*Ugh, ghastly biscuits, Clicky… /sticks out tongue in disgust… The smell was bad enough, passing the the Peeky Freaky factory twice a day… /flicks lighter… Snot my taste. Not like the custard cream days… /lights up… I dawdled passed the factory on those days…*
This week, Dear Reader, I have been introducing Cade to Doctor Who. He’s a Who Noob…
*Knot anymore he ain’t, Clicky… /snickers…*
… And last night I also introduced him to the the Noble Donna…
*Martha was the night before, Clicky… /drags… And Rose and Captain Jack at the weekend… /streams smoke…*
*No River Song is tonight, Clicky… /puffs contentedly…*
“If you ever see a little blue box, flying up in the sky, you shout for me Gramps.”
Thoughtful Man and I had a blue box experience today, Dear Reader…
*/puffs angrily… Is there nuffin the bint won’t do to get out of Brexit, Clicky? /flicks ash… Don’t answer…*
Because I work on the 13th floor of the Tower, and because I have to take at least 20 minutes for lunch for my ‘health and safety’ – my time is flexible; I can bank the rest – I take one cigarette to work with me each day. Carried in a salvaged, old-style box. Today’s was a Mayfair box…
“You’ll never guess what happened at lunch today,” I told Thoughtful Man, shrugging off my coat, after he’d brought me home from work. He’s thoughtful like that. “I gave my cigarette to a tramp.”
Thoughtful Man squinted hard, the way he does when I mention I’ve given something away. Or interacted with tramps. I have form…
*That’s another story, Clicky… /final drag… Now don’t interrupt… /stubs butt… I’m tryin’ to fiction-all-lies an actual factual happening… /blows smoke rings…*
“Why?” he asked bluntly.
“Because she asked me for it,” I said innocently, slipping out of my work shoes and rolling down my tights. The first thing I do when I get home is strip off my work clothes. The change from formal to informal is one of the little pleasures I take from my day.
Thoughtful Man’s squint soften slightly. “She?”
“Yes. I saw her in the lobby of Tower as I was going out to smoke. Didn’t think anything of it ‘cos we get all sorts coming in everyday,” I said, pulled my dress up over my head. “Anyway, I went and sat in my usual place on the window ledge, round the side of the building. It’s less windy.”
Thoughtful Man was silent but I just knew what he was thinking…
*I’ll get there, if you stop interrupting me! …/huffs…*
I pulled on some jogging bottoms and Thoughtful Man’s old, raggedy sweatshirt. “And I’d nearly finished smoking my cigarette, when the lady tramp ambles round the corner. She was holding up a bottle of perfume.”
“Perfume?” Thoughtful Man interrupted me. “Like she was going to mace you?”
“Yeah. Do you know her?”
Thoughtful Man sighed; he encounters all sorts every day too driving his taxi round the mean streets of our town. “She’s completely fucking mad. I saw her today as well, when I was standing on the rank.”
I plonked myself in my Library chair and lit up a cigarette. “She didn’t spray me or anything. She asked me for a cigarette. I only had the one and I’d nearly finished smoking it. I said ‘Sorry’ and showed her the empty Mayfair box.”
“What did she say?”
I grabbed our small dog, who’d been buzzing round my feet, trying to lick my ankles. “She asked me for the one I was smoking. So I gave it to her.” I ruffed Poppy’s floppy ears and she gave me a smelly, wet, licky kiss in return. “And then she asked me for the empty packet.”
Thoughtful Man stiffened. “Did you give it to her?”
“Well yeah. I’ve got other empty boxes saved.” Oh how I hate the god-awful plain packaging government has foisted on us.
Poppy jumped off my lap and trotted over to Thoughtful Man, who picked her up for a tummy tickle. “I must have seen her after you did because, when she walked past me, she threw an empty Mayfair box at my feet.”
“Really?” I asked with a squint. I didn’t know whether to be amazed at her aim or annoyed that she’d dumped my little, blue box. “Did you pick it up?”
“No.” Thoughtful Man looked aghast. “She’d screwed it up.”
“Damn!”
*Shit! …/clocks time… I’ve got a double-bill planned for Cade tonight. We’d better finish up, Clicky… /pats snout… Still, no work tomorrow, eh? Come on flexible time!*
*Ah cool image, Clicky… /pat snout… Actually my hair hasn’t looked like that once this week… /lights up…*
Dear Reader, I have been on holiday these last couple of days, and have finally managed to write my short story about a hedge riding hag…
*I am pretty happy with the result, Clicky…/puffs…*
…and have submitted it to Leggy for inclusion in the upcoming ‘Underdog Anthology V‘. The story is called ‘Nine Lives’…
*I’ve still got time to mutilate a poem for the Afterword before I go back to work, Clicky… /drags… If I can find the right one… /billows smoke…*
I was also able to spend some time yesterday in the Blue universe. Frank Davis had been snooping around New York, after reading about the proposed bill to stop people from smoking whilst walking the streets of that fair city…
*They’re fucking unbelievable! …/flicks ash… First you can’t smoke inside, and now the utopian dreamers are trying to dictate where and how you can smoke outside… /deep drag… Nasty Not-sees indeed… /sighs…*
He was looking at street signs there and came across one that had him perplexed…
‘Just a few yards away was another really weird sign. I think it was some sort of aphorism. But I couldn’t make out what it said, because it seemed to be written in bleeding, dripping letters that said something like Afraid And Dead. I guess that if you were crossing 2nd Avenue and you stopped to try to figure out what the scary sign meant, you’d find out when you got hit by a truck.’
It puzzled me, too; however, the photo Frank included was somewhat fuzzy, so I sent Clicky off for a closer inspection…
*Much better but it still looks like worshipers or sumfin’ to me, Clicky… /drags deeply… In sinister black… /snorts smoke…*
… and find an answer.
*Those are hands!*
*/reads slowly… School For Deaf …/squints… Dept of Transport… /final drag… Oh! The yellow buses! It’s a bus stop sign, Clicky! … /streams smoke…*
*Alright, don’t take the piss… /stubs butt… Well done you, though, on working it out… There’s a good assistant… /pats snout…*
It was a sign for deaf school children, Dear Reader…
*Wha? Whaddaya mean I fucked that up? Who the fuck are you, and what in the fuck do you know about what is or is not, fucked up? /me snorts*
Err…I mean, Greetings Dear Reader. I am still Mr. Slimey and I’m still filling in for RooBeeDoo and her Dolphin assistant Clicky, both of whom may in fact be vacationing somewhere in España. I’ve currently no proof to substantiate this claim, but maybe they’ll provide photographic and/or some other evidence upon their safe return.
*Ya know, at a cursory glance, she appears to be both bipedal and reasonably agile/mobile. Why exactly she’s crawling around on all fours is…mysterious…*
It appears that there is indeed a need for this 3rd part, but let’s let the lady take over at this point, and she can steer us in the direction of wherever it is we need be.
*******
*I dunno, Clicky… /flicks lighter… I had started writing a post on the John Lamb Lash video talks… /shakes lighter… New format… /flicks lighter… He’s got a Limey companion now, called Ginny… /shakes lighter again… I’m enjoying the Anglo-Yank combo… /flicks lighter… Reminds of a sumfin’… /gives up and rummages through handbag…*
Not sure what Part 3, Cade thinks we need, Dear Reader…
* /rolls eyes… Oh okay, Clicky… /finds working light… *
This here is a post I started writing this afternoon, before Cade sent back the top and tailing for the Inchoate Egg story posts published earlier: Part 1 and Part 2. It’s called…
“expounder of sacred mysteries,” 1670s, from Late Latin hierophantes, from Greek hierophantes“one who teaches the rites of sacrifice and worship,” literally “one who shows sacred things,” from hieros “sacred,” from PIE root *eis-, forming words denoting passion (see ire) + phainein“to reveal, bring to light” (from PIE root *bha- (1) “to shine”). In modern use, “expounder of esoteric doctrines,” from 1822.
This morning my good friend Shiny posted me a story link on MEROVEE, over in the Reduniverse, Dear Reader…
*A born to be wild thing, caught smoking… /lights up… And scientists are baffled, Clicky? …/scans text… Ah, Nag Role sumfin’ or another… /deep drag… In DIA… /streams smoke…*
‘“I believe the elephant may have been trying to ingest wood charcoal,” said Dr Varun Goswami, WCS India scientist and elephant biologist.
‘“She appeared to be picking up pieces from the forest floor, blowing away the ash that came along with it, and consuming the rest.”’
And the reason the scientists think she’s taking up smoking, Dear Reader?
‘The charred lumps of wood can also serve as alaxative to the pachyderms who are able to consume it in the wild after forest fires and lightning strikes.’
*/grins… And Shiny posted it in the Red ‘Excretion’ universe of MRSREGN? Priceless… /puffs merrily…*
“divination by smoke,” c. 1600, with -mancy“divination by means of” + Latinized form of Greek kapnos “smoke,” which is of uncertain origin, perhaps a non-Indo-European substrate word that also produced Lithuanian kvapas “breath, smell,”kvepiu, kvėpti “to gasp, breathe,” Latvian kvept“to smoke, smell,” and perhaps Latin vapor.
That’s as far as I got, Dear Reader. It is a “very great fact”, as John Lamb Lash might say, that elephants never forget…
Reich-ous Hitler lost his War, Dear Reader. So if Lashy is correct in his telling of the Sophia Correction narrative, it rather begs the question:
Q: If Adolf had the whole fucking planet on his side, how in the hell did he lose?
Nah! It’s not like tobacco is associated with a goddess or sumfin’…
‘And at the spot where they had burned First Mother’s bones, there grew another plant, broad-leafed and fragrant. It was First Mother’s breath, and they heard her spirit talking: “Burn this up and smoke it. It is sacred. It will clear your minds, help your prayers, and gladden your hearts.”
‘And First Mother’s husband called the first plant Skarmunal, corn, and the second plant utarmur-wayeh, tobacco.
‘“Remember,” he told the people, “and take good care of First Mother’s flesh, because it is her goodness become substance. Take good of her breath, because it is her love turned into smoke. Remember her and think of her whenever you eat, whenever you smoke this sacred plant, because she has given her life so that you might live. Yet she is not dead, she lives: in undying love she renews herself again and again.”’
Two things happened this week. One with little mainstream media coverage…
*/final drag…*
… And one saturated…
"We're Going To Start A Revolution": 500,000 People Storm Washington To Protest Guns | Zero Hedge https://t.co/YLKsrFKYWI
Hello again Dear Reader. In case you’ve forgotten, my name is Mr. Slimey, you are indeed at The LoL, but RooBeeDoo and her assistant Clicky are currently…indisposed.
*first doors, now windows. A flying carpet would not be out of place here /me taps foot and ponders…hmmm, when and where is a flying carpet “in-place”? /me wonders*
Actually, I’ve no clue whether Roob and Clicky are indisposed, outdisposed, or striking any other dis or dat pose(s). As far as I know, they are in the same place and places they’ve always been. But who really knows where that is? Who really knows what they are up to?
*/me does double-take. At first glance, that window actually looks kinda…normal. But it it?*
We’ll continue to work on the pertinent and relevant as we proceed. But now, and for your continued reading enjoyment, may I present the next installment of RooBeeDoo’s… The Inchoate Egg.
*******
*No, the beginning is on the last post, Clicky… /lights up…*
Many thanks again, Cade, for the lovely intros and exits ❤
And now, Dear Reader, the story continues…
As it happened, I ended up arriving late for the County Business Awards at the Civic Centre. Very late as I’d overslept from the afternoon nap I’d taken, with the intention of being fresh for the evening ahead. Now I felt frazzled; I hate being late.
Despite the area outside the building being clearly designated ‘No Smoking’, there were a good number of glammed up people loitering by the entrance, taking a last puff, as if their lives depended on it.
I felt a hand lightly tap my shoulder and turned to see a vision in shimmering gold in the warm evening sunshine. “Harry! You’re late too. Thank goodness, I didn’t want to arrive on my own!”
Josie fair took my breath away, stood there lithe and tanned in a floor length gown that she appeared to have been poured into. Her thick black locks were piled high on her head, loose tendrils curled down, emphasising the slenderness of her throat and shoulders. And her make-up was as smooth and flawless as the skin tight dress she wore, emphasising her jaunty breasts, flat stomach and lean thighs.
“Whoa! Hi Josie, you look…” It’s difficult to keep the awe out of your voice when faced with utter perfection. Then another thought occurred to me: where’s Alfie? I scanned the road but couldn’t see his car.
“You scrub up nice!” I joked, trying to play it cool and prevent a drooling incident.
Josie giggled nervously, twirling girlishly. “Is it too much? I wasn’t sure, I haven’t been to one of these events before.”
I felt my jaw start to drop at the sight of the satin material clinging to her righteous arse cheeks. Jesus! She can’t be wearing any underwear!
An appreciable number of smokers’ heads turned in our direction, although I could tell none of them were looking at me. “No, you look absolutely stunning. In fact if we win tonight, you should definitely go up on stage to collect the award. It could get us on the front page of the local rag.”
She has no idea how gorgeous she is, I thought, as Josie blushed at my suggestion. I lightly grabbed her elbow, steering her toward the main entrance, unable – and unwilling – to remove the huge smile now plastered across my face. “Come on, we’re really late. We should go inside and find the others.”
More posh frocks and penguin suits milled about inside, quaffing champagne and munching canapés in between small talk. We made our way to the bar area, zeroing in on the sound of booming laughter. For once the Fat Kontroller was already in attendance; he usually liked to make an entrance, but from the ruddy colour of his cheeks I’d say he’d arrived a while ago.
“Harry! Over here!” the Fat Kontroller called out, beckoning us over. “You’re late.”
He was sat at the bar, flanked on one side by Simon and Katrina from our newest client, Clovis International, and on the other by Lol our friendly bank manager. Next to him was Shazza, showing far too much flesh in a low cut dress and braying like a donkey at an amusing anecdote being told by our final guest, who stood with his back to us. I hadn’t met the famous Zander Rhodes yet, but from the look of his slim hips, broad shoulders and slicked back hair, I could tell he was cut from the Alfie mould of manhood. Then I saw the wolfish look flash across Zander’s chiselled features, as he turned to see Josie sashaying toward him. My heart sank, only to be further compounded when I saw the look Josie gave him as hellos and introductions were made.
“Bad luck old girl,” Lol whispered in my ear as he kissed my cheek and squeezed my arse. “Good evening, Miss Egg. You’re looking radiant this evening.”
“Lol Williams, what have I told you about trying to grab my assets,” I replied with a smile, moving his hand up to my waist. “Honestly, you bankers…” I said with an exaggerated eye-roll, loud enough for the others to hear. It was a charade of course. I’d known Lol a lot longer than I’d worked at FAK. You could say we were kindred spirits and he was the only person I’d confided in over my longings for Josie, what really happened at Christmas and the loathing I felt for Shazza and her antics.
Lol laughed at my playful rebuke and quickly shifted his eyes in Shazza’s direction, urging me to look.
As unhappy as I was that Josie and Zander were hitting it off, Shazza looked positively crestfallen at the fizzing chemistry between the two best looking people in the place. She must have thought she was in with a chance with Zander. What a fucking pair of jokes we are, I thought, feeling a rare sense of camaraderie with the dope. It lasted all of a second as Shazza decided to open her mouth.
“Yeah, you look nice, Harry. Is that the same outfit you wore to the Christmas party? I thought that got ruined.”
“Oh no, what happened at the Christmas party?” Katrina asked innocently. She was a recent addition to the Clovis management team, so probably wasn’t aware of the gory details, just eager to join the conversation.
“A chocolate incident,” I replied smoothly, shooting a reassuring look in Josie’s direction. But she wasn’t listening, being totally absorbed in whatever Gaia-saving bollocks Zander, with his designer stubble was feeding her.
I downed the whisky proffered by the Fat Kontroller, who clapped me on the shoulder and stood up. “Right then boys and girls, now we’re all here, let’s get this party started.”
The main room set up with about 20 tables and was filling fast with the Great and the Good of the county’s business community. The level of chatter was high as we picked through the crowds to table four, positioned close to the stage. I decided I should take that as a good sign for award success but, to be honest, I was clutching at straws considering how the rest of my hopes for the evening were panning out.
Shazza had been busy in my absence as the place settings on the table were arranged boy/girl and she’d placed herself between the Fat Kontroller and Zander, with me opposite sandwiched between Lol and Simon. With Katrina sat between her colleague and the Fat Kontroller, Josie had been placed the other side Zander, and the suave environmentalist was availing himself of the opportunity to be as attentive as possible.
Lol gave my knee a reassuring squeeze under the table. “I’d offer to swap seats with you, Harry, but I don’t think you’d get a look in,” he muttered out of the side of his mouth.
“Don’t sweat it, love,” I reassured him, “I’m here to work. Here, have some some wine.” I poured him a large glass of Barolo before filling my own and grabbing a bottle of Chardonnay. “Simon? Katrina? Red or white?”
And so the evening progressed, through three passable mass catered courses, made more palatable by my excellent selection of wines. The Fat Kontroller and I worked on Simon and Katrina, the only actual clients at the table, whilst Lol tried his best to engage Zander and Josie in conversation. He was fairly successful too through his keen interest of in cycling and holidaying in Asia. Bless him, he’d even tried to include Shazza in their conversation with less success – she was finding the evening hard going, fidgeting in her seat, shifting from one conversation to the other, unable to contribute to either. She could drink though. Warily I watched her find solace in her wineglass, looking more and more miserable. I didn’t know whether to feel concern at what she was capable of after a skinful, or sheer delight at her self-imposed discomfort. But on the whole, I sided with delight – at least she wasn’t gobbing off.
Eventually the awards presentation began, starting with several dull but worthy eulogies of the strength and diversity of the county business community. We sat and clapped through numerous categories of award before they got to the one we were shortlisted for. I don’t mind admitting to a jolt of nerves as ‘Green Business of the Year’ was called out. My submission was F A Kontrell’s first attempt at winning any business gongs. Writing it up had been a doddle and success would mean more brownie points for me. As much as I liked my recent pay rise, I still preferred to earn it than get one for being merely non-litigious.
Under the table I felt Lol’s hand cover my own as I squeezed and scrunched the napkin on my lap. I lent across him toward Josie, “You’ll come up on stage won’t you, if we win?”
“Ooh can I come up too?” Shazza suddenly piped up, visibly brighting at the prospect of a bit of reflected glory. She turned to the Fat Kontroller, “If Harry and Josie are going up, can I go up too?” she squealed.
“Tush, Sharon, it’s not the Oscars,” he replied calmly, patting her on the arm. “And we haven’t won anything yet.”
It seemed to take an age for the presenter to read through all the names and for the nominees’ logos to appear on the screen behind him. You could cut the tension around our table with a knife.
“And the winner is…” He opened the envelope and pulled a card. “F A Kontrell!”
We erupted in a chorus of cheers and whoops. We’d only fucking won it!
With scraped back chairs, the four FAKkers got up to collect the award, receiving congratulatory hugs from the rest of our guests. Zander seized the opportunity to kiss Josie full on the mouth. She kissed him back. Slut! You’ve only just met him!
“Oi! Don’t smudge your lipstick,” Lol playfully chastised Josie, pulling her from Zander’s embrace.
I grabbed Josie’s hand and tugged sharply. “Come on! Let’s get you on the front page.”
Despite the huge quantity of alcohol he’d knocked back during the evening, the Fat Kontroller was steady and measured ascending the stairs, whereas Shazza was bouncing around like a demented yoyo. Josie and I joined them under the bright spotlights, standing behind our Glorious Leader while he made his acceptance speech. We posed with our trophy for the official photographer with beaming smiles, arms wrapped around each other’s backs. I could feel Josie’s right boob pressed up against me, my hand lightly resting alongside her satin covered left. This is probably the closest I’ll ever get to touching her tits, I lamented whilst we all shouted “Cheese!” at the camera.
Lol had procured a bottle of Bollinger and was already pouring it out by the time we returned to our table. “A toast to F A Kontrell,” he said, handing me a bubbling champagne flute. “And to Miss Egg and her award submission writing prowess!”
“Oh give over, Lol,” I said punching his arm, but loving his efforts to big me up. “It was a team effort,” I stated magnanimously.
“Oh no, Harry,” Shazza said slyly, handing me the trophy we’d just collected. “You definitely deserve this!”
It might have been the nervous anticipation or the excitement of winning, but I hadn’t fully appreciated the trophy’s shape until that moment. It was a heavy, crystal egg on a pedestal base. “Because it’s the shape of my name?” I asked.
“No,” Shazza hooted maliciously. “For your enormous butt plug collection!!”
Jesus fuck! What the hell?!
Undeterred by lack of laughter from the rest of us, Shazza cackled wildly and dug in. “You know, to go with one you got for Chrissmass!” she said oblivious to the shocked faces around the table.
Josie pulled away from Zander and stood up. “Sharon! Take that back,” she reprimanded her.
“An’ you can shut up, you snobby bitch! Or will Alfie beat me up, too?” Shazza sneered. A red flush crept from her chest, up her neck and flooding her contorted face. She pawed at Zander’s sleeve, “You know her boyfrien’ beat ‘arry up, doncha? Thought she was trying it on and tried to drown her in chocolate. Didn’t kishy prisshy pants tell you?”
“Sharon! It’s time you went home. I’ll call you a taxi,” the Fat Kontroller said, placing an arm around her shoulders to shepherd her away from the table.
“And get your hands off me!” Shazza shouted angrily, squirming out from the Fat Kontroller’s, causing a bout of rubber-necking from the surrounding tables. “I’ll do you! I’ll tell HR!”
Josie pulled herself upright. She looked magnificent, eyes glittering with righteous fury. “I am HR, Shazza! Duly noted. Now go home, you’re drunk!”
Shazza suddenly looked confused at the turn of events. The room had descending in silence at her outburst. Even the presenter had stopped speaking and was peering down at our table. Talk about snatching defeat in the face of victory!
“Oh Mishter K, I’m sorry…” Shazza slurred, allowing him to lead her away but the drunken cow wasn’t quite done. “Call me!” she sloshed back at Zander. Fat chance, you never pick up the fucking phone!
Zander shifted away from Josie, “You have a boyfriend?”
“Oh, um, I…” Josie faltered, losing her composure.
“Harry dear, what was all that about?” Katrina asked open mouthed. “Was that about the chocolate incident?”
“Erm,” I hesitated, “There was a misunderstanding with a chocolate fountain someone had bought Josie for Christmas.”
“You have a boyfriend and a fountain of chocolate?” Zander accused Josie indignantly. “Do you have any idea of the environmental devastation wrought by intense cocoa farming in West Africa?”
“Katrina. Simon. I am so sorry for the upset,” I apologised, refilling their glasses. I slumped back in my seat and drained my Champagne flute. “Oh god! What a fucking disaster,” I said under my breath.
“Don’t sweat it, love,” Lol said laughing and gave me a hug. “Just look at this way, Harry, not only did you win an award tonight but it looks like you might be getting shot of Shazza at last.”
“Heh,” I scoffed sceptically and looked over at the perceptible rift opening up between a suspicious looking Zander and Josie, guiltily gnawing at her bottom lip with pearly white teeth. Yeah, I conceded, things could have turned out a whole lot worse.
*******
There may or may not be a Part 3 Dear Reader. I don’t yet know, as I’m only writing the top and bottom portions, and RooBeeDoo is filling in the middle bits + doing any formatting/making any all decisions. A tough job I’m sure.
*can we effectively operate without knowing the particulars of what others are doing and/or might be doing? Or does the veil need…some assistance?*
I guess we’ll know, when and if we know. If not, we’ll know. Don’t worry…I’m not eggzactly sure what that means either.
Queue song. 😉
*******
*Snot shit… /facepalms… The quote is, “It’s not shit”, Clicky… /rolls eyes… Couldn’t find a slightly long gif? …/stubs butt…*
Clicky and I decided we couldn’t not include an, um, Epi-chocolate-logue to end, Dear Reader…
*Fanks, Clicky… /pats snout…*
The elevator journey up to the office the next morning was interminably long and extra bumpy, rattling my brains and turning my stomach. Shazza wasn’t manning reception but that was nothing new. I strolled round to my desk clutching our trophy in one hand and my head in the other. The Fat Kontroller was waiting for me, looking as fresh as a daisy. How does he do it?
“Good morning, Harry. We made the press,” he said handing me a copy of the local paper. “Front page.”
I placed the trophy on my desk and sat down, spreading the newspaper out and tried to focus. Josie had indeed made the front page, but so had Shazza – the awards photographer had captured the commotion. He’d even managed to capture the line of spittle streaming from Shazza’s spiteful mouth.
I read out the headline, “’Fracas at Local Business Awards. What a FAK Up!’. Oh bollocks!”
“You’ll be able to sort won’t you, Harry,” the Fat Kontroller said, picking up the trophy and polished it with his sleeve. “There’s a Good Egg.”
Happy Easter, Dear Reader. And don’t forget to stuff your faces with as much chocolate as you can because, next year… who know?
My Sweet Lord! Academic charged with assessing Sugar Tax ‘told by God to push for it’ https://t.co/cJwElTQkPP
Dear Reader, I hate to be the one to inform you of this, but the task has fallen to me to inform you of that, which you do not know. Hang on a sec…
*wtf was that noise? Nope…no one there. Musta been the wind …/me shrugs…*
Anyway, erm, where was I? OH YEAH!!! Tragedy has befallen RooBeeDoo, and she appears to have lost her fucking mind. Mainly because she asked me to write the opening and closing bits of a post or two. And who am I, you might ask? My name is Mr. Slimey, but I don’t mind if you call me Mr. S.
Begging your pardon, but would you mind hanging on again for one more moment? I shan’t be long.
* Hmmm…that’s weird. Strange noises, strange events, but no space dolphin to be found anywhere. How odd…*
The story that follows is a story written by RooBeeDoo called The Inchoate Egg, and it’s a good one. I know it’s a good story because I’ve read it. Good? Nah…it’s great. A great story, that I now present it to you without much further delay. Just gotta close all these random opening doors.
Enjoy your read, and catch ya on the flipside.
*******
*Aww… Nice work with the doors btw, Clicky… /pats snout… Cade’s got a story in the next Anthology… /scratches nose… ’bout a door or sumfin’…*
Thank you, Cade ❤
Dear Reader, as it’s nearly Easter, I thought I’d post my second story from ‘The Underdog Anthology II: Tales The Hollow Bunnies Tell’, last year’s Easter-themed, collective offering…
*Oh I thought it would be fun, Clicky… /lights up… if Cade provided bread… /drags… and I provided the filling for a Missive sammich… /streams smoke…*
I’ve split it in two, so ‘The Inchoate Egg’ will be concluded in a following post. Hopefully today…
*/squints… ‘Vanillin’? …/flicks ash… Do you think they mean vanilla, Clicky? …/shrugs…*
… If not, then tomorrow. Enjoy! 😀
The Inchoate Egg
by Roo B. Doo
“Patience is a virtue, Harry,” Payroll Pammy chimed as she glided past the elevator on the way to the kitchen, carrying a tray of empty mugs. I was inside the lift, gnashing my teeth while I waited for the doors of the ancient mechanism to close. Pammy evidently shared the consensus opinion of the minions at F A Kontrell, that the elevator to our 5th floor offices is ‘very slow’.
More like fucking glacial, I fumed, as I stood over the control panel and angrily jabbed at the ‘door close’ button, each jab accompanied by an entreaty to “close, you fucking bastard.” Slowly, the door halves started their whiny crawl toward each other and were just about to touch when a smooth, tanned hand, topped with exquisitely polished pink fingernails, halted their long awaited reunion by adroitly sliding between them.
“Hold the lift, please!”
I recognised both the hand and voice, and my chest tightened at the thought of being in close proximity with the office goddess I’d lusted after. I felt a tinge of fear too, if I’m honest, as the last time we’d been alone together hadn’t exactly worked out that well for me. Josie looked surprised to see me lurking in the corner of the lift, finger still hovering over the ‘door close’ button. It must have looked as if I were deliberately trying to shut her out.
“Oh, hello Harry,” she said sheepishly. She moved to the opposite corner at the back of the lift, putting as much distance between us as she could. “How are you?”
“I’ve been worse.”
The words hung between us and I wondered if, like me, she was remembering the night several months ago when Alfie, her brick shithouse of a boyfriend, had tried to kill me over a misunderstanding. He came home from work unexpectedly and thought I was trying to debauch his girl with an obscene Secret Santa gift. As If!
Of course I had been trying to gain access to the fair Josie’s knickers, but not with anything so crass as the oversized sex toy that Alfie had seized upon. I’d been using an entirely more tasteful gift, targeting Josie’s weakness for chocolate. It was classy and it had nearly worked too.
I turned back to the control panel and resumed my button jabbing, minus the swearing. For once the lift doors effortlessly glided together first time with barely a murmur, sealing us in. The lift compensated for the unexpected quiet efficiency with a gut flipping jolt before starting its grindingly slow journey downwards.
Well this is awkward, I thought.
Josie and I hadn’t really spoken since that night. She’d been avoiding me and my ardour had been tempered somewhat by the painfully real threat of a good hiding from her boyfriend. Mr Kontrell, a.k.a. the Fat Kontroller, had called me a ‘Good Egg’ after I’d declined to press charges – so reluctant was he to see his company dragged through the mud that he offered me a substantial pay rise in return for keeping my mouth shut.
It was an offer I was happy to accept. Besides, I didn’t want to sabotage any future chance with Josie by being the cause of her boyfriend being locked up, no matter how much the animal deserved it. That I’d survived Alfie’s ire at all was entirely down to the girl herself, who’d stop his murderous rampage with a substantial kick to his bollocks. I only wished I’d been conscious to see it.
The silence between us was deafening over the groaning lift mechanism. I decided to break it. “So, are you bunking off early?”
I turned toward Josie and she smiled back shyly. Fuck, but she is beautiful, I thought, and felt my stomach flutter. I smiled back, drinking in the delicacy of her elfin features framed by glossy, black hair, and not to mention a smoking hot body that would cause Elle McPherson to weep. To think, I’d been that close to sticking my tongue down her throat.
“Yes, kind of,” she replied, “I’ve been asked to attend the county-wide business awards ceremony tonight, so I’m going to work from home this afternoon.”
I took a sharp intake of breath. “The one at the civic centre?” I asked slowly. What the fuck!
“Yes,” Josie hesitated, “Shazza’s asked me if I’d go. Apparently one of the guests can’t make it now.”
“Oh right.” I nodded slowly and tried to keep my voice neutral, “we’re up for ‘Green Business of the Year’. I wrote our submission.”
“Are you going as well?” Josie asked with surprise. There was that awkwardness again and we hadn’t even passed the 3rd floor yet.
“Well yeah, that’s why I’m bunking off. I’ve booked the afternoon off so that I’ve got plenty of time to get ready and arrive before our guests do,” I explained calmly whilst fuming inside. I’d only just left the office, for fuck’s sake! What client? When did they pull out and why the fuck hadn’t our jumped up bitch of a receptionist told me about it? It was my event to organise after all, not Shazza’s. “Did Sharon give you any more detail?”
“Only the dress code and start time.” Josie gently gnawed at her bottom lip with perfect white teeth. “Harry, about what happened at Christmas…”
“It’s not necessary, Josie,” I said holding up a hand. “It was a misunderstanding.”
The slowest lift in Christendom was about to creak past the first floor and now she wanted to talk. “I’m not…” she trailed off. “You know…”
“A raving chocoholic? Yeah you are.” I winked at her. “Look, what’s done is done. I’m happy if we can remain friends.” It was a lie but what could I do?
She looked relieved and I felt relieved we’d finally reached the ground floor. I held back and let Josie leave. One, it occurred to me that Alfie, who chauffeured her to and from work, might be waiting outside, and it probably wasn’t a good idea for him to see us emerge from the building together. And two, I had a bit of unfinished business to attend to.
“I’m just gonna go back up and see Shazza,” I explained when Josie turned round to see if I was following. “I’d better find out who’s dropped out and if there’s anything else she’s neglected to tell me.”
“Okay, I’ll see you later tonight then, Harry.” She gave me that shy smile again and left.
I waited until she was out of earshot. “Yes!” I hissed under my breath and punched the air before returning to jab at the lift buttons once again. “Come on you bastard, close!”
Quel surprise! Shazza wasn’t manning the reception desk, the job she was paid to do but seldom bothered with. When I did find her, she was sitting in my chair, at my desk, looking rapturously up at the Fat Kontroller, who in return was getting an eyeful of her lumpy tits. There really isn’t enough mind bleach in the world to purge me of that horrific mental tableaux. I resisted the impulse to retch.
“What’s this I hear, Josie’s going tonight?” I walked up and sat on my desk between the two of them.
“Ah Harry! I was just going over tonight’s guest list with Shazza,” the Fat Kontroller said, looking a little flustered. And why not? I’d just caught him ogling our fat receptionist’s cleavage. Dirty old fuck – Shaz is at least half his age.
“So who’s pulled out?” I plucked the guest list from Shazza’s hand, looked at it and put it down beside me. “And when did we know?”
“Phil Gutteridge and not that long ago,” Shazza answered defensively.
“That’s my fault, Harry,” the Fat Kontroller added. “I thought you’d gone for the day so I asked Sharon to invite Josie.”
“Okay. But why can’t he make it?” Shit! Phil is one of our more reliable clients, an absolutely corker of a guest for these sort of shindigs. He never passed up an offer of free grub and booze, and watching him eat and drink was a sight to behold, like a ravenous Serengeti lion attacking a gazelle carcass – worthy of David Attenborough narration.
“He broke his arm at the gym this morning,” the Fat Kontroller continued. “Running on the treadmill, apparently. He missed his mouth taking a big gulp of water. Slipped in the resulting puddle and down he went.”
I clamped a hand over my mouth to subdue a laugh – Phil isn’t the smallest of men, or healthiest. “Damn! I warned him about gyms. And drinking water.”
But the Fat Kontroller wasn’t finished. “I’m afraid Mrs Kontrell won’t be able to make it now either.”
“No. Is your wife poorly again?” I asked with deep concern.
“Yes, she has one of her heads on.” At least the Fat Kontroller had the decency to look embarrassed trotting out the familiar excuse. It was uncanny how often the chain smoking, soap opera addicted Mrs K pulled out of company events due to having ‘one of her heads on’. In the two and a half years I’d worked for the Fat Kontroller, I hadn’t met her once.
“So who are we going to get to replace her? A client?” I asked him. I was purposefully not including Shazza in the conversation, but now, from the corner of my eye, I caught her suddenly sitting up straighter, a simpering grin replacing the petulant pout on her face. Oh no, I thought. No, please, not Shaz!
“During Easter school holidays? No, it’s much too short notice to ask any other clients now,” the Fat Kontroller opined. “Happily young Sharon has offered to step into the breach.” He flourished his hand toward a beaming Shazza.
Oh fuck! That was all I needed, having a sneering, drunken Shazza, making sly digs at me all evening and googly eyes at the Fat Kontroller. “Are you sure there’s no one else we could ask? Tonight is kind of a big deal for F A Kontrell. What about Phil’s deputy?”
To give him credit, the Fat Kontroller did look as if he were seriously considering my suggestion, but I could tell that ship had already sailed. Still, it felt good to see Shazza’s grin falter and disappear again. She threw me a malevolent look, which I returned with raised eyebrows and condescending smile. Squirm bitch!
“No, I think we’ll stick with the revised line up,” the Fat Kontroller decided. “Although it probably won’t do us any harm to have a couple of beautiful additions on our table.” He winked at Shazza who visibly preened.
Ugh! I mentally grimaced, I fucking hope you’re referring to Josie and Shaz and not just to Shazza’s tits!
“Right. I’ll make sure not to tell Mrs K that…” If I ever get to meet her. I gave the Fat Kontroller a friendly nudge. God knows he deserved it for the mental abuse inflicted by his flirting with Shazza. As for our ambitious receptionist, I hadn’t forgiven her yet for the role she played in my Christmas beating – it was her inappropriate Secret Santa gift to me that Alfie had taken offence at.
“I’ll make up the new place cards for the table,” Shazza said, peering at the guest list on the desk. “Zander Rhodes? The fashion designer’s gonna be on our table?”
“Zandra Rhodes is a fashion designer, Shaz” I said barely able to keep the contempt out of my voice. “Zander Rhodes, however, works for Green Crusaders. They’re an environmental charity we’ve been tapping up.”
“Networking with, Harry,” the Fat Kontroller corrected me with a chuckle. “I met him at a function in the City. Nice lad, very driven. There’s some synergy there that could be mutually beneficial.”
That’s what I said – tapping up! I thought with a mental sigh. I got up to leave, “Well, alright then, if you and Shaz have got it all under control, I shall take my afternoon off now and bugger off home. See you both later.”
This time I decided to forego the extended lift experience and took the stairs.
Will the Fat Kontroller win his the prize? Does Harry pull? Will Josie allow it? And how much drink can Shazza safely handle?
I apologize for all the strangeness and strange events Dear Reader. I’ve not a clue what is going on with all the self-opening doors. Next thing you know, windows will be opening entirely on their own, and entire houses may suddenly be prone to levitation. Excuse me one more moment if you please…
*all kinds of unusual shit going on to be sure, but nothing really…”out of the ordinary”…per se /me scratches chin…*
Meh…I’ll see to that in a minute. But I’m confident that we’ll get, whatever this is, worked out to a logical conclusion. We may even stumble across some help and helpers along the way.
*no…that’s more along the lines of “professional help”, so I think their particular services are unlikely… /me looks around for anything…fishy…*
Good afternoon, Dear Reader! 😀 It’s snowing again. Not as much as last time, but Thoughtful Man is out working in it…
*Hee is indeed… /blows smoke ring…*
… And I’m sat here, on Sat-‘ere-day, pondering the idea of an anthology short story about ‘hedge riding’…
*Great mates… /puff contentedly… I’m so lucky, Clicky…*
‘Can someone be both a Hedge Rider and Hedge Witch? Yes if they are practicing crossing the veil, second sight and also find their core practice in their garden etc. If one is performing herbal magic without the Journey work, divination,
and spirit work then they are practicing Hedge Witchery and not Hedge Riding. These practices very much compliment each other. Hedge Riders use poison herbs to aid in flight, while the Hedge Witch is able to connect with the spirit world through meditations.
‘The Solanaceae, or nightshades, are an economically important family of flowering plants. The family ranges from annual and perennial herbs to vines, lianas, epiphytes, shrubs, and trees, and includes a number of important agricultural crops, medicinal plants, spices, weeds, and ornamentals. Many members of the family contain potent alkaloids, and some are highly toxic, but many, including tomatoes, potatoes, eggplant, bell/chili peppers, and tobacco are widely used.
Looking out the window, I see that our garden hedge is cloaked in snow…
“enclosure,” Old English haga “enclosure, fortified enclosure; hedge,” from Proto-Germanic *hag-(source also of Old Norse hagi, Old Saxon hago, German Hag “hedge;” Middle Dutch hage, Dutch haag, as in the city name The Hague), from PIE root *kagh- “to catch seize; wickerwork fence” (see hedge (n.), and compare hag). Meaning “fruit of the hawthorn bush” (Old English) is perhaps short for *hægberie.
… thinking I’m glad I don’t have to go outside to smoke in this weather. I’d hate to be made go outside to smoke today, Dear Reader. Standing on the street smoking makes me feel like a whore…
*Yikes! /final drag… That’s a different kind of hag, Clicky… /stubs butt… Nightmarish all the same. I can use that…*
Stay warm and enjoy your weekend, Dear Reader. Oh, and… Have a Song 😉
*A train of thought for a flight of fancy eh, Clicky? /pats snout… Come on, I’d better start writing it… /lights up…*
Red universe Frank published a new post on MEROVEE yesterday, called ‘His Story‘. It’s a cracking read, Dear Reader, so I left a link, below the line, to a LoL post called ‘Epic Rap Battles of His Story‘. And as it’s actually from the past, it is, ipso facto, history 😉 Cue Selfie…
*/lights up… Clicky, you cut off the bottom… /puffs…*
The majority of my purple shambles have been ‘disappeared’, along with the rest of Sync Miss For Him, so it’ll to fun to look at the colour afresh 😀
Diamonds come from coal, as you’re fond of saying, but so does black goo, the sort created in a scientific accident, whilst looking for some other holy grail. And it not only revolutionize an industry, it made the wearing an expensive colour more affordable. And so accessible, with all the symbolism and meaning it attracts.
Anyway I’ll save all that for the post 😀
And here we are 😀 Now, Dear Reader, you may or may not know of about the significance of the colour purple to me. It was the triple appearance/sync of ‘Purple People Eater’, something that I’d never even heard off before that Sunday in October 2012, that set me on my current crazy path. You can read about it here…
*/thinks… Sew my colour scheme forMRS REGN actually fits?! Thank you, Clicky… /pats snout…*
*/drags… Aye, Clicky, purple people…*
Yesterday’s Google Doodle celebrated the 180th birthday of Sir William Henry Perkin, who in 1856 accidentally stumbled onto a method of producing purple dye, cheaply, from coal tar. He was trying to synthesize quinine, to treat malaria…
*Or a mixer, Clicky… /taps ash…*
… but ended up revolutionizing the fashion industry, creating a ‘river of colours’ and growing very rich…
*A purple heater, Clicky… /drags… How fucking syncy is that! …/blows smoke rings….*
I then noticed that in India yesterday, Sir William Henry Perkin’s 180th birthday was celebrated with a different Google Doodle… Taken together, the two images combine to make a Purple people ‘eater… 😀
*Ah, I know what you’re thinking, Clicky… /puffs…*
I’m glad I didn’t finish writing this post last night, Dear Reader, because today I spent my lunch hour in an art gallery, The Beecroft in The Hive. It’s free admission…
… To see an Anglo-Indian exhibition of silks…
… And in amongst the ceiling floor length unrolled scrolls…
… I spotted the ‘pure’ stuff…
*/final drag… You’ll need to zoom in, Clicky… /stubs butt…*
There was another exhibitions on at The Hive yesterday. One called ‘Construction‘ displayed a purple dress…
… And I nearly deleted this next one butt… I think the words can be made out. I didn’t read the accompanying blurb properly whilst there, struggling and failing as it turned out to get a non-fuzzy shot, but I can just make out the name of Sir William Henry Perkin…
*Yeah, Clicky, that so reminds me of mum… /lights up…*
I’ve not been about much as I’m settling into my new job and editing some short stories submissions for the next Underdog Anthology…
*That’s right, number 5… /drags… *
… And struggling to write a submission of my own. So, I thought I’d post an extract from Mother’s scribblings, to see if it can’t get my own creative juices flowing…
Extract from ‘A Family History for Ruth and Julia (Gawd ‘Elp Us!**)’, a.k.a. ‘The Ma Papers’ by Judith Eileen Newton (formerly Shewan, née Packer)
My cousin Margaret and I used to go to a dance hall at Catford called The Savoy. It was really classy compared with Victor Sylvester’s. It was later renamed Mr Smith’s and was closed down after a fatal shooting, and I read in a crime book that the shooting was to do with the Richardson gang.
The Savoy had a member’s bar downstairs, and typically for the time, only men could be members; women could only be guests. Our main aim was to meet a man who was a member so that you could enter the inner sanctum so to speak. It was a really weird sight on a Saturday night because the main dance floor was virtually empty except for girls until about 10 o’clock. They would be dancing together and waiting for the boys – who by now were well oiled having been downstairs drinking all evening – to appear, ready to pull.
To have a long term boyfriend that was a club member enabled you to bypass the upstairs dance floor and go straight downstairs with your bloke. Then you could amble upstairs with him later and look down our noses at the expectant girls amassed as if to say ‘Look what I have got girls. Eat your heart out’.
I’ve always been fascinated with people and psychology and I think that, even then, I looked at people and mused. I have been in both situations at The Savoy – both with a bloke and without – and the mating dance is fascinating. It rarely changes; just the people were different. When I started to go dancing again, after Daddy died and I moved to Southend, I was petrified because I had not done that sort of thing for years. I really shouldn’t have worried because it has not changed. Oh the words are different, and the remarks are cruder and courser, but basically it’s the same.
The boys arrive and circle the floor sizing up the talent. The girls try to look nonchalant but are also eyeing up the boys. They have a sixth sense about who is going to ask them to dance and will indicate to the girl that they are dancing with that two guys are approaching, and whether they look good or not. The other will then say ‘no, I don’t fancy them’ or ‘yes, they are all right’ and the boys will then try to split them up. That’s easy if the girls fancy the boys, but virtually impossible to split them if they don’t.
Remarks like ‘Piss off’ or worse were not used in those days and yet I have heard them nowadays. Back then we gently declined and the boys continued to circle looking for other likely candidates. The girls’ worry was wasting a dance on someone that they did not fancy and missing out on a better prospect. The boys’ worry was to be left without a girl at the end of the evening.
The worse part of being a girl was that if your mate was prettier than you. She would be asked to dance while standing on the sideline, and this would leave you on your own if you were not asked to dance. You felt embarrassed, and even though you both agreed at the beginning of the evening that one would not dance and leave the other alone, when the crunch came ‘all’s fair in love and war‘.
Margaret being 4 years older than me was particularly unscrupulous in this respect. Many’s the time when I have refused to dance with someone and leave her on her own when, blow me, she’d be off with the first bloke that asked her, leave me standing.
It was on one of these memorable occasions when Daddy ambled up to me and it all started. Margaret and I were dancing when the boys came upstairs. I saw these two blokes eyeing us up and said to Margaret, “There are two boys coming over. Say no.”
Terry asked Margaret to dance and she said “Yes”. His lanky friend asked me and I said “No”. Margaret waltzed off with Terry, leaving us standing there awkwardly.
Still smiling, Daddy leaned down and whispered in my ear,“I have just walked the whole length of this dance floor to ask you to dance, don’t make me look like a fool now.” So I danced with him and your lives began.
Terry took Margaret home and she lived in Bellingham, which is a long way from Bermondsey, which is where I lived. As it turned out both Terry and Bob lived in Bermondsey, too. Sods law is that I went to Catford to meet new folk and end up with a bloke that lived in the next street.
I will not go into any more details here I will leave the details until the chapter about myself.
*******
*That’s kinda weird, Clicky… /final drag…*
Enjoy your Sunday, Dear Reader, and… Have a Song ❤
I started a new job yesterday, Dear Reader. I’m now working on the 13th and top floor of ‘The Tower’ and the views are great!
And ‘The Beast from the East’ is paying the UK a visit, sew… SNOW! I thought I’d take some photos to show The Okie Devil in Text US…
… Speaking of whom, Cade has sent through a lovely missive. Enjoy!
*******
LET’S TALK NUMB DERPS!!!
I mean...NUMBERS!!!
Q: What percentage of the ingredients listed above, needs to be unavailable, in order to make the entirety of the finished product itself also unavailable?
A: 1 - 1 = 0
So, we can assume, that if 100% of one ingredient is unavailable to the manufacturer for a certain product, 100% of the other ingredients will be unavailable to you by default since the entire product will be unavailable. Just thinking here about “NEW COKE” that was introduced back in the 1980’s, and how the entirety of the food market is now based on?
...<drum roll>...
CHEMISTRY!!!
Why in the hell would a blended oil need fragrance?
I mean, when we humans swap fluids, there’s nothing that gets all stinky or anything. I wonder what is going on with oil(s) when they get freaky and start mingling?
That also gets me to thinking about the nature of bonds. Especially those bonds that we humans like to ignore, because they are just too damn inconvenient to think about. Those ones that are not cost effective, non-timely, too vague… negligible. Such as…
Q: I wonder what oil’s relationship is to oil(s)?
A: Yeah...those oils.
Any chance that Petroleum has some sort of bond with say…Canola or Olive Oil? What about…Chicken Fat? Spooky Action At A Distance.
(not a far enough distance if you ask me 😉 )
What if a certain oil requires another type of oil or others types of oils, in order to retain it’s own matrix. Like, in order to stay what it is, it needs some local contrast to maintain it’s own integrity. What if the oil(s) it uses to do this, is suddenly…gone? Are we talking mutation? Because as far as I know, it takes many and much to make a certain kind of oil.
Olive.
O Live.
Ol’ I’ve
/me shrugs therefore I am sure I've no clue
^DIGITALISM — HOLOGRAMS (OFFICIAL VIDEO)^
Anti...Foaming...Agent?
I’m betting that this is for the manufacturer more than the consumer. Or at least, as much for them as for us. If you can’t get the shit out of the bottle/can, no one is going to buy it.
Pro-Tip 01: For baking, I personally dump a bead of Olive Oil onto the baking pan, then spread it with a paper towel. You can also let gravity do the work by lifting the pan and letting it roll around.
Pro-Tip 02: Cold Oil – Hot Pan. Hot Oil – Cold Pan. You can stick your pan into the preheated oven and let it warm a bit, then put some oil on it and it will spread easier with less waste.
I mean, we’re likely talking about baking pizza-rolls or some other pre-cooked something…right? We’re just heating it up. We aren’t really cooking anything. Just don’t want our prefabricated frozen egg rolls sticking to the pan. Shit takes time, and you’ve no time. Maybe you should skip it altogether.
Water? ... Alcohol?
Water is bad and getting worse…and alcohol was/already is bad. So, what in the FUCK is it doing in my “Extra Virgin Olive Oil”?!?!? Without even having to reference gender, one could say that this product sounds kinda…
slutty.
Only 53% Olive Oil? Wait…I’m just a dummy grabbing random “shocking” images from Google Image search. Am I being honest here? LET’S LOOK!!!
Looks like that shit is sold in France, and that’s where lot’s of the world’s skanky and polluted fish is supposedly sold. Maybe someone is fighting skank with skank?
Let's digress back to water.
If the entirety of the world’s water is “polluted” how much control does that give government(s) over water? I would say “how much more control” does that give, but I’m trying to be optimistic here.
Hmmmm… I wonder if water “navigates” our being? That might be a good angle for you “Orwellian” types to ponder. Or“well”ian…
lolz...
A “well” sounds like a deep subject. Surely The US Constitution couldn’t be used as a model for controlling people in more and more abstract ways…
could it?
And even if it’s not used in The USA by US citizens, that’s no guarantee that others won’t use The Constitution as a model for stuff elsewhere. Don’t blame them tho. I mean…that’s what we Americans want/wanted … right? We want everyone else to be just like us Americans.
DEMOCRACY!!!
^Digitalism – Wolves^
Yeah…I’m thinking that aggregate and negligible is pretty important. Coal, is important to industry. Tin is important to industry. Rubber is important to industry. OH!!! And speaking of industry…
Q: Ever get the feeling that this “CO2 Emissions” bullshit is nothing more than a smokescreen?
A: (lolz...smokescreen)
Yeah…a distraction. You can make electric cars until Christ comes back, but they still have, and create, all the same problems and/or completely new ones + similar ones. “Our” problem, is waste and wastes. Much of the model and/or modeling that is used today is based on speed(s) and demands that were created during the wartime production needs of WWI and WWII.
Q: Why did we not slow back down?
A: A new paradigm?
Money? And just how much there could be?
‘Now I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away. Also there was no more sea.’
Revelation 21:1
‘The twelve gates were twelve pearls: each individual gate was of one pearl. And the street of the city was pure gold, like transparent glass.’
Revelation 21:21
No mention of Platinum streets, but I think that Gold and Platinum are closely related. Here’s a link to the entire chapter if you don’t like me paraphrasing.
But yeah…something about streets of gold. If you want symbolism and metaphors and other vagaries to argue over, methinks there are some there if you compare it with the vid below.
/me shrugs
^Mining Platinum From the Road Part One^
It’s already Wednesday. That means, that a certain someone I kinda know is on day two of a new job.
There’s also been other…news. I tried to start writing about this on my own blog on Monday, but even tho I didn’t know these people really, it was kindof a gutshot to me.
Should news like this have an effect on me? Should it not? Why are you telling me how I should or should not feel? We’ve no time for grief. We’ve no time for anything. Which makes me wonder, what do we have time for? Lemme know if you find out…k? Schedule an appointment, and we can talk about it until I lose interest.
^King Tuff – Psycho Star [OFFICIAL VIDEO]^
Let’s get back to bonds and bonding of the layered variety/varieties. Could oil really be a model for other oils? We’ve got our schematics and templates and plans and blueprints and standards and schedules and day planners and shit like that…so…why wouldn’t Nature have similar?
I mean sure, Nature, is going to be a little more fluidic and flowy in her creations and creating, but isn’t this the very rabbit that we are chasing? What happens when we finally catch this cagey and evasive little bastard, and the motherfucker has fangs powered by nuclear radiation?
Lolz...like...Godzilla, cept less stomping and more biting.
I digresslessishness. Sure Science has this kind of modeling, but Science does it in the lab or some other clean/sterile environment.
(that ought to be a bumper sticker and/or t-shirt if it's not already)
Erm…yeah…clean. Clean this, clean that. But I got a question…
Q: If labs are so goddamn clean, what’s with all the cleaning?
A: ??¿
I don’t envy those that work in labs. They’re nasty places to work, and I’m not sure which is worse…the gross nasty shit they bring in to evaluate, or the gross nasty shit they use to combat the gross nasty shit they are tinkering with.
But that makes me wonder…is it the contrast(s) and contrasting that makes one thing look better or worse than the other? Bleach may result in some level of “clean”, but bleach itself is one of the nastiest substances on Earth/Terra.
^Superorganism – Everybody Wants To Be Famous (Official Video)^
I was just thinking about black holes again last night, but I was thinking more along the lines of what is required to create a certain state within a certain element. Not only that, but the steps and processes that it takes to create and maintain the state of a certain element. I will quote my source, which is available by giving the video below a viddy.
^making nitrogen ice with vacuum chamber, that is -210 degrees celsius^
So we’ve liquid Nitrogen, we put it in a vacuum/vacuum chamber, and eventually our liquid Nitrogen becomes a solid. That get’s me back to “phasing” and states, which gets me back to aggregate radiation(s). Then again, I tend to think of almost everything as either a fluid and/or fluidic irrespective of a certain something’s solidity. Anyway, I’m thinking that maybe we don’t understand “radiation” as well as we think we do? Heat is too prevalent, and sound is mysteriously absent.
Hmmmmmm.
Something else is missing, and I think I know what that missing something is…
^Young Fathers – In My View (Official Video)^
!!!!!!!RANDOM WIKIPEDIA ATTACK!!!!!!!
!-RAWR-!
From today’s featured article…
Flight Unlimited III – a 1999 flight simulator video game developed by Looking Glass Studios and published by Electronic Arts. It allows players to pilot simulations of real-world commercial and civilian aircraft in and around Seattle, Washington.
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Music Analysis (journal) – a peer-reviewed academic journal specializing in music theory and analysis. It is based in England and published its first issue in 1982. Although the journal “is not produced on behalf of a society, it is closely associated with the Society for Music Analysis.
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Leanne Crichton – a Scottish international footballer who plays as a midfielder for Glasgow City and the Scotland national team. She previously played for Notts County in the FA WSL as well as Hibernian, Celtic, and Whitehill Welfare/Edinburgh Ladies.
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Ellen R. Sandor – an American new media artist. She is also founder of the Chicago-based (art)n, a collective of artists, scientists, mathematicians, and computer experts.
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Ballasalla – a village in the parish of Malew in the south-east of the Isle of Man, close to the airport and the town of Castletown. The village was built mostly from the ruins of the nearby Rushen Abbey, a Cistercian abbey founded in the 12th century and dissolved in the 16th century.
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Momo and the Time Thieves – a Danish-language opera in two acts by Svitlana Azarova. The libretto, based on the children’s book Momo by Michael Ende, was written by Anna Bro (da; de).
Londonderry by-election, 1929 – The Londonderry by-election of 1929 was held on 29 January 1929. The by-election was held due to the appointment as high court judge of the incumbent UUP MP, Malcolm Macnaghten. It was won by the UUP candidate Ronald Deane Ross.
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Battle of Palikao – was fought at the bridge of Palikao by Anglo-French forces against the Qing Empire during the Second Opium War on the morning of 21 September 1860. It allowed Western forces to take the capital Beijing and eventually defeat the Qing Empire.
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City Council– A city council, town council, town board, or board of aldermen is the legislative body that governs a city, town, municipality, or local government area.
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CitySurf Globe– a family of Geography 2.0 Geographical Information System software, developed by PiriReis Bilişim Teknolojileri, known as a new model in mapping servers and interaction with the end user.
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Richard Friend– is Cavendish Professor of Physics at the University of Cambridge and Tan Chin Tuan Centennial Professor at the National University of Singapore. Friend’s research concerns the physics and engineering of carbon-based semiconductors.
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Clive Nattress– an English former footballer who made 340 appearances in the Football League playing as a defender for Darlington and Halifax Town in the 1970s and 1980s.
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Dahomeyan presidential election, July 1968– A referendum on Émile Derlin Zinsou’s candidacy for president was held in Dahomey on 28 July 1968. The results of the May 1968 presidential election had been annulled due to low voter turnout. The military government appointed Zinsou to the position, but he accepted only on the condition that a referendum regarding his appointment be held. His candidacy was supported by 76.4% of voters, with a 72.6% turnout.
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Léon Hennique– a French naturalistic novelist and playwright.
We’ve got “non-society based” peer reviewed journals that have close affiliations but no direct ties, time thieves, opium war(s), a few political groups and potential members, “vote or else” types of goings on, arcane French writers, lots of technology, some more of that “new media” crap…whatever in the fuck that is, and in general, plenty of sport all around.
Good stuff! 🙂
^Digitalism – Gonna Be Good^
Wanna know what got me to rambling this morning? Or at least, what actually set me to writing?
Yep, that’s all I read. I don’t care what else is there. Not now anyway. Why drink the ocean, when a sip will do me just fine? I read the first paragraph, and all I could think about was going to grocery stores when I was a kid. Glass bottles EVERYfuckingWHERE!!!
You had produce, meat(s), and everything else was either in cans or glass or cardboard or paper. Then got to thinking about change and changes over the years…adaptation. I wonder how adaptation differs from mutation? I see the potential for some ripping there. And if there is a potential for ripping, are we focused on the potential, or the actual ripping part(s)?
Truth be told, we appear to have all of the same dynamics and mechanics of wartime, save for the recycling portions. We seem to be completely fine with disposable/disposability. Likely why we tend to think of ourselves as being nuts. We like to make ourselves indispensable, which I guess makes everything else disposable.
Or am I being cynical?
^James Blake – If The Car Beside You Moves Ahead (Official video)^
I’m feeling a shade better today. Been feeling like complete shit all week.
How are you?
That flu I tangled with for over a month really kicked my ass, and I never really even got that sick. Not many of the more traditional symptoms anyway. But it sure did a number on my chest. Not to mention all of the crazy weather we’ve been having.
70°F/21°C one afternoon...28°F/-2°C the next.
That shit gets old. ESPECIALLY when it’s warm at night, and then, the day gets colder as the day progresses. I thought shit was supposed to warm up as the sun creeps across the sky?
^CHVRCHES – Get Out^
Found a really wicked vid that shows some…erm…atmospheric anomalies if you care to check it out.
Great photography too.
Springs.
^planes clouds and vortices^
We can’t understand everything…until and unless we can. But who gets to make that decision?
^Alaska Airlines Great American Eclipse flight #9671^
Do you need someone to hold your hand while you are out saving the world?
Brush your hair for you?
Rub your feet and/or back?
Tell stupid jokes in an attempt to make you smile?
We can lay down some trail-dust, and sprinkle it with some stardust.
Have camera on my phone, will travel 😛
/me shrugs
^Boeing 737 – from a weather balloon^
If everything comes from somewhere, where did nowhere come from?
There's a bend there.
^Amazing A380, B787, B777 Appear out of nowhere at Schiphol Airport^
Is it possible that we’ve become so reliant on vernacular and it’s reusability, all while becoming so dependent on standards and commerce/capitalism, that we’ve gotten linguistically lazy? If kids are really graduating from school while simultaneously being labeled as illiterate, is that indicative of someone fighting a multi-front war of some kind? I thought that school was there for the people, not vice-versa. Lot’s of tiptoeing here. What am I talking about?
Delhi/Population - 18.98 million - 2012 (source Google)
University of Delhi/Total enrollment – 132,435 – 2015 (source Google)
I was watching a documentary the other day that said officials actually have no clue how many people reside in Delhi, and that the population could be as high as 35 million at times. Lots of immigrants and immigration. Loads of people come in from the sticks for medical treatment.
That said, it takes money to make money, and you can’t spend your money on making money if you are giving your money away to unproductive sectors of the economy…right?
Q: What’s productive about being stingy?
A: ¿¿?
GIMMIE FAT MONIES!!!
^Lusine – Just A Cloud^
I dunno what you think about. Not unless you tell me anyway. And if what you tell me has been washed and cleaned and cycled and recycled all into some something else that is not what you were originally thinking about? Yeah…confusion. Not that anyone would do that or anything.
But seriously, how much suffering can “John and/or Jane Public” endure before that suffering starts to trickle? Can ‘the captains of industry” really stand on the backs of others and persevere? Granted there is a shift to technology, but the singular nature of this thinking is itself teetering on collapse.
Maybe it’s a safety thing. If you and your SJW groups don’t stop breaking windows, I’m gonna fire all the mechanics that work for Coca Cola. And if there are no mechanics working at Coca Cola to keep the machines running, there will be no Coca Cola, nor Sprite, nor Coke Zero, nor anything else.
Sounds...familiar.
^Digitalism – Shangri La^
Maybe the time of “The Union” has returned. Unions are all but dead, not to mention that divorce rates are said to be skyrocketing.
I digressssss.
I’ve thought a lot about Unions. Prolly because I belonged to a couple: IAM/AW and Teamsters. But back when I was in a Union, they didn’t make any sense. Not much sense. I’ve got two people telling me what to do instead of one, and they both want my money.
Would it be possible to have technical unions? I know that laws here in The US are weaved so that it’s gonna be tough for computer programmers to start a labor union. Not to mention that once you get around Federal Law, you’ve got loads of State Law(s) you are going to have to tangle with, followed by loads of local law(s). I don’t think foreign countries have such problems.
^Hercules & Love Affair – My Curse And Cure (Official Video)^
I’m sorry you filthy Limeys have gotten blanketed in snow…I really am. It breaks my motherfucking hot and beating Okie heart…it really does.
It’s raining and warm here. I found a drown snake in one of the puddles out back. My guess is, that there is likely a correlation with precipitation amount(s) and hibernating wildlife. Not to mention shit like encroachment and bug spray(s)/pest control, available food sources, available clean water, and shit like that.
Q1: What effect does that one snake’s death have on the entirety of existence?
A1: ¿??
Q2: What if it was the last one?
A2: ?¿¿
Methinks, that every one, is the last one.
Do you ever think about where a grass snake is able to get a clean drink of water? What about a dirty drink of water? Water is water…right? Snakes are gross anyway…fuck em’.
^Muse – Thought Contagion [Official Music Video]^
Been thinking a load about intersecting gravities of both the horizontal and vertical varieties, but I’ve not much to say about it here. I just know that I’m starting to see them everywhere. Vertical here, horizontal there, and sometimes…both.
That has me to thinking about the more “finite” iterations of time. Depends on your vantage point tho. A Saturn V rocket looks quite small from 5 miles away. But if you strap your own ass into one of the couches inside the Command Module that sits atop of a Saturn V rocket? Yeah…they’re actually a pretty big rocket. They go fast too. Which has the effect of making both small stuff big, and big stuff small, and does so in rapid fashion. I wonder how our mind deals with such contrast and contrasts?
I know it’s taken me a while to get used to it. Not that I am really used to it. But going from far outside of Earth/Terra’s atmosphere, to deep within an atom inside of our planet’s crust, all within the span of a single second? Yeah…that shit takes some getting used to. Especially when time starts getting all wonky irrespective of scale(s).
^The Presets – 14U+14ME (Official Video)^
Can you imagine riding a single atom of Hydrogen for billions of years while traversing from the Earth’s crust, and riding that atom all the way to our planet’s core?
Why in the hell would a blended oil need fragrance? 
Anti...Foaming...Agent?
Water? ... Alcohol?
Library of Libraries 