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.

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*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?

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*/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.

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*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. 😉

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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…

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*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 😀

Breakfast Embed Part 1 – Ova Easty

Dear Reader, I hate to be the one to inform you of this, but the task has fallen to me to inform you of that, which you do not know. Hang on a sec…

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*wtf was that noise? Nope…no one there. Musta been the wind …/me shrugs…*

Anyway, erm, where was I? OH YEAH!!! Tragedy has befallen RooBeeDoo, and she appears to have lost her fucking mind. Mainly because she asked me to write the opening and closing bits of a post or two. And who am I, you might ask? My name is Mr. Slimey, but I don’t mind if you call me Mr. S.

Begging your pardon, but would you mind hanging on again for one more moment? I shan’t be long.

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* Hmmm…that’s weird. Strange noises, strange events, but no space dolphin to be found anywhere. How odd…*

The story that follows is a story written by RooBeeDoo called The Inchoate Egg, and it’s a good one. I know it’s a good story because I’ve read it. Good? Nah…it’s great. A great story, that I now present it to you without much further delay. Just gotta close all these random opening doors.

Enjoy your read, and catch ya on the flipside.

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*Aww… Nice work with the doors btw, Clicky… /pats snout… Cade’s got a story in the next Anthology… /scratches nose… ’bout a door or sumfin’…*

Thank you, Cade ❤

Dear Reader, as it’s nearly Easter, I thought I’d post my second story from ‘The Underdog Anthology II: Tales The Hollow Bunnies Tell’, last year’s Easter-themed, collective offering

*Oh I thought it would be fun, Clicky… /lights up… if Cade provided bread… /drags… and I provided the filling for a Missive sammich… /streams smoke…*

I’ve split it in two, so ‘The Inchoate Egg’ will be concluded in a following post. Hopefully today…

*/squints… ‘Vanillin’? …/flicks ash… Do you think they mean vanilla, Clicky? …/shrugs…*

… If not, then tomorrow. Enjoy! 😀

The Inchoate Egg

by Roo B. Doo

“Patience is a virtue, Harry,” Payroll Pammy chimed as she glided past the elevator on the way to the kitchen, carrying a tray of empty mugs. I was inside the lift, gnashing my teeth while I waited for the doors of the ancient mechanism to close. Pammy evidently shared the consensus opinion of the minions at F A Kontrell, that the elevator to our 5th floor offices is ‘very slow’.

More like fucking glacial, I fumed, as I stood over the control panel and angrily jabbed at the ‘door close’ button, each jab accompanied by an entreaty to “close, you fucking bastard.” Slowly, the door halves started their whiny crawl toward each other and were just about to touch when a smooth, tanned hand, topped with exquisitely polished pink fingernails, halted their long awaited reunion by adroitly sliding between them.

“Hold the lift, please!”

I recognised both the hand and voice, and my chest tightened at the thought of being in close proximity with the office goddess I’d lusted after. I felt a tinge of fear too, if I’m honest, as the last time we’d been alone together hadn’t exactly worked out that well for me. Josie looked surprised to see me lurking in the corner of the lift, finger still hovering over the ‘door close’ button. It must have looked as if I were deliberately trying to shut her out.

“Oh, hello Harry,” she said sheepishly. She moved to the opposite corner at the back of the lift, putting as much distance between us as she could. “How are you?”

“I’ve been worse.”

The words hung between us and I wondered if, like me, she was remembering the night several months ago when Alfie, her brick shithouse of a boyfriend, had tried to kill me over a misunderstanding. He came home from work unexpectedly and thought I was trying to debauch his girl with an obscene Secret Santa gift. As If!

Of course I had been trying to gain access to the fair Josie’s knickers, but not with anything so crass as the oversized sex toy that Alfie had seized upon. I’d been using an entirely more tasteful gift, targeting Josie’s weakness for chocolate. It was classy and it had nearly worked too.

I turned back to the control panel and resumed my button jabbing, minus the swearing. For once the lift doors effortlessly glided together first time with barely a murmur, sealing us in. The lift compensated for the unexpected quiet efficiency with a gut flipping jolt before starting its grindingly slow journey downwards.

Well this is awkward, I thought.

Josie and I hadn’t really spoken since that night. She’d been avoiding me and my ardour had been tempered somewhat by the painfully real threat of a good hiding from her boyfriend. Mr Kontrell, a.k.a. the Fat Kontroller, had called me a ‘Good Egg’ after I’d declined to press charges – so reluctant was he to see his company dragged through the mud that he offered me a substantial pay rise in return for keeping my mouth shut.

It was an offer I was happy to accept. Besides, I didn’t want to sabotage any future chance with Josie by being the cause of her boyfriend being locked up, no matter how much the animal deserved it. That I’d survived Alfie’s ire at all was entirely down to the girl herself, who’d stop his murderous rampage with a substantial kick to his bollocks. I only wished I’d been conscious to see it.

The silence between us was deafening over the groaning lift mechanism. I decided to break it. “So, are you bunking off early?”

I turned toward Josie and she smiled back shyly. Fuck, but she is beautiful, I thought, and felt my stomach flutter. I smiled back, drinking in the delicacy of her elfin features framed by glossy, black hair, and not to mention a smoking hot body that would cause Elle McPherson to weep. To think, I’d been that close to sticking my tongue down her throat.

“Yes, kind of,” she replied, “I’ve been asked to attend the county-wide business awards ceremony tonight, so I’m going to work from home this afternoon.”

I took a sharp intake of breath. “The one at the civic centre?” I asked slowly. What the fuck!

“Yes,” Josie hesitated, “Shazza’s asked me if I’d go. Apparently one of the guests can’t make it now.”

“Oh right.” I nodded slowly and tried to keep my voice neutral, “we’re up for ‘Green Business of the Year’. I wrote our submission.”

“Are you going as well?” Josie asked with surprise. There was that awkwardness again and we hadn’t even passed the 3rd floor yet.

“Well yeah, that’s why I’m bunking off. I’ve booked the afternoon off so that I’ve got plenty of time to get ready and arrive before our guests do,” I explained calmly whilst fuming inside. I’d only just left the office, for fuck’s sake! What client? When did they pull out and why the fuck hadn’t our jumped up bitch of a receptionist told me about it? It was my event to organise after all, not Shazza’s. “Did Sharon give you any more detail?”

“Only the dress code and start time.” Josie gently gnawed at her bottom lip with perfect white teeth. “Harry, about what happened at Christmas…”

“It’s not necessary, Josie,” I said holding up a hand. “It was a misunderstanding.”

The slowest lift in Christendom was about to creak past the first floor and now she wanted to talk. “I’m not…” she trailed off. “You know…”

“A raving chocoholic? Yeah you are.” I winked at her. “Look, what’s done is done. I’m happy if we can remain friends.” It was a lie but what could I do?

She looked relieved and I felt relieved we’d finally reached the ground floor. I held back and let Josie leave. One, it occurred to me that Alfie, who chauffeured her to and from work, might be waiting outside, and it probably wasn’t a good idea for him to see us emerge from the building together. And two, I had a bit of unfinished business to attend to.

“I’m just gonna go back up and see Shazza,” I explained when Josie turned round to see if I was following. “I’d better find out who’s dropped out and if there’s anything else she’s neglected to tell me.”

“Okay, I’ll see you later tonight then, Harry.” She gave me that shy smile again and left.

I waited until she was out of earshot. “Yes!” I hissed under my breath and punched the air before returning to jab at the lift buttons once again. “Come on you bastard, close!”

Quel surprise! Shazza wasn’t manning the reception desk, the job she was paid to do but seldom bothered with. When I did find her, she was sitting in my chair, at my desk, looking rapturously up at the Fat Kontroller, who in return was getting an eyeful of her lumpy tits. There really isn’t enough mind bleach in the world to purge me of that horrific mental tableaux. I resisted the impulse to retch.

“What’s this I hear, Josie’s going tonight?” I walked up and sat on my desk between the two of them.

“Ah Harry! I was just going over tonight’s guest list with Shazza,” the Fat Kontroller said, looking a little flustered. And why not? I’d just caught him ogling our fat receptionist’s cleavage. Dirty old fuck – Shaz is at least half his age.

“So who’s pulled out?” I plucked the guest list from Shazza’s hand, looked at it and put it down beside me. “And when did we know?”

“Phil Gutteridge and not that long ago,” Shazza answered defensively.

“That’s my fault, Harry,” the Fat Kontroller added. “I thought you’d gone for the day so I asked Sharon to invite Josie.”

“Okay. But why can’t he make it?” Shit! Phil is one of our more reliable clients, an absolutely corker of a guest for these sort of shindigs. He never passed up an offer of free grub and booze, and watching him eat and drink was a sight to behold, like a ravenous Serengeti lion attacking a gazelle carcass – worthy of David Attenborough narration.

“He broke his arm at the gym this morning,” the Fat Kontroller continued. “Running on the treadmill, apparently. He missed his mouth taking a big gulp of water. Slipped in the resulting puddle and down he went.”

I clamped a hand over my mouth to subdue a laugh – Phil isn’t the smallest of men, or healthiest. “Damn! I warned him about gyms. And drinking water.”

But the Fat Kontroller wasn’t finished. “I’m afraid Mrs Kontrell won’t be able to make it now either.”

“No. Is your wife poorly again?” I asked with deep concern.

“Yes, she has one of her heads on.” At least the Fat Kontroller had the decency to look embarrassed trotting out the familiar excuse. It was uncanny how often the chain smoking, soap opera addicted Mrs K pulled out of company events due to having ‘one of her heads on’. In the two and a half years I’d worked for the Fat Kontroller, I hadn’t met her once.

“So who are we going to get to replace her? A client?” I asked him. I was purposefully not including Shazza in the conversation, but now, from the corner of my eye, I caught her suddenly sitting up straighter, a simpering grin replacing the petulant pout on her face. Oh no, I thought. No, please, not Shaz!

“During Easter school holidays? No, it’s much too short notice to ask any other clients now,” the Fat Kontroller opined. “Happily young Sharon has offered to step into the breach.” He flourished his hand toward a beaming Shazza.

Oh fuck! That was all I needed, having a sneering, drunken Shazza, making sly digs at me all evening and googly eyes at the Fat Kontroller. “Are you sure there’s no one else we could ask? Tonight is kind of a big deal for F A Kontrell. What about Phil’s deputy?”

To give him credit, the Fat Kontroller did look as if he were seriously considering my suggestion, but I could tell that ship had already sailed. Still, it felt good to see Shazza’s grin falter and disappear again. She threw me a malevolent look, which I returned with raised eyebrows and condescending smile. Squirm bitch!

“No, I think we’ll stick with the revised line up,” the Fat Kontroller decided. “Although it probably won’t do us any harm to have a couple of beautiful additions on our table.” He winked at Shazza who visibly preened.

Ugh! I mentally grimaced, I fucking hope you’re referring to Josie and Shaz and not just to Shazza’s tits!

“Right. I’ll make sure not to tell Mrs K that…” If I ever get to meet her. I gave the Fat Kontroller a friendly nudge. God knows he deserved it for the mental abuse inflicted by his flirting with Shazza. As for our ambitious receptionist, I hadn’t forgiven her yet for the role she played in my Christmas beating – it was her inappropriate Secret Santa gift to me that Alfie had taken offence at.

“I’ll make up the new place cards for the table,” Shazza said, peering at the guest list on the desk. “Zander Rhodes? The fashion designer’s gonna be on our table?”

“Zandra Rhodes is a fashion designer, Shaz” I said barely able to keep the contempt out of my voice. “Zander Rhodes, however, works for Green Crusaders. They’re an environmental charity we’ve been tapping up.”

“Networking with, Harry,” the Fat Kontroller corrected me with a chuckle. “I met him at a function in the City. Nice lad, very driven. There’s some synergy there that could be mutually beneficial.”

That’s what I said – tapping up! I thought with a mental sigh. I got up to leave, “Well, alright then, if you and Shaz have got it all under control, I shall take my afternoon off now and bugger off home. See you both later.”

This time I decided to forego the extended lift experience and took the stairs.

Will the Fat Kontroller win his the prize? Does Harry pull? Will Josie allow it? And how much drink can Shazza safely handle?

*The spread… /stubs butt…*

… Find out next time. Now, ova to Cade…

*******

I apologize for all the strangeness and strange events Dear Reader. I’ve not a clue what is going on with all the self-opening doors. Next thing you know, windows will be opening entirely on their own, and entire houses may suddenly be prone to levitation. Excuse me one more moment if you please…

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*all kinds of unusual shit going on to be sure, but nothing really…”out of the ordinary”…per se /me scratches chin…*

Meh…I’ll see to that in a minute. But I’m confident that we’ll get, whatever this is, worked out to a logical conclusion. We may even stumble across some help and helpers along the way.

helphasalmostarrived
*no…that’s more along the lines of “professional help”, so I think their particular services are unlikely… /me looks around for anything…fishy…*

And on that note…let’s cue us up a song.

‘Morning Run’ – An Underdog Anthology Tale

Dear Reader, the next volume of the Underdog Anthology – Treeskull Stories – is on track to be published for Halloween…

UA3 cover

This time I have contributed one story and the Afterword, as well as providing copy editing services to Leggy. This is a pleasure, not a chore, as I get to read the fabulous contributions from the other authors first. And for free…

*Clicky, that’s free knot three…*

*/rolls eyes…*

In anticipation of publication, I thought I’d share one of my stories from Anthology 2 with you, Dear Reader. So here is ‘Morning Run’ for your entertainment… Enjoy! 😀

*******

MORNING RUN

By Roo B. Doo

Gasping with pain, Marcus pulled the graffiti daubed door open and peered into the murk inside. The hinges squealed their resistance in the spring morning that should have been filled with birdsong but was disquietingly absent. He sniffed in disgust at the dank gloominess but the room appeared empty, and Marcus was more than happy about that – the thought of defecating anywhere other than his own bathroom filled him with dread but he doubted he would be able to sprint back home in time. As if in agreement, his stomach growled noisily.

Usually Marcus picked up the pace when he ran past the public toilets on his early morning jog through the park. The low, stone structure, vividly tagged in garish painted symbols, sat at the far point of his circuit. Set back from the path and surrounded by shady trees, it had an air of quiet menace in its seedy isolation, a haven for druggies and vandals, pervs too no doubt. Today, however, a crunching gut spasm had assailed Marcus as he approached the building. He’d pulled up sharply, clutching his stomach at the sudden crippling pain.

Marcus swore at himself for thinking he could just run off the sluggishness he’d felt at the previous night’s overindulgence at the local curry house. And the beery one at the pub beforehand. For months he’d been on a strict diet regime in training for the London Marathon. It was just rotten timing that his best friend Craig had chosen Easter, the weekend before, to get married. As Best Man there was no way Marcus could miss the stag night, and a stag is a stag – there’s no point going if you didn’t stagger a bit as a result. It would be his only blow out and, besides, he’d have a whole week to recover before the big race.

Although his guts were wildly churning, Marcus remained reluctant to go inside. He was okay pissing in public toilets but shitting was another matter. He couldn’t stand the thought of exposing his backside to where other naked backsides had rubbed or smeared, nor the thought of anyone listening in, passively participating and passing judgement on the size of his bowel.

He briefly squatted down in the doorway to scan for the feet of hidden stall occupants, and instantly regretted it. The pressure inside him moved and there was an audible glug! Marcus tensed his arsehole; it felt like a splenetic Vesuvius ready to blow its top. With a final nervous glance behind to make sure nobody was about to follow him in, Marcus stepped inside.

The gloom deepened as the main door swung closed behind him with a creaking thump. Now the eerie silence was broken by a leaking tap’s plink, plink, plink from the wash basin to his left, accompanied by the continued rumble from his guts. There were three toilet stalls in front of him and he made for the nearest, dodging the dirty puddles strewn with litter, tugging urgently at the drawstring on his shorts. Marcus was determined to spend as little time in the place as possible.

The cubicle door swung open at his touch, revealing a filthy, shit filled toilet. A worn and dirty trainer, half submerged among the turds, listed near the top of the bowl. He moved on to the next but that too was blocked. Fresh beads of sweat prickled Marcus’ brow, his dread intensified – if the last one was in as bad a condition he didn’t know what he would do. However, the last stall at least looked relatively clean and it had a lock on the door. Bonus! Marcus thought as he whipped down his shorts, sank onto the toilet seat with a resounding thump and let go.

He braced his hands against the cubicle walls to hold himself up as he felt the world cascading out of his arse, before splashing back to soak his crack and balls. Both relief at the release and cold revulsion washed through Marcus, as his breath rasped with every squeeze.

“Arghhh!” he screamed aloud as his gut achingly contracted again, but by now Marcus cared little if anyone was there to hear him; he just had to get it all out.

He closed his eyes and swore again at his stupidity. He just had to play the big man, didn’t he? Buying another round of beers, choosing the hottest and spiciest dishes on the menu, followed by shots, lots of shots. True, it had been a hell of a fun evening but, by God, he was regretting his decisions now. Not to mention Craig’s wedding was later that day; he only hoped he would have sufficient time to recover before then. With a grimace, Marcus resolved to take a double dose of imodium and have a shower as soon as he got home.

He shifted his position as the stinging flow turned into a trickle, releasing a waft of putridity that made him recoil and hold his nose. Reaching for the toilet roll he found the holder sheathed only with an empty cardboard tube. He slapped at it angrily and looked around but there was nothing else to clean himself up with. Sighing loudly, Marcus pulled off his outer vest top, balled it up and started to wipe his backside. It was one of his favourites but he would have to leave it – there was no way he was carrying it back home.

Feeling drained, Marcus stood up and pulled hard on the toilet chain, eager to flush the contents of his bowels away, but the only thing it made was an empty clank. He pulled again and again. Nothing. Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Marcus peered into the toilet bowl as he pulled up his shorts. Shit splattered the inside and dribbled down into a dark brown pool of his slurry. He had to get out there fast before anyone else came by. Flinging the balled vest top to the floor he turned to leave.

The lock on the door refused to budge. Marcus rattled it hard but it was stuck fast. He tried ramming the door open with his shoulder before remembering that it swung inwards. He kicked at it in frustration but the door remained firmly closed.

“What the fuck?!”

Plop… The sound came from behind him. Plop… plop.

Marcus turned around slowly to see movement in the bowl. The shit pool bubbled and burst like the hot mud springs he’d seen once before whilst on holiday in New Zealand. He stood there transfixed as more and more bubbles broke through the surface. Plop pop plop…

A slimy brown finger poked up suddenly, followed by another. Marcus flattened himself against the door, staring aghast as a hand emerged from the mess, fingertips feeling out, looking for purchase on the porcelain. A second hand shot up and gripped the edge of the toilet seat, pulling, heaving first a shoulder and then an oozing head up and out of the bowl.

Eyes wide with horror and disbelief, Marcus turned and hammered at the door, frantically grabbing at the lock. “LET ME OUT!”

A horrendous sucking sound caused Marcus to turn around again and he screamed to see the abomination now had a torso, rippling turds for muscles. A fat, pink worm poked out of the head, like an obscene tongue, tasting the air. Reaching out with dripping hands, the detestation gave Marcus a shit-eating grin before emitting a thunderous burp, sending a foul spray of ordure with a stench like an eyeful of needles.

Marcus screamed again and dropped to the filthy, wet floor, squirming in a frenetic attempt to escape from under the door. He kicked out as slimy hands grabbed at his legs and he felt a squelching slap on the back of his thigh. With an almighty heave, he pulled himself free of the gap and out.

Howling in terror, Marcus picked himself up and ran.

*******

Dogma Shit Demon

*Alright! Sheesh… I’m new to this writing lark, Clicky, let alone horror fiction…*

*Well, let’s hope so, eh?*

So, if you’re in need of a book of short stories for toilet reading this Halloween, Dear Reader, I highly recommend you try ‘Underdog Anthology III’ from Leg Iron Books

A Dolphin Who?

*Thank you, Clicky…*

*Quite the intronaut, Clicky… not sure about the worms…*

So Dear Reader, in ‘Hang on a Mo (updated)‘, I mentioned that I’d written the Afterword for the new Underdog Anthology

The book is a tasty Easter treat…

*Chocked with stories, not dipped in chocolate, Clicky… You wouldn’t be able to read the words…*

It was surprisingly difficult to find a poem to mutilate this time round. Carroll and Poe had already been abused by Leggy in his previous short story collections…

*The Cleggy and the Cameroid, yes…*

*… And The Gorgon…*

When Legs asked me to pen the Afterword for the first Underdog Anthology, it was quite easy to choose, a) literary giant (duh, Shake Sphere) and b) political subject matter (Brexit, duh da)…

*Also Sonnet 6+6+6 is fairly short, Clicky…*

There are lots of great poets and poems out there, and no end of useless politicians and their fuckwittery to choose from this time… But what to choose, who to choose? I tell you, Dear Reader, I was stumped…*/scratches head…*

Enter Canada

*For fucks sake, Clicky! Canadians wouldn’t even be able to criticize the driving…*

O Canada” (French: Ô Canada) is the national anthem of Canada. The song was originally commissioned by Lieutenant Governor of Quebec Théodore Robitaille for the 1880 Saint-Jean-Baptiste Day ceremony; Calixa Lavallée composed the music, after which, words were written by the poet and judge Sir Adolphe-Basile Routhier. The lyrics were originally in French; an English version was created in 1906.

There, a poet, described as such by Wiki… DolphinBasilRuthier... So here is the Afterword poem from Anthology 2, with actions… Then, Dear Reader, have a Song… And don’t forget to buy the book(s)… Available in paperback if you feel the need to burn something after reading 😉

:O Canada! 🤦

:O Canada! 🤦
New home of the Muhammad band!
Politicians love the Islamist sons’ command
Who’s cowering hearts we see compromise
No more to stand strong and free!
On slopes you slide
Oi Canada, we facepalm for thee
God save us from your quisling glee! 🤦
Oy Canada, get off your bended knee 🤦🤦
Oh Canada, get off your bended knee 🤦🤦🤦

Missive From ‘Merica: Y’all Ready For This?

Apols, Dear Reader but eyes elsewhere, head stuck a in story for The Underdog Anthology Vol. 2. Story numero uno has been written, submitted and accepted for inclusion by The Underdog *…/Whoops loudly…*

 …But the deadline has been shortened for story number two. That is where I’m at. To cover my embarrassment at not posting for a whole week, Cade the Okie Devil has graciously stepped in and provided The LoL with another stimulating missive to keep us all enthralled…

… Hold on to your hats, chaps… It’s a doozy… *Hit it, Clicky!*

*******


D_ERF. WEAR_DAT_AT_B_AT?

TRANSLATION: The Earth. Where Is It/Where Is It At/Where is that at, at?

The easy answer is “here.”
But you are there, and I am here.
So yeah, it can be, and is, here and there at the same time.
Here and here…even.

^Alex Gaudino & Shena – Watch Out HD^

So…there was a little girl walking home from school one day, when a boy stopped her, and told her…
“I’ll pay you a nickle to climb that telephone pole.”
She agreed, climbed the telephone pole, he paid her the nickle, and she went home. Upon arriving home, she told her mother…
“MOM! A boy from school paid me a nickle to climb a telephone pole!”
Here mother told her sternly…
“Don’t you know that he only did that so he could see your panties?!?!?”
So the next day, the little girl is walking home from school again, the little boy stops her again, and again…offers her a nickle to climb the telephone pole. When the little girl arrives home, she tells her mother, that the little boy paid her another nickle to climb the telephone pole.
Her mother shouts at her angrily…
“DIDN’T I TELL YOU YESTERDAY THAT HE ONLY DOES THAT TO SEE YOUR PANTIES?!?!?!”
The little girl responds…
“Yeah. But I tricked him. I didn’t wear any panties to school today.”
^DyE – Fantasy – Official Video^

OK…so…ur asking yorselfies…”wut duh FUK iz dat awl aboots?”


Welp…the short is…a song.

^Pet Shop Boys – Opportunities (Let’s Make Lots of Money) (Version 2) (HD)^

More on that, would be and is…some thoughts from Hugo’s Probe as to my comment about viewing The United States as anything but “The Land of Opportunity” in my life.

^Psychedelic Trance 2016 / 2017 Mix part 7 [Festivals / Hoop Dance / Belly Dance]^

The long would be…or might be…maybe a question from The Whatever However Hotline.

Q: Cade, What is your fascination with Nitrogen?

A: Welp…”The Bends” would be the short of that, with maybe a note and a nod to pressure(s) and bone(s)….and maybe even a question of my own. So yeah…Leukemia. And Cancer(s).

Q: Why is Nitrogen so “stable?”

A: ?¿?

So let’s think about that a bit, and make an assumption that Nitrogen, is anything but stable. Why and how? Easy…

TEMPO_RARE-E_STATES_UV_MATTER.

As I was writing that little play on words, I debated on using “OF” or “UV” there, as I have previously used both. But thinking about Nitrogen under pressure in aircraft tires, and thinking about energy/energies and spin(s) with respect to temperature(s) and light, and the direction and directions of aircraft tire rotation(s) as they are retracted into and/or extended out of an aircraft…welp…there’s a lot to think about there when you start to factor in the outside and inside air/airs and gasses. Because we have a lot of shit in motion…and I ain’t just talking about the status of the lavs on the aircraft. So let’s cut to the chase…and get right to “the answer(s).”

A: Negligible.

When, where, for how long, and why. And let’s go ahead and introduce that peskiest of interrogatives…”if.”

^Aurora covers Massive Attack ‘Teardrop’ for triple j’s Like A Version^

X: Did you just shush me?
Cade: No. But I will if you don’t be quiet.
X: …

I’m actually laughing like a hyena at that one. I try to weave humor into my writing when and where I can. But the problem with me writing at all…is that I don’t want to be writing at all. Why? Because I doubt myself. As the character “Al Swearengen” from the HBO series “Deadwood” would say…

“I work better closer in.”

Except when dealing with…erm…I honestly do not know how to say this without sounding like a fucking egotistical asshole…so I’ll just say it…

“Except dealing with those things, which most people that I have encountered in my life, have no interest in whatsoever.”

The kinds of things that, when you try and talk to others about? They look at you like you are a fucking alien, and then tend to follow that up with “What in the FUCK planet are you from?”

There is no answer to that. And only because the conversation stops there.

^CAMPFIRE COOKING IN THE WILD – ALASKA^

So looking at the image above, and thinking about velocity and acceleration...

Q: What is the opposite of Acceleration?

A: ??? I dunno either. ???

Q: What is the opposite of Velocity?

A: Philosoraptor?

Alright…so lets think of Velocity and Acceleration together as VA/AV and AV/VA instead of their individual components.

Q 01: What is balance?
Q 02: When is balance?
Q 03: What is balance and when?
Q 04: When is balance and what?

If you’ve already answered this/these questions in previous findings, then why are they no longer relevant? When are they no longer relevant? Why are they, suddenly…relevant?

The best I got to answer that?

Yep.

You guessed it…time.

^Grimes – Oblivion^

DUDE! WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS LIKE….TIME, tIME, tiME, timE, time?!?!?!?

Because I think it important to consider the fact that time was a consideration upon creation.

I include it.

It’s included.

Why do you leave it out?

When something is created, if time is not a consideration, from…to…and through…I’m betting you are gonna see some gaps there.

When?

Irony much?
^Eric Prydz – Call On Me (Original Mix)^


So yeahVA/AV + AV/VA = Wobble. (base)

(VA/AV + AV/VA) + (AV/VA + VA/AV)
+
(AV/VA + VA/AV) + (VA/AV + AV/VA)
=
[(VA/AV + AV/VA) + (AV/VA + VA/AV)] + [(AV/VA + VA/AV) + (VA/AV + AV/VA)]
=
Time

Time for each, time from each.

If you assume, that an Oxygen atom on Earth/Terra is always going to be identical, to an Oxygen atom on Mars or some other planet or solar body…you just negated the entirety of existence.

Exist-Tense.

Time is important.

Friction, is also important.

So maybe if you think about creation and destruction as ongoing? It’ll be easier to understand why “The Big Bang” is still happening, and the role of “The Big Swirl” within “The Big Bang” and vice versa.

Life…might help out there as to how destruction works within the construct of creation, and how the two are separate, and yet the same, at different places, at different times.

I mean…if you are destroying…for the sake of creation…didn’t you just find what you were looking for?

Meaning: The conditions that existed right after “The Big Bang?”

Two Words: Red Shift/Blue Shift
^Why Are We Here? – Episode 1 – Red vs. Blue Season 1^

Are you crazy? Just a suggestion…but if you are completely nuts in a sane world, and want to be sane yourself?

Surround yourself with crazy shit.

Not that it’ll make you sane or anything according to “the sane people” who keep telling you that you are insane…but it may help you.

And what is…”crazy stuff”…you might ask.

      Welp…think of it like this.

Yer feeling crazy right?

You’re wanting to feel sane right?

Sane <> Pain.
Pain <> Sane.

It’s a good place to start anyway.

I mean…you are hurting already right?

And others are telling you that you are hurting them by not being normal and/or sane?

Welp…I’m not in the habit of dictating morals. There are enough motherfuckers on this planet that already have a monopoly on that shit, and then some.

However…taking a moment or two, to discern for yourself, what you consider “sane” and “insane” might just help.

See how crazy that can get all of sudden?

You would be surrounding yourself, with the same shit you are prolly already surrounded by.

So yeah…maybe not trying to be “the bigger person” or “the better person”…and maybe just be yourself. It ain’t easy, I’m aware of that…but what I don’t know is you and your personal situation. And more than that, I never can if you are no longer with us.

Take that for what it’s worth, because I’m not on some quest to get to know every single motherfucker on this planet.

But I do have a desire to reach out as best I can, and meet the need and needs that are unmet, even if that is just to say “Howdy! I’m listening.”

^Ohgr – Lusid^

Yeah…I’m not much to look at…so…listening…I’m good at it. Or at least, I strive to be. I guess one of the problems that I face, is when someone asks me a question that can be answered with a pretty succinct, generally accepted type of answer. My goal is to know how to custom tailor that answer specifically for you and your needs. That’s a toughie. Prolly why cliches are so popular. Time is important anyway, and we never have enough of it. So the cliches tell us anyway. But I guess it’s kinda like being given a single seed to start a new life. When we are thinking in terms of “BUT…I Want A Garden!!!” …taking the time to explain things like…”But I just gave you one”…and then taking the time to explain the hows and whys. How that plant will grow, how it will mature, and how it itself will produce even more seeds. You can then take those seeds, and begin your garden.

Funny…”can’t see the forest for the trees?”

“Can’t see the garden for the seeds?”

Or something…???

I dunno…I guess my point is, that when someone sees something in their mind, and have a desire to pursue that dream, I guess I get lost trying to understand how someone does not work with that dream even tho it may not be our dream. I guess I’m thinking of my role as “a child then” and “a parent now” in that, I only want to do the best that I can to help my children understand how important it is to me that they always be themselves. That they belong to themselves, and always have.

So yeah…if anyone is wondering what the point of me writing all of this nonsense is? Welp, when you are told time again that “you prolly ain’t gonna make it this time”…and then at some point you are like…”wow…shit just got real…I better prepare”…and that’s what I am trying to do. Leaving something for my children, and even whatshername, and anyone else who might find any of this shit helpful…a trail. Yes…it’s my trail. But I have figured out a thing or two in my life, that others found helpful for them, that I custom tailored to work in my life, all from that original seed, that grew and produced much more than I ever would have imagined.

My goal is to pass that on.

DIY->PIO

Do It Yourself…Pass It On

^ohGr – Pissage^


I’ve had some comments to the effect of “your stuff is difficult to read.”

I’ve thought about that quite a bit.

I guess maybe because most who read this shit, may not think that I am actually this hard on myself. But I am. Internally? It’s brutal. A bloodbath.

But that keeps me straight. It reminds me of what I want to be…and what I do not want to be…all at the same time.

And I’m not saying that all of my bullshit is anything particularly extraordinary. But we seem to live in a world that is failure based, based on, failure at the end.

I flipped that.

I assume that everything that I do will be judged as a failure, and on occasion, I am pleasantly surprised.

Plan For The Worst…Hope For The Best.

We’ll know when and if we know…ya know?

^Benny Benassi – Satisfaction^

Once something is eliminated…now what are you planning on doing? I mean, have you really considered what you have waded through to isolate a certain something, just to eliminate that certain something that you are certain is the cause of all of your woes? What is that certain something connected to, and what is connected to it?

I’ve proposed some ideas about “hugging your fear” instead of trying to isolate and eliminate it. I mean, if it’s afraid, why not try and console it? Threaten to drive it to McDonalds and drown it with a chocolate shake. Take it on vacation and threaten to feed it to the sharks. Take it to the local amusement park and scare the shit out of it on some rides that you would never have previously even considered riding. You know you better than anyone…why wouldn’t you know your fear as well as anything else? Just temper that with “a trip to Fantasy Island always ends with a return to reality.” BUT!!! Aren’t we always glad to be home after being away? We tend to sink into our favorite chair or couch or bed and tell ourselves that the only thing better than being home?

I can’t wait to do that again.

What you do from there? Meh…maybe it’ll all work out.

^Die Antwoord Fatty Boom Boom Official Video1080p H 264 AAC^


So yeah…orbital dynamics/orbital mechanics, I’ve been meaning to think about them a little bit more, but…I keep swirling around this Nitrogen business, and I cannot figure out why. So thinking about things that cause fear, and the things that are connected to that fear, ever thought that maybe…just maybe…you were able to find that whatever it is kind of path of things connected to that fear which allowed you to isolate that thing that is causing your fear? And that maybe…just maybe…it was like a fuckton of signs pointing to “HERE!!!”…but not in the way that you might think? I mean…if you show up loaded for bear…how do you think that fear is gonna respond? Just keep “the rule of corners and cornered” in mind, and you might wanna “get a bigger boat”…if for no other reason…than to get your ass outta there double-quick. Maybe offer that fear a ride while you are at it.

^Tove Lo – Habits (Stay High) – Hippie Sabotage Remix^


I guess that I’ve tried a great deal to think about “aliens” and “alien visitation” a little bit differently than such encounters tend to be/have been postulated…whether those are defined as “good” or “bad.” Because, what about “Encounters of the 0th Kind?” No fireworks, no mass landings, no warfare, no big production, no covert undercover bullshit, no conspiracy(s)…because it’s completely unnecessary. We didn’t come here to steal your kidneys and sell them on E-Bay so we can afford gas for the trip home. We didn’t come here to suck your brain juices. We came here, because you were on the way to where we were going. We had no idea you were here.

Even if they were on their way to kick the fuck out of some other planet/civilization, they encountered us on the way, because they were “taking the short path by going the long way around”*…and whadda ya know…

“look down there Zorbap17!!! There’s life on that planet!”

Let’s stop in and see whazzup! I mean really…how would that go down? Even for a species that was well versed in The Universe, and Universal travels and traveling. It seems to me that “out of the way backwaters like Earth/Terra” would be a “WOAH FUCK MAN!!! WE GOTTA STOP!!! UNCHARTED TERRITORIES!!! UNKNOWNS ABOUND!!!”

To me, that would make the story of “The Annunaki…traveling The Universe…in search of Monoatomic Gold” story make a little more sense. That “The Gold” that they were/are looking for? Welp…I cannot speak for them because I do not know them, their purpose(s), nor even if they exist. But I would think that “their purpose” would be better stated as “their purpose = their purposes.” I mean…doesn’t that resonate with a species of life that we are just getting to know?

Yeah…us.

We’re finally meeting ourselves coming and going, in a world that is getting bigger and bigger all the time, even tho the planet itself it staying the same size. Or thereabouts…let’s not nitpick here. There’s plenty of time for that.

Hopefully.
^Kiesza – Hideaway (Official Video)^

**taking the short path by going the long way around

As mentioned in the previous paragraph, “the long way around” is still going to be an “A to B” type of journey. We’re just gonna skip most of that by going around. These paths and pathways make sense in my head, because I can see them by using my special blend of a curved space model. It uses what is there, instead of trying to manipulate what is there in any type of folds or folding. I mean, isn’t the best part of a journey getting there? All the way. There and back, and all points in-between. Helps make the ending of the movie “Contact” make more sense to me. Especially…”The Chair.” Almost as if, the entirety of the design of this system was, and is, to isolate uniqueness, so that those needs can be met in the most…erm…gentle ways possible…without even asking.

Meaning: How secure are these entities that are coming? How paranoid are they? Any additions or modifications to the original design might be indicative. I mean…the were able to figure out the designs, they were able to build the machine, they put someone in it and sent it through…”what changes did they make?” 😉

Maybe that’s why “modifications” weren’t addressed at all.

The need unmet…met.

Nice to meet you.

^Desire – Under Your Spell^


So yeah…maybe if we add some things together, monitor those dynamics, while also monitoring the individual dynamics…it’ll give us a better idea of what we are looking for and why. Because projecting, analysis and probability are only gonna get us as far as they do. Gotta keep it real. So…don’t forget time and times yeah? Many more lifeforms here than just humans.

If they are in our care…why are they in our care?

If they aren’t in our care…why aren’t they in our care?

I dunno. Do you?
^Yelle – A Cause Des Garcons^

The above image got me to thinking.

Q: If all of your simulations run in one direction (the existing one)…why are you not including the inverse? The reverse? What about the inverse of reverse, and the reverse of inverse?

A: SAY FUCKING WHAT?!?!?!?

Perspective. That means scope within a particular frame of reference. Directions and/or directional. If we aren’t running these “projections” from at least, the four cardinal points, in all directions? How close are we really? I mean, if some of the biggies that you are chasing are polar flip, weather patterns, and orbital dynamics of all kinds of solar bodies…what are you omitting and why? I’m sorry, but within the scope of concepts such as “The Big Bang?” Remove one single particle from that…whatever…and all of a sudden…everything changes.

So…using your own models and modeling of “If so-and-so wasn’t here, we wouldn’t be here either”…um…I gotta question what you are chasing and why? Simply because if you are chasing “the all”…yeah…that’s prolly the 98+% of The Universe that science qualifies as “missing.” Are you really gonna be happy with a model that “describes everything”…based on 2%? Because 2%? That’s some skim fucking milk.

^Crystal Castles ‘BAPTISM’ //official video^


I guess that what I am thinking, is that you can come to me with Jesus’s cellphone number, and tell me that it was detected on a printout after running a certain test at Fermi Labs, then rerun at the LHC, and that you are certain that your results are certain because of this.

Q: What about my children? What about yours? What about everyone else’s children?

A/Q/A/Q: ???

Don’t you think that they are gonna have questions down the road? Are we prepared to help them in the here and now, by trying to ask some “negligible” types of questions and trying to get some answers for them? Our “negligible” may be paramount to them.

Just askin.                      Just sayin.

Whatevz.

/me shrugs
^M83 ‘Midnight City’ Official video^


I’m just saying, that even tho over the last few days, two of my children have complemented me on my teaching methods, and I have no idea what prompted these “revelations.” They were/are startling. And I feel that tho I have done the best that I can, that there is more to be done.

Time.

That’s it. It’s that simple to me.

As long as we have time, we have everything.

As long as we have time, we can have anything.

Up to, and including, time.

X: Speaking of time…what happened?
Cade: You mean…”The Flying Spaghetti Monster?”
X: Yeah! I used to be all buff and stuff like that.
Cade: Talk to Leo da Vinci. Maybe he set the bar a little too high.
X: He didn’t smoke grass.
Cade: Coulda fooled me.
X: How would you know?
Cade; rofl…I don’t fucking know. It sounded good at the time.
X: Flying Spaghetti Monster…
Cade: No comment. I think it’s funny. Kinda…indicative of the confusion level/levels.
X: Join the club.
Cade: Thanks…but…no thanks.
X: …
^DyE – Hole In Ocean – Video^

.Meh.

c|Y|a
c|F|a

^Grimes – Kill V. Maim^

*******

*Yes, Clicky, I’m still working on it…*

*/squints… Possibly… /thinks… Thanks Clicky! Tell you what, why don’t finish with Loop’s latest favourite Song… /pats snout… You’re really very helpful…*