Who Noob Tales: The Tramp & The Little Blue Box

tramp

*Ugh, ghastly biscuits, Clicky… /sticks out tongue in disgust… It was bad enough smelling them being made, walking past the the Peeky Freaky factory, twice a day… /flicks lighter… Snot my taste… /lights up…*

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…*

Cade and Roob Partners in Crime Chat 1Cade and Roob Partners in Crime Chat 2Cade and Roob Partners in Crime Chat 3Cade and Roob Partners in Crime Chat 4

*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…

Mayfair Warning

*/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…

another tramp story

*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…

spaced skip to the end

*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!”

rabbiting on

*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!*

Got to go, Dear Reader… Have a Song…

Five Alive? Defo!

*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

feather powered happiness

*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…

sign for blue frank

*Much better but it still looks like worshipers or sumfin’ to me, Clicky… /drags deeply… In sinister black… /snorts smoke…*

… and find an answer.

school for deaf street sign new york

*Those are hands!*

hans gruber

*/reads slowly… School For Deaf …/squints… Dept of Transport… /final drag… Oh! The yellow buses! It’s a bus stop sign, Clicky! … /streams smoke…*

applause sign

*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…

…As my good friend, Cade, might say…

‘MYSTERY SOLVED! NEXT!’

music sign

*Okay then…/lights up… And as you’re such a clever Clicky, you can choose…*

Dear Reader… Have a Song 😀

 

Breakfast Embed Part 3 – SkRAM Booled

HOWDY!!!

giphy3

*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.

 

giphy4

*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…

The Hierophant In The Womb

hierophant (n.)

“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 Red universe, 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 D I A… /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 a laxative to the pachyderms who are able to consume it in the wild after forest fires and lightning strikes.’

belly laugh.gif

*/grins… And Shiny posted it in the Red ‘Excretion’ universe of MRS REGN? Priceless… /puffs merrily…*

capnomancy (n.)

“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?

A: Could it be?

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…

*/stubs butt…*

That’s quite enough for now, Dear Reader. Locking up the LoL for tonight before we get arrested… Have a Song 😉

*******

Thanks for having me 😀

giphy5

That’s all there is for now, and there ain’t no fucking more.

It’s time for you and all your parts, to hit the fucking door.

Get your seated ass de-planted, and get your knees unbent.

Put some swagger in those hips, just in time for end of Lent.

The eggzit is where you’re headed, head there now and soon.

Or else I’ll chase you out with my….say, where’d I put my broom?

giphy6

Seriously…I’m not fucking around…get gone.

Breakfast Embed Part 2 – Sun E Sighed Up

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.

giphy2

*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?

tumblr_nzqclolqvw1t63sglo1_540

*/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.

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*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. 😉

*******

Shithead Jen

*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…

fire screen

*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?

Have a Song 😀

Hag With A Fag

*Afternoon, Clicky… /pats snout… What’s the Song in aid of? … /lights up… *

*Oh… /rolls eyes… Leggy is trying… /drags…*

*Eighteen credits, eh? …/flicks ash…*

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’…

Three hedge riders in a rowThree hedge riders in a row 1

*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.

… And flights of fancy.

‘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…

Haw (n.)

“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…*

 

Of Straws and Camels

‘The idiom the straw that broke the camel’s back, alluding to the proverb “it is the last straw that breaks the camel’s back”, describes the seemingly minor or routine action which causes an unpredictably large and sudden reaction, because of the cumulative effect of small actions.’

Lots to cover in this Sat ‘ere day post, Dear Reader. First, let’s start with a ridiculous ‘camel’ item of news that crossed my twitter feed yesterday…

‘A camel beauty contest in Saudi Arabia has been rocked by scandal after 12 ships of the desert were disqualified because their owners had used Botox on them.

‘Prize money for the Miss Camel contest runs into millions of pounds, making the temptation to cheat irresistible for some.’

*A camel walk instead of cat-walk eh, Clicky? …/lights up…*

‘Competitors in the beauty contest are rated on, amongst other things, the size of their lips and cheeks, which is where the illicit use of Botox comes in.’

Generally botox, a highly toxic substance, is known for being used cosmetically to remove wrinkles in the upper third of the face. But wrinkles around the mouth? Well, that leads me onto the ridiculous ‘straw’ item of news that I saw yesterday, Dear Reader. Time for a ‘selfie’, this taken in the Blue universe of Frank Davis and his post ‘Obsession‘…

Roob asks about sucking

So let me get this straight: waiting staff, the very people smokers were thrown out onto the street to ‘save’, can now be fined $1,000 and/or jailed for providing customers with an unsolicited plastic straw

*/deep drag… Hmm… Desert ships and an angry octopus, Clicky? …/thinks… Octo-pussy? …/*

*Ha! /streams smoke… Bonded… /taps ASH… The baddie crashes the plane… /sucks on cig…*

Funnily enough, following the last LoL post, Cade has did indeed written a music review, and one of the albums both he and his son, Poncho, reviewed was Lunar Womb by The Obsessed…

*/cough… It’s not my kind of music I’m afraid, Clicky, but I’ll accept Poncho’s word that “If Black Sabbath fucked Black Flag’s attitude after smoking a fat ass J, you have this album”… /continues puffing… Fascinating reading though…*

I also rewatched The Zero Theorem last night, Dear Reader. Cade watched it as well as he’d never seen it. He wasn’t around on MEROVEE in March 2014, when just posting the trailer for the film turned the Red universe of Frank and commentators upside down

TZT Joby Qohen Neutrinos and Mass

neutrino (n.)

“neutral particle smaller than a neutron,” 1934, from Italian neutrino, coined 1933 by Italian physicist Enrico Fermi from neutro “neuter” (see neuter (adj.)) + -ino, diminutive suffix.

neuter (adj.)

late 14c., of grammatical gender, “neither masculine nor feminine,” from Latin neuter “of the neuter gender,” literally “neither one nor the other,” from ne- “not, no” (from PIE root *ne- “not”) + uter “either (of two)” (see whether). Probably a loan-translation of Greek oudeteros “neither, neuter.” In 16c., it had the sense of “taking neither side, neutral.”

neuter (v.)

1903, from neuter (adj.). Originally in reference to pet cats. Related: Neuteredneutering.

*Another straw, Clicky? Or Catty Newman…/smirks…  the culture of ‘zero tolerance’ is inherently weak… /final drag… it has never learnt to tolerate… /shrugs…*

And speaking of neutral, I spotted a familiar face, topped with straw coloured hair on a bus in the film. I hadn’t spotted before, and it synced with another news story I read yesterday that involved a Swiss church. In the film, Qohen lives in an fire damaged church…

TZT Boris Johnson on a bus.gif

Scientists in the Swiss city of Basel have solved a decades-old mystery over the identity of a mummified woman.

‘Their research revealed a surprise: the woman is the great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother of UK Foreign Secretary Boris Johnson.

‘The body was uncovered in 1975 while renovations were being done on Basel’s Barfüsser Church.’

*And another camel, Clicky …/stubs butt…*

‘Now the scientists and the historians were sure: the mummy was none other than Anna Catharina Bischoff. Born in Basel in 1719, she died there in 1787.

‘Once her identity had been established, genealogists were able – with the help of the efficient records of births, marriages, and deaths which tend to be kept by the wealthier classes – to trace more of Anna Catharina’s descendants.

‘She had seven children. Only two survived childhood, but one daughter, also Anna, married a certain Christian Hubert Baron Pfeffel von Kriegelstein. Five generations of von Pfeffels later, and we find Marie Luise von Pfeffel marrying one Stanley Fred Williams.

‘Their daughter Yvonne married Osman Wilfred Johnson Kemal… and their son, Stanley Johnson, is British Foreign Secretary Boris Johnson’s father.’

Enjoy your weekend, Dear Reader ❤ … And have a Song… 😉

Memo Mia

I’ve the afternoon off from PAing, Dear Reader…

flexitime

*Ha! …/flicks lighter… Gotta say, Clicky, the flexitime at work is fucking BRILLIANT! …/lights up…*

…And I thought I’d do a shamble about #releasethememo

*No, Clicky…/drags… Lovely as the animation is… /blows smoke… I was thinking about the memo… the one about all the collusion… /puffs… Honestly! Could only ‘appen under Trump! …/taps ASH…*

*Oh course! Elephants have phenomenal memories, Clicky… /pats snout…*

memo (n.)

1889, shortening of memorandum (q.v.).

memorandum (n.)

early 15c., from Latin memorandum “(thing) to be remembered,” neuter singular of memorandus “worthy of remembrance, noteworthy,” gerundive of memorare “to call to mind,” from memor “mindful of” (see memory). Originally a word written at the top of a note, by 1540s it came to stand for the note itself. The Latin plural is memoranda. Compare also agenda.

…Coupled with the trailer of a movie I saw earlier on Twitter. To be released this summer, a prequel sequel in the story of Donna and Sophie…

*It looks like Donna could be dead, Clicky…*

Donna

*Heh! Donna the PA assistant to The Doctor… /deep drag… Of course, Clicky, Meryl was also Sophie…*

morpheus choice

*Give or take… /rolls eyes… some choice! …/stubs butt… Memento/\Matrix, though… /thinks… No! One shamble at a time, Clicky…*

g5zjz8

*/:D… Perfick, Click… /flicks lighter and lights up…*

… And then Cade DMed me with a story, Dear Reader… Cue selfies 😉

Cade asks Roob if she's seen the letter

A story of release via escape, with a future plea in the past…

A letter emerged…’

Colon Capital D

*Frank? Witch one? Red and Blue? …/grins… And John the letter writer. Knot to mention Clarence from Clare that’s so Shining, Clicky… /drags…*

‘The three prisoners were serving sentences for bank robbery when they executed their escape plan using stolen spoons, dummy heads and a raincoat raft. Their exploits were turned into the 1979 movie “Escape from Alcatraz,” starring Clint Eastwood as Morris.

U.S. Marshal Michael Dyke, who inherited the unsolved case in 2003, told The Associated Press in 2012 that he didn’t know whether any members of the trio were still alive. But he had seen enough evidence to make him wonder.

‘That evidence included credible reports that the Anglins’ mother, for several years, received flowers delivered without a card, and that the brothers attended her 1973 funeral disguised in women’s clothes despite a heavy FBI presence.’

Clara

*The ‘A Gender’ Agenda? …/puffs merrily…*

Cade Roob Memo Mercury Laugh

*The goddess of memory is Mnemosyne … /fills lungs with smoke… John Lamb Lash says she’s an aspect of Sophia… /blows smoke rings…*

*/coughs uncontrollablyYou can say that again! *

Now, if you’ve been paying attention, Dear Reader, employing your ‘Clicky’ to full potential in navigating this shambles, the pics Cade ‘grabbed’, well, quite simply they blew my socks off…

Cade pix The Queers Don't Back DownCade pix Yellow postit inside album

He explained…

Cade explains and apologises

Sew, I told him

… And he sent me some lemon and limey postit memos in return… 😀

It’s now Thursday evening, Dear Reader, and I’ve got ironing to do yet… Work tomorrow…

giphy

*/final drag… Nice one, Clicky… /stubs butt… Thanks for your help this afternoon… /pats snout…*

Have a Song ❤