Has decided to do a little guest blogging! Just one more reason to think the West Coast Branch of Fjord is, like an albatross, really about to take off. I mean, when a fellow that's literally known as the Toast of the Town, in a town az glitzy as Los Angeles, takes a minute out of his packed social schedule to write something for our humble landmass...well, damn. It don't happen often, but I'm speechless. Without further ado...The Toast of the Town!
I like to gamble. No, no, no man, I LOVE TO GAMBLE! It’s in my nature, in my blood. Gambling to me is the search for meaning. A constant experiment using the why and why nots of this world. I mainly like to feel as if I had some control over the drama happening in front of me. The way your heart races, the nerves, the tension, the anticipation, the way time sort of stops before the outcome unveils itself in its ugly rawness. Controlled randomness almost. Shit, the excitement is almost equivalent to spluging on some midget’s girls face (but without stubby hands reaching for what I hope was a wallet).
Well, with this said, I believe I’ve reached the lowest depths of my gambling adventures. In fact, it might be the lowest. I’ve bet on almost everything: horses, bull fighting, sumo wrestling, roshambau, pissing contest, zit shooting, puking contest, dead rat throws, abortions (I was going to win that one. . .damn it), marbles. But never have I been more disgusted with myself than yesterday when I went in on . . .an Oscar pool .
Ok I was baked. It was Sunday without football. And I was doing nothing at somebody’s house. Feeble excuses, I know. To have to sit through the preshow hysterics, then an hour of award speeches was awful. I couldn’t get excited about who won or lost. Joan Rivers comments, the constant minority cams, the abysmal song interludes/bowel movements. Man, I felt I was donkey punched. I just kept looking to sky with same hopeless _expression on my face, kinda like that horrible bj for crack degradation I suffered one time. And I don’t even smoke crack. . . Brutal. . . ( I was young, broke and . . .never mind)
That sucked. Chris rock eased it up a bit by making it a bit entertaining, but I just didn’t fulfill the gambling zeal. I left half way, wanting no part of it. Left the money on the table. I cheapened my love of gambling and, in turn, myself. But I guess you have to explore what you hate before you know what you love, so I’ll chalk it up to that. The mayoral race is coming up so I have something to kept my gambling mind busy. Much like life, I going to screwed on that one either way too.
Spizz, spizz, ugh
Toast
Monday, February 28, 2005
Sunday, February 27, 2005
bugs...well, roaches more specifically
If there's one thing I've learned in my years of city dwelling, that's the pleasure of the company of the goddamn cockroach. If I had a dollar for every one I've killed, invested in a 401K account, or maybe Microsoft stock, I'd be sitting pretty. Some years ago, after a particulars bloody massacre of the little beasties, I gave 'em a verbal warning. "Don't come in my house, or I'll kill you. I'll hunt you down and KILL YOU ALL! SPREAD THE WORD, I'F YOU'RE IN MY HOUSE, YOU'RE GOING TO BE KILLED!"
Of course, they really didn't listen. Or else, they just spoke German and didn't understand what I was saying. Anyways, good news on the front against the little bastards.
(via BBC)
Scientists have identified the female pheromone emitted by the common cockroach.
The way they did this is pretty damn cool...They took an antenna from a male roach, and...went all creepy Si-Fi on it...
"We would strap the antenna between two electrodes, and the electrodes would record depolarisation in the antenna as soon as it was stimulated by the active compound."
Once the hapless antenna had led them to the right chemical, the team was able to manufacture it artificially. Now all they need to do is design a clever trap.
Dr Roelofs is aware that any swift-death trap will only eliminate males, since the chemical does not appeal to females. So that is why he thought of the slower, deadly disease option: a sexually transmitted disease. "One of them passes it to the next and then to the next."
While I love the idea of this, I know, in the end, the roach will just mutate and become immune to whatever we use to kill 'em, but it'd be helpful for a while I'm sure. Since I get sort of a rush at killing the besties, I'd like to suggest a better way. Small cockroach killing robots!
I was thinking, for the most part, they'd just scoot around your house, ready to attack anything cockroach size that moved. occasionally emtting female roach pheramone, attracting roaches into mortal combat. I envision them to look a lot like the robots used in "robot wars" with small saws, clubs, harpoons and the like. Hopefully these little guys would have a video-feed, and a control interface - say through an x-box. Then whenever you wanted you could just take over control of the robot, and do the killing yourself...a video-game that actually has a practial purpose! Somehow I can see a swarm of miniature robots, with spikes and saws falling into the wrong hands, or just plain old running amok, but still...I like the idea.
Of course, they really didn't listen. Or else, they just spoke German and didn't understand what I was saying. Anyways, good news on the front against the little bastards.
(via BBC)
Scientists have identified the female pheromone emitted by the common cockroach.
The way they did this is pretty damn cool...They took an antenna from a male roach, and...went all creepy Si-Fi on it...
"We would strap the antenna between two electrodes, and the electrodes would record depolarisation in the antenna as soon as it was stimulated by the active compound."
Once the hapless antenna had led them to the right chemical, the team was able to manufacture it artificially. Now all they need to do is design a clever trap.
Dr Roelofs is aware that any swift-death trap will only eliminate males, since the chemical does not appeal to females. So that is why he thought of the slower, deadly disease option: a sexually transmitted disease. "One of them passes it to the next and then to the next."
While I love the idea of this, I know, in the end, the roach will just mutate and become immune to whatever we use to kill 'em, but it'd be helpful for a while I'm sure. Since I get sort of a rush at killing the besties, I'd like to suggest a better way. Small cockroach killing robots!
I was thinking, for the most part, they'd just scoot around your house, ready to attack anything cockroach size that moved. occasionally emtting female roach pheramone, attracting roaches into mortal combat. I envision them to look a lot like the robots used in "robot wars" with small saws, clubs, harpoons and the like. Hopefully these little guys would have a video-feed, and a control interface - say through an x-box. Then whenever you wanted you could just take over control of the robot, and do the killing yourself...a video-game that actually has a practial purpose! Somehow I can see a swarm of miniature robots, with spikes and saws falling into the wrong hands, or just plain old running amok, but still...I like the idea.
Saturday, February 26, 2005
Sick Day!!!
I was screwing around with words, just trying to get a mood. I'm not sure how good it turned out, but here's a little story.
It was night, and I walked past the body of Sam Turkaloo. He had been stuck in the same snow drift since early January. The Ravens had been at him some- but he was remarkably well preserved - and still frozen solid. I barely glanced at him as I made my way to my apartment, but it was beginning to get to the point where something had to be done about it.
When I first noticed his corpse a big raccoon was guarding him, like a dog over his dead master. I have wondered since, whether the raccoon was guarding him because he wanted to eat the corpse, or if he didn‘t want anyone defiling the body. Either could have been possible. But Sam wasn’t the most likeable guy, an asshole, I’d call him. So I gave the whole scene a wide berth and just went along my way.
That was the last I saw of the raccoon, but, that was another issue. I figured the cops, or dead animal control would have picked him up by now - near four weeks later. That’s a lot of days to walk past a corpse without it doing something to your psyche. And now, it was deeply imbedded. The whole neighborhood seemed to be on the same wavelength too. Directly at 4:37 am every morning, people would wake, lights would come on, and they’d just start their day, they were too freaked to sleep anymore.
On the second early morning when I started to wake up like this. I kicked on the space heater, and made some tea. The roommate came out in a hideous terrycloth robe, and asked if she could have some. I said “sure.” We watched the stove’s blue flame flicker around the bottom of the tea kettle until it whistled. I poured a couple of mugs, and we drank tea.
Then she blurted out. “I can’t get Sam Turkaloo’s teeth out of my head. I had a dream where, I was just standing in the street watching Sam in that snow bank. Then it just became about his teeth. They started chattering, like one of those wind-up chattering teeth toys. And it kept on getting more and more violent. The enamel started breaking, and his teeth started cracking. His teeth shattered, and blood oozed from his teeth-stumps, and out of the holes where his teeth had been chattered right out of the gums. And his lips had been caught up in the whole affair and ripped off by his mouth. Then his gums started banging together, becoming a mass of bloody flesh, by the end, even his gums were gone. Just a bloody chattering jawbone, banging against his face.”
I knew. I had the same dream. I’d been having the same dream now every night for four weeks. I debated whether I should hunt down the raccoon, and kill it, since obviously it knew something. But, I gave that idea up as impractical, besides, I knew where Sam was. The next morning at 4:37, I got up, grabbed the hacksaw, and went down to Sam’s corpse. I proceeded to saw off his head. It wasn’t easy work, sawing through eight inches of frozen neck and spine, but it got done. I dropped the head into a wicker basket, covered it with a blanket, and caught the first bus down to the river.
There’s things you’ll learn about yourself when you’re carrying a severed head in a wicker basket on a bus full of normal people going to work, but I won’t bore you with the details. I got off and made my way down the snowy banks of the Mississippi. By now, (late February) most of the ice had broken up, and there was plenty of open water. I went to the edge, and drifted the basket out into the current. It bobbed along with some ice flows, and I watched it for ten minutes or so before it slipped around a bend towards St. Anthony.
I turned , and came face to face with a huge old geezer staring down into my eyes. He had a broken nose, a black eye, and wore two thrift-store coats over each other.
I about pissed myself.
“Chattering teeth huh?” He wheezed.
“What?” I was able to squeak out.
“Guy dies, freezes to death - gives the whole neighborhood dreams of chattering teeth - hideous nightmares I should say. Time it’s over, the poor bastard don’t have any teeth, or gums or nothing. Just a bloody jawbone.”
“Yeah.”
“Only thing to do is to cut off their heads and set ‘em down the river.” He paused, hacked up something black and red from his lungs, and spit it on the snow. “Seen it lots of times. Seems to, how should I say, calm their aggravated souls. Stops ‘em from doin’ the chatterin’ dream any-how. You must be a good man to do this for him.”
“Yeah.” I said, and quickly got away.
I waited for the return bus, stamping my feet to keep them warm. The bus came about the time they were numb. On the way back, I thought about Sam, and what the creepy geezer had said. By the time I passed his headless corpse to get to my place, I realized, if our positions were reversed, no way that fucker would have done the same for me. He wasn’t the most likeable guy, like I said, he was an asshole.
I was home by six-thirty, but by then I’d decided, today, I’d call in sick.
It was night, and I walked past the body of Sam Turkaloo. He had been stuck in the same snow drift since early January. The Ravens had been at him some- but he was remarkably well preserved - and still frozen solid. I barely glanced at him as I made my way to my apartment, but it was beginning to get to the point where something had to be done about it.
When I first noticed his corpse a big raccoon was guarding him, like a dog over his dead master. I have wondered since, whether the raccoon was guarding him because he wanted to eat the corpse, or if he didn‘t want anyone defiling the body. Either could have been possible. But Sam wasn’t the most likeable guy, an asshole, I’d call him. So I gave the whole scene a wide berth and just went along my way.
That was the last I saw of the raccoon, but, that was another issue. I figured the cops, or dead animal control would have picked him up by now - near four weeks later. That’s a lot of days to walk past a corpse without it doing something to your psyche. And now, it was deeply imbedded. The whole neighborhood seemed to be on the same wavelength too. Directly at 4:37 am every morning, people would wake, lights would come on, and they’d just start their day, they were too freaked to sleep anymore.
On the second early morning when I started to wake up like this. I kicked on the space heater, and made some tea. The roommate came out in a hideous terrycloth robe, and asked if she could have some. I said “sure.” We watched the stove’s blue flame flicker around the bottom of the tea kettle until it whistled. I poured a couple of mugs, and we drank tea.
Then she blurted out. “I can’t get Sam Turkaloo’s teeth out of my head. I had a dream where, I was just standing in the street watching Sam in that snow bank. Then it just became about his teeth. They started chattering, like one of those wind-up chattering teeth toys. And it kept on getting more and more violent. The enamel started breaking, and his teeth started cracking. His teeth shattered, and blood oozed from his teeth-stumps, and out of the holes where his teeth had been chattered right out of the gums. And his lips had been caught up in the whole affair and ripped off by his mouth. Then his gums started banging together, becoming a mass of bloody flesh, by the end, even his gums were gone. Just a bloody chattering jawbone, banging against his face.”
I knew. I had the same dream. I’d been having the same dream now every night for four weeks. I debated whether I should hunt down the raccoon, and kill it, since obviously it knew something. But, I gave that idea up as impractical, besides, I knew where Sam was. The next morning at 4:37, I got up, grabbed the hacksaw, and went down to Sam’s corpse. I proceeded to saw off his head. It wasn’t easy work, sawing through eight inches of frozen neck and spine, but it got done. I dropped the head into a wicker basket, covered it with a blanket, and caught the first bus down to the river.
There’s things you’ll learn about yourself when you’re carrying a severed head in a wicker basket on a bus full of normal people going to work, but I won’t bore you with the details. I got off and made my way down the snowy banks of the Mississippi. By now, (late February) most of the ice had broken up, and there was plenty of open water. I went to the edge, and drifted the basket out into the current. It bobbed along with some ice flows, and I watched it for ten minutes or so before it slipped around a bend towards St. Anthony.
I turned , and came face to face with a huge old geezer staring down into my eyes. He had a broken nose, a black eye, and wore two thrift-store coats over each other.
I about pissed myself.
“Chattering teeth huh?” He wheezed.
“What?” I was able to squeak out.
“Guy dies, freezes to death - gives the whole neighborhood dreams of chattering teeth - hideous nightmares I should say. Time it’s over, the poor bastard don’t have any teeth, or gums or nothing. Just a bloody jawbone.”
“Yeah.”
“Only thing to do is to cut off their heads and set ‘em down the river.” He paused, hacked up something black and red from his lungs, and spit it on the snow. “Seen it lots of times. Seems to, how should I say, calm their aggravated souls. Stops ‘em from doin’ the chatterin’ dream any-how. You must be a good man to do this for him.”
“Yeah.” I said, and quickly got away.
I waited for the return bus, stamping my feet to keep them warm. The bus came about the time they were numb. On the way back, I thought about Sam, and what the creepy geezer had said. By the time I passed his headless corpse to get to my place, I realized, if our positions were reversed, no way that fucker would have done the same for me. He wasn’t the most likeable guy, like I said, he was an asshole.
I was home by six-thirty, but by then I’d decided, today, I’d call in sick.
Friday, February 25, 2005
Shops and their Barbers
Tony the barber, is a dude who works up the street three blocks, and cuts my hair. Sandy's barbershop is the place he works at, and it used to be a hopping joint. But, Sandy had some disease and died, and Sandy's girlfriend got some other dude to run the place...and as the stories go, he wasn't the best guy to work for.
So two haircuts ago, I went in, and there were like five people waiting, and two barbers working. I waited an hour to get my hair cut! That's a long time to sit and read out-of-date ESPN magazines. By the time I got into the chair, I said to myself, "I'm never fucking coming back here again." Of course, the next time I needed a cut, the place was slow, and Tony was working, and he filled me in on the previous story.
Well, shortly after that, the Thai video store next to the Doughnut Factory (where I get smokes, soda, stickers, change, and various edibles) less than a block away from the Casa Aloha, went under. TWO DAYS LATER, it was a barber shop, staffed with two of the barbers from Sandy's. A week later, It had two more barbers from Sandy's. A schism developed, like a turf war.
The guys at the new place waved to me as I went for re-supply or morning coffee. I started feeling weird. Like, which place was I going to hit up? If I got a haircut from Tony - who still worked at Sandy's - would I have to wear a hat while going to the Doughnut Factory? Would I slip up, forget, and have to face retribution from the barbers who now operated their racket out of my immediate neighborhood? After all barbers have a lot of sharp implements at their disposal, and they know how to use them. It'd be just like the mob, extorting me to get haircuts there, otherwise...
Today I was walking back from the beer store, and saw Tony sitting in an empty Sandy's reading a paper. He was the only one in there. I stuck my head in and said "Hey man, what are your hours now?" He said, "9 to 6." I asked, "What days?" He said, "Every day, I'm the only one here! They all left!" I laughed, "When are you moving to the new place?" And he laughed, "They don't charge me rent here, I'm staying until they shut me down!" We both laughed, and I left.
But before I'd gone ten steps, I'd decided, I'm sticking with Tony. You just can't fuck with that kind of attitude.
Happy Friday
So two haircuts ago, I went in, and there were like five people waiting, and two barbers working. I waited an hour to get my hair cut! That's a long time to sit and read out-of-date ESPN magazines. By the time I got into the chair, I said to myself, "I'm never fucking coming back here again." Of course, the next time I needed a cut, the place was slow, and Tony was working, and he filled me in on the previous story.
Well, shortly after that, the Thai video store next to the Doughnut Factory (where I get smokes, soda, stickers, change, and various edibles) less than a block away from the Casa Aloha, went under. TWO DAYS LATER, it was a barber shop, staffed with two of the barbers from Sandy's. A week later, It had two more barbers from Sandy's. A schism developed, like a turf war.
The guys at the new place waved to me as I went for re-supply or morning coffee. I started feeling weird. Like, which place was I going to hit up? If I got a haircut from Tony - who still worked at Sandy's - would I have to wear a hat while going to the Doughnut Factory? Would I slip up, forget, and have to face retribution from the barbers who now operated their racket out of my immediate neighborhood? After all barbers have a lot of sharp implements at their disposal, and they know how to use them. It'd be just like the mob, extorting me to get haircuts there, otherwise...
Today I was walking back from the beer store, and saw Tony sitting in an empty Sandy's reading a paper. He was the only one in there. I stuck my head in and said "Hey man, what are your hours now?" He said, "9 to 6." I asked, "What days?" He said, "Every day, I'm the only one here! They all left!" I laughed, "When are you moving to the new place?" And he laughed, "They don't charge me rent here, I'm staying until they shut me down!" We both laughed, and I left.
But before I'd gone ten steps, I'd decided, I'm sticking with Tony. You just can't fuck with that kind of attitude.
Happy Friday
Ways to Destroy the Earth
Obviously there are some days when a number of your interests and specialties come together.
Here's some light Friday afternoon reading.
http://ned.ucam.org/~sdh31/misc/destroy.html
Space, technology, geology, and supervillainry.
Here's some light Friday afternoon reading.
http://ned.ucam.org/~sdh31/misc/destroy.html
Space, technology, geology, and supervillainry.
Thursday...
I wanted to take a second out of our regularly scheduled programming for a little shameless self-promotion. Thursday was a banner day here at Fjord, where we broke the 100 hit barrier on our little web deal-i-o!
We're nowhere near that today, but still, I thought it was a milestone that should be noted. Thanks for reading!
We're nowhere near that today, but still, I thought it was a milestone that should be noted. Thanks for reading!
Thursday, February 24, 2005
Weekend Project! ! !
Holy Crapola! There's almost nothing more fun than video games, and I'm dead serious. But, if anything could beat out the new generation of game systems, it'd be SEX TOYS.
I've just discovered, that someone, somewhere, did the most impossible thing. Like making a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup, they combined the two! According to the article, all you need is...
1)Xbox controller
2)Soldering Iron
3)Wire
4)A vibrator
5)However many AA batteries the vibrator takes
6)Electrical tape
That's it. Guys, something to amuse the ladies while you're shooting the crap out of someone in Halo! And when that grenade goes off! Whew! And Ladies, what boy could resist the siren's call of a soft whispered, "Come up to my place and play Grand Theft Auto." (answer - none.)
Check it Out...
http://www.slashdong.org/boards/viewtopic.php?p=6#6
(Not Quite Work Safe...)
And while I'm at this topic of freaky machine/technology/sex combinations, there's a whole world of crazy bastards who are in to making robots that fuck. It's nice that the internet can get people like us together, isn't it?
http://www.fuckingmachines.com/
(REALLY NOT WORK SAFE)
I've just discovered, that someone, somewhere, did the most impossible thing. Like making a Reeses Peanut Butter Cup, they combined the two! According to the article, all you need is...
1)Xbox controller
2)Soldering Iron
3)Wire
4)A vibrator
5)However many AA batteries the vibrator takes
6)Electrical tape
That's it. Guys, something to amuse the ladies while you're shooting the crap out of someone in Halo! And when that grenade goes off! Whew! And Ladies, what boy could resist the siren's call of a soft whispered, "Come up to my place and play Grand Theft Auto." (answer - none.)
Check it Out...
http://www.slashdong.org/boards/viewtopic.php?p=6#6
(Not Quite Work Safe...)
And while I'm at this topic of freaky machine/technology/sex combinations, there's a whole world of crazy bastards who are in to making robots that fuck. It's nice that the internet can get people like us together, isn't it?
http://www.fuckingmachines.com/
(REALLY NOT WORK SAFE)
HOLY GOATS! THE POPE'S OLD!!!
Catholics Shocked to discover the leader of their Church is 84 years old!
“Dude,” one man on the street was heard to remark, “That’s almost old enough to die of old age!” Unfortunately that one man’s statement might be frighteningly close to the truth…
(via BBC World News)
Pope Has Surgery to Aid Breathing…
A Vatican spokesman said the operation to give the Pope a tracheotomy had been successful. The procedure involves making a hole in the throat through which a tube is inserted to assist breathing.
Hmm. I’m not going to say that sounds serious, but, aww, what the hell…having a tube surgically placed in your throat so you can breathe…”THAT sounds serious.” While we here at Fjord certainly wish the Supreme Pontiff a speedy recovery, we can’t help but wonder about the future, and how we could have some fun with this. Howabout a Pope Pool!
No You Sicko’s! Not a Pope death pool. A more sporting and positive pool, based on the values and good nature of those of us responsible for Fjord. Also, one based on the legal and traditional structure of the Catholic faith and Vatican Law! I mean, let’s bet on which cardinal will become the next Pope!!
Here’s a brief rundown
http://www.catholic-pages.com/pope/election.asp
the Cardinal Electors enter the Conclave to choose which of them will emerge as Holy Roman Pontiff. The Cardinals must take an oath when they first enter the Conclave that they will follow the rules set down by the Pope and that they will maintain absolute secrecy about the voting and deliberations. The penalty for disclosing anything about the conclave that must be kept secret is automatic excommunication.
So basically a bunch of Cardinals go in and vote for the next Pope.
Oooh, this part’s cool. ---
If a new Pope has been elected, the papers are burned with to give white smoke. Otherwise, they give off black smoke, so that the waiting crowds, and the world, know whether their new Holy Father will soon emerge from the Sistine Chapel.
Pretty Suspenseful! Anyways…
To be elected Pope, one Cardinal must receive more than two-thirds of the votes. Except that if 30 elections have taken place without any one Cardinal being elected Pope, then the Cardinals may then elect by simple majority. Once a Cardinal has received the required number of votes, the Dean of the College of Cardinals asks him if he accepts election and by what name he wishes to be called as Pope. On giving assent, the Cardinal immediately becomes Pontifex Maximus, the Holy Roman Pontiff.
COOL!!
So those are the rules! Now, here are the Cardinals (there’s like 183 of ‘em, and I don’t want to cover the next three screens with lists of potential Pontiffs…so hit the link and check those dudes out!) I’m sure you’ll find a couple you like…
http://www.catholic-pages.com/hierarchy/cardinals_list.asp
BTW – due to Vatican legaleeze, there are only 119 guys that actually can VOTE to see who becomes the next Pope!
TOTAL CARDINAL ELECTORS: 119
Okay, so here we have a huge field, and for those of us not familiar with Vatican politics (heh, like we know who YOU THREE are) just check out this handy website, that has all the major players, handicapped with odds!
http://www.online-betting-guide.co.uk/Next-Pope.htm
so pick your favorite horse, and ride him all the way to the top of the Vatican hierarchy! The winner will receive a Fjord prize pack (so far made up of a worn Dario Tsunami T-shirt, with some coffee stains on it…but it might get better) Besides, What exactly, are you doing that’s more important than this?
“Dude,” one man on the street was heard to remark, “That’s almost old enough to die of old age!” Unfortunately that one man’s statement might be frighteningly close to the truth…
(via BBC World News)
Pope Has Surgery to Aid Breathing…
A Vatican spokesman said the operation to give the Pope a tracheotomy had been successful. The procedure involves making a hole in the throat through which a tube is inserted to assist breathing.
Hmm. I’m not going to say that sounds serious, but, aww, what the hell…having a tube surgically placed in your throat so you can breathe…”THAT sounds serious.” While we here at Fjord certainly wish the Supreme Pontiff a speedy recovery, we can’t help but wonder about the future, and how we could have some fun with this. Howabout a Pope Pool!
No You Sicko’s! Not a Pope death pool. A more sporting and positive pool, based on the values and good nature of those of us responsible for Fjord. Also, one based on the legal and traditional structure of the Catholic faith and Vatican Law! I mean, let’s bet on which cardinal will become the next Pope!!
Here’s a brief rundown
http://www.catholic-pages.com/pope/election.asp
the Cardinal Electors enter the Conclave to choose which of them will emerge as Holy Roman Pontiff. The Cardinals must take an oath when they first enter the Conclave that they will follow the rules set down by the Pope and that they will maintain absolute secrecy about the voting and deliberations. The penalty for disclosing anything about the conclave that must be kept secret is automatic excommunication.
So basically a bunch of Cardinals go in and vote for the next Pope.
Oooh, this part’s cool. ---
If a new Pope has been elected, the papers are burned with to give white smoke. Otherwise, they give off black smoke, so that the waiting crowds, and the world, know whether their new Holy Father will soon emerge from the Sistine Chapel.
Pretty Suspenseful! Anyways…
To be elected Pope, one Cardinal must receive more than two-thirds of the votes. Except that if 30 elections have taken place without any one Cardinal being elected Pope, then the Cardinals may then elect by simple majority. Once a Cardinal has received the required number of votes, the Dean of the College of Cardinals asks him if he accepts election and by what name he wishes to be called as Pope. On giving assent, the Cardinal immediately becomes Pontifex Maximus, the Holy Roman Pontiff.
COOL!!
So those are the rules! Now, here are the Cardinals (there’s like 183 of ‘em, and I don’t want to cover the next three screens with lists of potential Pontiffs…so hit the link and check those dudes out!) I’m sure you’ll find a couple you like…
http://www.catholic-pages.com/hierarchy/cardinals_list.asp
BTW – due to Vatican legaleeze, there are only 119 guys that actually can VOTE to see who becomes the next Pope!
TOTAL CARDINAL ELECTORS: 119
Okay, so here we have a huge field, and for those of us not familiar with Vatican politics (heh, like we know who YOU THREE are) just check out this handy website, that has all the major players, handicapped with odds!
http://www.online-betting-guide.co.uk/Next-Pope.htm
so pick your favorite horse, and ride him all the way to the top of the Vatican hierarchy! The winner will receive a Fjord prize pack (so far made up of a worn Dario Tsunami T-shirt, with some coffee stains on it…but it might get better) Besides, What exactly, are you doing that’s more important than this?
A Rainy Season Thought.....
Do you think L.A. would have the same problem with mudslides as it currently does, if the city was undercoated with a fine layer of Pampers(TM)? NOTHING soakes up wetness like Pampers(TM)!
Where's Ahnold on that one?
Where's Ahnold on that one?
Hey America! It's Fjucking Fjlag Djay!
That's right, "Americans," today is "Hug A Flag Day." Or, "Stare Lovingly Into a Flag's Eyes for a While Day." Or, "Make Sweet, Sweet Love to a Flag Day," if you love your country almost to the point of submissiveness. However, if you're like me and a growing number of "Americans," you celebrate Flag Day in a less showy manner. You don't need the glitz and glamour of unfurling your flag, but not all the way, and going all "Pigs in a Blanket" on it. Nope, instead let me show you how more and more people are showing flags just what this day is all about.
What I do is, I lock myself in a dark room wearing only my underpants and a flag on my head. ANY flag, it doesn't matter. I then light 6-7 votive candles and openly weep, for reasons only me and the flag can explain. Post weeping, I begin my "I'm an AmeriCAN not an AmeriCAN'T" chanting until I fall asleep in my own arms. When morning comes, I clean the mess off myself (don't ask) and go to work as if nothing happened! Folks, IT IS SO CLEANSING!!!
Keep in mind people, this is just what I and a few people I've been secretly drugging at work do. But it's never too late for you to join our as yet undetermined cause! As always, never forget the two most important Flag Day rules:
1.) YOU CAN "celebrate" ANY FLAG!!! Really, any flag. It could be a flag celebrating your love of pandas. It could be a flag letting people know your disdain for products made with bran. Hell, it could even just be a small bit of cloth. WHO GIVES A SHIT, RIGHT?
2.) REMEMBER: It's YOUR Flag Day! Just enjoy it, man......Don't let anyone but me tell you what you should do to commemorate what amounts to a day to celebrate patterned material.....
What I do is, I lock myself in a dark room wearing only my underpants and a flag on my head. ANY flag, it doesn't matter. I then light 6-7 votive candles and openly weep, for reasons only me and the flag can explain. Post weeping, I begin my "I'm an AmeriCAN not an AmeriCAN'T" chanting until I fall asleep in my own arms. When morning comes, I clean the mess off myself (don't ask) and go to work as if nothing happened! Folks, IT IS SO CLEANSING!!!
Keep in mind people, this is just what I and a few people I've been secretly drugging at work do. But it's never too late for you to join our as yet undetermined cause! As always, never forget the two most important Flag Day rules:
1.) YOU CAN "celebrate" ANY FLAG!!! Really, any flag. It could be a flag celebrating your love of pandas. It could be a flag letting people know your disdain for products made with bran. Hell, it could even just be a small bit of cloth. WHO GIVES A SHIT, RIGHT?
2.) REMEMBER: It's YOUR Flag Day! Just enjoy it, man......Don't let anyone but me tell you what you should do to commemorate what amounts to a day to celebrate patterned material.....
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Dario "bloody wrists" Tsunami
So the shadowy man shouted down from the shadowy window.
“You’ll never take me alive G-man!” And he meant it. He grasped his .45 and looked for a good angle to put a bullet in Agent Sven Vjardham, of the F.B.I.!
Ugg.
I’ve been working on a lot of junk besides Fjord, and it’s making my mood a little dark. I’m just going to take this little break to put up a post. Perhaps it’ll help. See, I’ve been here at the keyboard over sixteen straight hours now, and I’ve typed my fingers into bloody stumps. I mean to say, my fingers are literally in the process of being pounded off of my hands as I sit here and type this.
One misconception people think about writing, is the 'ole, "thousand monkeys at a thousand typewriters…" line, but fuck monkeys! Spekaing of fucking monkeys, if I ever see another movie with a monkey, or a gorilla or primate of any kind, (and it won’t be long enough) just watch for the Entertainment Tonight or any other such program, and pretty soon, you'll see that that monkey and his handlers have been brutally slain. Following up on that, I'll devastate the writer of said movie, and then move on to the producers. I hate the idea that they're cute, and almost human.
NEWS FLASH -
They ain't!
If a thousand monkeys were really at a thousand typewriters the best they could manage is throw a few hundred pounds of shit, eat some fucking bananas, and maybe take a nap. Sure, monkeys went into space before mankind, but that’s just ‘cause we jammed one in space capsule and shot him up there to make sure we wouldn’t die when one of us went. (I guess as of late, we haven’t exactly used that information to the best of our ability, but I digress)
Writing anything takes a bit more than luck and whacking at the keys. It also takes some amount of effort. Sort of like getting into space.
I should apologize before I go much further…if more typos appear, that is because fairly soon I will be mashing the keyboard with my wrist stumps, and it’s pretty hard to accurately type with bloody wrist stumps. Anywhays, I linkda' forlgot whhjat I was qwriting abouit ion thjew firsat p[lacve.
Oh, yeah. Fuck monkeys!
“You’ll never take me alive G-man!” And he meant it. He grasped his .45 and looked for a good angle to put a bullet in Agent Sven Vjardham, of the F.B.I.!
Ugg.
I’ve been working on a lot of junk besides Fjord, and it’s making my mood a little dark. I’m just going to take this little break to put up a post. Perhaps it’ll help. See, I’ve been here at the keyboard over sixteen straight hours now, and I’ve typed my fingers into bloody stumps. I mean to say, my fingers are literally in the process of being pounded off of my hands as I sit here and type this.
One misconception people think about writing, is the 'ole, "thousand monkeys at a thousand typewriters…" line, but fuck monkeys! Spekaing of fucking monkeys, if I ever see another movie with a monkey, or a gorilla or primate of any kind, (and it won’t be long enough) just watch for the Entertainment Tonight or any other such program, and pretty soon, you'll see that that monkey and his handlers have been brutally slain. Following up on that, I'll devastate the writer of said movie, and then move on to the producers. I hate the idea that they're cute, and almost human.
NEWS FLASH -
They ain't!
If a thousand monkeys were really at a thousand typewriters the best they could manage is throw a few hundred pounds of shit, eat some fucking bananas, and maybe take a nap. Sure, monkeys went into space before mankind, but that’s just ‘cause we jammed one in space capsule and shot him up there to make sure we wouldn’t die when one of us went. (I guess as of late, we haven’t exactly used that information to the best of our ability, but I digress)
Writing anything takes a bit more than luck and whacking at the keys. It also takes some amount of effort. Sort of like getting into space.
I should apologize before I go much further…if more typos appear, that is because fairly soon I will be mashing the keyboard with my wrist stumps, and it’s pretty hard to accurately type with bloody wrist stumps. Anywhays, I linkda' forlgot whhjat I was qwriting abouit ion thjew firsat p[lacve.
Oh, yeah. Fuck monkeys!
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Movie Pitch Ideas I'm working on
Here at the West Coast Branch of Fjord, there's one thing we know...and that's that movies make our town go 'round. So if you're not working on a script, or pitching a script, or working on a movie, you're not doing something right.
So after a lot of very easy work, I've come up with my screenplay called "ATTACK OF THE DRUIDS" It's a young coming-of-age story about a boy and his dog, abducted by a magic-using cult of cannibal druids.
When pitching your story, I've been advised to use the analogy of your movie as the combination of two successful movies from the past. So I've come up with a few combos I hope you'll enjoy. It's a move like...
Rudy meets Smokey and the Bandit?
Operation Dumbo Drop meets How the Grinch Stole Christmas?
The Lost Boys meet Howard the Duck?
Saving Private Ryan meets Shaft?
The Blob meets Miracle on Ice?
The Three Stooges meet Scarface?
The Crying Game meets Blue Crush?
Or...
Field of Dreams meets The Killing Fields.
Hopefully one of these will work. There's no business like show biz!
So after a lot of very easy work, I've come up with my screenplay called "ATTACK OF THE DRUIDS" It's a young coming-of-age story about a boy and his dog, abducted by a magic-using cult of cannibal druids.
When pitching your story, I've been advised to use the analogy of your movie as the combination of two successful movies from the past. So I've come up with a few combos I hope you'll enjoy. It's a move like...
Rudy meets Smokey and the Bandit?
Operation Dumbo Drop meets How the Grinch Stole Christmas?
The Lost Boys meet Howard the Duck?
Saving Private Ryan meets Shaft?
The Blob meets Miracle on Ice?
The Three Stooges meet Scarface?
The Crying Game meets Blue Crush?
Or...
Field of Dreams meets The Killing Fields.
Hopefully one of these will work. There's no business like show biz!
Monday, February 21, 2005
Fjordian Slip
1) Any time one is in the process of mis-speaking, and says something of staggering hilarity or profound insight.
2) When in the process of drunken rambling, a speaker momentarily gains the lucidity to express a coherent thought of genius.
2) When in the process of drunken rambling, a speaker momentarily gains the lucidity to express a coherent thought of genius.
Sunday, February 20, 2005
It's the First Day I've Been Able to Post From Home, So Fuck It.....Here's One More......
My DSL is finally up and running, so to celebrate you're getting a dry, anal fistful of Q-Dog today....DEAL!
So, Mindfuck and I used to have parents. I say "used to," cuz within the past 8 years, they both passed on through separate cancer incidents. I'll tell you, the older you are when you become an orphan, the weirder it is to live in a foster home......
Anyway, both the parents had huge funerals. They were VERY famous among regular people. Both Irish/German descent, so A LOT of drinkers at those funerals. In point of fact, the only way the Funeral Directors could get us out of the place was by yelling, "Let's go folks! Gotta head out! Let's go! You don't have to go home, but you can't mourn here!"
Our dad was cremated and man, is THAT expensive! It occured to me then that cremation's really changed. It used to be about the burning......
Just so I don't leave you on what some could consider a "downer," I'll relate one last thing to you today. My girl got me this little book and romance kit for Valentine's Day. It's got a mini-book, sensual massage oil, mood candles and a "sexy dice game" in it. So, I'm looking at it this morning and I notice a warning on the bottom of it. The warning is, and I shit you not on this, "CHOKING HAZARD - Small parts. Not for children UNDER 3 YEARS!!!!!!!" (all caps on "under 3 yrs" and numerous exclamation points, mine). Like, fuck!! How in the name of Christ's Toenail Polish is a fucking two year old gonna learn the fucking tantalizing art of seduction now?!?!?!??!? I mean, folks, pretty much anything sensual is gonnna make a two year old choke.........sigh......
I swear, sometimes I hate this stupid fucking planet so much.........
So, Mindfuck and I used to have parents. I say "used to," cuz within the past 8 years, they both passed on through separate cancer incidents. I'll tell you, the older you are when you become an orphan, the weirder it is to live in a foster home......
Anyway, both the parents had huge funerals. They were VERY famous among regular people. Both Irish/German descent, so A LOT of drinkers at those funerals. In point of fact, the only way the Funeral Directors could get us out of the place was by yelling, "Let's go folks! Gotta head out! Let's go! You don't have to go home, but you can't mourn here!"
Our dad was cremated and man, is THAT expensive! It occured to me then that cremation's really changed. It used to be about the burning......
Just so I don't leave you on what some could consider a "downer," I'll relate one last thing to you today. My girl got me this little book and romance kit for Valentine's Day. It's got a mini-book, sensual massage oil, mood candles and a "sexy dice game" in it. So, I'm looking at it this morning and I notice a warning on the bottom of it. The warning is, and I shit you not on this, "CHOKING HAZARD - Small parts. Not for children UNDER 3 YEARS!!!!!!!" (all caps on "under 3 yrs" and numerous exclamation points, mine). Like, fuck!! How in the name of Christ's Toenail Polish is a fucking two year old gonna learn the fucking tantalizing art of seduction now?!?!?!??!? I mean, folks, pretty much anything sensual is gonnna make a two year old choke.........sigh......
I swear, sometimes I hate this stupid fucking planet so much.........
A Thought On Serial Killers.......
The thing that weirds me out about serial killers is they're always described, after they're caught, as being "seemingly normal." Well, fuck that! There's nothing "normal" about all the deciet they have to use to get people in the position where they can finally kill them. Nobody who's "normal" lies THAT much! What would make them "normal" is if they were straight up about their intentions from the get-go. You know, if they came up to you and were like:
"Hi, I'm Phil. I've killed about 17 people to date and I'd LOVE it if you were number 18. Here's what I have planned. First, I'm going to ether rag you. Then I'm going to hog-tie you up, place you in the trunk of my car and drive you to my house - or lair as it will probably become known upon my invariable capture. It is there, I will patiently await your return to consciousness so that I may begin to eat you. I know it may seem weird to you that I wait for you to regain consciousness to begin feasting, but sort of a little quirk of mine is I need to hear your screams, or I can't get off on any of this. Afterwards, depending on how delicious you were, I may or may not make ornamental jewelry from your remains. At least to date, that has been my established M.O. Your reaction to this non-refundable offer is the wild card. So........(soaking a rag in ether).....How 'bout it?"
To me, that would constitue "normal" behavoir.
To close, a joke to tell around the water cooler for you guys on Monday:
QUESTION: How many armed Palistinians does it take to hijack a car?
ANSWER: I'm not really sure, cuz I haven't had time to crunch the numbers, but if I had to guess, I'd say probably at least two.
Wow your co-works with that one!! You're sure to be a hit!
"Hi, I'm Phil. I've killed about 17 people to date and I'd LOVE it if you were number 18. Here's what I have planned. First, I'm going to ether rag you. Then I'm going to hog-tie you up, place you in the trunk of my car and drive you to my house - or lair as it will probably become known upon my invariable capture. It is there, I will patiently await your return to consciousness so that I may begin to eat you. I know it may seem weird to you that I wait for you to regain consciousness to begin feasting, but sort of a little quirk of mine is I need to hear your screams, or I can't get off on any of this. Afterwards, depending on how delicious you were, I may or may not make ornamental jewelry from your remains. At least to date, that has been my established M.O. Your reaction to this non-refundable offer is the wild card. So........(soaking a rag in ether).....How 'bout it?"
To me, that would constitue "normal" behavoir.
To close, a joke to tell around the water cooler for you guys on Monday:
QUESTION: How many armed Palistinians does it take to hijack a car?
ANSWER: I'm not really sure, cuz I haven't had time to crunch the numbers, but if I had to guess, I'd say probably at least two.
Wow your co-works with that one!! You're sure to be a hit!
Friday, February 18, 2005
Make Yourselves ComFJORDable
Good lordy people…if it weren’t for coffee, I would have been in bed all week. Maybe I should have been...
I was having a conversation with the totem pole the other day (I’m 1/64th Blackfoot) and Elk told me that Thunderbird said that there was going to be a monumental struggle ahead, and he would need many iron men - bucks to the number of 1000. I said “I don’t have that much.” He asked, what I had on me, and I retorted, “Elk, you touched me for a hundred last week, why the hell do you think I’d give you anything more – you’re just going to blow it on hookers and meth.” He snorted steam out his nostrils, “Because of the prophecy!”
“Elk,” I said, “the only time you talk about (making quotes in the air with my fingers) “the prophecy,” is when you want to bum money from me.” Fox chimed in, “But Dario, you are the chosen one! The one who will lead us to victory in the monumental struggle!”
I pointed angrily to Fox’s face on the totem and said, “I got news for ya Foxie, the only thing chosen about me is you guys choosing to give me the grift. I came over here for some healthy Native American style spiritual well-being, and all I get are greedy animal spirits with personalities like gangsters in a noir novel.” Just then I felt a small touch on my back. I turned swiftly, and saw Raven, flying away. The damn bird had my wallet! Of course, while I was occupied with the others, he swooped down and picked my pocket. The entire totem pole erupted in laughter, directed at me.
I went to get my axe.
Happy Friday
I was having a conversation with the totem pole the other day (I’m 1/64th Blackfoot) and Elk told me that Thunderbird said that there was going to be a monumental struggle ahead, and he would need many iron men - bucks to the number of 1000. I said “I don’t have that much.” He asked, what I had on me, and I retorted, “Elk, you touched me for a hundred last week, why the hell do you think I’d give you anything more – you’re just going to blow it on hookers and meth.” He snorted steam out his nostrils, “Because of the prophecy!”
“Elk,” I said, “the only time you talk about (making quotes in the air with my fingers) “the prophecy,” is when you want to bum money from me.” Fox chimed in, “But Dario, you are the chosen one! The one who will lead us to victory in the monumental struggle!”
I pointed angrily to Fox’s face on the totem and said, “I got news for ya Foxie, the only thing chosen about me is you guys choosing to give me the grift. I came over here for some healthy Native American style spiritual well-being, and all I get are greedy animal spirits with personalities like gangsters in a noir novel.” Just then I felt a small touch on my back. I turned swiftly, and saw Raven, flying away. The damn bird had my wallet! Of course, while I was occupied with the others, he swooped down and picked my pocket. The entire totem pole erupted in laughter, directed at me.
I went to get my axe.
Happy Friday
Top 100 Gadgets of All Time
We here at Fjord, try and do our best to keep you up to date with stuff that's cool. Being big believers in technology and gadgets that make the world a better place for everyone (and not just Fjordians) I found that someone has made a list of the top 100 gadgets of all time. I'm not sure if the list is accurate, but it's worth a look...and might stimulate some memories from back in the day...
http://www.mobilepcmag.com/features/2005_03/top100gadgets.html
Ooop, looks like blogger ain't playing the "link" game tonight. Well, cut and paste dear readers, you can do it! I know you can. Plus, it's really cool, so cool I'd say, it's required reading. IT'S REQUIRED READING!!!
http://www.mobilepcmag.com/features/2005_03/top100gadgets.html
Ooop, looks like blogger ain't playing the "link" game tonight. Well, cut and paste dear readers, you can do it! I know you can. Plus, it's really cool, so cool I'd say, it's required reading. IT'S REQUIRED READING!!!
Take a Penny, Leave a Penny
At the magazine shop I bought a 99 cent bag of chips like I always do. As I'm making small-talk with the clerk, I look down into the take-a-penny tray, and there's three quarters laying in there. So Without hesitating, I grab the three quarters and say, 'I'm taking these!" Cause I'm a nice dude, I tip the clerk 25 cents. I walk out of the joint 50 cents richer than I was before.
I share my new found good fortune with some co-workers, who promptly begin to harass me for my ethical choice, which was, to take 75 cents from the take-a-penny tray. What, I ask you, is so wrong about taking money from a tray that is actually designed to give away money?
Besides this, as I mentioned, I always buy a bag of 99 cent chips...like nearly every day. What do I do with the penny I get back? I put it in the goddamn leave-a-penny tray! I've been doing this for near three years now...that's 364 x 3 = 1092 pennies. Subtract say, 100 for weekends and days when I got a free doughnut or something and didn't buy one, then multiply by 3 years, and subtract from 1092. That puts us at 792 pennies I've left in that tray over the course of the last three years. I'VE LEFT 7 DOLLARS AND 92 CENTS IN THAT DAMN TRAY, AND I'M BEING HARASSED BECAUSE I TAKE 50 CENTS? WHO THE FUCK HAS THE REST OF THE 7 DOLLARS AND 42 CENTS I LEFT THERE!!??
Obviously, somebody's ethics are screwed up, and I think I'm not going to give to that leave-a-penny tray any more.
I share my new found good fortune with some co-workers, who promptly begin to harass me for my ethical choice, which was, to take 75 cents from the take-a-penny tray. What, I ask you, is so wrong about taking money from a tray that is actually designed to give away money?
Besides this, as I mentioned, I always buy a bag of 99 cent chips...like nearly every day. What do I do with the penny I get back? I put it in the goddamn leave-a-penny tray! I've been doing this for near three years now...that's 364 x 3 = 1092 pennies. Subtract say, 100 for weekends and days when I got a free doughnut or something and didn't buy one, then multiply by 3 years, and subtract from 1092. That puts us at 792 pennies I've left in that tray over the course of the last three years. I'VE LEFT 7 DOLLARS AND 92 CENTS IN THAT DAMN TRAY, AND I'M BEING HARASSED BECAUSE I TAKE 50 CENTS? WHO THE FUCK HAS THE REST OF THE 7 DOLLARS AND 42 CENTS I LEFT THERE!!??
Obviously, somebody's ethics are screwed up, and I think I'm not going to give to that leave-a-penny tray any more.
Arcade Fire
i know they might be the hypey band of the moment but the first song on that Arcade Fire CD is so damn good and the fact that they named their debut CD "Funeral" when 3 of the band members had 6 relatives die within a year makes it that much cooler. The whole album is pretty fucking good. What can I say - sometimes bands are worth the hype.
But most of the time they're not.
hopefully a much cooler post follows - i just had to get that off my chest - after hearing about Dario almost getting stabbed on the subway it gave me new perspective and i had to go back to what was really most important to me - my CD collection. if anybody wants to will their cds to me in case of future stabbings - i'm all in.
But most of the time they're not.
hopefully a much cooler post follows - i just had to get that off my chest - after hearing about Dario almost getting stabbed on the subway it gave me new perspective and i had to go back to what was really most important to me - my CD collection. if anybody wants to will their cds to me in case of future stabbings - i'm all in.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
What's my excuse for this?
Earlier today, I was having a conversation with an old high school chum of mine. When the topic of our possible reunion came up, I couldn't help but think of the old days. I remembered how I was voted the best excuse maker in the class. At first I was a little taken back by that. I figured that noone took my word seriously. That hurts, man, it cuts deep. Then I started to think of a couple things. I mean, who wouldn't make up some sorta excuse if they were cought masturbating by a couple of friends. And by the way, I was sorta dancing. Of course, I'm gonna tell everybody something madeup when I accidentally came in my britches, during the big pep assembly, at the site of the big cheerleaders bloomers. I think I had a puddin' cup in my pocket that day. What's so hard to believe about that. Anyway if these things make me an excuse maker, then I guess I don't mind after all. Cuz, I say, telling people something totally made-up is much better than being humiliated. Happy lies kids.
MINDFUCK OUT
MINDFUCK OUT
More on the Fjord Awards
Thanks to a helpful reader, there was pointed out a small glitch in the whole "Awards" process. So, In order to clarify. Send your nominations through the comments section of "The Fjord Awards" and then you can go to fjordvotes@yahoo.com and privately put in your vote for the best of. So far we have no nominations and no votes, so it'll be easy for someone to win!
It could even be YOU!
It could even be YOU!
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Ladies and Gentlemen...the First Annual Fjord Awards
First off, for those of you worried about my recent brush with death, I'm fine. No matter how fervent the belief of knife wielding maniacs in the downfall of Fjord, I can assure you, when I'm on the street, it will take at least three wheelchair-bound knife wielding attackers to stop yours truly. But thanks for your concern.
Now, to the point! We all know that the Grammy's were a crock of shit, and we all know the Oscars aren't going to be any better. So, here at Fjord, we've taken it upon ourselves to have our own FJORD AWARDS. Hopefully, these will right the injustices that were brought on all those working long and hard in entertainment across this great country. No longer will deserving works of art be passed up because of greedy corporate bribes. No longer will skanky whores blow into existence the nominations of crappy productions. (at least until we get our own skanky ho's) No, the FJORD AWARDS will embody the splendor and majesty of the landmass they are named after. Those who reach into thin air, and pull forth art that embodies all that Fjords stand for, that is what we are looking for.
So, in order for us to get this off the ground, we're going to need some nominations. The categories are - strictly for the year 2004:
1) Best Blog (duh)
2) Best Comic/Graphic Novel
3) Best Movie
4) Best Band
5) Best Digitally Recorded Medium (CD, DVD etc.)
6) Best Performer
The good folks here at Fjord will add more categories, IF demand for them exists. However, it's a pretty good start for our first try. Click on the comments section, and nominate your favorites! We'll keep the results a secret until March 17th - St. Paddies Day, and throw a huge party for the winners, and maybe we'll invite those of you who vote a lot too.
Now, to the point! We all know that the Grammy's were a crock of shit, and we all know the Oscars aren't going to be any better. So, here at Fjord, we've taken it upon ourselves to have our own FJORD AWARDS. Hopefully, these will right the injustices that were brought on all those working long and hard in entertainment across this great country. No longer will deserving works of art be passed up because of greedy corporate bribes. No longer will skanky whores blow into existence the nominations of crappy productions. (at least until we get our own skanky ho's) No, the FJORD AWARDS will embody the splendor and majesty of the landmass they are named after. Those who reach into thin air, and pull forth art that embodies all that Fjords stand for, that is what we are looking for.
So, in order for us to get this off the ground, we're going to need some nominations. The categories are - strictly for the year 2004:
1) Best Blog (duh)
2) Best Comic/Graphic Novel
3) Best Movie
4) Best Band
5) Best Digitally Recorded Medium (CD, DVD etc.)
6) Best Performer
The good folks here at Fjord will add more categories, IF demand for them exists. However, it's a pretty good start for our first try. Click on the comments section, and nominate your favorites! We'll keep the results a secret until March 17th - St. Paddies Day, and throw a huge party for the winners, and maybe we'll invite those of you who vote a lot too.
West Coast Branch of Fjord Under Attack!
EXTRA-EXTRA
THE SCOOP FROM THE FJORD NEWSDESK!!!
This just in - - -
Dario Tsunami - Resort Owner and ace Writer for Fjord, was nearly
knifed today on a Los Angeles subway.
Investigator's puzzled...
Officer Barnaby, who was on the scene hours later was quoted as saying, "We don't know why anyone would want to attack Mr. Tsunami, who seems to have all the characteristics of a man you'd want as your friend or lover. However, this might be the result of anti-fjord factions. We are looking into every possible angle."
Mr. Tsunami was on his way to a business appointment, when he was apparently accosted by a knife wielding psycho in a wheelchair. While Mr. Tsunami was not hurt in the near-attack, said,
"That guy was fucking nuts! I can't believe I didn't have my sword-cane!"
Around 8:05 PST Tsunami boarded an eastbound train, and a stop later, the muttering maniac in a wheelchair, entered the car. Some stops later, (and after numerous rants and mumblings) the crazed psychotic was upset with the proximity of a man with a bicycle. He became violent, physically attacked the bicycle, and then pulled a knife from his pocket. Moments later the man began stabbing motions with his hands. However, nobody was injured.
When asked whether this was an attack based on hatred of Fjords, Mr. Tsunami replied in a hushed tone.
"There are many enemies of the Fjords, and since the investigation is still ongoing, I'm not going to confirm or deny that while slashing crazily with his knife he was shouting, "Death to the Fjords!""
THE SCOOP FROM THE FJORD NEWSDESK!!!
This just in - - -
Dario Tsunami - Resort Owner and ace Writer for Fjord, was nearly
knifed today on a Los Angeles subway.
Investigator's puzzled...
Officer Barnaby, who was on the scene hours later was quoted as saying, "We don't know why anyone would want to attack Mr. Tsunami, who seems to have all the characteristics of a man you'd want as your friend or lover. However, this might be the result of anti-fjord factions. We are looking into every possible angle."
Mr. Tsunami was on his way to a business appointment, when he was apparently accosted by a knife wielding psycho in a wheelchair. While Mr. Tsunami was not hurt in the near-attack, said,
"That guy was fucking nuts! I can't believe I didn't have my sword-cane!"
Around 8:05 PST Tsunami boarded an eastbound train, and a stop later, the muttering maniac in a wheelchair, entered the car. Some stops later, (and after numerous rants and mumblings) the crazed psychotic was upset with the proximity of a man with a bicycle. He became violent, physically attacked the bicycle, and then pulled a knife from his pocket. Moments later the man began stabbing motions with his hands. However, nobody was injured.
When asked whether this was an attack based on hatred of Fjords, Mr. Tsunami replied in a hushed tone.
"There are many enemies of the Fjords, and since the investigation is still ongoing, I'm not going to confirm or deny that while slashing crazily with his knife he was shouting, "Death to the Fjords!""
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
A Day Late and More than a Few Dollars Short
I am aware that my last post should have been done a day ago...however, I was trying to make gold out of straw all day yesterday, and used my blogging prowess to actually create meaningful words for a real person.
Love is a Tsunami, and I am a Poorly Constructed Indonesian Hotel
I have noticed that part of the human condition is an unrelenting quest for love. Mostly this is a quest after romantic loves of all kinds, but, as we know, this can be a messy and (much like we humans) imperfect goal, once achieved.
Valentine's Day is exactly such a day to ponder such a vexing issue. There are always two groups which belong to Valentine's Day. There are those on the inside, and those on the outside. It is the one day out of the year, that is devoted to people being super-ultra nice to their mate. However, being on the outside of nearly every Valentine's day of my puny existence on the planet, I also know the feeling of wishing that I could lavish my most romantic ideals on some lovely creature, and make her feel like she was the most important woman on the planet.
Well, this year, I was lucky enough to be on the inside of the "V" and I realized, there are plenty of problems with this spot too. While knocking around for a nice card, I noticed people delivering huge bouquets of flowers, and people walking out of the jammed-full Godiva chocolate store, carrying bags of (doubtlessly overpriced) delicious candies for their love.
So, to fill you in, it hasn't exactly been the most lucrative stretch of time at the Casa Aloha, and so with extremely limited funds, (read "extremely limited" as, "so close to nothing that "nothing" would be an appropriate word for the "funds" I had) I found myself having to make due.
However, this only increased my envy of those people who could purchase the yummy and beautiful things they were getting for their "others." How I wished I could be such a fellow. And this brings me to the point that, no matter how romantic I wanted to be, it was never going to live up to the ideals I had...not enough preparation, imagination, and funding to come even close. So I began to wonder, "Have I been wrong all this time to desire being on the inside of Valentine's Day?" Having a Valentine is even more stress than going out Valentine's Day night, and hoping to score with a random selection at the bar. Would I come anywhere close to the ideals she had set? (a resounding NO should fill this space)
Which made me go back to a theoretical structure I created circa 2003. I call it "The Grass Is Always Greener Matrix." So to expand, basically, the G.I.A.G.M. takes into account that what you have, is never ever going to match up, once you see what other people have. For instance, there are some people who have Valentines of their very own, (putting them at a higher point in the matrix than those without) however, they do not actually want the Valentine they have. Whether through desperation, or their own personal actions, have ended up with someone they do not truly desire. These people are envious of the more happy-seeming couples they interact with. Whereupon, the more happy-seeming couples are content with what they have, but when they notice a more attractive mate, they will, nearly always begin to see their love as inferior to what is presented to them as achievable. This continues on the G.I.A.G.M. scale until we reach the level of the Super-Model scale of attraction. However, there is a third variable to introduce you to within the G.I.A.G.M.
The third variable is what I like to call "the FUCK IT ALL" variable. For in order to achieve any level of success with the G.I.A.G.M one must cast aside one thing, for what one (and others) will perceive as "a better thing." If one is capable of moving up the ladder, one must realize that the cost-factors increase. So if one were to achieve the "I'm dating a super-model" level of success (which would be at the top of the G.I.A.G.M scale (possibly, though it could be just under Movie Star) - when referring to dating) the cost of maintaining such a courtship would be a severe strain on the finances and imagination of any mortal. So that's where the "FUCK IT ALL" variable comes into play.
There becomes a time when any reasonable person decides, no longer is it worth it to continue on the current course of action, and (at whatever place in the matrix a person finds themselves) they decide to 'FUCK IT ALL." At this stage, those who have nothing, are exactly the people to be envied...and they take action to become one themselves. Then, later, on a day like Valentine's Day, the find that they wish they had someone to care for, and to lavish their love on, and suddenly, the matrix has reversed itself.
I mentioned earlier...A vexing problem.
But, since I believe the G.I.A.G.M matrix permeates everything in the universe, there's nothing to worry about. It just happens. So, I'm not positive, but I believe the ultimate lesson of the Grass Is Always Greener Matrix is, there really is something to being happy with what you've got.
I hope this clarifies things.
Happy Valentine's Day
P.S.
Once the supercomputers at the Fjordlab(tm) have come up with a reasonable solution to this quandary, I'll be sure to post it right away.
Valentine's Day is exactly such a day to ponder such a vexing issue. There are always two groups which belong to Valentine's Day. There are those on the inside, and those on the outside. It is the one day out of the year, that is devoted to people being super-ultra nice to their mate. However, being on the outside of nearly every Valentine's day of my puny existence on the planet, I also know the feeling of wishing that I could lavish my most romantic ideals on some lovely creature, and make her feel like she was the most important woman on the planet.
Well, this year, I was lucky enough to be on the inside of the "V" and I realized, there are plenty of problems with this spot too. While knocking around for a nice card, I noticed people delivering huge bouquets of flowers, and people walking out of the jammed-full Godiva chocolate store, carrying bags of (doubtlessly overpriced) delicious candies for their love.
So, to fill you in, it hasn't exactly been the most lucrative stretch of time at the Casa Aloha, and so with extremely limited funds, (read "extremely limited" as, "so close to nothing that "nothing" would be an appropriate word for the "funds" I had) I found myself having to make due.
However, this only increased my envy of those people who could purchase the yummy and beautiful things they were getting for their "others." How I wished I could be such a fellow. And this brings me to the point that, no matter how romantic I wanted to be, it was never going to live up to the ideals I had...not enough preparation, imagination, and funding to come even close. So I began to wonder, "Have I been wrong all this time to desire being on the inside of Valentine's Day?" Having a Valentine is even more stress than going out Valentine's Day night, and hoping to score with a random selection at the bar. Would I come anywhere close to the ideals she had set? (a resounding NO should fill this space)
Which made me go back to a theoretical structure I created circa 2003. I call it "The Grass Is Always Greener Matrix." So to expand, basically, the G.I.A.G.M. takes into account that what you have, is never ever going to match up, once you see what other people have. For instance, there are some people who have Valentines of their very own, (putting them at a higher point in the matrix than those without) however, they do not actually want the Valentine they have. Whether through desperation, or their own personal actions, have ended up with someone they do not truly desire. These people are envious of the more happy-seeming couples they interact with. Whereupon, the more happy-seeming couples are content with what they have, but when they notice a more attractive mate, they will, nearly always begin to see their love as inferior to what is presented to them as achievable. This continues on the G.I.A.G.M. scale until we reach the level of the Super-Model scale of attraction. However, there is a third variable to introduce you to within the G.I.A.G.M.
The third variable is what I like to call "the FUCK IT ALL" variable. For in order to achieve any level of success with the G.I.A.G.M one must cast aside one thing, for what one (and others) will perceive as "a better thing." If one is capable of moving up the ladder, one must realize that the cost-factors increase. So if one were to achieve the "I'm dating a super-model" level of success (which would be at the top of the G.I.A.G.M scale (possibly, though it could be just under Movie Star) - when referring to dating) the cost of maintaining such a courtship would be a severe strain on the finances and imagination of any mortal. So that's where the "FUCK IT ALL" variable comes into play.
There becomes a time when any reasonable person decides, no longer is it worth it to continue on the current course of action, and (at whatever place in the matrix a person finds themselves) they decide to 'FUCK IT ALL." At this stage, those who have nothing, are exactly the people to be envied...and they take action to become one themselves. Then, later, on a day like Valentine's Day, the find that they wish they had someone to care for, and to lavish their love on, and suddenly, the matrix has reversed itself.
I mentioned earlier...A vexing problem.
But, since I believe the G.I.A.G.M matrix permeates everything in the universe, there's nothing to worry about. It just happens. So, I'm not positive, but I believe the ultimate lesson of the Grass Is Always Greener Matrix is, there really is something to being happy with what you've got.
I hope this clarifies things.
Happy Valentine's Day
P.S.
Once the supercomputers at the Fjordlab(tm) have come up with a reasonable solution to this quandary, I'll be sure to post it right away.
Maybe it's just me....
But haven't kids had it too good for too long in this world? I mean, let's FINALLY get frank and open on the subject. Cuz if it's not just me who thinks this, then there's possibly a lot of us out there who think this way and are just too scared to say it. And what, pray tell, are we scared of? Kids? Jesus Christ, Earthlings, is that what I'm to understand here? That we're all so afraid to speak out against kids that we continue to just let them run roughshod all over the place? Well, I for one, refuse to take this shit from kids anymore.
Look, here's the straight dish. Kids aren't smart, ok? Really. You can convince a kid of anything. They are so fucking gullible it'd be laughable if it wasn't so easy to bullshit them. Take this one kid, for example. I told this kid I used to babysit that if he gave me $20, I'd protect him from the alien attack that was sure to happen to him somewhere during the course of the night. You should have seen his face when I sat there eating a turkey sandwich while those aliens practically tore him limb from limb! He was all screaming, "I thought you were gonna protect me!!!" I just laughed. At one point, I think I mumbled through a mouthful of turkey, "Come on, kid! It wasn't obvious to you when we made this "deal" that I'm powerless against aliens? I mean, look at me. You're just stupid enough to deserve what's happening to you!" Then, I choked a little on the turkey, cuz I had run out of milk. I forget what happened after, but I'll never forget the look on that kids' face! Classic!
The thing about kids is they're just like the elderly, really. They're wrinkly, they're easily bamboozled (as we just learned), they're helpless and they have a real tendency to mess their diapers. Tell me, folks, just what in the name of Christ's Bed Slippers is cute/endearing about ANY of that? A kid shits himself and everyone clamours to smell his pants to see if he did it. An old person shits themselves and you have to sift through it to find what remains of that persons' dignity. Hey, let's not forget, that elderly person probably did SOMETHING during the course of his/her life. What the fuck has a kid done yet to warrent me getting his/her shit on my hands? Clue: NOTHING!
So, people, upon reading this, I hope you feel much more free! Go out and knock a kid on his/her ass. Fuck it, right? What's that kid gonna do? Cry? Heh-heh...what a loser!
In closing, it occurred to me the other day that WRITING a BOOK about overcoming dyslexia is the most irresponsible thing an author can do......
Look, here's the straight dish. Kids aren't smart, ok? Really. You can convince a kid of anything. They are so fucking gullible it'd be laughable if it wasn't so easy to bullshit them. Take this one kid, for example. I told this kid I used to babysit that if he gave me $20, I'd protect him from the alien attack that was sure to happen to him somewhere during the course of the night. You should have seen his face when I sat there eating a turkey sandwich while those aliens practically tore him limb from limb! He was all screaming, "I thought you were gonna protect me!!!" I just laughed. At one point, I think I mumbled through a mouthful of turkey, "Come on, kid! It wasn't obvious to you when we made this "deal" that I'm powerless against aliens? I mean, look at me. You're just stupid enough to deserve what's happening to you!" Then, I choked a little on the turkey, cuz I had run out of milk. I forget what happened after, but I'll never forget the look on that kids' face! Classic!
The thing about kids is they're just like the elderly, really. They're wrinkly, they're easily bamboozled (as we just learned), they're helpless and they have a real tendency to mess their diapers. Tell me, folks, just what in the name of Christ's Bed Slippers is cute/endearing about ANY of that? A kid shits himself and everyone clamours to smell his pants to see if he did it. An old person shits themselves and you have to sift through it to find what remains of that persons' dignity. Hey, let's not forget, that elderly person probably did SOMETHING during the course of his/her life. What the fuck has a kid done yet to warrent me getting his/her shit on my hands? Clue: NOTHING!
So, people, upon reading this, I hope you feel much more free! Go out and knock a kid on his/her ass. Fuck it, right? What's that kid gonna do? Cry? Heh-heh...what a loser!
In closing, it occurred to me the other day that WRITING a BOOK about overcoming dyslexia is the most irresponsible thing an author can do......
Sometimes you just wish you didn't have to work.
After a long weekend, where you pretty much smashed your brain into fine mulch, is there really anything worse than going to work on Monday? You know, the kind of trip to the workplace, where you think "Hey, if i get into a minor fender-bender, I could fake whiplash and get out of working today." Or maybe you think, "Hey, if a group of brutish thugs kidnap me, take me back to their lair, pummel and butt-rape the living snot out of me, and leave me for dead, I might be able to get out of work on Tuesday too." Haven't we all wished that would happen to us sometime. I can't be the only one to wish that kind of stuff would happen, can I? Well anyway, unless I get really lucky and and a supercurrent somehow runs through the keyboard and electricutes the living peeps out of me, I guess I have to get back to work. Still holding out hope, Nope. Happier Tuesday everybody.
Saturday, February 12, 2005
Friends of Fjord??
Looking through the listings of Google and Feedster today, I was struck at the large number of mentions of fjord by people on vacation, or those offering vacations to fjords. I of course agree with the wisdom in taking a vacation in such a noble landmass, and heartily encourage anyone who may be thinking of such a trip. Then my mind wondered about those who operate the cruise ships that ply the watery channels of the fjords, and whether, if they, like me, searched the internet for mentions of their doings.
If they did, I reasoned, then chances are they may have stumbled upon our (still humble) efforts on behalf of fjords everywhere. Then I figured, that since we were promoting the exact same landmass that their commercial enterprise is based on, wouldn't we be required reading for those manning the kitchens and laundomats, bars, and day-spas onboard those massive luxury ships?
Well, I don't know. And since it's impossible for us to know if the fjord cruise industry reads Fjord, I will have to ask the question directly to our readers. "Do you work on a ship sailing fjords?" Just hit us back with a comment saying "yea" or "nay," and you can put to rest this nagging question once and for all.
If they did, I reasoned, then chances are they may have stumbled upon our (still humble) efforts on behalf of fjords everywhere. Then I figured, that since we were promoting the exact same landmass that their commercial enterprise is based on, wouldn't we be required reading for those manning the kitchens and laundomats, bars, and day-spas onboard those massive luxury ships?
Well, I don't know. And since it's impossible for us to know if the fjord cruise industry reads Fjord, I will have to ask the question directly to our readers. "Do you work on a ship sailing fjords?" Just hit us back with a comment saying "yea" or "nay," and you can put to rest this nagging question once and for all.
Friday, February 11, 2005
Reality Check
Sorry for the light posting as of late, but I had a reality check yesterday.
See, last night, I was trying to make another psychic blog post, when I was interrupted by a phone call. I answered it and found out, that, in fact, I wasn’t able to blog psychically at all. It turns out that after ingesting ecstasy, mushrooms, coke and my cocktail of valium/lithium/codeine, and an ungodly amount of tequila, I walked to my neighbor’s house, broke in through the back window, and used his computer to make all those words appear in cyberspace. I’m kind of ashamed, (and not just of that extremely long sentence) especially since, while in his house, I took off my clothes, and he took a lot of pictures to show the police, his ugly cousin, and the internets. And I’m even more weirded out by the fact that during this scene, I was busy screaming, “I HAVE ASIATIC BIRD FLU!, I HAVE ASIATIC BIRD FLU! I HAVE ASIATIC BIRD FLU!” I don't remember that at all.
My one consolation prize? Something someone said to me a long time ago.
We all have problems.
On the brighter side, last week I paid an ungodly amount of money for a super-deluxe sword-cane. And yesterday, shortly after that phone call, it arrived. Now, I’m loving the hell out of life. The first thing I did was name my sword-cane. I call her, “Esmeralda.” I strolled to work with it this morning, and felt like the most suave guy on the subway. Over lunch, I slashed up a bike courier’s bike tires while he was waiting for a red light. Man, was he surprised! Later, I lept up on the big board-room table, and carved my initials into the mahogany- just like Zorro! It really livened up that meeting- take my word for it. And tonight, is the big rock-n-roll show, and the first time I get to take Esmeralda out to a social event.
If it goes over as well as I think it’s going to, I promise, I’m going to make an “official” Fjord sword-cane available for purchase, once we get our official “merch” operation rolling. (This might take longer than I had planned, since my post about “DOOOOM” last week indirectly touched on the fact that the Chinese DO have a fjord building project, and they didn’t like me slandering it. So as retribution, their sweatshops are now “officially” off limits until 2010. Fucking Commies…)
Well anyways, if you’re out and about tonight, and you see a drug-and-drunk crazed fellow in a white linen suit, wearing glasses and carrying a black polished cane(or sword) - and he’s shouting, “I HAVE ASIATIC BIRD FLU!” Come on over and say “hello.” We’ll talk about fjords.
Happy Friday.
See, last night, I was trying to make another psychic blog post, when I was interrupted by a phone call. I answered it and found out, that, in fact, I wasn’t able to blog psychically at all. It turns out that after ingesting ecstasy, mushrooms, coke and my cocktail of valium/lithium/codeine, and an ungodly amount of tequila, I walked to my neighbor’s house, broke in through the back window, and used his computer to make all those words appear in cyberspace. I’m kind of ashamed, (and not just of that extremely long sentence) especially since, while in his house, I took off my clothes, and he took a lot of pictures to show the police, his ugly cousin, and the internets. And I’m even more weirded out by the fact that during this scene, I was busy screaming, “I HAVE ASIATIC BIRD FLU!, I HAVE ASIATIC BIRD FLU! I HAVE ASIATIC BIRD FLU!” I don't remember that at all.
My one consolation prize? Something someone said to me a long time ago.
We all have problems.
On the brighter side, last week I paid an ungodly amount of money for a super-deluxe sword-cane. And yesterday, shortly after that phone call, it arrived. Now, I’m loving the hell out of life. The first thing I did was name my sword-cane. I call her, “Esmeralda.” I strolled to work with it this morning, and felt like the most suave guy on the subway. Over lunch, I slashed up a bike courier’s bike tires while he was waiting for a red light. Man, was he surprised! Later, I lept up on the big board-room table, and carved my initials into the mahogany- just like Zorro! It really livened up that meeting- take my word for it. And tonight, is the big rock-n-roll show, and the first time I get to take Esmeralda out to a social event.
If it goes over as well as I think it’s going to, I promise, I’m going to make an “official” Fjord sword-cane available for purchase, once we get our official “merch” operation rolling. (This might take longer than I had planned, since my post about “DOOOOM” last week indirectly touched on the fact that the Chinese DO have a fjord building project, and they didn’t like me slandering it. So as retribution, their sweatshops are now “officially” off limits until 2010. Fucking Commies…)
Well anyways, if you’re out and about tonight, and you see a drug-and-drunk crazed fellow in a white linen suit, wearing glasses and carrying a black polished cane(or sword) - and he’s shouting, “I HAVE ASIATIC BIRD FLU!” Come on over and say “hello.” We’ll talk about fjords.
Happy Friday.
Thursday, February 10, 2005
How Popular Are/Were you?
Don't leave here without going here,
http://babynamewizard.com/namevoyager/lnv0105.html
this is the reason the internets were invented. Just type your name above the graph...the rest is...well, just go and type your name.
http://babynamewizard.com/namevoyager/lnv0105.html
this is the reason the internets were invented. Just type your name above the graph...the rest is...well, just go and type your name.
Comments are fixed!
Sorry, I had the comments set on "registered only" but now, any random reader can drop us a note. So if you're a random reader...this means you! Drop us a note, damnit!
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
HOLY RAMPAGING GIANT COCKS GNAT-MAN!
Continuing cultural awareness Wednesday…
Kung Hay Fat Choy
It’s the year of the Cock!
It’s, I mean, the Chinese New Year, the year of the Rooster, but here at Fjord we’ve instantly taken a liking to the alternate pronunciation, “Year of the Cock.” After snooping through the confidential personnel files at Fjord H.R., I’ve turned up this juicy factoid for you celebrity news junkies. Someone on the staff of Fjord is a Cock! I’m not going to name names to protect the innocent, but here’s a hint, his name starts with “Q.”
Anyways, I’m not of Chinese descent, or really know anything about the Chinese’s long and ancient history. But, I do love any kind of future-prediction framework, and the Chinese Zodiac is just such a deal-i-o.
The Year of the Cock…here’s some details, from an on-line encyclopedia…
2005: Year of the Rooster
The Rooster is the strutting peacock of the Chinese Zodiac. These quick thinkers are practical and resourceful, preferring to stick to what is tried and true rather than taking messy, unnecessary risks. Roosters are keenly observant. It's hard to slip anything past a Rooster, since they seem to have eyes in the backs of their heads! This quality can lead others to think the Rooster is psychic. This Sign enjoys a keen attention to detail that makes it a whiz at anything requiring close analysis. Roosters make great lawyers, brain surgeons and accountants, to name a few of this Sign's possible occupations. Above all else, the Rooster is very straightforward and rewards others' honesty in kind.
I’m not sure what this has to do with a year…it sounds more like what a cock’s personality is like (like, umm a Scorpio). I mean, great…THIS year is going to be practical and resourceful, a good lawyer, and have eyes in the back of its head!
How the hell is that different from last year!?
Screw you online encyclopedia!!!
You just made the list!
Let’s just work on the idea that if you’re a Cock, it’ll be a good year. If you have a Cock, it’ll be a good year. If you don’t have a Cock, get one quick! (you can get them very cheap at the Cock store, or sometimes just out and about on the sidewalks, if you’re lucky) Then, keep your Cock very very close to you, and hold onto your Cock, all year long.
2005 a great time to be a Cock, or...just to say "Cock," go ahead, say it! It's pretty fun.
Kung Hay Fat Choy
It’s the year of the Cock!
It’s, I mean, the Chinese New Year, the year of the Rooster, but here at Fjord we’ve instantly taken a liking to the alternate pronunciation, “Year of the Cock.” After snooping through the confidential personnel files at Fjord H.R., I’ve turned up this juicy factoid for you celebrity news junkies. Someone on the staff of Fjord is a Cock! I’m not going to name names to protect the innocent, but here’s a hint, his name starts with “Q.”
Anyways, I’m not of Chinese descent, or really know anything about the Chinese’s long and ancient history. But, I do love any kind of future-prediction framework, and the Chinese Zodiac is just such a deal-i-o.
The Year of the Cock…here’s some details, from an on-line encyclopedia…
2005: Year of the Rooster
The Rooster is the strutting peacock of the Chinese Zodiac. These quick thinkers are practical and resourceful, preferring to stick to what is tried and true rather than taking messy, unnecessary risks. Roosters are keenly observant. It's hard to slip anything past a Rooster, since they seem to have eyes in the backs of their heads! This quality can lead others to think the Rooster is psychic. This Sign enjoys a keen attention to detail that makes it a whiz at anything requiring close analysis. Roosters make great lawyers, brain surgeons and accountants, to name a few of this Sign's possible occupations. Above all else, the Rooster is very straightforward and rewards others' honesty in kind.
I’m not sure what this has to do with a year…it sounds more like what a cock’s personality is like (like, umm a Scorpio). I mean, great…THIS year is going to be practical and resourceful, a good lawyer, and have eyes in the back of its head!
How the hell is that different from last year!?
Screw you online encyclopedia!!!
You just made the list!
Let’s just work on the idea that if you’re a Cock, it’ll be a good year. If you have a Cock, it’ll be a good year. If you don’t have a Cock, get one quick! (you can get them very cheap at the Cock store, or sometimes just out and about on the sidewalks, if you’re lucky) Then, keep your Cock very very close to you, and hold onto your Cock, all year long.
2005 a great time to be a Cock, or...just to say "Cock," go ahead, say it! It's pretty fun.
JUMPING JESUS IT'S ASH WEDNESDAY!!!
While walking to my lovely midtown office this morning, I noticed an inordinate number of people with dirt on their foreheads. My initial thought process was that numerous people had fallen down right on the front of their heads. "My God!" thought I, "I'd better brace myself. There must be some hella slippery sidewalks up ahead." Then, it dawned on me. I work pretty close to St. Patrick's Cathedral and CHRIST'S NIGHTSHIRT IF IT ISN'T ASH FUCKING WEDNESDAY!!!! To you Catholic's out there, I bid you a happy....ummmm....guilt day......
Now, I have been asked by some folks today why my forehead remains ashless. I don't fault people for asking me this. I mean, I certainly display all the characteristics of a Catholic citizen. I mean, I wear clothes to cover my shame. When eating, if I'm offered seconds I only accept apologetically. I fear the Christ out of "God," I suppose, if everyone else does. I'm bi-pedal. And human. All those things seem to add up to Catholicism, especially since I don't look particularily Muslim, but here's the real deal on Q-dog. I'm a shit eating Lutheran. On the surface, there appears to be no difference between Catholics and Lutherans, true enough, but for those of you not in the know, let me offer up two VERY discernable differences. One: Lutherans believe that "God" is a deer-ape hybrid with laser shooting eyes and Two: Lutherans refuse to walk around looking like filthy headed idiots. I hope this clears things up for my oft misunderstood Lutheran breathren. I'm sure they'd be THRILLED to have me speak for them......
Now, I have been asked by some folks today why my forehead remains ashless. I don't fault people for asking me this. I mean, I certainly display all the characteristics of a Catholic citizen. I mean, I wear clothes to cover my shame. When eating, if I'm offered seconds I only accept apologetically. I fear the Christ out of "God," I suppose, if everyone else does. I'm bi-pedal. And human. All those things seem to add up to Catholicism, especially since I don't look particularily Muslim, but here's the real deal on Q-dog. I'm a shit eating Lutheran. On the surface, there appears to be no difference between Catholics and Lutherans, true enough, but for those of you not in the know, let me offer up two VERY discernable differences. One: Lutherans believe that "God" is a deer-ape hybrid with laser shooting eyes and Two: Lutherans refuse to walk around looking like filthy headed idiots. I hope this clears things up for my oft misunderstood Lutheran breathren. I'm sure they'd be THRILLED to have me speak for them......
Tuesday, February 08, 2005
THE FRIST PSYCKIK BLOG POST IN HRISTORI
SoRRy about the ti-po’s, there’s NOoo spell Chek in my head, and I can’t to contrRRRol cpaplital leTTers.
YoU are REAding the first blog post done WiTHout the typeWRITER/R/keyboard cOMPuter interface. I am now inside the blogger servers, and with the power of my thoughts, am composing this post. My mind iS actually pUShing electrONs around on a seRVer THOusands of milES away - which will sOOn publish thIS “writing,” and then be READ BY you. Dealing, as I am, with MY brOKen/crAShed/infected/tuRNed-off computer, and the monumenTAL importance of Fjord, I realized I was going tO have tO take a different approach, if the West CoAst BrANch was going to contInue in its cuRRent capaCITY.
PeOple used to give me cRAp about my psyCHIc pOWER, and it got unDER my skin. But now, my attitude is, “Fuck ‘Em,” If they don’t get it, nO SKIN off my teeth. A while bACk in the late 90’s, me and Q-Dog, sick to deATH of the wintery-cold that was (on it’s way to) our FORMEr HOme, decided to combine our meNTAl powers, in the psychic aTTEmpt to destROY WINTER.
Q-dog and I TOLd nearly everyone we kNEW about our plan, trying to enlist more peOple…whO would hoPEfULly use their mENTal powers in coMBInation with ours, to oppose – an ENTIRE season – from cOming into EXISTence.
Well, we oNLY had a cOUple of luke-wARM takers on the “LEND us yoUR psychIC poWERs sO we can stOP WINter moVEMent.” So basically IT wAS really JusT ME and the “Q” WHO thrEw ouRSelves into it. How dId we DO? Well, we kept teMPErAtuRes aboVe frEEZing until one day beFORE X-mas, and that YEar ended up being ONE of the wARMest DeCeMBers on recOrd. People can dOUBt, oh sUre, they can dOUBt, but it reALLy hapPENed. Of coURSe, we werEN'T aBle to stop the entIRE onset of winTeR, but daMn, YOU tRY and stop 12-biLLiOn years worth of tRaDITion with two untrAIned psycHic brains…I think we dId PrETty great stopping WinTer for damn NEAr two straIGHt MOnths!
And sO I’d alSO like to sAY, you’re reading the prODuct of one of thOSe same BRains right now…hIstOry - the first bLog post created from 100% by mental power...aNd it’s not too bad, eSPECially for thE first TRy. I mean, you try aND dO a poST with just your pSyCHIC powers…see how much you get done!
YoU are REAding the first blog post done WiTHout the typeWRITER/R/keyboard cOMPuter interface. I am now inside the blogger servers, and with the power of my thoughts, am composing this post. My mind iS actually pUShing electrONs around on a seRVer THOusands of milES away - which will sOOn publish thIS “writing,” and then be READ BY you. Dealing, as I am, with MY brOKen/crAShed/infected/tuRNed-off computer, and the monumenTAL importance of Fjord, I realized I was going tO have tO take a different approach, if the West CoAst BrANch was going to contInue in its cuRRent capaCITY.
PeOple used to give me cRAp about my psyCHIc pOWER, and it got unDER my skin. But now, my attitude is, “Fuck ‘Em,” If they don’t get it, nO SKIN off my teeth. A while bACk in the late 90’s, me and Q-Dog, sick to deATH of the wintery-cold that was (on it’s way to) our FORMEr HOme, decided to combine our meNTAl powers, in the psychic aTTEmpt to destROY WINTER.
Q-dog and I TOLd nearly everyone we kNEW about our plan, trying to enlist more peOple…whO would hoPEfULly use their mENTal powers in coMBInation with ours, to oppose – an ENTIRE season – from cOming into EXISTence.
Well, we oNLY had a cOUple of luke-wARM takers on the “LEND us yoUR psychIC poWERs sO we can stOP WINter moVEMent.” So basically IT wAS really JusT ME and the “Q” WHO thrEw ouRSelves into it. How dId we DO? Well, we kept teMPErAtuRes aboVe frEEZing until one day beFORE X-mas, and that YEar ended up being ONE of the wARMest DeCeMBers on recOrd. People can dOUBt, oh sUre, they can dOUBt, but it reALLy hapPENed. Of coURSe, we werEN'T aBle to stop the entIRE onset of winTeR, but daMn, YOU tRY and stop 12-biLLiOn years worth of tRaDITion with two untrAIned psycHic brains…I think we dId PrETty great stopping WinTer for damn NEAr two straIGHt MOnths!
And sO I’d alSO like to sAY, you’re reading the prODuct of one of thOSe same BRains right now…hIstOry - the first bLog post created from 100% by mental power...aNd it’s not too bad, eSPECially for thE first TRy. I mean, you try aND dO a poST with just your pSyCHIC powers…see how much you get done!
They've paved paradise and put up a fucking fjord!!
Hi everyone! How's tricks? Solid, mehopes. Just gonna lay down some random shit here today. It's been a while since my last fjord confession and, well, it's just time is all.
For those of you who don't know, which is probably most of you, if not all of you, but I'm willing to go with some of you, I work with hookers. That's my day job. Talking to hookers. Working through things with hookers. Hell, I'll say it, even troubleshooting with hookers. Now, you're probably wondering just what in the heck it is that I do. Am I a pimp? Am I a driver? A social worker with a concentration on getting girls off the streets? A mobster? A concerned citizen who somehow parlayed a living helping hookers deal with life's problems, such as stain maintenance and how to cool a heated John? To those suggestions, I say, "Heh-heh. How naively sweet, dear readers!" No, I'm none of those things you quickly assumed I was. None of them. I take ads. I'm an ad-taker, dream-maker, love-faker, proving I'm someone not to be trifled with, or messed around with, to be sure. Yes, hookers call me on the telephonic device and place ads in the publication for which I work, in the hopes of scaring up a John or two so that said hookers can make a living. I, or rather my typing hands, are merely a conduit through which these ladies of the evening work. They tell me the ad copy, I transcribe it, it's that simple. Sound glamorous? Well, if you consider a symbiotic phone relationship featuring such wording as "Happy Endings with each massage," or "I provide a real girlfriend experience," to be glamorous, then have I got a job for you!! Frankly, folks, I feel like the lowest paid pimp in the industry......What do you do?
In closing, I'd like to add that I noticed something when I got home from work last night. I noticed that every single time, without fail, my whole entire life, without exception, that whenever I have to take a dump, it's because there was poop in my butt......really makes you think, huh?
For those of you who don't know, which is probably most of you, if not all of you, but I'm willing to go with some of you, I work with hookers. That's my day job. Talking to hookers. Working through things with hookers. Hell, I'll say it, even troubleshooting with hookers. Now, you're probably wondering just what in the heck it is that I do. Am I a pimp? Am I a driver? A social worker with a concentration on getting girls off the streets? A mobster? A concerned citizen who somehow parlayed a living helping hookers deal with life's problems, such as stain maintenance and how to cool a heated John? To those suggestions, I say, "Heh-heh. How naively sweet, dear readers!" No, I'm none of those things you quickly assumed I was. None of them. I take ads. I'm an ad-taker, dream-maker, love-faker, proving I'm someone not to be trifled with, or messed around with, to be sure. Yes, hookers call me on the telephonic device and place ads in the publication for which I work, in the hopes of scaring up a John or two so that said hookers can make a living. I, or rather my typing hands, are merely a conduit through which these ladies of the evening work. They tell me the ad copy, I transcribe it, it's that simple. Sound glamorous? Well, if you consider a symbiotic phone relationship featuring such wording as "Happy Endings with each massage," or "I provide a real girlfriend experience," to be glamorous, then have I got a job for you!! Frankly, folks, I feel like the lowest paid pimp in the industry......What do you do?
In closing, I'd like to add that I noticed something when I got home from work last night. I noticed that every single time, without fail, my whole entire life, without exception, that whenever I have to take a dump, it's because there was poop in my butt......really makes you think, huh?
Monday, February 07, 2005
It goes without saying...
THAT THE GODS HAVE A FUCKED UP SENSE OF HUMOR.
Take this, for instance...
after finally getting my computer system into the modern era, with a DSL line, I was super ridiculously happy. I surfed the interweb from the comfort of my own home, worked on our little blog-project, and made quite a bit of progress writing every day on my other projects. I was starting to feel like my life was sort of getting back on track. That's when I caught the virus, that turned my machine into a big giant table-sized paperweight.
So, while I may be slightly less prolific because of this occurrence *shakes fist at sky cursing gods* Fjord is too important, and too big for a small problem like, "No Computer" to completely silence me. Even if I have to use my psychic brainwaves to manipulate the electrons at blogger so I can post...I will! OPPOSE ME AND BE DESTROYED! That's my new motto. That, and "hey let's go to IHOP." They're both good mottos.
Take this, for instance...
after finally getting my computer system into the modern era, with a DSL line, I was super ridiculously happy. I surfed the interweb from the comfort of my own home, worked on our little blog-project, and made quite a bit of progress writing every day on my other projects. I was starting to feel like my life was sort of getting back on track. That's when I caught the virus, that turned my machine into a big giant table-sized paperweight.
So, while I may be slightly less prolific because of this occurrence *shakes fist at sky cursing gods* Fjord is too important, and too big for a small problem like, "No Computer" to completely silence me. Even if I have to use my psychic brainwaves to manipulate the electrons at blogger so I can post...I will! OPPOSE ME AND BE DESTROYED! That's my new motto. That, and "hey let's go to IHOP." They're both good mottos.
another shitty day in paradise
monday is here again and i'm once again reminded that there are only two certainties in this crazy existence - one is obviously death and following at a very close second in the certainty department is that The Cosby Show most certainly does not stand the test of time. I thought I was bummed when I saw Knight Rider last year for the first time in over a decade. this juggernaut from 1984 has come crashing down in a ball of herculean flames a mere 21 years later.
what's next? is somebody going to tell me that david hasselhoff is a huge pop star in Germany. Shut up, Dario - i don't want this confirmed. you already screwed up the tooth fairy for me. don't go messing up my image of the flawless german pop music scene.
i must now go drive down the autobahn and see kraftwerk. auf wedersen!
what's next? is somebody going to tell me that david hasselhoff is a huge pop star in Germany. Shut up, Dario - i don't want this confirmed. you already screwed up the tooth fairy for me. don't go messing up my image of the flawless german pop music scene.
i must now go drive down the autobahn and see kraftwerk. auf wedersen!
Friday, February 04, 2005
Doom...Dooom...DOOOOOOOOM
I've been thinking a lot about doom lately. It's not the kind of word a guy like me throws around lightly, because, it's kind of a heavy word. One might say that it means - destined to a tragic fate, and one (if that were someone's name) would be dead-on right. However, doom also means, just plain old fate.
I'd certainly like to be the guy that was doomed to take up the banner of the fjords, and march them to such greatness, that through the demand of the people, the Feds had to suck it up and provide a fjord for every citizen of the U.S., or at least a really big one per neighborhood, so they could share it. Now there's a doom I could really be proud of.
I haven't crunched the exact numbers just yet, but according to the census department 295,397,996 people live in the country just now, and I figure for about 10 bucks a person, we could really be looking at a feasible plan. However, when I first proposed this to the Secretary of the Interior, he said, "Mr. Tsunami, how on earth do you expect congress to authorize an expenditure of nearly three-trillion dollars for fjord construction? You're batshit-loonball crazy!" And then he had his goons throw me out -with extreme prejudice- to the street. Fucker.
Fjord construction wouldn't take place in a void. I mean, guys have to move dirt, draw up plans, put landscapes in place, construct water delivery systems...this kind of spillover could employ every unemployed person (and temps, and people with crappy jobs, and those who just like to be outside...) and all those people would be making more money, they'd pay more taxes, and they'd spend more of their money on electronics and in boutiques and on cute Japanese pop culture toys - right? More tax! It's simple economics. Fjord construction would, in the end, pay for itself.
Not only that, but, consider the countries that might begin to think likewise, and begin fjord construction plans of their own. These people would look for expertise in fjord building, and where would they look? Not to Sweden, not to Norway - those guys don't know dick about making fjords, they had fjords right there when they moved in. No, they'd come to America, and hire our guys out as contractors and specialists.
Of course, our strategic competitors would begin worrying about a fjord-gap, and start a program of their own. I'm thinking Chinese here, those guys could get a Fjord program up and running (and for far cheaper labor costs for sure) in no time. But hey, would it really make me worried that there were fjords being made in China? C'mon, they just barely shot a guy into space, (we've been doing that for near 50 years!) and we all know their fjord project would be riddled with corruption, and fall well behind schedule. Probably would be shoddy quality fjords too.
I'd certainly like to be the guy that was doomed to take up the banner of the fjords, and march them to such greatness, that through the demand of the people, the Feds had to suck it up and provide a fjord for every citizen of the U.S., or at least a really big one per neighborhood, so they could share it. Now there's a doom I could really be proud of.
I haven't crunched the exact numbers just yet, but according to the census department 295,397,996 people live in the country just now, and I figure for about 10 bucks a person, we could really be looking at a feasible plan. However, when I first proposed this to the Secretary of the Interior, he said, "Mr. Tsunami, how on earth do you expect congress to authorize an expenditure of nearly three-trillion dollars for fjord construction? You're batshit-loonball crazy!" And then he had his goons throw me out -with extreme prejudice- to the street. Fucker.
Fjord construction wouldn't take place in a void. I mean, guys have to move dirt, draw up plans, put landscapes in place, construct water delivery systems...this kind of spillover could employ every unemployed person (and temps, and people with crappy jobs, and those who just like to be outside...) and all those people would be making more money, they'd pay more taxes, and they'd spend more of their money on electronics and in boutiques and on cute Japanese pop culture toys - right? More tax! It's simple economics. Fjord construction would, in the end, pay for itself.
Not only that, but, consider the countries that might begin to think likewise, and begin fjord construction plans of their own. These people would look for expertise in fjord building, and where would they look? Not to Sweden, not to Norway - those guys don't know dick about making fjords, they had fjords right there when they moved in. No, they'd come to America, and hire our guys out as contractors and specialists.
Of course, our strategic competitors would begin worrying about a fjord-gap, and start a program of their own. I'm thinking Chinese here, those guys could get a Fjord program up and running (and for far cheaper labor costs for sure) in no time. But hey, would it really make me worried that there were fjords being made in China? C'mon, they just barely shot a guy into space, (we've been doing that for near 50 years!) and we all know their fjord project would be riddled with corruption, and fall well behind schedule. Probably would be shoddy quality fjords too.
Soooo...doom. I suppose this might be my doom, I guess that's the funny thing, you never really know what your doom is, until the very, very end. Then you can look back and go, "Huh? So that was my doom." And after that realization, you'll probably mutter the words, "Great...juuuust great."
Anyways, if you're ever up in the dark of night, unable to sleep, and wondering about what your doom is, or is going to be...wouldn't it be nice if you could take a short stroll, and ponder that huge and massive question at your own scenic fjord?
Your damn right it would.
Happy Friday
I went to a hypnotist
Yep, that's right. You heard me. I went to a hypnotist. To quit smoking. To be perfectly honest the whole thing was a little disappointing. Sure, I haven't had a cigarrette since I went. Sure, my cravings are less frequent and less intense than previous attempts to quit cold turkey ever were. And yes, for the first time in my adult life I honestly feel like I'm never gonna smoke again and instead of feeling dread and anxiety at that thought, as I have before, I feel genuinely ok with it. All that being said, I still can't seem to shake the idea that the hypnotist experience was a bit of a rip-off.
See, the thing is, I went twice, ok? Two times. Which means I spent, you know, a few hours with the hypnotist. That also translates to TWO times of being under the hypnotists spell, or hypnosis, whatever. Look, the goddamn point is, not one time, NOT ONCE, did I come back to life, snap out of hypnosis, whatever, with my pants unbuttoned!!! I mean, what's wrong with me? Am I not hot enough? Did I not send the right message? I mean, I felt like I was clear that I'd be ok with the hypnotist being less than moral. I mean, looking at the hypnotist and flat saying, "Hey, you know, if you wanna be less than moral, that's cool with me," pretty much lays it out, right? Christ, what do you gotta do in today's world to be taken advantage of?!?!?!?! Anyway, overall I'm sure hypnotism works, but does it?.......Does it?.....
See, the thing is, I went twice, ok? Two times. Which means I spent, you know, a few hours with the hypnotist. That also translates to TWO times of being under the hypnotists spell, or hypnosis, whatever. Look, the goddamn point is, not one time, NOT ONCE, did I come back to life, snap out of hypnosis, whatever, with my pants unbuttoned!!! I mean, what's wrong with me? Am I not hot enough? Did I not send the right message? I mean, I felt like I was clear that I'd be ok with the hypnotist being less than moral. I mean, looking at the hypnotist and flat saying, "Hey, you know, if you wanna be less than moral, that's cool with me," pretty much lays it out, right? Christ, what do you gotta do in today's world to be taken advantage of?!?!?!?! Anyway, overall I'm sure hypnotism works, but does it?.......Does it?.....
Cool Devices
I just found out about a radio alarm clock designed by one Hayat Benchenaa. It's a little light/clock combo that hangs above your bed. When the alarm is set, a small light dims and the music fades as you fall asleep. When it goes off, you reach up and tap it to activate the snooze. Then the thing rises about a foot, lets you snooze, and goes off again. So you get up a little more to hit the snooze again. This process is repeated until the thing reaches the ceiling, making you get up and pull it down to deactivate it.
I found this thing on one of those super-tech design pages, so I dunno if you can even buy it anywhere, but it's called the Sfera.
I found this thing on one of those super-tech design pages, so I dunno if you can even buy it anywhere, but it's called the Sfera.
Thursday, February 03, 2005
Hmmm, curious, I guess.
Wife accused of giving man lethal sherry enema
ANGLETON - Investigators say a Lake Jackson woman caused her husband's death by giving him a sherry enema, causing his blood alcohol level to surge to 0.47 percent - almost six times the legal intoxication limit. Tammy Jean Warner, 42, was indicted on a charge of negligent homicide. She is also charged with burning the will of her late husband, Michael Warner, a month before his death in May. Michael Warner, a 58-year-old machine shop owner, had a long history of alcoholism, but couldn't ingest alcohol because of medical problems with his throat, said Lake Jackson Police detective Robert Turner. The wine enema was a way he could become intoxicated without drinking alcohol, Turner said.
"I heard of this kind of thing in mortuary school in 1970, but this is the first time I've ever heard of someone actually doing it," Turner said. Turner said police think she gave him at least two large bottles of sherry, which is stronger than wine, in the enema on May 21. "We're not talking about little bottles here," Turner said, "These were at least 1.5 liter bottles."
I'm suspect of this gem nestled in the body of the story,
She is also charged with burning the will of her late husband, Michael Warner, a month before his death in May.
Yes! I've been looking for that elusive title for my new mystery novel..."MURDER BY ENEMA"
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Just really loved the headline:
'Mad cow' disease found in goat
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/europe/4216431.stm
Although some incidences of TSEs in animals such as cats and antelopes have looked very similar to the BSE strain, there is some debate over whether these really were mad cow.
Just a quick tally for you keeping score at home.
1) Mad Cow
2) Mad Cat
3) Mad Antelope
4) Mad Goat
5) Mad Cobbler
6) Mad Fileclerk
Just in case you are wondering if madness is running rampant in YOUR world, we've already got six mentions of it right here at Fjord - NOW IN OUR SECOND WEEK!
Something is catching...
A Groundhog Day observation.....
So, that rabid rat bastard, the Groundhog, saw his stoopid shadow today up in Pennsylvania, meaning (if you believe in this sort of crap) there will be six more weeks of Winter. My initial reaction to this news was this: GODAMMIT!! SHIT!! THAT SUUUUCKS!!!
See, the thing about Winter is way back in the day, our ancestors had a choice: Live year-round in the predictable and pleasant Southernmost regions, and if need be and you're just left of smart, go North for vacations and Wintery sports. I mean, that would have been just fine, right? Cuz then you'd always have the option of going North to hang with your "Wintery sport" friends, or spend your Winter just basking in the sun, as most Southernmost regionites do. But that idea simply wasn't good enough for our ancestors, was it? NOOO! They had to MOVE North and stick untold future generations of what has to be their own offspring in this climate YEAR ROUND!!! "Unacceptable," thought I......until another thought struck me.......
Had our ancestors never moved North, who would've policed the South? And if nobody had policed the South, there'd be no Black History Month to celebrate.......
So, with that, dear readers, I bid you a HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH AND LONG LIVE THE GROUNDHOG!!!!!!
See, the thing about Winter is way back in the day, our ancestors had a choice: Live year-round in the predictable and pleasant Southernmost regions, and if need be and you're just left of smart, go North for vacations and Wintery sports. I mean, that would have been just fine, right? Cuz then you'd always have the option of going North to hang with your "Wintery sport" friends, or spend your Winter just basking in the sun, as most Southernmost regionites do. But that idea simply wasn't good enough for our ancestors, was it? NOOO! They had to MOVE North and stick untold future generations of what has to be their own offspring in this climate YEAR ROUND!!! "Unacceptable," thought I......until another thought struck me.......
Had our ancestors never moved North, who would've policed the South? And if nobody had policed the South, there'd be no Black History Month to celebrate.......
So, with that, dear readers, I bid you a HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH AND LONG LIVE THE GROUNDHOG!!!!!!
Groundhog A-Go-Go!
Sorry kids, there's nothing in this post relating to groundhogs except this disclaimer. I just liked the way the title looked.
I just wanted to tell you about this kick-ass movie I just saw, GODZILLA VS THE FJORD! Holy Goats that was cool. One second Godzilla was flaming the Fjord's sides with fire-breath, and the next, Fjord was dousing Godzilla in its icy-cold glacial waters! I'm not going to give away the ending, but let's just say it kept me guessing all the way through the credits.
I give it four fjords! Or fjord stars - whatever, just run out to the video-shack and ask for it by name!
GO!
I just wanted to tell you about this kick-ass movie I just saw, GODZILLA VS THE FJORD! Holy Goats that was cool. One second Godzilla was flaming the Fjord's sides with fire-breath, and the next, Fjord was dousing Godzilla in its icy-cold glacial waters! I'm not going to give away the ending, but let's just say it kept me guessing all the way through the credits.
I give it four fjords! Or fjord stars - whatever, just run out to the video-shack and ask for it by name!
GO!
What it is to be a real mindfuck.....
This summary is not available. Please
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Sorry it's been a few days, but you'll NEVER guess where I was.....
Go on, try to guess.......Give up? Then I'll tell you. I've spent the last few days in the throes of passion, is where I've been. I was FINALLY able to attend the "Fuck Animals, Cum on Their Backs and Renounce Jesus Fesitval" in Antwerp, Germany!!!! You guys, it was great. Everything you would expect and so, so much more. I must've banged about 30 different species of animal, ranging from the exotic (I jammed a Toucan in my ass) to the non-exotic (while I fucked a common house gerbil). After I came, I realized I probably should've banged the Toucan and shoved the gerbil in my ass, but when you're as turned on as I was, you're just not thinking, you know? Oh, I also told Jesus to go to the Hell his book created while I deep-throated a crucifix. Between gulping noises I was able to blurt, "You can't spell 'crucifiction' without 'fiction'!" Folks, it was nearly the best weekend of my life.........nearly........
At any rate, I guess I needed to get that off my chest......whew! Thanks for listening....
One more thing, "Look out behind you," is a thing people say when something's about to strike you from behind and the person saying it thinks you can't possibly see that thing coming without their verbal help. THAT'S how self-centered people are.......
At any rate, I guess I needed to get that off my chest......whew! Thanks for listening....
One more thing, "Look out behind you," is a thing people say when something's about to strike you from behind and the person saying it thinks you can't possibly see that thing coming without their verbal help. THAT'S how self-centered people are.......
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Some more light reading....
http://thescotsman.scotsman.com/international.cfm?id=115842005
It's a small article, so I'll just post the whole thing. - By Allan Hall.
Six men jailed for exhuming a 'vampire' to eat his heart
SIX Romanians have been jailed for digging up the corpse of a cancer victim, ripping his heart out and eating it because they thought he was a vampire.
The men, who have each been sentenced to six months in jail, waited for seven weeks after the 76-year-old former schoolteacher died before exhuming the corpse and mutilating it.
After cutting the deceased’s heart out they burned it, mixed it with ash and water to make a "meaty drink". They told the court in the southern Romanian town of Craiova they all felt "much better" afterwards.
The six men all came from the remote village of Marotinul de Sus and told the court it was "well known" that such a remedy was the only protection against the undead.
All were sentenced for violating a grave. All claimed that they acted in self-defence from "a well-known vampire".
--Chalk up one more thing I didn't know that will protect you from vampires.
It's a small article, so I'll just post the whole thing. - By Allan Hall.
Six men jailed for exhuming a 'vampire' to eat his heart
SIX Romanians have been jailed for digging up the corpse of a cancer victim, ripping his heart out and eating it because they thought he was a vampire.
The men, who have each been sentenced to six months in jail, waited for seven weeks after the 76-year-old former schoolteacher died before exhuming the corpse and mutilating it.
After cutting the deceased’s heart out they burned it, mixed it with ash and water to make a "meaty drink". They told the court in the southern Romanian town of Craiova they all felt "much better" afterwards.
The six men all came from the remote village of Marotinul de Sus and told the court it was "well known" that such a remedy was the only protection against the undead.
All were sentenced for violating a grave. All claimed that they acted in self-defence from "a well-known vampire".
--Chalk up one more thing I didn't know that will protect you from vampires.
More on temporal constructs (part 1)
When I started the project of creating a specific time for Fjord, it was in it's theoretical development phase, and perhaps I shouldn't have posted about it as early as I did. But since the cat's out of the bag, I might as well move forward with a more elaborate detailing of my thinking.
Based on historical records, Fjordsurfing "the blog" was started January 19th 2005. However, the real cohesion which began the Fjord concept started very close to January 1, 2005. So, I propose that instead of all this gibberish, we go ahead and start this year, THE YEAR OF OUR FJORD - ONE.
Now the days line up pretty well, if we keep the current month structure, and just say, today is February 1, In the Year of our Fjord - One. We'll call 2006 The Year of our Fjord Two and so-forth.
Over the last few years, there has been a small movement across the internets to convert our 24-hour based time system into a new global system, that takes into account the truly global and modern connection that the internet has created.
Here are a couple of sites (I've seen better, but these were the ones I quickly found on Google for the purpose of this post) briefly dealing with the subject.
http://www.newearthtime.net
http://www.timeanddate.com/time/internettime/html
Basically - and like I said - still in its development stage - the idea is to combine two separate time zones (with two hours between them) into one time system which becomes Fjord Standard Time. In Fjord Standard Time, it would no longer be possible for someone to add a post at 3:52 p.m., and have someone else read it at 1:53 p.m., on the same day, as both (and every) time zones would be synchronized to exactly the same time structure. I've got the boys down at Fjordlab(tm) crunching the numbers right now, and hopefully in a few days, I'll have a proposal that is a bit more concise.
Based on historical records, Fjordsurfing "the blog" was started January 19th 2005. However, the real cohesion which began the Fjord concept started very close to January 1, 2005. So, I propose that instead of all this gibberish, we go ahead and start this year, THE YEAR OF OUR FJORD - ONE.
Now the days line up pretty well, if we keep the current month structure, and just say, today is February 1, In the Year of our Fjord - One. We'll call 2006 The Year of our Fjord Two and so-forth.
Over the last few years, there has been a small movement across the internets to convert our 24-hour based time system into a new global system, that takes into account the truly global and modern connection that the internet has created.
Here are a couple of sites (I've seen better, but these were the ones I quickly found on Google for the purpose of this post) briefly dealing with the subject.
http://www.newearthtime.net
http://www.timeanddate.com/time/internettime/html
Basically - and like I said - still in its development stage - the idea is to combine two separate time zones (with two hours between them) into one time system which becomes Fjord Standard Time. In Fjord Standard Time, it would no longer be possible for someone to add a post at 3:52 p.m., and have someone else read it at 1:53 p.m., on the same day, as both (and every) time zones would be synchronized to exactly the same time structure. I've got the boys down at Fjordlab(tm) crunching the numbers right now, and hopefully in a few days, I'll have a proposal that is a bit more concise.
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