Category: Valentine’s Day
Short Butt Sweet…
*You got the tangerine peel out of the slop bucket to photograph it, Clicky? …/looks aghast…*
*/pats snout… You are worth it, Clicky… /lights up…*
Story Time: Waste Not, Want Not
*What a good idea, Clicky… /pats snout…*
Happy Valentine’s Day, Dear Reader. I’ve no chocolates or flowers to give you, so please enjoy ‘Waste Not, Want Not’, one of my Halloween short stories from Underdog Anthology VI: The Gallows Stone…
… And have a Song ❤
Waste Not, Want Not
By Roo B. Doo
The dark October morning was filled with urgent lights – red ones, amber ones, blue ones that flashed – and urgent shouts, pounding footsteps and screams. Lance Parrish took in the chaotic scene around him in quiet disbelief, until he caught sight of the remains of his bicycle – his new Genesis Skyline bicycle – crushed beneath the filthy wheels of a gargantuan waste removal lorry.
He bunched his hands into fists and shook with rage. In all the years Lance had commuted to work by bicycle, he had witnessed plenty of traffic chaos, but none of it had ever directly involved him. Until today.
He stalked round to the front of the vehicle and craned his neck up to catch sight of the driver, but the cab was empty. Desperate to see the face of the menace that had mangled his bike and nearly killed him, Lance scanned the faces of the gathering crowd, looking for an expression of guilt. “Where’s the driver?” he shouted hoarsely. “Which of you is the driver of this death trap?”
Nobody replied, the crowd’s rapt attention was firmly fixed on the activity around the front wheel of the truck. Several bystanders had their phones out, capturing the scene. Lance was torn between feeling contempt and gratitude toward the ghouls; he would need all the evidence he could get when he sued the waste company for all it was worth. “Do any of you know who the driver is?” he called out again.
And then Lance spotted him, or rather the logo of the waste company emblazoned on the back of a hi-viz jacket. The driver stood away from the crowd, yabbering into a mobile phone. He looked burly and mean – not the type to mess with – but Lance didn’t care. Filled with furious indignation, he strode over to front it out with the man. “Hey you! I want a word with you!”
“No, it’s-“ the driver spoke into his phone, rubbing his meaty hand across his furrowed brow, “-it’s not good.”
“Hey! Are you the driver of the truck?”
“Yeah. Emergency Services are here.”
Lance reached the driver. “I want to talk to you.”
The driver continued his conversation. “Of course. You’d better let the site know. I think I’m gonna be stuck here for some time.”
“You cretinous oaf. Don’t ignore me!” Lance bellowed in frustration.
“Yeah okay.” The driver smiled ruefully, “Okay, okay yeah. Will do. I’ll let you know. Bye.” He ended the call and started scrolling through the contact numbers of his phone.
“Excuse me!” Lance said pointedly but the driver continued to ignore him. “I’m the person you very nearly killed. You know, the one on the bike that you’ve utterly destroyed.”
The driver lifted the phone back up to his face. “Hello Kath? It’s me. Don’t worry, love, but I’ve been involved in an accident. Nah, nah I’m okay…”
Lance was incandescent with rage. Not only was the truck driver completely ignoring him, but he was calling people up to brag about coming through it all unscathed. Lance could scarcely believe the obtuseness of the man. Unless…“Oh my god!” Lance howled with righteous scorn. “I just bet you voted for Brexit!”
The driver turned and walked away toward the doorway of a nearby shop, continuing his telephone conversation, and leaving Lance in his wake. “A cyclist undertook me as I was turning left…”
Lance was gobsmacked to hear the lies pouring from the man’s lips. “What do you mean, I undertook you?” He followed after the driver, who was now slouched against the shop window, looking back out at the truck and the crowds. “You didn’t bloody well indicate, you moron! What’s your name? I’m going to have you for hazardous driving.”
“I didn’t see him, Kath.” The driver’s face seemed to suddenly crumple. “Believe me, there was nothing I could do.” The driver’s eyes brimmed over with tears. He sniffed back a wet sob. “Nah…”
Lance had heard quite enough and squared up to the brute. “Now look here. I insist you put the phone away and talk to me.”
“… he didn’t make it.” The driver’s chest heaved once before a stream of hot vomit landed where Lance was standing.
“Ugh! You’re disgusting!” Lance jumped back. “You’re a complete disgrace!”
“He didn’t hit you, you know,” a voice said from behind Lance. It had the timbre of a box of gravel.
“What?” Lance asked, furiously shaking his feet. “What do you mean he didn’t hit me?”
“Well yes, yes he did hit you. Earlier. But not just now, not with his breakfast. Look.”
Miraculously, Lance’s trainers were free of vomit. Not a splash of what looked like it had once been a full English fry-up, adorned either his shoes or legs.
“But that’s incredible.” Lance marvelled at the lack of spew on him. “Hey! Where are you going?” he called to the driver, who having wiped his mouth, lit a cigarette and was now walking quickly away. “Don’t run away from me now. I order you to stop!”
Lance started after the retreating driver but the voice from behind halted him in his tracks. “Lancelot Graham Parrish, let him go.”
Everything stopped. The driver, a cloud of cigarette smoke shrouding his head, froze in mid step. Traffic in the distance stood still and the noisy din of the hectic morning was suddenly replaced by cacophonous silence.
“Turn around and face me,” the gravelly voice entreated.
Lance didn’t move, standing agog at the morning’s turn of events. He didn’t know what the hell was happening but he was quite certain that he did not want to turn around.
“NOW!” The voice commanded and then sighed, like a shifting sand dune. “If you would be so kind.”
With shuffling steps, Lance slowly inched around. Everything appeared frozen in time. He could see the offensive waste removal lorry and the crowd held in suspended animation around it. There was no movement, no sound and no owner of the voice; Lance was perplexed.
Lance lowered his gaze until they alighted on a black-robed figure that stood barely tall enough to make eye contact with his hips. “Who are you?”
“Who’d you think?” the robed figure said, producing a spinning scythe from thin air.
Lance jumped back, a reflexive action due to the sharp proximity of the flashing blade to his groin. “I thought you’d be taller.”
The scythe ceased spinning, the wicked blade pointed directly at Lance. “Did you just assume my height?” the robed figure asked coolly.
“No!” Lance blurted out, intensely aware of the crackle of electricity that coursed along the edge of the scythe blade. “You sound taller. Look, I’ve never been in a situation like this before. This is all very new to me…”
The robed figure watched on passively as Lance tried desperately to collect up the scattered rags of his thoughts.
“Am I dead?”
“Well, let’s see shall we?” The robed figure quickly turned and suddenly the world was animated once more. The crowd in front of the waste removal truck parted to reveal two men hauling a body out from beneath it. Lance heard the shrieks and groans of the onlookers, as the body being carried out broke in half, falling to the ground with sickening thumps. Several witnessing bystanders duly followed suit.
“So I’m dead?” Lance was slightly perturbed as his own lack of squeamishness. “I’m dead, so that makes you Death.”
“Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!” Death cackled good naturedly. “Welcome to the other side, Lance. May I call you Lance?”
“Sure,” Lance replied numbly. His attention returned to the antics of his so called ‘rescuers’, who were slipping about in his remains, even as they attempted to scoop them up from the road.
“Good, good. And your preferred personal pronouns are ‘he, him, his’?”
“I’m sorry, what?” Lance replied, tearing his gaze away from the scene of his death to look down at the small black robed figure of Death, who was unsheathing an electronic organiser from its leather case.
“Well, you look more like a ‘xe, xem, xyr’, but I don’t like to make assumptions.” Death switched on the organiser and started tapping on the keyboard. “Sorry, formalities. You are Lancelot Graham Parrish. Date of birth 29th February 1972. Date of death 31st October 2018…”
“Aren’t you meant to use an hourglass for that sort of thing?”
Death gave the electronic organiser a shake. “This is an upgrade.”
Lance bent down to get a better look at the gadget held in Death’s bony grasp. “But, but that’s a Psion!”
“They’re so old fashioned.”
“And an hourglass isn’t?” Death paused for Lance to reply but was met by embarrassed silence. “Psionic, from Psi, 23rd letter of the Greek alphabet, pertaining to psyche. Spirit, soul, you know. You may think the portable tech of 2018 is all singing and dancing, but believe you me, it would be nothing without the introduction of these babies.”
“Psion organisers?” Lance asked incredulously.
“Psions were made specifically for use on this side.”
Lance shook his head in disbelief. “Then how come my father was able to buy one from Dixons in the High Street in 1984?”
Death visibly stiffened. “God knows. We don’t like to talk about it.” The electronic contraption disappeared back into the folds of Death’s robe. “Come on, Lance, we’ve got to move you on.”
Lance watched Death glide away in the same direction that his Brexit-voting killer had taken. He took one last look back at the scene of carnage where he’d met his grisly end, before following the tiny figure, robed in black. “So tell me, Death,” Lance asked, picking up the pace, “you said ‘God knows’. I take it then that there a god?”
Death stopped, nonchalantly spinning the scythe, waiting for Lance to catch up. “I don’t know. Why don’t we go and ask her?”
*Come on, Clicky… /lights up… Let’s go and what Cade and Leggy are up to…*
Missive From ‘Merica: Valentine’s… Knot!
Brrr! Dear Reader, I have to say, the weather is particularly chilly today…
*Ooh Click, a favourite flick… /lights up… And tomorrow just ‘appens to be Valentine’s…*
* /drags… That’s a lot of sevens mentioned in those brief clips, Clicky. Interesting… /streams smoke…*
*Jesus fuck! /drops fag… What’s up, Clicky? Slow down… /retrieves cigarette…*
*A missive? From Cade? …/:D… Goody! I’ll go change the post title… /points… you go get a Song… /stubs butt… And calm down, Clicky! Some decorum please… /sprints…*
Here, we see some “Grid Girls” in their unnatural habitat…watching with delight, in anticipation of the steady paycheck that their job affords them, as two legitimate and self-made ladies size each-other up just prior to fisting each other in a public spectacle.
There are also plenty of “Camera Men” on hand to catch the action, and the video(s) they take, will in turn be sold to millions of “Viewer Ships”. I admit, that I have no idea what that one guy trying to get between the “Fisting Ring Wraiths” is doing. He’s likely there is some decorative capacity…
just for show.
After meticulous study of the above image(s), one can only assume, that behind every good “Grid Girl” is a “Quid Dude”.
But let’s us not focus on that noise. Dunno bout you, but I’ve gotten myself all hot and bothered pondering the goings on in that pic. I’ve now have a wet, swampy mess in my shorts, and you are likely quite chilly…so let’s make some sweet sweet icy love noises.
^Hear the Otherworldly Sounds of Skating on Thin Ice | National Geographic^
Change and changes.
It’s rough to know what to think about these concepts. Especially if you make and keep a more binary/tertiary observational outlook within your own personal unary thoughtstream(s). It allows for a more Quaternary base within thine own head, which should allow you to perhaps not be so single minded as to the concept of dynamic unary systems.
“Single minded” in this instance, means “fear”.
Not telling you to be afraid, nor to not be afraid, just maybe be more mindful of fear when you as an individual notice it. NOT noticing it, is noticing it. Weird thought…eh?
Anyway, a few weeks ago we got us a pretty good freeze, and the outside firepit that whatshername bought last year…froze. It was full of water, so yeah…it froze when the weather changed…big shock. But when I noticed the ice, what caught my eye was how the water had expanded, and how there were multiple layers of ice within the firepit.
What occurred to me, was the importance of the water finding a new state, as the environment(s) around this concentration of water also changed. There were obviously layers of air that had weaved themselves within this small concentration of water, and when I poked my finger through the layers of ice, I began to think about the dynamics that caused this ice-layering phenomenon to occur. This firepit is basically just an giant metal bowl on legs that you can put wood into and burn it. Great for roasting hot dogs and marshmallows, and is also great for sitting outside on a cold night and just watching the flames dance. It really doesn’t keep you physically warm per-se, but…what is…warming?
We do have a soul, and might even have some spirit. I wonder what warms that?
^Rare Video: Japan Tsunami | National Geographic^
That ice has had me to thinking for months. But most tend to take a “top-down” view of ice, and tend to ignore the surrounding air completely. So, not only does this have me turning that frozen firepit sideways and/or upside down while contemplating the hot/cold layers of surround air(s), it has me to thinking about…HUMANS!!!
We do need air and water. We need other stuff too. But, is the presence of water alone, really indicative of the ability to support life? Science sure seems to think so. As a result, I have lined up some pictures for your consideration as to what is inviting, and what is not.
Oh…and someone posted this video somewhere. You are likely completely capable of determining the palatability of the music contained therein 🙂
^Why this awful sounding album is a masterpiece^
The Great Barrier Reef in Australia. Absolutely beautiful, and it appears to love you too. Although, it might be important to point out, that…
you cannot live on a reef.
If your ship sinks or plane crashes near a reef, you may want to let the sharks eat you. Ever walked on coral before? Ever walked on coral after your feet have been wet for 2 or 3 days? Quite used to eating raw fish? OK, I’ll give you that one.
Outside of a Sushi restaurant, can you, starving and under duress, determine by sight which fishes are edible, and which ones aren’t? You can’t build a fire on a reef. Plus, that sunburn of yours is making you hate heat of any kind with a motherfucking PASSION.
Not to mention, that rules and regulations are such that you can’t just go visit the Great Barrier Reef; it has to be preserved for future generations. As such, if you board a boat and go out to the reef and start splashing around…yeah, the Australian air force is likely gonna see you out there. And when you get back to shore, they are gonna haul your ass to jail, and fine the fuck out of you. SOMETHING has to pay for all that overhead of airplanes and ships and approved scientific studies.
GET YOUR ASS BACK TO YOUR LAND HOLE WHERE YOU BELONG!!!
Sure…it’s beautiful. Perhaps even inviting. But not very hospitable.
Aokigahara Forest, or, “Sea Of Trees” in Japan. Stunning, and of course the masterpiece of a mountain known as Mount Fuji in the background.
Nevermind Bigfoot and/or bears, nor even death by exposure, starvation and/or dehydration… Aokigahara Forest is also known as “The Suicide Forest”. I wonder where it got that name. I wonder how it got that name. I wonder how bad it is to wander in that particular forest. No telling what you are going to see, but there’s a good chance that you are going to see some shit you don’t want to.
Plus, you can’t just pack some shit and go live in a forest. Only crazy people do shit like that. You gotta stick with and by the rules. Play by the rules. Live by the rules. Die by the rules. There are rules…
and they rule.
OK…go live in a fucking forest. See if I care. Just remember to buy all the shit that others say you need before you go.
Ahhhhh…Kiev…at night! So beautiful. So inviting. People everywhere. Just hangin’ out and chillin’.
Good luck getting there. Good luck getting out.
Good luck not winding up on every fucking intelligence agency’s radar, just because it’s been a lifelong dream of yours to go see and visit Kiev before you die. It’s just unfortunate that it took you so long to work your ass off and save up the cash to go when you did. Times change. Needs and wants change. Too bad you weren’t forward-thinking enough to change your dream destination from Kiev to Las Vegas. Don’t you watch the news?
So much for this stupid-assed “bucket list” concept...eh?
Of course, this doesn’t say much for the concept of “empire” either.
A storm is brewing outside of one of the most famous and magnificent cities in history. But luckily, the mighty and awe-inspiring infrastructure is there to protect us from any and all storms.
We are mighty.
We are Americans.
We are American.
We are America!!!
Did you see the storm coming? Or do you see the storm already being there.
But let’s upgrade and modernize. No need to dwell on the past.
All wounds healed, perfect perfection of order reattained. Time to move on. Although, there was a fuckton of sweeping that made that stunning photo possible.
Ghosts. Ghosts of janitors and brooms.
Must be a lot of witches and wizards that work in the “janitorial arts”.
^Fyfe – Solace^
If you deal in death, who is your enemy?
Once you have killed your enemy, who is left?
If your currency is death, what is your return?
Irrespective of the semantics…time, is always there.
Make of that what you will.
^Carnivàle – Black Blizzard^
If I tell you “X”, will you believe it? And if you believe it, does that make it so? Or do you need to walk a little further, and actually go out and prove it to yourself and others. Plus, you gotta verify my credibility as you go. Gotta have a scapegoat to point to, in the event shit gets any more sideways than it already is. Glory or Death…it’s the only way(s).
“Why” may get all the glory, but “How” is where it all happens.
I guess what I am thinking here, is labels. I wrote some bullshit over at my own blog yesterday, and it was regarding vector-based identification. What I’m primarily thinking about, is angular orientation of molecular spin. A proton looking at me, and me looking back at it. Not only that, but also judgment(s) and determination(s) of orientation(s) that are contextual…perspective(s) and relative measurements, based upon who is viewing who, and what, and the looking glass between.
^AC Slater – Bass Inside (Official Music Video)^
Last night I was really bored, not much going on on The Web, so…I dug my shortwave radio out of the closet, plugged it in next to the bed, then laid in the dark and spun the dial for a few hours.
The LCD channel readout is illuminated. As a result, there were a few times where my perspective got a little warped as I laid there in the dark, spinning the channel dial. Meaning, the illuminated LCD channel readout face appeared to be further away from me than it really was. Ever had that happen before? You look at something indirectly for a long period of time, and your perspective of distance will change as your vision phases between near and far. Eventually, near looks far, and far looks near. I get the feeling that there is some particle alignment(s) that happens over time which causes this effect.
Keep in mind tho, that the eyes are only part of that. There are LOADS of particles inside and out that are seeking a balance. That balance can and does need to adjust as time rolls on. We ARE on a spinning planet, in a moving Universe, and we’ve blood and other fluids coursing through our bodies in the midst of all these changes and changing.
Q: Did you know that “Infowars” appears to broadcast on shortwave wavelengths?
A: Neither did I.
They must be survivalists or something.
I know this, it was funny as FUCK hearing Alex Jones doing a commercial for some product in the midst of all the doom and gloom talk. He was giving his own personal testimonial for some health product that he touted was/is…
“loaded with bone and cartilage and other great stuff that is really good for you!”
It got me to thinking about many things, but overall, I found that notion creepy as FUCK. It’s A-OK to take bones and cartilage into your being if it’s all ground up and down into pill form. But gnaw on a steak bone in your favorite restaurant, or eat the fat and/or gristle? Yeah…what a fucking uncivilized troglodyte.
^REZZ feat. Delaney Jane – Lost^
Not much in the way of content on shortwave that I found. There were some two-way conversations that I stumbled onto here and there, but these ham operators have some clever ways of disguising their voices and breaking up the transmission(s) to where on the receiver(s) know how to accurately receive the message(s). And there was a Christian broadcast out of New York City that was encouraging me to visit their website and let them know that I was listening on the radio.
We all like feedback and input. It’s nice to have streams available to us that allow us to “deepen the relationship”…as it were…should others choose to take that next step. But eventually, that can turn into justification(s) and recruiting, and I’m just not down with that. If there is an approval method, there is a nested rejection process. I’ll save us both/all the time and trouble, and just keep moseying on down the highway. Someone will accept me for who I am at some point. I sure hope whoever that is, is honest and ethical. I may need to go ahead and formulate some of my own criteria as to what is acceptable, and what is not. It may save me a lot of grief in the future.
^The Fourth Man^
There was another Christian broadcast that I stumbled on, but listening to the guys talking, was so goddamn depressing, that I didn’t listen to it for very long. All they could fucking DO was talk about how utterly fucking worthless they and others were/are, and how there was one way, and ONLY one way that they were going to rise above and survive this filthy shithole of a world…
I don’t dispute that, but irrespective of what Jesus might think of me, Christians hate the living fuck out of me…so…erm…I’m left in a quandary as to what to do in that regard. That said, yeah, there was a lotta self-debasing, and I am fully capable of doing that on my own.
(irony = noted) 😛
^Turn Your Radio On [Live]^
If I “lose” my reputation, how can I get it back? I mean…it’s my reputation…right? Did I lose it, or was it taken?
I think I understand the concept of “virtue signaling”, but I see how some are potentially trying to use this as something that perhaps it’s not. Or at least, doesn’t have to be.
EX: An AC/DC T-shirt.
Do you know who AC/DC is? I bet if you are a Judas Priest fan, and see someone wearing an AC/DC t-shirt, you likely know who AC/DC is, especially if you like Judas Priest and hate AC/DC. That said, is wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with a rock band’s name/logo…virtue signaling?
If so, you may want to give some consideration to your Calvin Klein underwear and/or you Louis Vuitton handbag. Afterall, you have not only helped to create this mess, you are also working your ass off to help pay in supporting it. Suddenly…”the economy”…and supporting it…just took on a whole new meaning…eh?
^Skrillex – Reptile^
Seeking quality goods is one thing, but I get kinda confused with the externalization(s) of this type of thinking. I don’t want the engine to fall out of a car that I just bought. But if the external branding of this car/brand was/is so important and so impactful, wouldn’t I have noticed this and these details prior to purchase of said car? I mean, does the Chevrolet name and logo scream quality to/at me?
What kind of quality…good, or bad?
I don’t give a flying fuck if you wear silk or cotton panties or even no panties at all. Whatever it is, or whatever it isn’t is fine with me. I’ll go buy a Gucci bag if you want one, and I don’t care if you buy one on your own. Anything and everything you bring to the table in a relationship, is fucking glorious.
That’s just my opinion tho. But to be fair, I am the one you are trying to make an impression on.
^[Glitch Hop / 110BPM] – Pegboard Nerds & Tristam – Razor Sharp [Monstercat Release]^
Yeah…I think that relationships can be rough if we walk around thinking that relationships can be rough. I just kinda think they are what they are. Doesn’t make the pain any less painful, nor does it make the elation any less elated. The stormiest of seas can be safely navigated in the right ship with the right crew. But irrespective of weather, if the journey wasn’t important, the destination(s) would be irrelevant.
What does journeying have to do with shortwave radio and molecular/atomic orientation(s)? All movement is a journey. It took you a long fucking time to learn how to crawl…how to walk…how to run…how to speak…how to take a shit and wipe your ass without redecorating the entire bathroom.
Q: When did you give up on learning/education?
A: /me shrugs
Many pathways. Certainly, some are “better” than others. Just because they are/were available to you, doesn’t mean they were/are available to me. I don’t despise you for your opportunities and achievements, so why is that courtesy not returned?
Prolly too much work involved.
^REZZ – Purple Gusher^
Yeah…I’ve stumbled quite a bit in this here whatever. But if it wasn’t OK to stumble, then why is it possible?
If you take some time to ponder things like the cough, the sneeze, the hiccup, the twitch, you’ll maybe start to understand the reason(s) for such disruptions. I mean, have you ever taken a few moments to ponder what would happen if you were unable to cough, yet there was a need to cough? Because I can see shit going from sane to madness in VERY short fucking order, if you needed to cough, but could not. That should bring us nicely, to something known as…
Do you really think it a good idea to hold on to something that your body is telling you that you need to get rid of/dispense with? I’ve given lots of thought to the concept of puckering and/or holding in, and mainly in and along the lines of smooth-muscle tissue(s). Especially those soft tissues of the rectum and/or colon. There is lots of motion going on in that region of the body, and there is likely a symmetry to that motion within the body, as well as the symmetry within a body. Not that I have Diverticular Disease or anything, which I doo, butt who cares about that?
Anyway, after my second upper & lower GI, and after the second time of having to have my esophageal sphincter stretched out to 15cm with a medical balloon, I was like…
FUCK this shit!!!
There has to be some other shit going on here. That revelation has led me on quite the journey.
^Knife Party & Tom Morello – Battle Sirens^
Sorry…butt your eagerness to discuss certain inflammatory bullshit, all while ignoring and/or refusing to talk about other potentially unpleasant things, confuses me. Especially when and if you are riding some rail of “we’ll talk about that later”, all under the auspices of “if you ignore it long enough, it’ll go away”. Because after thinking about it, it’s not the topic(s) that you want to go away…it’s the messenger.
I wonder if that will change over time?
All that said, with the prevailing “if they don’t do what we want, vote them out” mentalities being so prevalent, is it really any wonder that you have trouble finding dates? Is it really any wonder that “scrolling” is so goddamn popular? Hopping from here to there in search of the answer(s) you seek? Which, I find extremely weird, because you have the question(s) and answer(s), and yet, you want to find someone else to do it, so you can go do something else.
Anyway, Tinder is a scrolling app for separating the wheat from the chaff, and the kings and queens from the riff-raff, and supposedly, it’s pretty popular.
^Datsik & Virtual Riot – Nasty^
There’s plenty of shit that I’d rather not talk about. I certainly don’t want to be talking about shit “in code” when English is readily available. Too much room for misunderstanding. But I guess that’s the nature of learning, and relationships, and learning about the nature of relationships.
Then I guess it’s just a matter of surviving the bumps and bruises.
Message rec'd. Delayed perhaps, but, received.
^Pendulum – Tarantula [HD]^
Behold, a final song.
It's weird as fuck.
^Doctor P – Flying Spaghetti Monster^
cYa | cFa
^James Last – Russian Melodies^
*Geologic Time Scales? …/scratches head… *
*/squints… Is that a seven key legend, Clicky? …/lights up… Heh!*
We hope your cockles will be sufficiently warmed tomorrow, Dear Reader… And have a Song ❤
Valentine’s Day Mascara
*It’s your fault, Clicky. You’re the reason I’m in this pickle…*
*Yes, I’m blaming you… you arrived first, you could’ve let me know the Professor was there visiting…*
*A party, though, for Valentine’s Day at the LoL? We don’t usually acknowledge that day, let alone celebrate it. What was I thinking?*
*I panicked. It was the first thing that popped into my head, Clicky…*
*Yes, I invited him, but it wasn’t that cryptic; I sent him a tweet… I have no idea if he’ll come and now I have to think of a theme just in case people do turn up…*
*Oh, that’s… that’s brilliant!*
mascara (n.) cosmetic for coloring eyelashes, 1883, mascaro (modern form from 1922), from Spanish mascara“a stain, a mask,” from same source as Italian maschera “mask” (see mask (v.)).
*We all wear masks online all the time! A ‘come as you are’…*
*Absolutely! Better get some nibbles in… I’m still holding you responsible, Clicky, but have a Song.*