Category: Who Knows What

The Okie Devil Opines On Thorsday – Special!

Dear Reader, since Sync Miss For Him disappeared a week or so back, I’ve been missing my friend, Cade’s, daily witterings. So I’ve asked him if he wouldn’t mind posting some of them here at the LoL. He’s still tarting about as to whether to or not… */rolls eyes…* but yesterday he did email me a missive for you – see below the rainbow snowflakes. Enjoy!

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O HAI!

My name is Cade FON Apollyon. Or CF Apollyon. Or just…Cade. Or Apollyon. Or whatevz makes your boat retain it’s proper bouyancy, motion, and personal directional coordinates.

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Last night, I was wearing my wizard cap and robe that I do not own, and gazing into my crystal ball that is still on backorder…when it came to me. A secret message, via secret communication(s) pathway(s), otherwise known as email. Now, we all know that these days? There is nothing secret nor sacred about email communications. “We The People” must protect “We” against “The People.” Otherwise there…might…be…trouble! And what better way is there to protect “We The People”…than to remove all of the protections from “We” and/or “The People”…depending on present “We” and/or “The People”…present company excluded. (If ya know what I mean…HINT HINT….NUDGE NUDGE…WINK WINK!!!) Har har har and a tee hee hee.

SO LET'S GO MOTHERFUCKERS!!!

giphy

To make the above partially make more sense-ish…for those who may not know what the flying fuck this here shit is all about, lemme tell you what it may or may not be about instead.

Once, Upon A Time…

There were some forums that I refer to as Whatchacallit Forums, otherwise known as…

Synchromysticismforums.calm (replace “.calm” with “.com”…and you aren’t there)

They aren’t there anymore, but yeah they kinda are. Long story…NE WAY…

Um…they aren’t there as of now, and I did some writing over there that one or two people appear to have read, and liked some of it for some reason. One of those people, is the owner of this here blog you iz readin’ right nowz!!! And she, being the complete dumbass that she is, asked me, the dumbass that I is am, if I would like to write some of my shiznit and she’ll post it here at the LoL…otherwise known as Library of Libraries blog or whatevz and shit like that.

LOL…she’s stupid.

Goddamn. I sound like a raging fucking militant revolutionary.

Anyway…so yeah, with respect to the forums, someone took them down recently, and the current owner/operator of the site says she does not know who did it. I’ve tended to be forgiving in the whathaveyou, because the original owner has been lurking there recently, and he don’t sprecken zee English real fuckin good like I dooz, cause he’s from some European shithole where they sprecken…some other language or some such shit. He’s prolly a Chinese hacker stealing megahurtz from pee-poles CP-ewes machines for the glory of the viva la revolution! or some such shit. Or…he could just be helping the non-computer-savvy current owner with a migration and has had trouble explaining some shiznit to her/them. I guess I reference “Meet the new boss…same as the old boss” and could put The Who’s song “We Won’t Get Fooled Again” here…but I’m not going to. Have a listen anyway.

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Life is confusing.

Cept when it ain’t.

Just sayin.

So yeah, Roob of this here LoL place emailed me last night and was like “would you like to write some shitnit, and I’ll post it here?” And I was like “lemme think about it.” And I’m still thinking about it, but I think best when I am writing, whether it be music or text, cause it keeps the confusion to a maximum and allows my mind to relax and decide how best to proceed. But that’s just me. I’m weird like that. The more complex I make a simple Boolean “YES/NO”…the easier it is for me to think. Weird eh? I really don’t know what my decision will be, but I guess it will keep my mind headed in the direction I want it to go, in conjunction with where every other motherfucker on Earth/Terra thinks my mind should go…and we can go from there. There’s that nasty, nagging fucking “WE” shit again. Goddamn…I must have mental problems of some sort. Major mental problems. Majorly maximum to the extreme on STEROIDS…mental problems…or some shit like that.

I’m gonna keep using the format I used over at whatchacallit forums, and we’ll see how ugly as motherfucking shit it looks, and then Roob can change her mind and be like “WTF YOU STUPID ASSED OKIE FROM TEXAS WHO AIN’T IN KANSAS ANYMORE!!!” And then she can decide to say like “FUCK THIS SHIT!!!” and or not, then decide what to do herself on her end. Cause I tend to be long winded without saying jack-shit, and she is a smart and proper English Lady, she’s married to a proper English Gentlemen, and they have two proper Soccer Hooligan Lads for sons, and I’m like Mr. Manfrentengensen from A Fish Called Wanda, cept with less WWII/Vietnam/War references…even tho I did work for the CIA at one point in my life.

(ya srsly)

So yeah…let’s get this party started or some such shit. I’ll keep thinking, and let you know what my decision is. When you know…I’ll know. And when you know, and I know…we’ll know…ya know?

There’s that fucking “WE” shit again goddamnit. Albeit a “WE’LL”…but there’s a “WE” in there somewhere. Or course, there is a “WILL” in there as well. And where there is a “WE” and a “WILL” and a  WELL”…well…someone prolly got dropped into a fucking well, and we”ll be reading a will at some point. BTW…I would be the motherfucker that got dropped into the well…so ya’ll will have to read the will on yer own…k? 😉

u6nokif

4 days until Christmas. 7 days past that until the 24 hour countdown till the New Year. 2017 is on it’s way. Just like it was back on January 1st of this here then new year of 2016. Of course, 2017 was also on it’s way back on December 31st of 2015, even before the year of 2016 got here. Weird how that works eh? So yeah, a 7 day countdown, to the 24 hour countdown until each and every swinging dick on the planet has rung in the new year. I wonder how women count? Prolly like everyone else, with more of less impressive and/or numbers of pendulous bodily appendages. Not that I’m counting or anything. I’ll let ya know what my decision is when I make it.

Ya’ll go get laid or something. Just stay away from that swill ya’ll Limeys call “beer.”

Do ya’ll get Coors/Coors Light beer over there?

Import laws got ya down/keeping you down?

Meh…I hate beer that looks like something you already ate.

Yes…ate…not drank.

Blech!

cYa

cFa

*******

meaty

*Meaty… Yeah, his posts are definitely meaty, Clicky… /looks at naked wrist… Crikey! Bedtime… can you put this on timer for me? …/pat snout… I’m off to bed… /stretch and go…*

 

 

Kid Biskit – The Fastest Cookie Muncher in the West…

Yesterday, the LoL received a special delivery…

*That’s not me, Clicky… Um… /pulls face… similar hair but knot me…* 

My eyes lit up upon seeing the three copies of the book I’d ask Leggy for as part payment for my story contributions, but there was something else in the parcel that made my mouth water as well…

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Digression for any Yanks looking in – what I’m about to describe is probably more familiar to you as ‘cookies’, and is pronounced…

*Hmm… well only some of them will pronounce it that particular manner, Clicky…*

biscuit (n.) respelled early 19c. from bisket (16c.), ultimately (besquite, early 14c.) from Old French bescuit (12c.), literally “twice cooked;” altered under influence of cognate Old Italian biscotto, both from Medieval Latin biscoctum, from Latin (panis) bis coctus “(bread) twice-baked;” see bis- + cook (v.). U.S. sense of “soft bun” is recorded from 1818.

*/holds up hand… They should only be limp after you’ve dipped them, Clicky…*

*Well, Hobnobs are notoriously difficult dunkers to debunk… /squints… And don’t you dare move onto Jaffa Cakes… This digression is over, Clicky… Capisce?*

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I knew they were coming; I’d been teased with photos of them a couple of days before…

Poppy Sweetpea’s chocolate chip cookies (OK I said ‘cookie’…
Poppy Sweetpea’s whole almond Jew cakes, sprinkled in cinnamon and sugar (OK, not really cakes…)
Poppysweet Pea’s cocoa and orange snails and German nougat and hazelnut ovals
Poppy Sweet Pea’s chocolate orange wedges
Poppy Sweetpea’s Penguin and Hedgehogs made of vanilla and almonds

But there is nothing like snapping the lid off a tupperware box and breathing in the waft of homemade biscuity goodness, escaping from inside…

biscuit-remains

*/huffs… Yeah!*

Of course I sampled one of each of Poppy Sweet Pea’s delightful creations straightaway, Dear Reader – completely delish! – but then stupidly left the remainder in the box, in the kitchen. Yes, the Kit Chinwag room. How the fuck could I forget where Thing 2‘s first port of call upon arrival from school is? It was a massacre…

So, to the wonderful Poppy Sweet Pea, with thanks from Kid Biskit, one of his all time favourite tunes…

And a Song, with thanks, from me…

*Hit it, Clicky!*

 

 

Kit Chinwag Tale: Fridge, Gegs and Scrambled Equations

fridge (n.)shortened and altered form of refrigerator, 1926, an unusual way of word-formation in English; perhaps influenced by Frigidaire (1919), name of a popular early brand of self-contained automatically operated iceless refrigerator (Frigidaire Corporation, Detroit, Michigan, U.S.), a name suggesting Latin frigidarium “a cooling room in a bath.” Frigerator as a colloquial shortening is attested by 1886.

Dear Reader, this week I’ve encountered the word ‘fridge’ four times from different online chums. The first was a conversation between Red Frank and TNT over at MEROVEE…

frank-mentions-fridge
Clicky for Fridge touchdown Superb Owl XX

The following day, Leggy’s significant other, Poppy mentioned it during a girlie Twitter DM convo…

poppysweetpea-mentions-fridge

Later that evening, Hugo and I were chatting on Twitter DM about the back cover artwork The Underdog Anthology. He has two stories included.

the-underdog-anthology-front-and-back

I mentioned the importance of the number nine in Norse mythology and Hugo replied with a we-key link to the plot of a book I’ve never read…

Dirk Gently, who calls himself a “holistic detective”, has happened upon what he thinks is a rather comfortable situation. A wealthy man in the record industry has retained him, spinning a story about being stalked by a seven-foot-tall, green-eyed, scythe-wielding monster. Dirk pretends to understand the man’s ravings involving potatoes and a contract signed in blood coming due; when in reality, Dirk is musing about what he might do if he actually receives payment for his “services” – such as getting rid of his refrigerator, which is so filthy inside that it has become the centrepiece of a show-down between himself and his cleaning woman. The seriousness of his client’s claims becomes clear when Dirk arrives several hours late for an appointment to find a swarm of police around his client’s estate. The aforementioned client is found in a sealed and heavily barricaded room, his head neatly removed several feet from his body and rotating on a turn-table. While at his recently deceased client’s house, he discovers that his client had a son. However, after Dirk disconnects the television set the boy had been watching, the boy promptly breaks Dirk’s nose.

Nearly incapacitated by guilt, Dirk resolves to take his now-late client’s wild claims seriously. During his investigation, Gently encounters exploding airport check-in counters, the gods of Norse mythology, insulting horoscopes, a sinister nursing home, a rhino-phagic eagle, an I Chingcalculator (to which everything calculated above the value of 4 is apparently ‘a suffusion of yellow’), a god who gives his powers to a lawyer and an advertising executive in exchange for clean linen, and an attractive American woman who gets angry when she can’t get pizzadelivered in London.

Finally, yesterday afternoon, Cade included the word and the importance of chilling in one of his Sync Miss For Him scribblings…

cade-mentions-fridgecade-recommends-chilling

 

*I know, Clicky… I don’t know what it means either, but you put a link to ‘Fools Gold’ in our Calendar Girl post at the start of this week…*

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THURSDAY EVENING

“What are you looking for?” I asked Thing 2’s backside upon entering the kitchen. The rest of him was concealed behind the open fridge door; a common enough sight these days that it’s practically a fixture.

“Nothing,” Kit Kat grunted in reply. Closing the door he turned to face me, and I wondered, not for the first time, at how a tiny little baby could turn into the hulking teenager stood before me now. He popped his backside up easily onto the kitchen worktop. “I’m doing maths homework,” he said.

“Really? In the fridge? I’m gonna make your father some scrambled eggs on toast. Would you like some?”

Kit Kat tried to play it cool but the ‘Food!’ sparkle in his eyes gave him away. “Erm…alright then.”

The response from Thing 1 upon being asked was entirely different. “Oh yes please. Thank you Mum!” Loopy said brightly before turning his attention back to his game. “Okay Deadly, do as I tell you this time and we’ll get ’em for sure,” he barked into his microphone.

Returning to Thing 2’s favourite room, I decided to enlist his help. “You know the fridge?” I asked him.

“Yeesss…” Kit Kat drawled. “I am familiar with the appliance.”

“Can you get me the eggs, butter and milk from it? I’ll cook the eggs, you do the toast and you can tell me about your homework.” I bent down to pull the toaster out from the cupboard under the sink.

Amazingly he returned with everything I asked for and set about toasting the bread. I cracked nine eggs into a mixing bowl, added a dollop of milk and a pinch of salt.

“We’re doing quadratic equations,” Kit Kat informed me as I set about beating up the mixture.

I stopped my beating to melt the butter in a pan. “Algebra?”

“Yes,” he replied and then starting reeling off a bunch of gobbledygook containing a lot of ‘xs’, ‘pluses’, ‘overs’ and numbers that made no sense to me at all, except to evoke a distant memory of the perpetually smiling face of Mr Fong, my Form and Maths Teacher from school. I concentrated on transforming to pale yellow mixture, now transferred to the oily, hot pan, into fluffy, golden, eggy clouds.

“Doesn’t quadratic have something to do with four?” I asked when Kit Kat paused for breath. He was still applying a thin layer of butter, precisely from corner to corner to the first slices of toast to have pop out of the toaster.

I sighed, put down the pan and grabbed another knife. Quickly I slavered the cooling remainder of the toast with deft strokes of buttery goodness. “I’m sorry Kitten, I haven’t done algebra for over 30 years, I don’t think I can help you with your homework,” I said dishing the buttered toast out onto three plates and piling even portions of scrambled eggs over the top.

“I wasn’t asking for your help, Mater,” he said with a look of bemusement. “Can you pass me the ketchup?”

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Dear Reader, have a Song… ❤

 

 

 

 

Knot Barred… With Update

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Yes, Dear Reader, The Underdog Anthology is well on nigh…

*I am not a princess, Clicky! …/looks aghast… *

*/sniff… Sandwich Queen, maybe… Now stop interrupting me…*

Anyway, as I was saying, Dear Reader, The Underdog Anthology will be published very soon…

*No, Clicky, my pen name’s Roo B. Doo… sounds like RooBeeDoo…*

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*Yeah well I’m rather more fond of a shamble than Tiff… /shoos away assistant… Now, stop butting in…*

Leggy, the Underdog, is keen not to make the cover too attractive to children. Personally, I think the little buggers could do with reading the superbly written horror, sex and violence that unfolds inside…

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*/Squints… It’s his pub, Clicky… Leggy’s the gaffer and I fully respect that… Now fuck off for a minute, I want to put the poem in…*

As an ‘Afterword’ in his other short story collections, a literary giant is giving a kicking – Lewis Carroll in ‘Dark Thoughts and Demons‘, and Edgar Allan Poe in ‘Fears of the Old and New‘.  For The Underdog Anthology, Leggy enticed me into a bit of vandalism…

 

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*Oh yeah… Anyone that knows me, noses there was only one giant, I’d take on, Clicky…*

So, Dear Reader, reproduced below is my afterword contribution to The Underdog Anthology… Sonnet 6+6+6…

ode-by-a-smoking-brexiteer

Dear Reader… Have a Song ❤

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Update

Dear Reader, we now have a back cover…

Meeting Midnight

twelve

*Clicky? …/shakes head and places finger on lips…*

legs-suggests-a-theme-to-roob
CLICKY: Have a Song

meeting (n.) “action of coming together,” Old English gemeting, verbal noun from meet (v.). Meaning “gathering of people for discussion, etc.” is from 1510s. In 17c., it was applied generally to worship assemblies of nonconformists, but this now is retained mostly by Quakers

As it happened, Dear Reader, I spent quite a bit of time this afternoon pondering a devastatingly good blog post by Anna Raccoon…

https://twitter.com/AnnaRaccoon1/status/799281443683737600

Please, use Clicky and read it for yourself… I dare you not to be touched by this wonderful woman’s words. Take your time; I’ll wait…

owl-2

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I spent this morning in the Blue Universe…

With first Brexit, and now Trump, I have the sense that a spirit of revolt is spreading across the West. I’m looking forward to seeing a bushfire of similar revolts spreading across Europe. Revolts against authority, revolts against top-down control, revolts against social engineering, revolts against the entrenched political elites. These things are catching: when people see other people doing something, they’re inclined to think that they could do it too. It gives them ideas.

Well, we are at Le Crunch point in regards to the ‘Crisis’ Winter season, the Fourth Turning…

*Excellent timing, Clicky! New in from The Rev?… Sparkling stuff! …/thinks… Why don’t you give Dear Reader a Song, whilst I go an indulge myself. There’s a good Clicky… /pats snout…*

A C.R.O.N.Y… Mmm…

Dear Reader, following the death of Grandad, yesterday I had the sad duty of posting */knot-eyes* on MEROVEE of the death of U.N.C.L.E  Mr Napoleon Solo… You know, Han :D’s twinnish bro…

roob-announces-death-again
Click for ‘Love Trumps Hate’

*/taps feet and whistles… Ah, butt as I was telling Leggy at the time, Click, I always fancied Illya Kuryakin...*

 

legs-and-roob-discuss-the-invisible-man
Click for TV Intro to The Invisible Man

*Wild Swans… /scratches chin… Clicky that’s another weird sync ‘cos I mentioned swans to the Texan Okie Devil, Cade, just today…*

wet-and-dry-ties
Click for the The Five Doctors Who Have Ties That Bind

*Yeah, the boys’ blazers are black, so the swan motif on the pocket is, essentially, a black swan, outlined in white thread…*

*Ha! Yeah, ‘cos he sent me that Song overnight and my bedwear was kinda… Soviet…*

roobs-nightwear-front
Click for back view

*/Slaps forehead… Again!? FFS, Clicky, watt is it with you and posting embarrassing photos of me? …/folds arms and taps foot sternly… I mean… Why, for Gawd’s sake? …/turns in exasperation…*

*Butt, I’m Roobee… /:O… You’re trying to tuffen me up? …/squints… Oh Doo Foxtrot Oscar!!*

Dear Reader, we interrupt this LoL post for the precise, technical reason that my bleedin’ dolphin assistant needs a clip round the ear.

Please accept the following Song */nods thanks…*

*******

rawr

CLICK5 Special: Wanna Dance?

clicky-says-hello

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)

The worse part of being a girl was that if your mate was prettier than you she would be asked to dance and this would leave you on your own if you weren’t. 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’.

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 and I saw these two blokes eyeing us up. I said to Margaret, “There are two boys coming over. Say No.” Terry asked Margaret to dance and she said, “Yes”. Daddy asked me and I said “No.” Margaret waltzed off with Terry and Daddy said to me, “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.” I danced and your lives began.

v-for-victory

Can I recommend a book to you, Margo? It might explain this period in time to you. It did for me:

http://www.fourthturning.com/

Basically, during the Crisis (Winter) Season, i.e. now, a Gray Champion arises from the masses, to galvanize the younger generation, generally to war. FDR was the last one. However, in this digital, electronic age we live in (h/tip Marshal McLuhan), it’s not just one ‘Gray Champion’ but the collective ‘gray people’, i.e. Old Uns.

And in the case of this particular blog: Stop behaving like Nazis and let us enjoy our pint in the pub with a smoke. We’re the Allies. We’re not the call to go to war this time, we’re actually the Voice of Reason.

I’ve written some posts about it:

https://roobeedoo2.wordpress.com/?s=the+fourth+turning

rbd2

*/smokes whilst waiting…*

shining-twins

*/sparks up and offers light to others…*

tobacco-control-science

*/keeps on smoking and waiting…*

roob-x-kubrix

*/mental facepalm with rolling eyes…FFS, Clicky go give yourself a Song…*

Dunn and Dusted…

Sad news today, folks: Grandad has passed on to the great butchers shop in the sky…

*Knot 19, Clicky, he was 92…*

*/lights up and smokes… I ain’t panicking, gno… Well, it had to ‘appen, Clicky... Everybody goes eventually…*

*/nods sagely… That’s true… /sniffs… Ooh, smells like dinner’s nearly ready – fancy a Song, Clicky?*

 

Apols! Breaking NOOZ Flash…

*/squints… All you need to doo to enjoy IT… is clique yore fingers… Ore ‘ave little legs ;)*