Actually, the carcass of a horse. More like the skeletal remains of a horse being picked clean by ravens and hyenas and such. It was sad, cause I liked that horse. I didn't want to kill it, but somebody had to -staggering back and forth across the salt-flats like an Irishman on the third-day of a bender...
It wasn't that it was the fastest horse, or the strongest horse, or even had the best personality of horses I've known...it was just about here where I lost all track of where that metaphorical exercise is going. I didn't like today much tho. That's fer damn sure.
Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Sunday, May 29, 2005
Hello Robot!
Honest, I want one. I'm changing my battle-cry demand from "STOOL!" to, "I WANT MY ROBOT!"
Of course, you think I'm crazy...but they're coming!
Problematically, I haven't decided why, or what it should do, but I want one.
*********
Now, let's get to one of the coolest stories nobody's talking about!!!
It's not really a robot, but I'd say, they'd say, "it's an Unmanned Space Probe" (and I know how much you all like probes!!! (and yes, that does require THREE exclamation points)
But in 1976 we shot the Voyager "unmanned space probe" out into our solar system. Some 29 years later, scientists say - "IT'S LEFT THE SOLAR SYSTEM!"
Basically put (from what I understand about this crap) is, the sun produces particles and energy that shape a sort of sphere around itself and it's neighboring planets. Where that energy stops, and forces and particles from other galactic bodies reigns supreme - that's interstellar space. We got there, and it only took us 30 years...
Most likely the biggest technological achievement by us humanids, ever. Of course, our current gov'ment wants to shut it down.
And what ever happened to the International Space Station?? Seems to have dropped off the radar after the Space Shuttle fleet got grounded back in 2002. I liken the space station construction as something that resembles the brilliance of stuff made in the 30's, where people had crazy-assed ideas, and just made it happen. Hoover Dam, Golden Gate, Empire State kinda' "we can do this shit, so let's do it!" The U.S., Russians, Japanese, French, and a few other countries have put together the resources to make a huge-assed construction project in space...and I am WONDERING WHEN ARE THEY GOING TO GET BACK TO WORK??!! I didn't pay my hard earned tax-dollars for a half-assed space station...I want casinos and bars and zero-G hookers!
Well, anyways, I'm thru ramblin about space. Here on earth I just watched the 'ole Indy 500, and man it was great. Of course all the talk was about Danika Patrick (sorry about the non-english, was about the only pic I could find) and damn, it was amazing . She was in the lead with 7 laps to go, but ran out of gas on lap 199. Still finished 4th tho, and for a rookie, damn...she's the real deal. Doesn't hurt that she's kinda hot.
Of course, you think I'm crazy...but they're coming!
Problematically, I haven't decided why, or what it should do, but I want one.
*********
Now, let's get to one of the coolest stories nobody's talking about!!!
It's not really a robot, but I'd say, they'd say, "it's an Unmanned Space Probe" (and I know how much you all like probes!!! (and yes, that does require THREE exclamation points)
But in 1976 we shot the Voyager "unmanned space probe" out into our solar system. Some 29 years later, scientists say - "IT'S LEFT THE SOLAR SYSTEM!"
Basically put (from what I understand about this crap) is, the sun produces particles and energy that shape a sort of sphere around itself and it's neighboring planets. Where that energy stops, and forces and particles from other galactic bodies reigns supreme - that's interstellar space. We got there, and it only took us 30 years...
Most likely the biggest technological achievement by us humanids, ever. Of course, our current gov'ment wants to shut it down.
And what ever happened to the International Space Station?? Seems to have dropped off the radar after the Space Shuttle fleet got grounded back in 2002. I liken the space station construction as something that resembles the brilliance of stuff made in the 30's, where people had crazy-assed ideas, and just made it happen. Hoover Dam, Golden Gate, Empire State kinda' "we can do this shit, so let's do it!" The U.S., Russians, Japanese, French, and a few other countries have put together the resources to make a huge-assed construction project in space...and I am WONDERING WHEN ARE THEY GOING TO GET BACK TO WORK??!! I didn't pay my hard earned tax-dollars for a half-assed space station...I want casinos and bars and zero-G hookers!
Well, anyways, I'm thru ramblin about space. Here on earth I just watched the 'ole Indy 500, and man it was great. Of course all the talk was about Danika Patrick (sorry about the non-english, was about the only pic I could find) and damn, it was amazing . She was in the lead with 7 laps to go, but ran out of gas on lap 199. Still finished 4th tho, and for a rookie, damn...she's the real deal. Doesn't hurt that she's kinda hot.
Saturday, May 28, 2005
So, My Deaf Friend is Telling Me a Story the Other Day...
..and he's just going off, you know? Hands flailing wildly. Intense, contorted look on his face. This story is REALLY important to him, I can tell. And all I can think the whole time he's signing is, "Damn, this has been going on for at least two minutes. I mean, when is this fucker gonna shut up?!?!?!"
And then it hits me. I'm sorta ok with this. See, he just found out he has a curable deafness. I, however, don't want him to have the operation. Because I never want to have to say to someone, "Man, you've really changed. You used to be deaf." I think it would be pretty selfish of him to put me in that position, don't you?
Furthemore, it would save me the heartache of having to tell him that I never really learned sign language and I've never understood a single thing he's ever said to me.
I couldn't tell what he said next, but I remember I wanted a bite of his pancakes.....He always had such wonderful pancakes.......*
*(This post is to illustrate what assholes people can be to the hearing impaired. If you have a curable deafness, for the love of Foot Stools, have the operation no matter what your friends say!! Just another helpful "Fjord Fjun Fjact," from your friends at Fjord!)
FJORD - IF NOT US, THEN WHO?
And then it hits me. I'm sorta ok with this. See, he just found out he has a curable deafness. I, however, don't want him to have the operation. Because I never want to have to say to someone, "Man, you've really changed. You used to be deaf." I think it would be pretty selfish of him to put me in that position, don't you?
Furthemore, it would save me the heartache of having to tell him that I never really learned sign language and I've never understood a single thing he's ever said to me.
I couldn't tell what he said next, but I remember I wanted a bite of his pancakes.....He always had such wonderful pancakes.......*
*(This post is to illustrate what assholes people can be to the hearing impaired. If you have a curable deafness, for the love of Foot Stools, have the operation no matter what your friends say!! Just another helpful "Fjord Fjun Fjact," from your friends at Fjord!)
FJORD - IF NOT US, THEN WHO?
Friday, May 27, 2005
mumble mumble...grumble...merry fuckin' and happy gjoddamn..
Friday arrived at 12 last night with a resounding PLOP! And the rest of the time he's been figgurin' out exactly what his ethos is going to be for this week. Is he a starwars geek in a stormtrooper suit, or is he a pro-wrastler done up with hornrim glasses and a pocket protector? Is he a transmaulable robot (like that eeeevil robot guy in T2, destined to be runner up to Mulder as Agent Dogget) or a cute little robot dog that does your dishes? Perhaps with all this introspection, Friday's just gonna do what feels right. Perhaps today, I don't give a rat's ass.
So happy holidays! Merry Fuckin' and Happy Gjoddamn and all that, I for one, am happy just to take a rest.
So happy holidays! Merry Fuckin' and Happy Gjoddamn and all that, I for one, am happy just to take a rest.
Thursday, May 26, 2005
More Catchup...(katsup?)
Considering I was the first kid on my block to have an Apple IIe, (dating myself...I know) I've pretty much seen the computer revolution 1st hand. The new puma catalogue is a pretty good indication of how far we've come.
It takes a little while to load...but it's pretty cool.
It takes a little while to load...but it's pretty cool.
Obviously I called in sick today...
And Casa Aloha's Corporate H.Q.'s loss, is Fjord's gain.
MORE LINK'S!!!
I'm not a "cat" guy, but this is a fun place.
Make sure you visit the "winningest kitten's" link. Too fucking cute.
MORE LINK'S!!!
I'm not a "cat" guy, but this is a fun place.
Make sure you visit the "winningest kitten's" link. Too fucking cute.
Continuing Our Efforts
To promote pirates, pirate related activities, and disseminate pirate news...
FOUND! BLACKBEARD'S PIRATE SHIP!
"Blackbeard, whose real name was believed to be Edward Teach or Thatch, led a band of sea robbers who plagued the shipping lanes off North America and the Caribbean in the early 18th century."
Damn...just in that one paragraph alone there are a ton of good band names.
1)Blackbeard's Real Name
2)Edward Teach or Thatch
3)The Sea Robbers
4)Plague of the Shipping Lanes
FOUND! BLACKBEARD'S PIRATE SHIP!
"Blackbeard, whose real name was believed to be Edward Teach or Thatch, led a band of sea robbers who plagued the shipping lanes off North America and the Caribbean in the early 18th century."
Damn...just in that one paragraph alone there are a ton of good band names.
1)Blackbeard's Real Name
2)Edward Teach or Thatch
3)The Sea Robbers
4)Plague of the Shipping Lanes
I've been trying to figure out a smooth way
Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Before The End Of The Month Of May Summary...
OY! Is is really the end of May already?!?
I used to care about this kind of thing because I lived in Minneapolis, and honest - I knew when June showed up, it was actually free-and-clear of all my cold related problems. Now that I'm an Angelino, I know that that just means my year is half over, (have you done anything important yet in 2005?) and the worst part of living in L.A. has begun...the summer.
Whereas in the wintery-climates, people run from their cars to gain the sanctuary of climate controlled (and heated) places, in L.A. it's the exact opposite. People run from their air-conditioned cars from the burning face of the sun, and run into more air-conditioning, to avoid the volcano heat (which would be a great porno name)...it's the exact opposite of everwhere else I've ever lived.
Anyways, bare with me as the white-hot sun begins to warp my text into stuff that may, or may not represent the true D. Tsunami...
BTW my stats for tonight's N.B.A. Eastern Conference Finals...
B:15, C:4, W:16, F:0, GD:3, U:3, G:27, C:0, FR:6
(some might say different, but I pulled out a good night!)
I used to care about this kind of thing because I lived in Minneapolis, and honest - I knew when June showed up, it was actually free-and-clear of all my cold related problems. Now that I'm an Angelino, I know that that just means my year is half over, (have you done anything important yet in 2005?) and the worst part of living in L.A. has begun...the summer.
Whereas in the wintery-climates, people run from their cars to gain the sanctuary of climate controlled (and heated) places, in L.A. it's the exact opposite. People run from their air-conditioned cars from the burning face of the sun, and run into more air-conditioning, to avoid the volcano heat (which would be a great porno name)...it's the exact opposite of everwhere else I've ever lived.
Anyways, bare with me as the white-hot sun begins to warp my text into stuff that may, or may not represent the true D. Tsunami...
BTW my stats for tonight's N.B.A. Eastern Conference Finals...
B:15, C:4, W:16, F:0, GD:3, U:3, G:27, C:0, FR:6
(some might say different, but I pulled out a good night!)
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
Blogger Goes Haywire!
You may have noticed that our text gets REALLY BIG down the page, and I dunno what that's all about...but perhaps it's just a way of getting you to notice how great those posts are! After all, "Everything is exactly how it seems. Always. Under every conceivable circumstance. Things are constantly unchanging and precisely as they appear."
How many times will I quote this line? Don't ask, or I'll do it summore.
How many times will I quote this line? Don't ask, or I'll do it summore.
HEY-HEY! TACO TUESDAY!!
Resplendent (adj - shining brightly: dazzling) in the Golden Breastplate, (of G.O.D. - (pronounced Gjod)) wielding the mighty Battle Axe of J.E.S.U.S, Dario Tsunami, Supreme Cardinal Uber Alles decides...this whole Fjordian spiritual movement, might just be onto...something. (and I really, really-really hope it's taco Tuesdays!)
Today, as I was walking to the post-office to drop off my long overdue phone/internet payment to the local communications conglomerate, I was stopped at the corner of 7th and Figueroa by the ubiquitous street light.
I was feeling good - getting out into the bright sunny world of people on their lunch-hour, after a morning of listening to the sound of seconds being sucked off of my life -seconds I would never, ever get back. I looked into the window of the car that stopped in front of me, that was waiting for the people in the crosswalk so it could make a left-hand turn. The woman in the car had her head propped up on her left hand, with that resignation one gets when dealing with a band of humanids that you just can't plow through, no matter how much you want, or should. She took her face from her hand and glanced over, and saw me looking...
She put her head back on her hand, then took it back off, and did a double take. I love the non-verbal compliment as much as anyone, so I smiled. She shot the sunniest smile back at me, and then took off. And damn, if that smile didn't follow me around all day.
Thus proving Q-dog's spiritual law - Everything is exactly how it seems. Always. Under every conceivable circumstance. Things are constantly unchanging and precisely as they appear.
At least I think it does...I'm still new at this. I'll conclude by saying "It's nice when nice things happen." Isn't it?
Today, as I was walking to the post-office to drop off my long overdue phone/internet payment to the local communications conglomerate, I was stopped at the corner of 7th and Figueroa by the ubiquitous street light.
I was feeling good - getting out into the bright sunny world of people on their lunch-hour, after a morning of listening to the sound of seconds being sucked off of my life -seconds I would never, ever get back. I looked into the window of the car that stopped in front of me, that was waiting for the people in the crosswalk so it could make a left-hand turn. The woman in the car had her head propped up on her left hand, with that resignation one gets when dealing with a band of humanids that you just can't plow through, no matter how much you want, or should. She took her face from her hand and glanced over, and saw me looking...
She put her head back on her hand, then took it back off, and did a double take. I love the non-verbal compliment as much as anyone, so I smiled. She shot the sunniest smile back at me, and then took off. And damn, if that smile didn't follow me around all day.
Thus proving Q-dog's spiritual law - Everything is exactly how it seems. Always. Under every conceivable circumstance. Things are constantly unchanging and precisely as they appear.
At least I think it does...I'm still new at this. I'll conclude by saying "It's nice when nice things happen." Isn't it?
More New Religion Deets......
In heated discussion with Dario via our email device, it occurs to me that you Fjordling Sweethearts may need a little more incentive to join my "Church." Apparently, Catholicism, Muslimism and 7th Day Adventestism have given y'all so much that I may have to lure you to the "Joke Side" with various baubles and trinkets and what-not. Oh! And it would appear that you may need a more solid ethos, as well. That said, here you go you sweet, greedy, set in your ways, skin piles of beauty:
What you receive should you decide to join up:
Placemats, salvation, rocked candies, one phone call to the Gjod of your choice, embroidered socks, a guarenteed belly laugh and a cup of ceremonial Kool-Aid (when the time has been deemed nigh).
Additional Ethos besides the sweet, sweet jokes:
Everything is exactly how it seems. Always. Under every concieveable circumstance. Things are constantly unchanging and precisely as they appear.
How's that for comfort? No religion I'm aware of can make such crazy claims! Feeling more lured? I sure hope so!
Just remember what the Ljord said: "And yea, though appearences would have me smoten with small cocks, knoweth now that I be smoten with small POX!"
See ya at Mass!!
What you receive should you decide to join up:
Placemats, salvation, rocked candies, one phone call to the Gjod of your choice, embroidered socks, a guarenteed belly laugh and a cup of ceremonial Kool-Aid (when the time has been deemed nigh).
Additional Ethos besides the sweet, sweet jokes:
Everything is exactly how it seems. Always. Under every concieveable circumstance. Things are constantly unchanging and precisely as they appear.
How's that for comfort? No religion I'm aware of can make such crazy claims! Feeling more lured? I sure hope so!
Just remember what the Ljord said: "And yea, though appearences would have me smoten with small cocks, knoweth now that I be smoten with small POX!"
See ya at Mass!!
Monday, May 23, 2005
My Stats for the N.B.A. Eastern Conference Finals.
G: 12 P:3 F: 1 (murtle burger w/fries) L: 6 (pacifico cervesas)
All-in-all a statistcally good night for Tsunami, but by far not his best effort.
All-in-all a statistcally good night for Tsunami, but by far not his best effort.
Fuck It, Y'all! I'm Starting My Own Religion!
That's right, you heard me, heard me. Tired of the current list of religions out there, it's time I do something about it. I've pissed and moaned long enough. Once I officially was passed over as the next Pope, I knew I had no recourse, and now the plan is in full effect. Ready for it? Good! Cuz if you've read this far, then it's ready for you, too.......*deep breath*.........Here goes:
The religion will be called, "Get Over Dieties & Just Enjoy Sick Utter Sass," or "G.O.D. & J.E.S.U.S," for short. In this new and exciting religion, Gjod is the punchline to dirty/inappropriate jokes. Just imagine the sermons:
"And Gjod said unto thee: Yea, though it be most inaccurate to call my 10-year old daughter sexually "active," she doth move around far more than doth the ass of my 8-year old nephew."
How great is Church gonna be now, bitches?!?!??! If you're interested, get your holiest of holes down to "Our Lady of ThreeJewsWalkIntoABar," (that's right, we're all inclusive) every so often (schedule to be determined).
Come on, Fjordlings, who's drinkin' my Kool-Aid?!?!?!?
The religion will be called, "Get Over Dieties & Just Enjoy Sick Utter Sass," or "G.O.D. & J.E.S.U.S," for short. In this new and exciting religion, Gjod is the punchline to dirty/inappropriate jokes. Just imagine the sermons:
"And Gjod said unto thee: Yea, though it be most inaccurate to call my 10-year old daughter sexually "active," she doth move around far more than doth the ass of my 8-year old nephew."
How great is Church gonna be now, bitches?!?!??! If you're interested, get your holiest of holes down to "Our Lady of ThreeJewsWalkIntoABar," (that's right, we're all inclusive) every so often (schedule to be determined).
Come on, Fjordlings, who's drinkin' my Kool-Aid?!?!?!?
Sunday, May 22, 2005
FJORD POST CONTEST WINNER!!!!
You've all been very patient waiting to see what words would emerge from the gladiator battle amongst Fjord readers, and now, it's time.
THE WINNER IS:
Dan Hearld Hands
Here's a quick little bio he sent along for the curious public
Primary Residence: Intercourse, PA
Occupation: Out of Work Porn Star
Marital Status: Newly Diviorced
Quote: "I'm Living in East Intercouse, Just trying to get my Country Rap Demo Tape out there."
Congratulations Dan!
And by the way, if your C.R.D.T. is anything like your post - you're gonna go far with that.
Without Further Ado...
* * * * * * * *
Dear Connie,
I know the counselor said we shouldn't contact each other during our "cooling off" period, but I couldn't wait anymore. The day you left, I swore I'd never talk to you again. But that was just the wounded little boy in me talking. Still, I never wanted to be the 1st one to make contact. In my fantasies, it was always you who would come crawling back to me. I guess my pride needed that. But now I see that my pride's cost me a lot of things. I'm tired of pretending I don't miss you. I don't care about looking bad anymore. I don't care who makes the 1st move as long as one of us does. Maybe it's time we let our hearts speak as loudly as our hurt. And this is what my heart says ... "There's no one like you, Connie."
I look for you in the eyes & breasts of every woman I see, but they're not you. They're not even close. Two weeks ago, I met this girl at Flamingos & brought her home with me. I don't say this to hurt you, but just to illustrate the depth of my desperation.
She was young, maybe 19, with one of those perfect bodies that only youth and maybe a childhood spent ice skating can give you. I mean, just a perfect body. Tits like you wouldn't believe, & an ass that just wouldn't quit. Every man's dream, right? But, as I sat on the couch being blown by this stunner, I thought look at the stuff we've made important in our lives. It's all so superficial. What does a perfect body mean? Does it make her better in bed? Well, in this case, yes, but you see what I'm getting at. Does it make her a better person? Does she have a better heart than my moderately attractive Connie?
I doubt it. And I'd never really thought of that before. I don't know, maybe I'm just growing up a little. Later, after I'd tossed her about a half a pint of throat yogurt, I found myself thinking "Why do I feel so drained and empty?"
It wasn't just her flawless technique or her slutty, shameless hunger, but something else.
Some nagging feeling of loss. Why did it feel so incomplete? And then it hit me. It didn't feel the same because you weren't there to watch. Do you know what I mean? Nothing feels the same without you. Jesus, Connie I'm just going crazy without you. And everything I do just reminds me of you.
Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met at the Holiday Inn lounge last year? Well, she dropped by last week with a pan of lasagna. She said she figured I wasn't eating right without a woman around. I didn't know what she meant till later, but that's not the real story. Anyway, we had a few glasses of wine & the next thing you know, we're banging away in our old bedroom. And this tart's a total monster in the sack. She's giving me everything, you know? Like a real woman does when she's not hung up about her weight or her career & whether the kids can hear us. And all of a
sudden, she spots that tilting mirror on your grandmother's old vanity. So she puts it on the floor & we straddle it, right, so we can watch ourselves. And it's totally hot, but it makes me sad, too. Cause I can't help thinking "Why didn't Connie ever put the mirror on the floor?" We've had this old vanity for what, 14 years, & we never used it as a sex toy."
Saturday, your sister drops by with my copy of the restraining order. I mean, Vicky's just a kid and all, but she's got a pretty good head on her shoulders and she's been a real friend to me during this painful time. She's given me lots of good advice about you & about women in general. She's pulling for us to get back together. Connie, she really is. So we're doing Jell-O shots in a hot bubble bath & talking about happier times. Here's this teenage girl w/the same DNA as you, & all I can do is think of how much she looked like you when you were 20. And that just about makes me cry.
And then it turns out Vicky's really into the whole anal thing. That gets me to thinking about how many times I pressured you about trying it & how that probably fueled some of the bitterness between us. But do you see how even then, when I'm thrusting inside your baby sister's cinnamon ring, all I can do is think of you?
It's true, Connie. In your heart you must know it. Don't you think we could start over? Just wipe out all the grievances away and start fresh? I think we can. If you feel the same please, please, please let me know. Otherwise, can you let me know where the fucking remote is.
Love,
Dan
THE WINNER IS:
Dan Hearld Hands
Here's a quick little bio he sent along for the curious public
Primary Residence: Intercourse, PA
Occupation: Out of Work Porn Star
Marital Status: Newly Diviorced
Quote: "I'm Living in East Intercouse, Just trying to get my Country Rap Demo Tape out there."
Congratulations Dan!
And by the way, if your C.R.D.T. is anything like your post - you're gonna go far with that.
Without Further Ado...
* * * * * * * *
Dear Connie,
I know the counselor said we shouldn't contact each other during our "cooling off" period, but I couldn't wait anymore. The day you left, I swore I'd never talk to you again. But that was just the wounded little boy in me talking. Still, I never wanted to be the 1st one to make contact. In my fantasies, it was always you who would come crawling back to me. I guess my pride needed that. But now I see that my pride's cost me a lot of things. I'm tired of pretending I don't miss you. I don't care about looking bad anymore. I don't care who makes the 1st move as long as one of us does. Maybe it's time we let our hearts speak as loudly as our hurt. And this is what my heart says ... "There's no one like you, Connie."
I look for you in the eyes & breasts of every woman I see, but they're not you. They're not even close. Two weeks ago, I met this girl at Flamingos & brought her home with me. I don't say this to hurt you, but just to illustrate the depth of my desperation.
She was young, maybe 19, with one of those perfect bodies that only youth and maybe a childhood spent ice skating can give you. I mean, just a perfect body. Tits like you wouldn't believe, & an ass that just wouldn't quit. Every man's dream, right? But, as I sat on the couch being blown by this stunner, I thought look at the stuff we've made important in our lives. It's all so superficial. What does a perfect body mean? Does it make her better in bed? Well, in this case, yes, but you see what I'm getting at. Does it make her a better person? Does she have a better heart than my moderately attractive Connie?
I doubt it. And I'd never really thought of that before. I don't know, maybe I'm just growing up a little. Later, after I'd tossed her about a half a pint of throat yogurt, I found myself thinking "Why do I feel so drained and empty?"
It wasn't just her flawless technique or her slutty, shameless hunger, but something else.
Some nagging feeling of loss. Why did it feel so incomplete? And then it hit me. It didn't feel the same because you weren't there to watch. Do you know what I mean? Nothing feels the same without you. Jesus, Connie I'm just going crazy without you. And everything I do just reminds me of you.
Do you remember Carol, that single mom we met at the Holiday Inn lounge last year? Well, she dropped by last week with a pan of lasagna. She said she figured I wasn't eating right without a woman around. I didn't know what she meant till later, but that's not the real story. Anyway, we had a few glasses of wine & the next thing you know, we're banging away in our old bedroom. And this tart's a total monster in the sack. She's giving me everything, you know? Like a real woman does when she's not hung up about her weight or her career & whether the kids can hear us. And all of a
sudden, she spots that tilting mirror on your grandmother's old vanity. So she puts it on the floor & we straddle it, right, so we can watch ourselves. And it's totally hot, but it makes me sad, too. Cause I can't help thinking "Why didn't Connie ever put the mirror on the floor?" We've had this old vanity for what, 14 years, & we never used it as a sex toy."
Saturday, your sister drops by with my copy of the restraining order. I mean, Vicky's just a kid and all, but she's got a pretty good head on her shoulders and she's been a real friend to me during this painful time. She's given me lots of good advice about you & about women in general. She's pulling for us to get back together. Connie, she really is. So we're doing Jell-O shots in a hot bubble bath & talking about happier times. Here's this teenage girl w/the same DNA as you, & all I can do is think of how much she looked like you when you were 20. And that just about makes me cry.
And then it turns out Vicky's really into the whole anal thing. That gets me to thinking about how many times I pressured you about trying it & how that probably fueled some of the bitterness between us. But do you see how even then, when I'm thrusting inside your baby sister's cinnamon ring, all I can do is think of you?
It's true, Connie. In your heart you must know it. Don't you think we could start over? Just wipe out all the grievances away and start fresh? I think we can. If you feel the same please, please, please let me know. Otherwise, can you let me know where the fucking remote is.
Love,
Dan
Saturday, May 21, 2005
It's starting to get to me
Dear members of the International Community of Devoted Fjordlings:
1) Happy Saturday. I hope you all are having as wonderful a day as I am.
2) Something funny is going on. And it's starting to bug me.
13 days ago, I made a big deal out of Fjord being in the 5,000 hit club. Okay, sure, compared to the bigger sites out there, it's not even a daily hit count - but fjor us, it's...well a deal. Since then we've had a massive up-surge in traffic, that's put us past the 6,000 hit mark. Why? Well, a profusion of Europeans using Google to look up "Giant Cock." (why now? I have no clue...)
A quick google of the words "giant cock" will give you a list of sites, of which Fjord is 4th!! It links to an old post I did three months ago about the year of the cock.
Now, I'm not going to get all mad at people looking for giant cocks, seeing all this text,(and no photos of giant cocks) and leaving...but FUCK! Aren't we sexy enough to have even one of those internet surfers read a couple pages of our clever linguistics? I'm also aware that the more times I write the words giant cock, the better chance we have of moving up to number three in the google ranking. I'm not saying our well-endowed staff, are threatened by this recent movement, just wondering why some of these "just passing thru looking for giant-cock" surfers can't stop for a second, and bask in the splendor of the sexiest landmass on the planet.
1) Happy Saturday. I hope you all are having as wonderful a day as I am.
2) Something funny is going on. And it's starting to bug me.
13 days ago, I made a big deal out of Fjord being in the 5,000 hit club. Okay, sure, compared to the bigger sites out there, it's not even a daily hit count - but fjor us, it's...well a deal. Since then we've had a massive up-surge in traffic, that's put us past the 6,000 hit mark. Why? Well, a profusion of Europeans using Google to look up "Giant Cock." (why now? I have no clue...)
A quick google of the words "giant cock" will give you a list of sites, of which Fjord is 4th!! It links to an old post I did three months ago about the year of the cock.
Now, I'm not going to get all mad at people looking for giant cocks, seeing all this text,(and no photos of giant cocks) and leaving...but FUCK! Aren't we sexy enough to have even one of those internet surfers read a couple pages of our clever linguistics? I'm also aware that the more times I write the words giant cock, the better chance we have of moving up to number three in the google ranking. I'm not saying our well-endowed staff, are threatened by this recent movement, just wondering why some of these "just passing thru looking for giant-cock" surfers can't stop for a second, and bask in the splendor of the sexiest landmass on the planet.
Friday, May 20, 2005
Friday was a shimmering oasis, which still had to be reached by crawling.
Man gang, I dunno about you, but I got worked over like a stain on Granny's best tablecloth this week. I'm not going to say this week was like having my skin boiled off by scalding steam...nor am I going to say it was like being given an eye-poke that jammed my entire eyeball and optic nerve (and a few stray eyelashes) straight back into my brain-stem...cause you know I'm not one to complain. But damn - it was a week.
To start off, I'd like to say every word I wrote this week was like rolling Sisyphus's rock - only in word form...and it never got any easier. So, sorry.
As it turns out, one of my greatest arch-enemies, Pawtuckett "The Crayfish" Rathbone has been working over the midsection of my doll with his powerful Voodoo needles. Let me just say, everything's fine, now that I've got my cultists performing defensive mo-jo, and I have seven priests from various faiths workin' the almighty (and the anti-almighty too, just in case) in my favor. See, I just didn't know what was happening at first, cause I thought I'd left the dead husk of a corpse of Pawtuckett staked thru the heart on an unnamed mountain in the Andes, after our last tangle back in the late 90's.
And that wasn't my only problem. My biggest problem this week? Of course, you've already guessed...The Yakuza!
Yes, my friends, three times this week, the Yakuza just came up and stole my lunch! Just like the bullies at skool! Bastards. It's times like these, that I wish I hadn't come up with a Zombie Action Plan - and instead had devised a Yakuza Action Plan. Right now, that seems a bit more practical. I talked to my Pa about this, and he gave me the 'ole, "Face down a bully just once, and he'll never bother you again" speech. Which, or course, is useless in the face of the Japanese Mafia. These guys cut off their own FINGERS just to prove they're loyal, and besides, there's usually like eight of them. Sure I have my sword-cane, but these guys are tough, have nicely tailored suits, and guns. So, until I come up with something better, I'm doing what I did today- from now on. Eating in elevators.
Anyways - enough about me and my problems.
The King of All Weekdays, is busy cooling your feet in his cool oasis pools. Scantily clad oasis dwellers fan you with huge hand-fans, cushion your back with huge, soft pillows (somehow providing the perfect amount of lumbar support) and bring forth refreshments of all varieties! What wonders await you in this exotic respite? Who can say? All I know, is I'd like to stay here a bit longer than I can.
Happy Friday.
To start off, I'd like to say every word I wrote this week was like rolling Sisyphus's rock - only in word form...and it never got any easier. So, sorry.
As it turns out, one of my greatest arch-enemies, Pawtuckett "The Crayfish" Rathbone has been working over the midsection of my doll with his powerful Voodoo needles. Let me just say, everything's fine, now that I've got my cultists performing defensive mo-jo, and I have seven priests from various faiths workin' the almighty (and the anti-almighty too, just in case) in my favor. See, I just didn't know what was happening at first, cause I thought I'd left the dead husk of a corpse of Pawtuckett staked thru the heart on an unnamed mountain in the Andes, after our last tangle back in the late 90's.
And that wasn't my only problem. My biggest problem this week? Of course, you've already guessed...The Yakuza!
Yes, my friends, three times this week, the Yakuza just came up and stole my lunch! Just like the bullies at skool! Bastards. It's times like these, that I wish I hadn't come up with a Zombie Action Plan - and instead had devised a Yakuza Action Plan. Right now, that seems a bit more practical. I talked to my Pa about this, and he gave me the 'ole, "Face down a bully just once, and he'll never bother you again" speech. Which, or course, is useless in the face of the Japanese Mafia. These guys cut off their own FINGERS just to prove they're loyal, and besides, there's usually like eight of them. Sure I have my sword-cane, but these guys are tough, have nicely tailored suits, and guns. So, until I come up with something better, I'm doing what I did today- from now on. Eating in elevators.
Anyways - enough about me and my problems.
The King of All Weekdays, is busy cooling your feet in his cool oasis pools. Scantily clad oasis dwellers fan you with huge hand-fans, cushion your back with huge, soft pillows (somehow providing the perfect amount of lumbar support) and bring forth refreshments of all varieties! What wonders await you in this exotic respite? Who can say? All I know, is I'd like to stay here a bit longer than I can.
Happy Friday.
Another Necessary, Life-Changing Improvement From Your Friends At Fjord
Incontinent? Having trouble NOT pissing your pants? Does just the mere mention of the word "porcelain" cause you to leak things from your most naughty, embarrassing bits? If you're an adult Earthling with these problems, you probably think to yourself, "I'd sooner murder every last prehensile tail-less, domesticated primate I see than have them ridicule my bunchy adult diaper! Sure I could use one, in point of fact just thinking about them made me go tink-tink a little just now, but there's simply no hiding the fact that I'm wearing one and I can't have that. Nope, I'd rather just wallow in my own filth, thanks." Heh-heh......silly, stinking, shit-flinging primate, you give up too easily! You need to get yourself to Fjord!
Our Bjoys in the Fjord Ljab have worked day and night (it's actually a meth lab) to develop a new product for those of you who just can't help pissing and/or shitting your pants. This miracle product is:
Absorbo - Adult Diaper/Thong Hybrids Fit For Da Club
That's right, using some sort of space age polymers, a sponge-ish sponge material best described as sponge-ish, diaper bits and meth lab can-do, our crack team of strung out Ljab Bjoys have finally given something back to the community they've taken so, so much from. These diaper-thongs fit comfjortably in most slacks and their SOOPA-ABSORBANT linings mean they'll also fit comfjortably in the part of your brain saved for "piece of mind."
So, come on ladies! Don your favorite pair of low rider jeans and hit da club! Let us see that diaper-thong whilst you kickin' it doing the Charleston, or whatever your favorite dance of the day is! Be confident....Absorbo has you covered.......well, almost.....(also available in checkered boxer style fit for men! Yo, money, you don't need a belt tonight!)
Absorbo, isn't it time you soiled yourself in style?
Our Bjoys in the Fjord Ljab have worked day and night (it's actually a meth lab) to develop a new product for those of you who just can't help pissing and/or shitting your pants. This miracle product is:
Absorbo - Adult Diaper/Thong Hybrids Fit For Da Club
That's right, using some sort of space age polymers, a sponge-ish sponge material best described as sponge-ish, diaper bits and meth lab can-do, our crack team of strung out Ljab Bjoys have finally given something back to the community they've taken so, so much from. These diaper-thongs fit comfjortably in most slacks and their SOOPA-ABSORBANT linings mean they'll also fit comfjortably in the part of your brain saved for "piece of mind."
So, come on ladies! Don your favorite pair of low rider jeans and hit da club! Let us see that diaper-thong whilst you kickin' it doing the Charleston, or whatever your favorite dance of the day is! Be confident....Absorbo has you covered.......well, almost.....(also available in checkered boxer style fit for men! Yo, money, you don't need a belt tonight!)
Absorbo, isn't it time you soiled yourself in style?
Thursday, May 19, 2005
A Profusion of Dorks!
Well gang, it's that time of year again...the time of year when the biggest videogame/electronics convention hits Los Angeles. It's called E3...and it's by invitation only. Usually, conventions are under my radar - 'cause there's just too much else going on. But this year the X-box 360 is busting out, and it's hard to miss the 8-billion geeks walking around with their software/game console T-shirts, lousy facial hair, and their "goodie-bags" from right down the street from Casa Aloha Corporate H.Q.
And of course, we have the Star-Wars III bust-out at exactly the same time - filling movie lines (and television screens everywhere) with reality-challenged individuals who shouldn't be allowed anywhere near a "news" camera by a length of at least three football fields.
So, I'm wondering, where did they all come from? The density of basements in California can't account for the numbers I'm seeing...and the number of parents able to support more than one or two dorks, couldn't support more than a quarter...
Okay - I'm just going to embrace my inner-geek and say, I love video games - have since I can remember there being video games. I can't wait to see the graphics on the new x-box, playstation, and whatever else comes out in the next couple of years. I saw the original Star Wars in its theatrical release back in the 70's...and shudder to even think I've seen all of them on the big screen.
But I have the most potent belief in my associates and friends to lay down the law and tell me, "Dario, don't leave the house looking like that! You look like a fucking dork!"
You'd tell me, right? 'Cause, I'd tell you.
And of course, we have the Star-Wars III bust-out at exactly the same time - filling movie lines (and television screens everywhere) with reality-challenged individuals who shouldn't be allowed anywhere near a "news" camera by a length of at least three football fields.
So, I'm wondering, where did they all come from? The density of basements in California can't account for the numbers I'm seeing...and the number of parents able to support more than one or two dorks, couldn't support more than a quarter...
Okay - I'm just going to embrace my inner-geek and say, I love video games - have since I can remember there being video games. I can't wait to see the graphics on the new x-box, playstation, and whatever else comes out in the next couple of years. I saw the original Star Wars in its theatrical release back in the 70's...and shudder to even think I've seen all of them on the big screen.
But I have the most potent belief in my associates and friends to lay down the law and tell me, "Dario, don't leave the house looking like that! You look like a fucking dork!"
You'd tell me, right? 'Cause, I'd tell you.
Wednesday, May 18, 2005
...checking it twice
It's on the list.
I'm not a compulsive list maker by any means, but I do find them to be helpful in times of prolonged action, where I'm bound to overlook something important. Or in times of complete inactivity, when I'm apt to do nothing at all.
But today, I'm here suggesting you can use a list to avoid work entirely. (especially at work)
Say someone asks you, "Go get a case of bottled water for the department." You say, "It's on the list." And you go back to surfin' the internet or writin' and email barely bothered at all. Or, if Simkins is asking for the TPS reports, "It's next on my list Simpkins, now get off my back you fucking monkey!"
Of course "the list" need not be you to-do list, or the list of tasks at hand, all they know is - it's on the list. You don't need a list. The list only implies it's own existence and therefore importance. Infact, it will make you seem more important (and busy).
-I never took Tsunami for a "list guy," but he must have a lot on his plate if he's got a list.
Of course, two days later Simkins will return bellowing, "I never got those TPS reports!"
"Well, it was next on my list," you can retort, "then Old Man Hollister came by and told me to make the Clodhopper Inventory (or some other program you know Simkins is not affiliated with) my primary action item, and the TPS reports got bumped down a notch. But, (you continue) I told Hollister, I got Simkins' TPS reports to do - they're at the top of my list. Hollister tells me, Clodhopper Inventory is now at the top of your list! Besides, Simkins is a fucking monkey!"
Thus allowing you to insult your superior thru the power of your list.
Or you could just say, "Mary told me she would do it, and I crossed it off my list." Everyone knows once something is crossed off the list, it gets re-added onto the list at the bottom. Thus giving you another two or three days grace period.
Of course, it's even better if you have an actual list, that you just write random things down on, that way, a week from now, when the boss asks "where the hell is the water," you can actually pull out your list, and point to the item in question. They're only going to see a bunch of words - and read the one you point at. My list for today looks like this.
water
helicopters are cool
envelopes!
make puppets from old socks
buy canned beans
See - it's easy, and practically foolproof!
I'm not a compulsive list maker by any means, but I do find them to be helpful in times of prolonged action, where I'm bound to overlook something important. Or in times of complete inactivity, when I'm apt to do nothing at all.
But today, I'm here suggesting you can use a list to avoid work entirely. (especially at work)
Say someone asks you, "Go get a case of bottled water for the department." You say, "It's on the list." And you go back to surfin' the internet or writin' and email barely bothered at all. Or, if Simkins is asking for the TPS reports, "It's next on my list Simpkins, now get off my back you fucking monkey!"
Of course "the list" need not be you to-do list, or the list of tasks at hand, all they know is - it's on the list. You don't need a list. The list only implies it's own existence and therefore importance. Infact, it will make you seem more important (and busy).
-I never took Tsunami for a "list guy," but he must have a lot on his plate if he's got a list.
Of course, two days later Simkins will return bellowing, "I never got those TPS reports!"
"Well, it was next on my list," you can retort, "then Old Man Hollister came by and told me to make the Clodhopper Inventory (or some other program you know Simkins is not affiliated with) my primary action item, and the TPS reports got bumped down a notch. But, (you continue) I told Hollister, I got Simkins' TPS reports to do - they're at the top of my list. Hollister tells me, Clodhopper Inventory is now at the top of your list! Besides, Simkins is a fucking monkey!"
Thus allowing you to insult your superior thru the power of your list.
Or you could just say, "Mary told me she would do it, and I crossed it off my list." Everyone knows once something is crossed off the list, it gets re-added onto the list at the bottom. Thus giving you another two or three days grace period.
Of course, it's even better if you have an actual list, that you just write random things down on, that way, a week from now, when the boss asks "where the hell is the water," you can actually pull out your list, and point to the item in question. They're only going to see a bunch of words - and read the one you point at. My list for today looks like this.
water
helicopters are cool
envelopes!
make puppets from old socks
buy canned beans
See - it's easy, and practically foolproof!
Tuesday, May 17, 2005
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO...
It seems my link to the lion -vs- 42 midgets story no longer works.
this is a sad day a Fjord. I should have copied and posted the whole thing. Altho, it does make me begin to wonder if it was all a hoax in the first place. However, if you read the one paragraph I did copy, it was SOOOOO good, I hope there are more hoaxes I can (copy and paste and post) and link too.
What is not a hoax however, is our Fjord Post Contest, and gang, your prayers have been answered. We have a winner!! However, our crack team of activist judges is still combing through the debris of your entries, in case we missed something. However, you can expect a masterpiece to go up on Sunday, for your reading-at-work pleasure on Monday.
this is a sad day a Fjord. I should have copied and posted the whole thing. Altho, it does make me begin to wonder if it was all a hoax in the first place. However, if you read the one paragraph I did copy, it was SOOOOO good, I hope there are more hoaxes I can (copy and paste and post) and link too.
What is not a hoax however, is our Fjord Post Contest, and gang, your prayers have been answered. We have a winner!! However, our crack team of activist judges is still combing through the debris of your entries, in case we missed something. However, you can expect a masterpiece to go up on Sunday, for your reading-at-work pleasure on Monday.
Now this is a STORY!!!
Lion Mutilates 42 Midgets in Cambodian Ring-Fight
The fight was called in only 12 minutes, after which 28 fighters were declared dead, while the other 14 suffered severe injuries including broken bones and lost limbs, rendering them unable to fight back.
The fight was called in only 12 minutes, after which 28 fighters were declared dead, while the other 14 suffered severe injuries including broken bones and lost limbs, rendering them unable to fight back.
Monday, May 16, 2005
Monday was a back-scratcher made of razor-blades
My job today was to count phones.
New phone system got put in, down at Casa Aloha Corporate H.Q., and all the old phones had to go. So I end up in a room with about five hundred near-obsolescent touch tone phones of various makes and model numbers. It's weird to see that many dead phones in one place.
So my mind started wandering, and as I placed another 4820D Lucent phone in a pile of likewise phones, stumbled on the question, "How many words have been spoken over this phone? How many words have been spoken over the 500 dead phones in this room?" It's gotta be a lot.
According to "ask jeeves," who couldn't give me a straight answer - but nevertheless gave me some stats to start with..."In fact, the average phone conversation for a guy lasts six minutes. Average phone conversation for a woman: 20 minutes"
A daily analysis brings forth this little nugget..."The number of words an average guy speaks a day is 12,000 to 14,000. The number of words an average woman speaks is nearly twice that: 24,000 to 26,000." Hmmmm...Interesting dichotomy, but it doesn't quite help.
So - these, I'm guessing are stats relating to personal communication, not business communication, but - we can subtract, say 50% of those numbers when dealing purely with business. So, we've got fellas talking 3 minutes, and gals talking 10. That's a 6.5 minute average phone conversation. Now, just guessing, that words in a conversation (both listening and talking) come at about 40 per minute, we're talking about 260 words per average conversation. Average 10 conversations per day is 2600 words a day. Possibly 52,000 words a month, or 624,000 words a year. Looping in a random 10 years, cause I'm just guessing - one phone could probably handle 6 million 240 thousand words before it becomes obsolete.
Now, with the 500 dead phones I was looking at, is 3,120,000,000 individual separate words spoken through the phones in that room. That's almost enough words to get something done...almost.
Well, there ya go, I thought it was interesting at the time.
New phone system got put in, down at Casa Aloha Corporate H.Q., and all the old phones had to go. So I end up in a room with about five hundred near-obsolescent touch tone phones of various makes and model numbers. It's weird to see that many dead phones in one place.
So my mind started wandering, and as I placed another 4820D Lucent phone in a pile of likewise phones, stumbled on the question, "How many words have been spoken over this phone? How many words have been spoken over the 500 dead phones in this room?" It's gotta be a lot.
According to "ask jeeves," who couldn't give me a straight answer - but nevertheless gave me some stats to start with..."In fact, the average phone conversation for a guy lasts six minutes. Average phone conversation for a woman: 20 minutes"
A daily analysis brings forth this little nugget..."The number of words an average guy speaks a day is 12,000 to 14,000. The number of words an average woman speaks is nearly twice that: 24,000 to 26,000." Hmmmm...Interesting dichotomy, but it doesn't quite help.
So - these, I'm guessing are stats relating to personal communication, not business communication, but - we can subtract, say 50% of those numbers when dealing purely with business. So, we've got fellas talking 3 minutes, and gals talking 10. That's a 6.5 minute average phone conversation. Now, just guessing, that words in a conversation (both listening and talking) come at about 40 per minute, we're talking about 260 words per average conversation. Average 10 conversations per day is 2600 words a day. Possibly 52,000 words a month, or 624,000 words a year. Looping in a random 10 years, cause I'm just guessing - one phone could probably handle 6 million 240 thousand words before it becomes obsolete.
Now, with the 500 dead phones I was looking at, is 3,120,000,000 individual separate words spoken through the phones in that room. That's almost enough words to get something done...almost.
Well, there ya go, I thought it was interesting at the time.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
Hello Sunday
How about some light noir for your reading pleasure?
It was dark in the small cheap room where he lived. The blinds weren't closed, and a little light filtered in from the club across the street and down a bit. He could sleep with any of his lights on anyways, but he liked the blinds open 'cause sometimes he worked the snooze button, and many times it never came back to wake him up. The sun would work.
The dog kept barking outside though. It was starting to get on his nerves. He looked at the clock. 3:42. The damn dog had been barking for nearly three hours. He rubbed a grizzled spotted hand over his balding head. One hour he could take. Two hours of barking, was pushing the limits of anything resembling responsible dog ownership. He got up and went to the window. It was already open from the last four times he had yelled out of it, at that fucking dog.
Down the street the parking lot at the club was empty but for two cars. That's all. Even the goddamn club was closed. "FUCKING SHUT THE HELL UP!!" He yelled down three floors from his apartment to the yard below. The dog continued to bark. "Fuck." He said to himself. He threw a plaid work shirt over his wife-beater and put his boots on. If he was going to deal with the dog, it was going to have to be done right. He fished around in his closet for his Louisville slugger.
It was dark in the small cheap room where he lived. The blinds weren't closed, and a little light filtered in from the club across the street and down a bit. He could sleep with any of his lights on anyways, but he liked the blinds open 'cause sometimes he worked the snooze button, and many times it never came back to wake him up. The sun would work.
The dog kept barking outside though. It was starting to get on his nerves. He looked at the clock. 3:42. The damn dog had been barking for nearly three hours. He rubbed a grizzled spotted hand over his balding head. One hour he could take. Two hours of barking, was pushing the limits of anything resembling responsible dog ownership. He got up and went to the window. It was already open from the last four times he had yelled out of it, at that fucking dog.
Down the street the parking lot at the club was empty but for two cars. That's all. Even the goddamn club was closed. "FUCKING SHUT THE HELL UP!!" He yelled down three floors from his apartment to the yard below. The dog continued to bark. "Fuck." He said to himself. He threw a plaid work shirt over his wife-beater and put his boots on. If he was going to deal with the dog, it was going to have to be done right. He fished around in his closet for his Louisville slugger.
Saturday, May 14, 2005
FJORD POST CONTEST
Hey gang! How's it goin'?!?
You all do know...that there's only ONE DAY LEFT in our gargantuan promo-contest to see who will have their words posted up amongst the likes of "Q-DOG" (not making quotes with fingers) "MINDFUCK," "FJORDBORG," and yours truly "DARIO TSUNAMI."
If you still think you've got a shot a winning, here's whatchoo do.
Write us a post you think will tickle our fancy, and send it to fjordsurfing@yahoo.com by 11:59 PST Sunday May 15th. If we think it's great, we'll put it up next to the stuff you come here to read every day.
Of course, going through the number of entries we've had over the last four days, I think you'll have to wait a full week, in order for us to judge the winner, however, don't let that discourage you. You've got as good a shot as anybody! Good Luck!
You all do know...that there's only ONE DAY LEFT in our gargantuan promo-contest to see who will have their words posted up amongst the likes of "Q-DOG" (not making quotes with fingers) "MINDFUCK," "FJORDBORG," and yours truly "DARIO TSUNAMI."
If you still think you've got a shot a winning, here's whatchoo do.
Write us a post you think will tickle our fancy, and send it to fjordsurfing@yahoo.com by 11:59 PST Sunday May 15th. If we think it's great, we'll put it up next to the stuff you come here to read every day.
Of course, going through the number of entries we've had over the last four days, I think you'll have to wait a full week, in order for us to judge the winner, however, don't let that discourage you. You've got as good a shot as anybody! Good Luck!
Friday, May 13, 2005
At the Feed-atourium...
I just saw four separate people spill/drop their drinks on the floor. The janitors were everywhere with their little yellow "piso mojado/wet floor" signs and mops. I guess that's par for the course on Friday the 13th...if you're a janitor.
Happy Friday
Happy Friday
Thursday, May 12, 2005
Remember, Have Enough for Cab Fare After the Stag Party
Too good to let it slide into the internet drain
A man who ran out of taxi fare after a stag night was hit by four different vehicles as he walked along a dual carriageway, an inquest has heard.
(...)
(I liked this little bit)
One motorist pulled over to remove clothing from the front of his car before driving off.
A man who ran out of taxi fare after a stag night was hit by four different vehicles as he walked along a dual carriageway, an inquest has heard.
(...)
(I liked this little bit)
One motorist pulled over to remove clothing from the front of his car before driving off.
This is exactly how.
The Terminator started.
The first scalable robot to have built an exact copy of itself could herald a fundamental rethink of how robots may be used to explore other planets.
I like how they played it out as "a fundamental rethink of how robots may be used to explore other planets." And not, "a fundamental rethink of how robots will enslave humankind on earth." But that's just good P.R. I guess.
Hod Lipson and colleagues at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York, built their self-replicating device using small mechanical building blocks that can swivel, and also attach themselves to one another using electromagnets.
I also like how they left out the part where they get together to form a "SUPERBOT" but they probably haven't worked out the kinks in that just yet.
The first scalable robot to have built an exact copy of itself could herald a fundamental rethink of how robots may be used to explore other planets.
I like how they played it out as "a fundamental rethink of how robots may be used to explore other planets." And not, "a fundamental rethink of how robots will enslave humankind on earth." But that's just good P.R. I guess.
Hod Lipson and colleagues at Cornell University in Ithaca, New York, built their self-replicating device using small mechanical building blocks that can swivel, and also attach themselves to one another using electromagnets.
I also like how they left out the part where they get together to form a "SUPERBOT" but they probably haven't worked out the kinks in that just yet.
Wednesday, May 11, 2005
Just dashing in...
For those of you who watch the news frequently, you've probably seen the video a stringer got of about 15 Sheriff's Deputies shooting at an SUV they cornered on a residential street. (For those of you who don't, you can read about it here.)
Anyways, I'm not saying "who-started-what" or "who-shot-who" or "what stray bullet went into which nearby home" 'cause in the thick of things, stuff gets confusing. But clearly we should be told who is training Sheriff's Deputies in California. They surrounded the truck, then opened fire -in total 120 rounds (in about 6 or 8 seconds). Bullets were, as they say, pretty thick. And they hit the guy 4 times! 120 shots?!!? Okay, that's just atrocious aim. (As a product of public skools, I'm just not equipped to do the math with any degree of certainty, but I think it's around 3 percent accuracy.)
That's pretty lousy. I mean, if they were chasing terrorists, or a supervillain - the city'd be a gaping hole right now. Heck, if they were pro-ballplayers they...they usually cut guys who bat under 20% - fuck, they'd never make a minor league team in any sport. You see what I'm saying...? These guys should all be cut, for lack of proficiency with their sidearms.
Anyways, I'm not saying "who-started-what" or "who-shot-who" or "what stray bullet went into which nearby home" 'cause in the thick of things, stuff gets confusing. But clearly we should be told who is training Sheriff's Deputies in California. They surrounded the truck, then opened fire -in total 120 rounds (in about 6 or 8 seconds). Bullets were, as they say, pretty thick. And they hit the guy 4 times! 120 shots?!!? Okay, that's just atrocious aim. (As a product of public skools, I'm just not equipped to do the math with any degree of certainty, but I think it's around 3 percent accuracy.)
That's pretty lousy. I mean, if they were chasing terrorists, or a supervillain - the city'd be a gaping hole right now. Heck, if they were pro-ballplayers they...they usually cut guys who bat under 20% - fuck, they'd never make a minor league team in any sport. You see what I'm saying...? These guys should all be cut, for lack of proficiency with their sidearms.
Holy Crap! Everyone Agreed?!?!?!?!?
Wow, fjolks, this IS unexpected. Really. Every last one of you agreed?!?!? What can I say, I mean, I'm shocked. Cuz, I could think of at least 5-10 people off the top of my head that I woulda guessed would surely have disagreed. I would've guessed at least a billion more that would have disagreed just to better their own personal chances. But there it is. Undeniable, official proof of my-- well I guess no need to be bashful about it now-- proof of my superiority. You're probably wondering what all this babble is about. Although, I must say you have to already know what I'm talking about, as I can only assume that you had to have responded to the survey, or poll, or whatever it was. If you need memory refreshing, however, please read on.....
After finishing a meal of delivered Chinese food that could best be described as "substance," I turned to my fortune cookie for flavor respite. I tore open the package like I always do, you know, with a lighter and good old fashioned patience, inserted half of said cookie into my tooth-riddled, tongue-invaded face hole and masticated to completion. (no, MASTICATED) When there was ne'er a cookie bit left in my face hole that had yet to be broken down by saliva and lowered into my stomach valve, I turned to the "fortune" part of the cookie. The cookie's payoff. This is what it said:
EVERYONE AGREES YOU ARE THE BEST
WOW, right? I mean, for me-- wow. You guys already agreed to this so you already knew you agreed to my bestness. Bestocity. Bestitude--Look, fjolks, whatever you call it, you all agreed I'm it. I'm touched, humbled and maybe even a little embarrassed that it turns out that I'm the only person in the world who voted for themselves. This is quite an honor. As the best, I can't promise I'll do much of anything. Hey, I figure doing nothing's gotten me THIS far.........
Anyway, again you gjuys, thanks for this honor. This DEFINITELY changed my Wednesday night from a "Order Chinese, roll around naked in afterbirth, masturbate to completion (no, MASTURBATE) and fall asleep in the fetal position sucking my thumb muttering "I can keep a secret, I can keep a secret," to a Wednesday where I "Order Chinese, roll around naked in afterbirth, masturbate to completion (no, MASTURBATE) and fall asleep in the fetal position sucking my thumb muttering "I can keep a secret, I can keep a secret," where I know I'M THE BEST!!
After finishing a meal of delivered Chinese food that could best be described as "substance," I turned to my fortune cookie for flavor respite. I tore open the package like I always do, you know, with a lighter and good old fashioned patience, inserted half of said cookie into my tooth-riddled, tongue-invaded face hole and masticated to completion. (no, MASTICATED) When there was ne'er a cookie bit left in my face hole that had yet to be broken down by saliva and lowered into my stomach valve, I turned to the "fortune" part of the cookie. The cookie's payoff. This is what it said:
EVERYONE AGREES YOU ARE THE BEST
WOW, right? I mean, for me-- wow. You guys already agreed to this so you already knew you agreed to my bestness. Bestocity. Bestitude--Look, fjolks, whatever you call it, you all agreed I'm it. I'm touched, humbled and maybe even a little embarrassed that it turns out that I'm the only person in the world who voted for themselves. This is quite an honor. As the best, I can't promise I'll do much of anything. Hey, I figure doing nothing's gotten me THIS far.........
Anyway, again you gjuys, thanks for this honor. This DEFINITELY changed my Wednesday night from a "Order Chinese, roll around naked in afterbirth, masturbate to completion (no, MASTURBATE) and fall asleep in the fetal position sucking my thumb muttering "I can keep a secret, I can keep a secret," to a Wednesday where I "Order Chinese, roll around naked in afterbirth, masturbate to completion (no, MASTURBATE) and fall asleep in the fetal position sucking my thumb muttering "I can keep a secret, I can keep a secret," where I know I'M THE BEST!!
Questions...Answers...
1)Why do I have 1 fitted sheet, and 8 non fitted sheets. I'm not the kind of fella that just goes crazy for flat sheets, I'm practical, I buy in sets. Did some fitted sheets just evolve?
2)Who made such a mess in here?
3)Should I be worried about moths eating my wardrobe? Cause I saw one last night, and I couldn't quite catch 'em.
4)How come I keep around shoes I never wear?
5)Is it possible that people are aware I'm coming, and plan out new and inventive schemes to get into my way?
ANSWERS
1) Yes
2) Robots
3) Maybe
4) In case of a random string of attacks by dogs/possums/piranha/gnomes, destroy favorite shoes, at least there's something.
5) Obviously. The security tape shows the extent of the conspiracy.
2)Who made such a mess in here?
3)Should I be worried about moths eating my wardrobe? Cause I saw one last night, and I couldn't quite catch 'em.
4)How come I keep around shoes I never wear?
5)Is it possible that people are aware I'm coming, and plan out new and inventive schemes to get into my way?
ANSWERS
1) Yes
2) Robots
3) Maybe
4) In case of a random string of attacks by dogs/possums/piranha/gnomes, destroy favorite shoes, at least there's something.
5) Obviously. The security tape shows the extent of the conspiracy.
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
I'm having one of them days
where it seems like everything I'm trying to do is coming out wrong. So I'm sticking to stories you should probably be aware of...
Like yesterday was ORGASM DAY!!!
Why, why, WHY DIDN'T I HEAR ABOUT THIS YESTERDAY!!??!!
Perhaps, I'm having one of those weeks...
Could we make it Orgasm Week???
Like yesterday was ORGASM DAY!!!
Why, why, WHY DIDN'T I HEAR ABOUT THIS YESTERDAY!!??!!
Perhaps, I'm having one of those weeks...
Could we make it Orgasm Week???
Another sign of the apocolypse...
Up on Mount Soledad, Janet Andrews is reporting it rained shrimp on April 28. She and others found masses of baby shrimp on the tennis courts of the Summit residential development.
"They're not crazy," says Bob Burhans, curator of the Birch Aquarium at the Scripps Institution of Oceanography in La Jolla. "I haven't heard of it raining shrimp, but I have heard of it raining fish." About 15 years ago, a Chula Vista man reported that hundreds of minnows had dropped out of the sky onto his driveway, yard and roof. A marine biologist at Scripps identified the airborne fish and theorized they were from the Sweetwater Reservoir.
The most likely delivery system: a wind funnel that formed over the water, picking up surface creatures and then dropping its load as it dissipated. So it probably went for the shrimp. When the weather gets rough, juvenile shrimp at the ocean surface tend to gather in large numbers in the shallows, Burhans explains.
"There were warnings of potential sea spouts a couple of hours before that storm came in," says Burhans, adding that a sea spout can travel a mile or two, or even farther.
"They're not crazy," says Bob Burhans, curator of the Birch Aquarium at the Scripps Institution of Oceanography in La Jolla. "I haven't heard of it raining shrimp, but I have heard of it raining fish." About 15 years ago, a Chula Vista man reported that hundreds of minnows had dropped out of the sky onto his driveway, yard and roof. A marine biologist at Scripps identified the airborne fish and theorized they were from the Sweetwater Reservoir.
The most likely delivery system: a wind funnel that formed over the water, picking up surface creatures and then dropping its load as it dissipated. So it probably went for the shrimp. When the weather gets rough, juvenile shrimp at the ocean surface tend to gather in large numbers in the shallows, Burhans explains.
"There were warnings of potential sea spouts a couple of hours before that storm came in," says Burhans, adding that a sea spout can travel a mile or two, or even farther.
Monday, May 09, 2005
Okay back to the
Grind.
SO...did you think about writing something? Did you write something? Are you now thinking about writing something? Did you want to think about writing something, but didn't quite get around to it?
Well, you've got all week! We're accepting submissions for your Fjordpost right now! But your deadline will be MONDAY MAY 16TH!!! Sometime after that, we'll dig through your beautiful words, and choose a winner (or winners). Send your masterworks full of bloggy-goodness to fjordsurfing@yahoo.com
Judging from past contests, winning is just about as easy as doing nothing at all. So why not be a winner!!
SO...did you think about writing something? Did you write something? Are you now thinking about writing something? Did you want to think about writing something, but didn't quite get around to it?
Well, you've got all week! We're accepting submissions for your Fjordpost right now! But your deadline will be MONDAY MAY 16TH!!! Sometime after that, we'll dig through your beautiful words, and choose a winner (or winners). Send your masterworks full of bloggy-goodness to fjordsurfing@yahoo.com
Judging from past contests, winning is just about as easy as doing nothing at all. So why not be a winner!!
Sunday, May 08, 2005
AND THAT'S IT!!!
Sometime yesterday (probly when I was eatin' ribs) we busted the 5-grand hit mark. As Q-Dog so aptly put it the other day, "I'm so proud of wee little Fjord."
I'm not going to make the obvious "mother's day" connections here, 'cause I barely keep houseplants alive. But thanks for swinging by.
I'm not going to make the obvious "mother's day" connections here, 'cause I barely keep houseplants alive. But thanks for swinging by.
Details
You guys are probably way ahead of me on this one, cause it's been like 6 months since I was entranced by a song coming from my television. The song was "let go" to a trailer for the movie Garden State, by frau frau. I tried to think the last time I heard such a good sonic experience from the teevee - and honest it had been at least seven years.
My biggest worry was that this was a band that had one good single, and with the high expectations of a real music snob, I'd find that apart from that one song, the rest of it would be junk. Then I'd hate them for having such a good tune, and not having the talent, skill, or desire to make a fucking good record. Rather than be dissapointed, I chose just to love their single.
Well, last week a copy of Details came into my environment, and it's pretty damn amazing. Near start to finish full of complex, detailed and beautiful music. Plus, their website is cool as fuck. It blows me away that I originally found out about a group this good, on the television.
My biggest worry was that this was a band that had one good single, and with the high expectations of a real music snob, I'd find that apart from that one song, the rest of it would be junk. Then I'd hate them for having such a good tune, and not having the talent, skill, or desire to make a fucking good record. Rather than be dissapointed, I chose just to love their single.
Well, last week a copy of Details came into my environment, and it's pretty damn amazing. Near start to finish full of complex, detailed and beautiful music. Plus, their website is cool as fuck. It blows me away that I originally found out about a group this good, on the television.
Saturday, May 07, 2005
why does my blog...
show the infinite white void?
remember kids, when you look into the abyss, the abyss looks back at you...
remember kids, when you look into the abyss, the abyss looks back at you...
Friday, May 06, 2005
Hindsight: 5,657,438,027 Foresight:6
Friday came slinking into the room like a cat who'd been kicked too many times. He didn't want to be seen, didn't want to be noticed, didn't want to be blamed for the human wreckage that Thursday spawned. But he showed up anyways, with that helpful look he sometimes gets on his face, that look that says, "Is there anything I can do to help?"
Luckily, Thursday left a couple of cold ones in the fridge as a parting gift. Friday cracks one and hands it over.
Yaknow, gang honest, give me just a second. I really need to slip into something more comfjordable.
*shuffle, shuffle, rustle, flop, clink, ruffle, zip, shiffle, vooop*
Gjod - that's so much better.
I hope you all had a wonderful night last night, and big things in store for yjour weekend!
We've got a few big things going on too. Sometime over the weekend, we'll break the 5,000 hit barrier! That's a lot of people taking in Fjord-related content. And to kick off the cele-brashin, we're gonna have another contest! And this one ain't gonna be our usual sandwich giveaway, or a pair of socks sent FedEx - straight off my feer.
No. It's gonna be a chance to see your words up on the Fjord Big-Board! This is going to be your chance to see if you can run with the really big boys! We'll be working out the exact details this weekend, so you've got time to dig your A-game from outta' the closet, and write a post that is worthy of our audience here at the most noble Fjord.
Preliminary Details...
1) Please Spell Check. (nobody's perfect, but try to be)
2) No Politics. (there are 8-billion other places you can go for that)
3) Plugging your shit is heartily encouraged. (don't be modest, you've gotten this far)
4) Funny, witty, clever, smart...in that order. (obviously)
5) A short, visual, well-told mini-story can trump #4 (duh)
Like I said, we'll be working out details over the weekend - so you've got time to work out your stuff beforehand! And, fair warning, you're gonna have to write something really really good to get past our crack panel of activist judges. But, we're pretty sure you can do it!
Happy Friday
Luckily, Thursday left a couple of cold ones in the fridge as a parting gift. Friday cracks one and hands it over.
Yaknow, gang honest, give me just a second. I really need to slip into something more comfjordable.
*shuffle, shuffle, rustle, flop, clink, ruffle, zip, shiffle, vooop*
Gjod - that's so much better.
I hope you all had a wonderful night last night, and big things in store for yjour weekend!
We've got a few big things going on too. Sometime over the weekend, we'll break the 5,000 hit barrier! That's a lot of people taking in Fjord-related content. And to kick off the cele-brashin, we're gonna have another contest! And this one ain't gonna be our usual sandwich giveaway, or a pair of socks sent FedEx - straight off my feer.
No. It's gonna be a chance to see your words up on the Fjord Big-Board! This is going to be your chance to see if you can run with the really big boys! We'll be working out the exact details this weekend, so you've got time to dig your A-game from outta' the closet, and write a post that is worthy of our audience here at the most noble Fjord.
Preliminary Details...
1) Please Spell Check. (nobody's perfect, but try to be)
2) No Politics. (there are 8-billion other places you can go for that)
3) Plugging your shit is heartily encouraged. (don't be modest, you've gotten this far)
4) Funny, witty, clever, smart...in that order. (obviously)
5) A short, visual, well-told mini-story can trump #4 (duh)
Like I said, we'll be working out details over the weekend - so you've got time to work out your stuff beforehand! And, fair warning, you're gonna have to write something really really good to get past our crack panel of activist judges. But, we're pretty sure you can do it!
Happy Friday
Newsflash: Cinco De Mayo Ruins Q-Dog's Seis De Mayo!
Q-Dog's Seis De Mayo has had it's spirit crushed by a Cinco De Mayo that can best be described as "diabolical." Cinco De Mayo pulled out all the stops, as it repeatedly opened the mouth of the young, impressionable Master Q and dumped various liquors inside. The liquors, while described at the time as "delicious" and "just what the doctor ordered," have now turned on Q, making him feel like a host of screaming monkeys broke into his domicile as he slept and had relations with his slumbering skull. We go live to the scene where reporter Ken Kevinsonjin has been granted an exclusive interview:
KEN: Q-Dog, how's your Seis De Mayo going?
Q-DOG: It sucks, fucker! It sucks like a veteran whore. You know, sandpaper-ish and lifeless.
We'll keep you posted as this story develops. In other news, while checking to make sure I was spelling "seis" right, I discovered (much to my chagrin and horror) that Trey Anastasio, that phuckhead hippie from that stink-band Phish has an album titled "Seis De Mayo." Well, phuck me runnin' y'all.......This just in: Q-dog can't have anything nice.....
Oh yeah....there's also some stuff about the British Consulate getting blown up about four blocks from where I work, but I'm not sure if I really consider that "newsworthy."
KEN: Q-Dog, how's your Seis De Mayo going?
Q-DOG: It sucks, fucker! It sucks like a veteran whore. You know, sandpaper-ish and lifeless.
We'll keep you posted as this story develops. In other news, while checking to make sure I was spelling "seis" right, I discovered (much to my chagrin and horror) that Trey Anastasio, that phuckhead hippie from that stink-band Phish has an album titled "Seis De Mayo." Well, phuck me runnin' y'all.......This just in: Q-dog can't have anything nice.....
Oh yeah....there's also some stuff about the British Consulate getting blown up about four blocks from where I work, but I'm not sure if I really consider that "newsworthy."
Thursday, May 05, 2005
Cinco de Mayo
Well gang, Thursdays thrown off his backpack and taken a well deserved spot at the bar. Today he's taken on a decidedly Hispanic flair with a sombrero hanging on his back, and he gently strokes his flashy new moustache. Two bandeleros strung across his chest glint softly as he reaches up to summon the bartender.
The bartender materializes, all apron - polishing a mug with a dirty rag.
"Dos Corona's por-favor." He rasps in a rugged Hispanic-film star voice.
A hush falls over the bar, and all eyes look at Thursday, who pretends not to notice. The apron returns with two misty bottles of Mexican beer. Thursday throws back his poncho, revealing a large nickel-plated .45 revolver. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a Paso. He throws it onto the bar, where it lands on its edge, spinning for a moment, and falling with a metallic ring. The apron scoops it up and slips it into his pocket.
Thursday pulls a bottle close leaving a wet trail behind it. He rolls it in his hands, pausing thoughtfully for effect. Then, in an instant it's at his lips - and he drinks it down in three gargantuan gulps. He slams it back down cracking the bottle on the bar. Thursday let's out a massive, 'AHHHHHHH!"
The crowd leaps to it's feet with cheers! Fists fly into the air! And at that instant, not a moment sooner, the band breaks into "the Mexican Hat Dance!" My Gjod...it's beautiful...
The bartender materializes, all apron - polishing a mug with a dirty rag.
"Dos Corona's por-favor." He rasps in a rugged Hispanic-film star voice.
A hush falls over the bar, and all eyes look at Thursday, who pretends not to notice. The apron returns with two misty bottles of Mexican beer. Thursday throws back his poncho, revealing a large nickel-plated .45 revolver. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a Paso. He throws it onto the bar, where it lands on its edge, spinning for a moment, and falling with a metallic ring. The apron scoops it up and slips it into his pocket.
Thursday pulls a bottle close leaving a wet trail behind it. He rolls it in his hands, pausing thoughtfully for effect. Then, in an instant it's at his lips - and he drinks it down in three gargantuan gulps. He slams it back down cracking the bottle on the bar. Thursday let's out a massive, 'AHHHHHHH!"
The crowd leaps to it's feet with cheers! Fists fly into the air! And at that instant, not a moment sooner, the band breaks into "the Mexican Hat Dance!" My Gjod...it's beautiful...
Wednesday, May 04, 2005
Soundtrack to a Cool Life
Jet Sound Inc. is one of those bands you'll never hear about, and if you actually hear them, you'll not be paying attention, because you'll be too busy chatting up the multi-millionaire (or heiress) because it just makes you feel uber-cool. They make songs that belong in soundtracks of every suave movie, and every cool party.
My favorite release (I've listened to) is called Stereophonic Space Sound Unlimited - find it and buy/download/steal it. It'll be worth the effort.
My favorite release (I've listened to) is called Stereophonic Space Sound Unlimited - find it and buy/download/steal it. It'll be worth the effort.
A Nightlight Follow-Up
We usually don't have the incidental information to follow up on our stories here at Fjord. I can only attribute this to our lack of staff, and the fact that the world and it's fjords are moving at such a high velocity that any follow-up is both practically impossible and mostly unnecessary, as the present will drive any past information into the media dirt from which it sprang.
However, today, as I was walking past the local homeless guy, he started shouting at me. Since he's usually a reasonable fellow that minds his own business and doesn't hit me up for change every time I see him (which would be every weekday, usually twice) he's gotten on my good side.
So I go over and he starts spouting off a bunch of stuff (and he must have taken a bad turn in the last week or so) I can't understand in a rapid stream...
"Huzzle fretzle Comanche drizzel quadzilla!"
I stood there with an interested look on my face, hoping he'd start making sense.
"Bizzle the Diddly Mist con carne..." He took a breath..."Those mushtakle zooropa people...Congress can't do nothin!" He was emphatic! "Umbasha Ganish, Down on the border with guns trying to stop the zirffle narff Kazakstan-Zimbabwe!!!"
I realized he was trying to talk about the "Minutemen Militia" who are down at our southern border, gurading against illegal immigrants.
"It ain't safe no virple gazzle huff! Why ripened toe-strudle! Jist last week hurrumph-nagle - one shot a blurrfln-man six times!"
I discerned he was talking about the shooting at the Coochie-Coochie Salsateque!
"I know!" I said, "I heard it! I live right down there!"
"Well, " He continued..."That hirrsh-felder nerbin! He came right down to the starbucks after that and got a cofffdin-pullin-ziffered-do! The cops - why they charrfig-ed him -and urped dorp the street!"
He looked shocked. I took it that the shooter had walked up the street, right past him, and got a coffee at the starbucks. Then the cops chased him out of there, and up another road. He looked worried out of his one good eye.
"He went right past me. I was just resting portin-whyzzle de morgan newwerd and cheesing my stuff! I coooord 'ave! He marrrghina - - -" and he made the gun shape with his hands. I knew he was worried the guy could have shot him.
"It's getting crazy." I said. "It's been a crazy week."
He nodded. Then hit me up for some change. I paid him though. It's always nice to have a reliable source for a real follow-up.
However, today, as I was walking past the local homeless guy, he started shouting at me. Since he's usually a reasonable fellow that minds his own business and doesn't hit me up for change every time I see him (which would be every weekday, usually twice) he's gotten on my good side.
So I go over and he starts spouting off a bunch of stuff (and he must have taken a bad turn in the last week or so) I can't understand in a rapid stream...
"Huzzle fretzle Comanche drizzel quadzilla!"
I stood there with an interested look on my face, hoping he'd start making sense.
"Bizzle the Diddly Mist con carne..." He took a breath..."Those mushtakle zooropa people...Congress can't do nothin!" He was emphatic! "Umbasha Ganish, Down on the border with guns trying to stop the zirffle narff Kazakstan-Zimbabwe!!!"
I realized he was trying to talk about the "Minutemen Militia" who are down at our southern border, gurading against illegal immigrants.
"It ain't safe no virple gazzle huff! Why ripened toe-strudle! Jist last week hurrumph-nagle - one shot a blurrfln-man six times!"
I discerned he was talking about the shooting at the Coochie-Coochie Salsateque!
"I know!" I said, "I heard it! I live right down there!"
"Well, " He continued..."That hirrsh-felder nerbin! He came right down to the starbucks after that and got a cofffdin-pullin-ziffered-do! The cops - why they charrfig-ed him -and urped dorp the street!"
He looked shocked. I took it that the shooter had walked up the street, right past him, and got a coffee at the starbucks. Then the cops chased him out of there, and up another road. He looked worried out of his one good eye.
"He went right past me. I was just resting portin-whyzzle de morgan newwerd and cheesing my stuff! I coooord 'ave! He marrrghina - - -" and he made the gun shape with his hands. I knew he was worried the guy could have shot him.
"It's getting crazy." I said. "It's been a crazy week."
He nodded. Then hit me up for some change. I paid him though. It's always nice to have a reliable source for a real follow-up.
A mere week (or so) after the new Pope and this comes out?
A newly discovered fragment of the oldest surviving copy of the New Testament indicates that, as far as the Antichrist goes, theologians, scholars, heavy metal groups, and television evangelists have got the wrong number. Instead of 666, it's actually the far less ominous 616.
read more!
Statanists are quick to react...
Peter Gilmore, High Priest of the Church of Satan, based in New York, said: "By using 666 we're using something that the Christians fear. Mind you, if they do switch to 616 being the number of the beast then we'll start using that."
Wonder what "Rottwieler" Ratzinger (man, talk about a good wrestling name) is going to have to say about this!
read more!
Statanists are quick to react...
Peter Gilmore, High Priest of the Church of Satan, based in New York, said: "By using 666 we're using something that the Christians fear. Mind you, if they do switch to 616 being the number of the beast then we'll start using that."
Wonder what "Rottwieler" Ratzinger (man, talk about a good wrestling name) is going to have to say about this!
Tuesday, May 03, 2005
Something is definitely UP
I was going to comment about this yesterday - as in true Monday fashion (or I should say in better than usual Monday fashion) I found myself beat to hell by the time I got home to my little abode. But I blew it off as - just back from Vegas-having a long perfect weekend -adjusting to reality, kinda thingie, and just let it ride.
Today was more of the same. Let me begin with the morning.
I use an old Nokia phone as my alarm clock - since that's all it's good for after the Phone Co. cut me off in 01 for having a 535-buck phone bill. (Hey, after 9-11 everything changed...and calling plans got a lot better...anyways) I heard the little digital ring in the morning, grabbed the phone, and immediately hit snooze. However, I (unusually) fell back asleep with the phone in my hand. As the snooze wore off, and the alarm rang again - my hand reacted in a knee-jerk fashion, and instantaneously took the phone and plastered my forehead with it. Lemme tell ya, they built those old phones tough. Luckily my head is made mostly of skull.
The day just didn't get much better from there. Working my way home through another hellish commute, where the mark my phone-clock left on my forehead was a sign for every fuckwit to get in my way, I stopped by the store for a tall-boy. The clerk says, "Everyone today is crazy, must be a full moon." "That's what I thought." I said, "Yesterday too." She says. "I know, yesterday was crazy too - but I just thought it was me."
So, if you can't relate - good. Just keep your eyes open, cause this week, something is definitely up.
Today was more of the same. Let me begin with the morning.
I use an old Nokia phone as my alarm clock - since that's all it's good for after the Phone Co. cut me off in 01 for having a 535-buck phone bill. (Hey, after 9-11 everything changed...and calling plans got a lot better...anyways) I heard the little digital ring in the morning, grabbed the phone, and immediately hit snooze. However, I (unusually) fell back asleep with the phone in my hand. As the snooze wore off, and the alarm rang again - my hand reacted in a knee-jerk fashion, and instantaneously took the phone and plastered my forehead with it. Lemme tell ya, they built those old phones tough. Luckily my head is made mostly of skull.
The day just didn't get much better from there. Working my way home through another hellish commute, where the mark my phone-clock left on my forehead was a sign for every fuckwit to get in my way, I stopped by the store for a tall-boy. The clerk says, "Everyone today is crazy, must be a full moon." "That's what I thought." I said, "Yesterday too." She says. "I know, yesterday was crazy too - but I just thought it was me."
So, if you can't relate - good. Just keep your eyes open, cause this week, something is definitely up.
Monday, May 02, 2005
An Open Letter of Apology to the International Community of Devjoted Fjordlings
Dearest I.C.D.F.,
First of all, you are all very cute. Really. Every last one of you. Well, except for that one kid. He knows which one he is......Little bastard.....
Secondly, I would like to extend a heart-felt apology to all you precious sons-a-biatches out there. My recent posts. Waaaaaaay too fucking long lately. I know......I forgot......it's the age of short attention spans, and all......Once again, sorry about that. From here on out, ALL of my posts will contain violence, brief adult language, adult situations, nudity and a scene featuring drug use. In very terse, concise verbage.
Now if you all will excuse me, kill, fu*k, volunteering at a nursing home, look! to your left----TITS!!!, picture me getting stoned 15 minutes before writing this.
Never fuck a gift horse in the mouth,
Q-Dog
First of all, you are all very cute. Really. Every last one of you. Well, except for that one kid. He knows which one he is......Little bastard.....
Secondly, I would like to extend a heart-felt apology to all you precious sons-a-biatches out there. My recent posts. Waaaaaaay too fucking long lately. I know......I forgot......it's the age of short attention spans, and all......Once again, sorry about that. From here on out, ALL of my posts will contain violence, brief adult language, adult situations, nudity and a scene featuring drug use. In very terse, concise verbage.
Now if you all will excuse me, kill, fu*k, volunteering at a nursing home, look! to your left----TITS!!!, picture me getting stoned 15 minutes before writing this.
Never fuck a gift horse in the mouth,
Q-Dog
So I Just Saw
Kung-Fu Hustle last night, and I have to give my review.
THIS MOVIE KICKS ASSSSSSSSSS!!!!
You owe it to yourself for being such a fine person, to treat yourself to this uber-fun flick.
It get's the highest rating I can bestow...
Fjord-Stars!!
THIS MOVIE KICKS ASSSSSSSSSS!!!!
You owe it to yourself for being such a fine person, to treat yourself to this uber-fun flick.
It get's the highest rating I can bestow...
Fjord-Stars!!
So last Thursday, I'm sitting in my workstation, minding what has to be
my own Gjoddamn business (I mean, really, who else's business would I be minding?) when I heard them. Voices. And not your ordinary, run of the mill "Sweet fucking Mary, mother of mercy, what in the name of Tap Class are you doing with 40 hours of your life per week," kind of voices, either. These voices were attached to bodies. Tiny, growing bodies. One might even be inclined to call these bodies children. Indeed, last Thursday was "Bring your child to work" day. Or as I call it, "Bring your kid to work so that he/she can see the very cube-tombs wherein they'll live purgatory filled lives loaded with broken dreams" day. What's worse, if memory serves, I do believe I was as hungover as the homeless that day (hence, I didn't post about it that day) and in no mood for the noise being brought by these nosepickers, or "kids." "Fuck this," I remember myself saying to myself, "if these kids want a war, they've got a war." As I smeared greasepaint on my face, I muttered, "It's on. It's on like prom chiffon." At this point, I turned around and one of these kids was standing right there. She was selling Girl Scout cookies. Tag-a-longs. Nature's perfect cookie. I bought a box. She was cute......But it was still on, make no mistake......
One of these noisemakers set up base camp in the cube directly across from me. He was loud. Unbridled. You couldn't stop this little bastard, you could only hope to contain him. Like all kids, though, he slipped up. He revealed something about himself. "Big mistake, Chief," I silently found myself laughing to myself, "That's gonna cost you."
I grabbed my coat to walk out to lunch, but I made sure I walked passed Chief. Chief wasn't his name, or anything, at least not to his parents or anyone else who knew him. To me, however, he was Chief. Chief Didn'tSeeThisOneComing.
"So," I said trying to contain my excitement over how clever I am, "You like Batman, huh?"
"Yes," he replied as he looked at the floor and shuffled his feet. (Look who's all quiet and shy NOW)
"Well, what would you say if I told you I was personal friends with Batman and was gonna go to lunch with him today? Would you like me to get you an autograph?"
"YES!" he said, his eyes lighting up.
"Then it sounds like today's your lucky day, kid," I said, "I'll see you in an hour," and I strode out of the building.
After the agonizing hour passed, I walked back to my building, mustered up the saddest face I could and found my way back to my cloth-lined, short walled gravesite. As soon as I sat down, I sighed loud enough so that Chief could hear I had returned. Predictably, he raced right over.
"Did you get it? Did you get Batman's autograph?" he squealed.
I took a dramatic pause and looked square in Chief's eyes and said, "No, little buddy. No I didn't. You see, Batman never made it to lunch. He was killed fighting crime 45 minutes ago."
The kid wailed. Hard. Loud. Wailing. When his wailing reached a fevered pitch, I couldn't take it anymore. I said, "Leave it to a kid to be selfish enough to get upset over not getting an autograph. I mean, Batman's dead for Chrissakes and all you can think about is how you didn't get your precious autograph! Get out of my sight! You sicken me." I knew that his reason for crying wasn't because he didn't get the autograph. I knew he was crying because Batman had passed, but that wasn't the point. The point was, I wanted to give the appearance of his childish selfishness. Hey, anyone who's ever lived knows life is all about appearances.
Later, I gathered all the children in the conference room, shut off the lights and locked them in there. It was a game I called "Corporate Downsizing." I don't think they liked me much, but when asked by the police for statements, not one of them could say they hadn't learned anything. At the end of the day, isn't that all that matters?
One of these noisemakers set up base camp in the cube directly across from me. He was loud. Unbridled. You couldn't stop this little bastard, you could only hope to contain him. Like all kids, though, he slipped up. He revealed something about himself. "Big mistake, Chief," I silently found myself laughing to myself, "That's gonna cost you."
I grabbed my coat to walk out to lunch, but I made sure I walked passed Chief. Chief wasn't his name, or anything, at least not to his parents or anyone else who knew him. To me, however, he was Chief. Chief Didn'tSeeThisOneComing.
"So," I said trying to contain my excitement over how clever I am, "You like Batman, huh?"
"Yes," he replied as he looked at the floor and shuffled his feet. (Look who's all quiet and shy NOW)
"Well, what would you say if I told you I was personal friends with Batman and was gonna go to lunch with him today? Would you like me to get you an autograph?"
"YES!" he said, his eyes lighting up.
"Then it sounds like today's your lucky day, kid," I said, "I'll see you in an hour," and I strode out of the building.
After the agonizing hour passed, I walked back to my building, mustered up the saddest face I could and found my way back to my cloth-lined, short walled gravesite. As soon as I sat down, I sighed loud enough so that Chief could hear I had returned. Predictably, he raced right over.
"Did you get it? Did you get Batman's autograph?" he squealed.
I took a dramatic pause and looked square in Chief's eyes and said, "No, little buddy. No I didn't. You see, Batman never made it to lunch. He was killed fighting crime 45 minutes ago."
The kid wailed. Hard. Loud. Wailing. When his wailing reached a fevered pitch, I couldn't take it anymore. I said, "Leave it to a kid to be selfish enough to get upset over not getting an autograph. I mean, Batman's dead for Chrissakes and all you can think about is how you didn't get your precious autograph! Get out of my sight! You sicken me." I knew that his reason for crying wasn't because he didn't get the autograph. I knew he was crying because Batman had passed, but that wasn't the point. The point was, I wanted to give the appearance of his childish selfishness. Hey, anyone who's ever lived knows life is all about appearances.
Later, I gathered all the children in the conference room, shut off the lights and locked them in there. It was a game I called "Corporate Downsizing." I don't think they liked me much, but when asked by the police for statements, not one of them could say they hadn't learned anything. At the end of the day, isn't that all that matters?
Sunday, May 01, 2005
Nightlight
Across the street from the Casa Aloha is a Latin discoteque (it actually used to have a sign that read COOCHIE-COOCHIE SALSATEQUE but that's gone now.) Anyhoo, I have to admit, I like it being over there, cause there are some nights, when I wake up at 3 in the morning and feel like I'm the only person on the planet. Then I look out my window at the friendly neon lights, and the cars in the parking lot - and realize, if I wanted, I could just go across the street and there'd be people dancing in there.
Of course there's also the monthly shooting.
and the inevitable sirens.
and the L.A.P.D. chopper at two hundred feet making circles above my casa.
Up 'till recently, I'd considered this a minor nuisance -or amusement, depending on my mood. I guess maybe the one last night hit on some raw-overwoked nerves and I gots to wondering. There are plenty of enemies Fjord has made over the last 5 months. What if these shootings are not random (or premeditated) acts of gang/personal aggression, but actually attempts on my life?!!?
You would think that sooner or later the detectives would give me a knock and say "Mr. Tsunami, we believe there's been a concentrated effort to assassinate you." But of course, the cops would have been bought off before their operation was even put into action.
So today I went out and spent a small fortune on bulletproof windows, and kevlar wallpaper. An armored Casa Aloha is a happy Casa Aloha.
Of course there's also the monthly shooting.
and the inevitable sirens.
and the L.A.P.D. chopper at two hundred feet making circles above my casa.
Up 'till recently, I'd considered this a minor nuisance -or amusement, depending on my mood. I guess maybe the one last night hit on some raw-overwoked nerves and I gots to wondering. There are plenty of enemies Fjord has made over the last 5 months. What if these shootings are not random (or premeditated) acts of gang/personal aggression, but actually attempts on my life?!!?
You would think that sooner or later the detectives would give me a knock and say "Mr. Tsunami, we believe there's been a concentrated effort to assassinate you." But of course, the cops would have been bought off before their operation was even put into action.
So today I went out and spent a small fortune on bulletproof windows, and kevlar wallpaper. An armored Casa Aloha is a happy Casa Aloha.
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