoring the ringing reception phone. “Bet it was really hot.”

“Ibiza and yes,” I replied curtly. I pointed to the phone. “Are you gonna get that?”

“Yes.” Shazza snapped her fingers and Ian reached across to pick up the receiver. “You’re very red, Harry. Are you sore?” she continued.

“No.” One of the curses of being fair skinned of the ginger variety is a tendency to turn into a shade of vermilion at the slightest sniff of sunshine.

“Oh, I thought you’d come as a burns victim. That’ll be a fiver.” Shazza held out her hand.

“A fiver for what?”

“The donation,” Shazza said innocently. “For not wearing a costume today. It is for charity,” she purred sweetly.

Fucking cheek! I fumed, but decided to keep my temper under control. At least for now; it was still early. “Sharon, I’ve only got Euros until I can get to the bank at lunchtime. You’ll have to wait.”

Ian, having finished dealing with the phone call decided to join in the fun again. He pulled the hood of his robe back over his head. “Later,” he intoned gravely at me. Shazza tittered.

“By the way, you two,” I pointed at each in turn. “Horrific, truly horrific. You’ve excelled yourselves. Kudos.”

I left them to their mirth and made my way to my desk. En route a zombie, a fairy and Elvis poked their heads up from the grindstone to mouth “hellos” and an “Uh-ha!” before resuming their computer screen vigils.

“Harry!” the Fat Kontroller’s voice boomed from out from his office. “Come on in here. Good holiday?”

I wandered through to see the boss, sat at an uncommonly tidy desk. He was wearing an opera cloak over his suit. “Yes thank you, Mr Kontrell. Erm, can I ask, what’s with all the fancy dress this year? We don’t normally dress up for Halloween.”

The Fat Kontroller grinned slowly, revealing sharp incisors tipped with blood. “Raising money, Harry. For the wictims,” he said rolling his R’s and finishing with a maniacal laugh.

I refrained from rolling my eyes. “Victims of what,” I asked.

“Does it matter? There are always wictims worthy of support.”

Oh fuck! What was the betting Shazza and co had waited until I was safely out of the country before springing the idea on the old man; I would have poo-pooed it. Or at the very least I could have joined in. “Was this a lastminutedotcom decision?” I continued to probe. “I don’t remember seeing anything about this before I left for holiday. I’m feeling like… well, kind of left out.”

“Oh don’t worry about it,” the Fat Kontroller said magnanimously, running his tongue over his vampire teeth but entirely missing my point, “You can still contribute with cash. It is for wictims.”

“Wictims. Right.” I turned to leave.

“Although,” the Fat Kontroller continued, “You know you are awfully red, Harry. You could get away with saying you’re a burns victim.”

Why are the first day back after holidays always the worst?

“I’ll let you get caught up with your emails and the like this morning. We’ll have a proper catch-up later on today, Harry,” the Fat Kontroller called out after me. “There’s much to do.”

“Right-O, Mr K,” I replied with as much enthusiasm as I could muster, which started at minuscule and was decreasing rapidly having caught sight of the piles of paperwork on my desk. FAK! I thought malevolently. That’s why the bastard’s desk is so clear!

I snatched up a gaily coloured flier that had been placed on top of my keyboard, where I couldn’t miss it. The day’s intended ‘Wictim Support’ activities and best costume prize were detailed,replete with an overdose of exclamation marks and crappy puns; the telltale signs of Shazza. And what was this? The best costume winner would get a bottle of Glenfarclas single malt whisky, courtesy of the Fat Kontroller!!! Other than the man himself, I knew of no other person in the office that would appreciate that prize as much as me.

I balled the flyer angrily and threw it at the paper recycling bin across the walkway from my desk. It flopped weakly onto the floor before reaching the target. Good grief, Harry! I scolded myself, you throw like a bloody girl!

***

The queue at the bank snaked back to the main entrance and was populated with a mishmash of people who looked like they longed for death. I had no intention of joining them in their endless quest to reach a cashier, and walked over to the desks at the back of the lobby. “Hi! I’m here to see Mr Williams,” I told the pretty thing, with dimples and chestnut curls, sitting pertly at one of them. She must be new, I hadn’t seen her before.

“Do you have an appointment?” she asked me brightly.

“No,” I said and glanced at the name badge fixed to her jacket. “Peta? Could you tell him that Harry Egg is here bearing holiday gifts.” I lifted up the duty free bag I was holding to an audible chink.

“Oh where have you been to?” Peta asked with a smile. “You certainly caught some colour.”

I briefly wondered if she were taking the piss before catching the smile in her eyes. “Ibiza. San Antonio. The weather was unseasonably gorgeous, thank you.”

Peta gasped and her whole face lit up. “I went there in the summer! I’d definitely go back again.”

“Yes, it’s a lovely island,” I said with a smile that also reached my eyes. “The nightlife was pretty good, too.”

“It is! Absolutely super,” she gushed. There was an awkward silence. “Your colour makes your eyes stand out. They’re really blue. Piercing.”

I’m not used to compliments – I blushed; luckily it was well camouflaged. “Thanks!” I was momentarily stunned. “Um. Lol, Mr Williams? Is he in?” I said, fixing her with a piercing blue stare.

Now Peta blushed. “Oh yes, sorry. Do you mind waiting? I’ll go tell him you’re here.” She smiled again and wiggled off in the direction of Lol’s office. And what a wiggle! Like two puppy dogs fighting under a blanket. It would seem my day was picking up at last.

I parked my arse on the edge of her desk, trying to look suave and nonchalant, awaiting Peta’s return. Piercing blue eyes, eh? I pondered and I nearly missed her frantic waving, gesturing me to join her. With a final glance at the sad saps standing in line, I sauntered off toward my best friend and his delightful new member of staff.

“Harry!” Lol ushered me into his office. “Peta, could you rustle us up a couple of cappuccinos? Thank you.”

Peta left and we slunk down onto the sofa in the corner of his office. “When did you get back?” Lol asked, loosening his tie.

“Last night.” I yawned involuntarily. “I’m absolutely knackered today.” I passed him the chinking Duty Free bag. “Here, your present. I’m afraid it’s booze.”

“No imagination whatsoever,” Lol playfully chided me before giving me a kiss and a hug. “Thank you!”

“I kept the giant Toberlone for myself.”

“Well you never know when you might need it,” Lol said with an exaggerated wink. “Now come on, tell me H, did you have a good time? I can see you’ve caught some colour…”

There was a knock at the door, heralding the return of Peta with our coffees. She set the foamy cups down on the table in front of us, smiling the whole time and showing her dimples off to their best advantage. I flashed some ‘piercing blue’ at her and wondered if she had any more dimples secreted elsewhere.

Lol waited until she left for a second time before opening up one of the bottles. “Why don’t we Irish up these coffees? So, come on, Harry, spill. Did you get any good minge?” he asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow as he poured slug of whisky into each of our cups.

I laughed at my friend’s directness. “Lol, you have no interest in minge and absolutely no idea what constitutes good or bad minge!”

I’d met LoL at university during Freshers. We’d hit it off straight away like a long lost brother and sister reunited, but with zero potential for incest. We’re a queer, old fashioned pair; neither wore our sexuality on our sleeves. Fag and Fag Hag. Both happy to keep each other company in the closet. Much like that song by the Cure.

“Alright then, did you get any minge at all?” Lol pestered. “Come on, tell me you got laid, Harry. You’ve not been on Facebook or Twitter these past two weeks. I have no idea how your holiday went.” He sipped his coffee and licked his lips. “I’ve missed you.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” I said slapping his knee. “I needed some time out, away from emails and social media and work.” I fairly spat out the last word. Since the Fat Kontroller had deemed it necessary for me to be issued with company mobile phone and laptop, I’d been tending to keep on top of my workload in my own time. I wanted to completely remove any temptation to do that during my holiday, and had left all electronic devices at home. Of course, I had second thoughts about that decision as soon as I discovered more than 1,500 emails awaiting my return. It had not been a fun morning.

“Minge?” Lol reminded me.

“Oh my god! You’re incorrigible!”

Lol was not deterred by my rebuke. “British? Foreign?”

“German.”

“Ah, ze Hunny cunny. Das ist gut! Wunderbar?”

“Ja! And I had an English,” I added, clearing my throat.

“Did you swing low, sweet Harriet?”

“Always,” I grinned at his exuberance and slurped from my cup. “There’s nothing like a Manc-muffin for breakfast.”

“Ooh Harry! You filthy tramp! Both at the same time?” Lol asked eagerly.

“No, sadly,” I sighed. “Hey, I was going to ask you, what’s the deal with Peta? She’s new isn’t she?”

“You are not corrupting my staff, Harry,” Lol said with a stern look. I returned it with one of innocent affront, to which he snorted derisively. “She’s straight, I think, but young. I did hear on the grapevine that she’s not adverse to a bit of Toberlone when tipsy.”

“Hmm, I’ve not had much luck with chocolate in the past,” I mused pensively.

“And how is the fair Josie?” Lol asked. He was referring to a stunning goddess masquerading as F.A. Kontrell’s HR Manager. We’d had a close encounter the Christmas before and I’d ended up with concussion courtesy of Alfie, the troll masquerading as her boyfriend. I’d pretty well much kept my distance after that but, as I said, goddess. And how often do you meet one of those in real life? I had to give it a go.

“I dunno, I haven’t seen her since I got back,” I said, which reminded me: “Ugh! You’ll never guess. Every fucker in the office is wearing fancy dress today.” I grimaced and reached for my handbag. “Even the Fat Kontroller. He’s wearing bloody fangs, for fuck’s sake. I’m the only one not in costume!”

Lol leaned back and surveyed me quietly. “Harry…”

I rummaged for my purse. “Yes.”

“Have you thought…” he continued slowly.

Call it a spot of deja vu, but I knew what was coming next; I flashed him a look. “Don’t!”

Lol grinned mischievously. “Well, you are kind of glowing. Have you thought of saying you’re…”

I cut him off. “A burns victim?”

“No!” Lol snapped. “No, I was thinking you look more like a Bloody Mary. But yeah, a burns victim works just as well.”

I watched him convulse with laughter at his own joke before holding out a wad of Euros at him. “I’m glad I amuse you so, oh bestest friend that’s also happens to be a bank manager.” I placed the money in his hand. “Now, be a dear and change this lot into Sterling for me. And I’m not paying commission.”

Lol went off in search of the cash and I finished my coffee. I was contemptuously contemplating the afternoon ahead – apple bobbing and pumpkin carving were on the agenda courtesy of Shazza – when there was a soft tap at the door. It was Peta.

“Hi, Harry.” She sounded nervous. “I just wanted to say it was very nice meeting you today.”

Interesting… I decided to play it cool; no need to shit all over Lol’s warning off straightaway, and it was entirely possible Peta was mistakenly brown nosing her boss’s ‘girlfriend’. Softly, softly catchee monkey. “You too.” I smiled brightly; teeth and eyes. “I hope to see you again soon. Maybe for Christmas drinks.”

She didn’t get a chance to answer because Lol returned with my cash. After that we said our goodbyes and made plans to meet for a proper catch up at the weekend. I left the bank with a spring in my step – possibly down to the Irish – and walked back along the High Street, back to work. And then I saw it. In the window of a shop. Of course! I mentally slapped my own forehead, even as a creeping smile split my face. I took the crisp notes Lol had given me and went inside.

***

Impatiently I ascended to the fifth floor of our building, willing the ancient, groaning lift along the way. I wanted to get to the toilets, preferably without anyone seeing me, so I could change into the costume I’d seen in the fancy dress shop. Luckily there was a dearth of people in the outer office of F.A. Kontrell when I arrived, but a noisy hullabaloo was emanating from the conference room: festivities were in full swing. I rushed to the ladies and locked myself in an empty stall.

Inside I shrugged off my clothes and stood naked, shivering, ripping at the plastic bag holding my costume with my teeth. I heard the outer door to the toilets open and somebody enter and lock themselves into the stall next to mine. I hope they’re not having a crap, I thought fleetingly as I struggled to release the silky material from the packaging.

Quickly I changed into the costume and stepped out and over to the wash basin mirror to adjust the fit. Saggy and tight in equal measure, it was a typical shop bought costume and I was both pleased and disappointed at the way I looked. I shook the few cosmetics that I own out from my handbag and set about finishing the look. The toilet flushed behind me and my heart skipped a beat as I caught the reflection of Wonder Woman emerging from the cubicle.

“Hey, Harry! How are you?” Josie said blithely. “Is this yours? It slipped under the gap.”

Yes. Yes. Oh fucking yeah! I mentally screamed as I drank in the sight of the woman I lusted after. From the soft fall of her naturally raven black curls over her shoulders, down to the skintight boots via voluptuous chest, crotch and lean, tanned thighs, Josie stood every inch the embodiment of that most Marvelous creation. Girl, you should wear that every day!

“Horns!” I blurted out and took the plastic package from her hand. “Thanks! You look amazing!” I said thickly, no doubt down to my drooling tongue.

Josie strode purposefully – how could she not in that outfit? – over to the washbasins and washed her hands, all the time smiling at me in the bathroom mirror. “Thanks. You look great too, Harry. Did you have a good holiday?”

“Yeah, it was nice to get away,” I said unable to take eyes from her hard curves and inviting crevasses reflected back at me. “Just back today actually. I didn’t know it was fancy dress.”

“Well you look suitably devilish now.” Josie finished washing her hands and pushed past me to get to the hot air drier. “Do you need a hand with that?”

I’d been gawping, holding the horns in one hand and an eye liner pencil in the other; half a mustache painted over my top lip. “Okay,” I said meekly.

Josie hit the button on the drier and warm air blasted out, rustling the hem of her cape as she dried her hands. I had an idea.

“You should try this,” I said, adjusting the air drier so that it blew upwards, lifting her hair and billowing her cape. “Now, that’s the Wonder Woman look!”

Josie giggled her delightful giggle, the one what made me feel all wet and gushy. “Harry, you and your bright ideas. Now come here and I’ll finish your mustache off for you.” She gently held my chin and with a few deft flicks of the eyeliner, completed my look. Then she took the plastic horns from my hands and adjusted them on my head. “Perfect.”

Maybe Peta was on to something because I definitely felt a frisson pass between us, as my piercing blues met Josie’s chocolate browns. She continued staring at me and it felt as if time itself had stopped. “Alfie and I have split up,” she stated calmly.

I was about to reply: “Thank fuck! The man’s a brute and totally undeserving of you”, but was rudely interrupted by the door to the toilets crashing open, quickly followed by a screeching howl of pain. Shazza rushed in, tears streaming down her contorted face, holding out her hand, blood pouring from the palm. The Grim Reaper followed, hopping anxiously from foot to foot.

“Are you alright, Shazza? I’m so sorry!” Ian cried with anguish. “Shazza. Shazza. I was only trying to help.”

“Arghhh!!! It hurts!” Shazza screamed, thrusting her hand under the basin cold tap. “You idiot, Ian!”

“What’s happened?” Josie gently shoved me aside to get to our bleeding receptionist. “Oh shit, that deep? You’re going to need stitches.”

Shazza glared at Ian in the bathroom mirror with pain and rage; he looked back with stricken despair. “I was carving my pumpkin quite nicely when he comes along and… Oww! Oh my god, that really hurts!!!”

“I’m sorry Shazza,” Ian wailed, his voice breaking with barely contained sobs. “I was… I was only trying to help you with the… with the eyes!”

“The eyes were fine! IDIOT!!!” Shazza roared back.

“Okay, okay. Let’s just calm down now shall we?” Josie said grabbing a roll of toilet tissue from the cupboard under the sink. She placed it firmly against the cut on Shazza’s hand and blood immediately started to saturate the roll; creeping up and spreading out. “Hold that there. I’ll take you to the hospital and we’ll get that seen to, okay. Harry…”

“Yes okay,” I said springing into action. “You two do that. I’ll take the lad for a cup of tea and a sit down, and then I’ll clean this blood up.”

“Thank you,” Josie said with a strained smile as she ushered Shazza out of the toilets.

Ian’s top lip was wobbling quite badly. “Come on, darling,” I said gently. “Let’s take you round the corner for a cuppa, eh? You know, you really shouldn’t be in the ladies toilets, Ian. Didn’t we mention that during Induction?”

“Na…na…no,” he sobbed.

“Oh that’s okay, sweetie.” I rubbed his shoulders and guided him out of the toilets. “We know now and can include it for the future, eh? You’ve helped us improve our induction process. Well done you. Okay? Come on, let’s get that cup of tea.”

***

The rest of the afternoon was a bit of an anticlimax after all the excitement of the ladies toilets. No one noticed I was now dressed as the devil. Except for the Fat Kontroller.

“Superb costume choice, Miss Egg,” he informed me when we finally sat down to catch up on business. “Sadly you haven’t won as you didn’t wear it all day, but I love the improvisation with Deviled Egg. Very good. Eggcellent in fact!” he chortled loudly. In fact he carried on chuckling at his cleverness throughout the meeting. Oh, how I laughed.

The Grim Reaper eventually calmed down and volunteered to help me with the mounds of paperwork on my desk. I declined but thanked him, noting the new found respect in his offer. I should have got him to mop up the blood.

Neither Josie nor Shazza made it back to the office in time for the costume prize giving, and I wondered if I’d ever get the chance to see Josie in her Wonder Woman costume again. That, I thought emphatically, now, that’s what I want for Christmas!

I still don’t know which wictims will benefit from the £22.50 raised from the day’s Halloween themed activities. No doubt they’ll be grateful when they find out. As for the Fat Kontroller’s bottle of Glenfarclas, that was won by Elvis. She received it with hip wiggle and extremely droll “Thank you very much!”

*******

sandy claws

*Yeah, I suppose Harry could have gone as Santa, Clicky… /blows smoke ring… Butt that would have spoiled the Fat Kontroller’s Devilled Egg enjoyment…*

Our second Halloween story offering will be along in a bit, Dear Reader. Have a Song whilst you wait 😉

Rosa Sub Rosa

The Latin phrase sub rosa means “under the rose”, and is used in English to denote secrecy or confidentiality, similar to the Chatham House Rule. The rose as a symbol of secrecy has an ancient history.

sick of the sign

*Oh I quite agree, Clicky… /lights up… It wasn’t that bad… /drags… *

*/plumes smoke… Blimey! A kids’ show finking of the children? Well I never… /feigns surprise… *

Roob and Cade discuss wall art 1

Motel Photel

*Good idea, Clicky… /pats snout… Now Dear Reader has a clearer picture, so to speak…*

Roob and Cade discuss wall art 2

Motel Photel 2

Roob and Cade discuss wall art 3

Motel colour scheme

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*/taps ash… Fuckin’ ‘ell, Clicky! …/drags… Stanley Kubrick married Ruth Sobotka on mum’s 10th birthday… /puffs contentedly…*

Roob and Cade discuss wall art 6Roob and Cade discuss wall art 7Roob and Cade discuss wall art 8Roob and Cade discuss wall art 9Roob and Cade discuss wall art 10Roob and Cade discuss wall art 11Roob and Cade discuss wall art 12

*/final drag… I’m tellin’ ya, Click, what happened next was fuckin’ weird…*

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*/stubs butt… You know what Marilu Henner is also famous for, Clicky?*

*Oh you do gnos… /squints… Smart arse. Get a Song…*