Okay, the stove's clean, the pans are washed, and the new poster is up. Perhaps I can duplicate the eaten post.
It goes something like this.
1) The goat is the oldest domesticated food animal.
2) The goat's young is called a kid.
3) The kid bleats out a cry that sounds a hell of a lot like a human offspring (kid)
4) "They" say you should play classical music for an unborn child, as it may make the child smarter.
5) Obviously an unborn child can process and comprehend sounds from outside the womb.
6) Since the goat has been with us since civilization started, obviously their sounds have been too. Which may have resulted in the vocal commonality between kids, and kids. (if you get my drift.) Anyone who's heard the goat bleating, and a human child crying, knows there is some commonality.
7) Now, (human) kids today haven't been around (goat) kids for decades, if not longer, so it's likely that somehow the impressions are passed down thru genetic memory, spiritually, or by some other way we don't quite yet understand.
8) Anyways, I was wondering what (human) kids might have sounded like, before we domesticated goats.
9) Evidence of bee domestication is first found some 5000 years ago in Egypt. (mummies anyone)
10) So what kind of impression have they (with their creepy insect society) have had on our development and evolution.
11) And who named them bees?
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Furious
I had a very clever post that I spent the last 2 hours on, and blogger ate it when I ran the spell check. Guess it serves me right for not saving it. If I get feisty later, I'll try and redo it. But at the moment, I'm just going to do a few things around the Casa, and try not to be furious.
Monday, May 29, 2006
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Holy Hell!!!!!
The train's gone down the track, and I dunno if it'll ever come back.
Your correspondent over at the West Coast Branch has been a little burned out as of late. I've been working like mad on the last draft of a script, been dealing with a mess of chaos down at the Fjord Corporate H.Q., and trying to keep the Casa Aloha Resort running at it's normal high level of efficiency. (and trying to have some sort of life watching sports, maintaining my skills at videogames, and occasionally stepping out on the town.)
It's not been easy.
At least the draft thing is done for now.
So, as a suitable reward, I'm going on vacation. I'll be in the great state of Oregon for the next few days (you might get a farewell post tomorrow if nothing loopy happens). Hopefully upon my return, there'll be a rejuvenate D.Tsunami, who can entertain you with his blogging prowess. (cause right now I'm just not that guy.)
Yers,
Tsunami
<- Where the magic happens...(click to enlarge!)
P.S.
Sometime in the next few/slightly more than few hours, we (your good pals at Fjord) are going to break the 10,000 unique visitors mark. I hope it's you.
Your correspondent over at the West Coast Branch has been a little burned out as of late. I've been working like mad on the last draft of a script, been dealing with a mess of chaos down at the Fjord Corporate H.Q., and trying to keep the Casa Aloha Resort running at it's normal high level of efficiency. (and trying to have some sort of life watching sports, maintaining my skills at videogames, and occasionally stepping out on the town.)
It's not been easy.
At least the draft thing is done for now.
So, as a suitable reward, I'm going on vacation. I'll be in the great state of Oregon for the next few days (you might get a farewell post tomorrow if nothing loopy happens). Hopefully upon my return, there'll be a rejuvenate D.Tsunami, who can entertain you with his blogging prowess. (cause right now I'm just not that guy.)
Yers,
Tsunami
<- Where the magic happens...(click to enlarge!)
P.S.
Sometime in the next few/slightly more than few hours, we (your good pals at Fjord) are going to break the 10,000 unique visitors mark. I hope it's you.
Friday, May 19, 2006
I don't know why...
But I'm starting to get excited. Only 48 more hits, and Fjord will have been visited by 10,000 human beings.
From a little DYI operation, that's a lot of humanids.
Thanks.
-Tsunami-
From a little DYI operation, that's a lot of humanids.
Thanks.
-Tsunami-
FADE IN:
It was late - so late that the day had begun hours ago, and morning was already foreshadowed on the sky outside the penthouse windows. The man was tall, and had slicked-back dark hair. He stood smoking over a silver ashtray looking out at the city. The woman was blond, and lounged on a huge leather couch. She took a sip from a martini glass resting on a coffee table in front of her.
They were both dressed to the nines, he in a tux, and she a rustling evening gown. They had just returned from a night of something, and each felt that particular buzzing energy that comes from a series of interesting social interactions. But in this more intimate setting, there was more happening between them besides a night on the town come-down.
The man snuffed out his cigarette, blew out a stream of smoke and turned from the window.
"You know what I think?"
"What." She replied listlessly as she kicked off her shoes.
"You've been fucking around in poor town."
"Why is it..." She answered in an unemotional statement, "That every time I'm with you, I feel....
bleah."
He walked slowly over to the coffee table in front of the couch, and kneeled with his arms outstretched.
"That's love baby!"
The television screen went dark. The room, went totally black as Tuesday spoke, setting the remote down on the edge of his chair.
"Who writes the dialogue for this crap?"
"Don't be too hard on the writers," Thursday replied, "They're like everyone else doing a job. Sometimes you do great, sometimes you just phone it in, it's a job after all."
Monday chimed in,
"Yeah, but most people don't have jobs that broadcast their work to eight-hundred-million people."
He's got a point." Said Wednesday, "I mean, when we do a crappy job, everyone knows. They feel it...and say to their friends, "Wednesday was awful." But we try, pretty damn hard, right?"
"Oh, like you've never phoned it in?" Asked Thursday. "Not once?"
"Well..."
"Yeah, well..." Thursday began, "There. You have, and I have, and Tuesday has, and Monday too. Sometimes you just can't give your all. Sometimes, you just do what you have to do - and no more. It doesn't make you bad, it doesn't make you evil, it just makes you mundane. Sometimes that's all we're capable of."
The door to the room opened, flooding the room with a huge rectangle of blinding exterior light. In the middle was a dark form that cast a black shadow through the rectangle of white.
Friday, (of course) stood in the open door and spoke,
"That's all we're capable of? Who the fuck knows what they're capable of?"
"I think we kinda' know."
Wednesday replied.
Friday reached over and flicked a light switch, which turned on a small lamp, illuminating the room.
"To quote, I mean paraphrase, I mean...mashup...J. Lennon," Friday began, "life is what happens to you while you're finding out what your capable of. Now get off your asses, and lets go."
Happy Friday
They were both dressed to the nines, he in a tux, and she a rustling evening gown. They had just returned from a night of something, and each felt that particular buzzing energy that comes from a series of interesting social interactions. But in this more intimate setting, there was more happening between them besides a night on the town come-down.
The man snuffed out his cigarette, blew out a stream of smoke and turned from the window.
"You know what I think?"
"What." She replied listlessly as she kicked off her shoes.
"You've been fucking around in poor town."
"Why is it..." She answered in an unemotional statement, "That every time I'm with you, I feel....
bleah."
He walked slowly over to the coffee table in front of the couch, and kneeled with his arms outstretched.
"That's love baby!"
The television screen went dark. The room, went totally black as Tuesday spoke, setting the remote down on the edge of his chair.
"Who writes the dialogue for this crap?"
"Don't be too hard on the writers," Thursday replied, "They're like everyone else doing a job. Sometimes you do great, sometimes you just phone it in, it's a job after all."
Monday chimed in,
"Yeah, but most people don't have jobs that broadcast their work to eight-hundred-million people."
He's got a point." Said Wednesday, "I mean, when we do a crappy job, everyone knows. They feel it...and say to their friends, "Wednesday was awful." But we try, pretty damn hard, right?"
"Oh, like you've never phoned it in?" Asked Thursday. "Not once?"
"Well..."
"Yeah, well..." Thursday began, "There. You have, and I have, and Tuesday has, and Monday too. Sometimes you just can't give your all. Sometimes, you just do what you have to do - and no more. It doesn't make you bad, it doesn't make you evil, it just makes you mundane. Sometimes that's all we're capable of."
The door to the room opened, flooding the room with a huge rectangle of blinding exterior light. In the middle was a dark form that cast a black shadow through the rectangle of white.
Friday, (of course) stood in the open door and spoke,
"That's all we're capable of? Who the fuck knows what they're capable of?"
"I think we kinda' know."
Wednesday replied.
Friday reached over and flicked a light switch, which turned on a small lamp, illuminating the room.
"To quote, I mean paraphrase, I mean...mashup...J. Lennon," Friday began, "life is what happens to you while you're finding out what your capable of. Now get off your asses, and lets go."
Happy Friday
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Do you believe?
It's been a while no?
Not that you astonishingly handsome/beautiful Fjordlings aren't constantly on my mind (cause you are all soooooo worthy of thinking/fantasizing about...but (as I've mentioned) I've been devoting a lot of keyboard energy towards another project that might possibly shift my world from a common resort owner/operator to something much more fantastic! However, there's quite a bit more...I'd like to explain.
I've spent the first 5 months of this year trying to convince myself that this year was going to be different.
The lines of my conversation with myself in the shower for the last few months would begin with something disparaging, then a suitable answer would emerge like..."Yeah, well that's all in the past man, -stop thinking about that shit - it's Twenty-oh-Six! This year, it's different, it's going to happen! Things are going to change, I can feel it."
Well, last year isn't 2 or 3 months ago, last year is super clear, it was LAST YEAR.
This year is already so far along that 2007 is on the horizon, and is starting to close in...at a hell-of-a-lot faster pace than I'd like. It doesn't mean I don't believe. It might feel like '06 is bringing the creep of suck, but I don't buy it. I'm convinced that '06 has a lot of good in store, a lot more than anyone expects. As proof, I have a page of potential post titles that read:
1) THE BEST THING EVER!
2) MY NAME IS BARCO -
3) THE CHRONICLER OF NEBERLUNG
I merely ask, how could you not look forward to that? We're in the belly of '06 - please, don't let it eat you up, - it's not even half way thru. (and if it it does, well, go here for some ideas about how to get out)
P.S.
Whatever this year throws your way,
I'm on your side.
-Tsunami-
Not that you astonishingly handsome/beautiful Fjordlings aren't constantly on my mind (cause you are all soooooo worthy of thinking/fantasizing about...but (as I've mentioned) I've been devoting a lot of keyboard energy towards another project that might possibly shift my world from a common resort owner/operator to something much more fantastic! However, there's quite a bit more...I'd like to explain.
I've spent the first 5 months of this year trying to convince myself that this year was going to be different.
The lines of my conversation with myself in the shower for the last few months would begin with something disparaging, then a suitable answer would emerge like..."Yeah, well that's all in the past man, -stop thinking about that shit - it's Twenty-oh-Six! This year, it's different, it's going to happen! Things are going to change, I can feel it."
Well, last year isn't 2 or 3 months ago, last year is super clear, it was LAST YEAR.
This year is already so far along that 2007 is on the horizon, and is starting to close in...at a hell-of-a-lot faster pace than I'd like. It doesn't mean I don't believe. It might feel like '06 is bringing the creep of suck, but I don't buy it. I'm convinced that '06 has a lot of good in store, a lot more than anyone expects. As proof, I have a page of potential post titles that read:
1) THE BEST THING EVER!
2) MY NAME IS BARCO -
3) THE CHRONICLER OF NEBERLUNG
I merely ask, how could you not look forward to that? We're in the belly of '06 - please, don't let it eat you up, - it's not even half way thru. (and if it it does, well, go here for some ideas about how to get out)
P.S.
Whatever this year throws your way,
I'm on your side.
-Tsunami-
Holy Smoke! A Full-Scale Cyber War!?!?
A master spammer has shut down an internet security company designed to defeat spam.
Blue Security CEO Eran Reshef told El Reg at the time. "My mistake was not anticipating he'd go berserk."
Blue reckons PharmaMaster hired a botnet to launch the assault. During an ICQ conversation, PharmaMaster told Blue Security that if he can't send spam, there will be no internet.
After the attack, Blue Security embarked on restoring its community-based anti-spam service to its members. But after working closely with its service providers and partners to help resolve the problems over the last two weeks, it has come to the conclusion that the risk of further attacks remains too great. Despite moving hosting providers and implementing security defences, Blue reckons it's unable to safely reintroduce its controversial service without exposing other members of the net community to potential attack.
"It's clear to us that [quitting] would be the only thing to prevent a full-scale cyber-war that we just don't have the authority to start," Reshef told washingtonpost.com. "Our users never signed up for this kind of thing."
Blue's decision to shut up shop is understandable but regrettable, because it represents a significant victory by a spammer in the fight to control the internet. In effect, PharmaMaster has succeeded in his main aim of getting Blue Security to dismantle.
Wasn't I just saying something about how it couldn't happen here? Eh, probly not...
Blue Security CEO Eran Reshef told El Reg at the time. "My mistake was not anticipating he'd go berserk."
Blue reckons PharmaMaster hired a botnet to launch the assault. During an ICQ conversation, PharmaMaster told Blue Security that if he can't send spam, there will be no internet.
After the attack, Blue Security embarked on restoring its community-based anti-spam service to its members. But after working closely with its service providers and partners to help resolve the problems over the last two weeks, it has come to the conclusion that the risk of further attacks remains too great. Despite moving hosting providers and implementing security defences, Blue reckons it's unable to safely reintroduce its controversial service without exposing other members of the net community to potential attack.
"It's clear to us that [quitting] would be the only thing to prevent a full-scale cyber-war that we just don't have the authority to start," Reshef told washingtonpost.com. "Our users never signed up for this kind of thing."
Blue's decision to shut up shop is understandable but regrettable, because it represents a significant victory by a spammer in the fight to control the internet. In effect, PharmaMaster has succeeded in his main aim of getting Blue Security to dismantle.
Wasn't I just saying something about how it couldn't happen here? Eh, probly not...
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
It doesn't amaze me anymore
That we still find stuff, just lying around - remnants of once powerful and grand civilizations. It amazes me that for the most part we live oblivious that it could happen "here." Well, I guess there are a whole lot of folks from New Orleans that might whack ya upside the head and say, "Open your fjucking eyes!"
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to clean up the Casa - it's nearly Summer!
Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to clean up the Casa - it's nearly Summer!
Monday, May 15, 2006
Once again I missed it.
Not all of it, fortunately...but nearly half.
What? You ask.
Why, May is Masturbation Month - of course!
And, now you're in the know too.
(unless you already knew...which would beg the question, what were you doing that was so important, that you couldn't tell us?)
What? You ask.
Why, May is Masturbation Month - of course!
And, now you're in the know too.
(unless you already knew...which would beg the question, what were you doing that was so important, that you couldn't tell us?)
Sunday, May 14, 2006
I want to stay out
But I can't. This one's too big. I'm broke until Monday, but then, I'm cutting a check to the EFF. It seems they're the only folks who are actually ON THIS STUFF.
Friday, May 12, 2006
Catastrophic Packaging Failure
Mr. Frog sat on his haunches on the bar table - where numerous drinks had spilled and left large ring-spots of moisture. He looked up at Wednesday, who glowered down at him. Actually, thought Mr. Frog, it might just seem like Wednesday was glowering at him, since he was absorbing liquor through his skin, he might be a little tipsy.
"So I realized," He croaked out more of his narrative, (I've edited out the beginning 'cause it's boooooring) "That it was horribly sad, that the most important and ambitious plan I had ever acted out in real life, was a miserable failure. In fact, it took me most of four years to even begin to pick up the pieces." He looked pathetic, after finishing his tale of woe, he lapped up a tongue-full of spilled Tanqueray and tonic.
The Fall played in the back on a jukebox. They were mixed in with a soft burble of conversation and the clinking of glasses the bartender was washing, to fill in the silence.
"Ahh, that's not so bad." Said Wednesday, wishing someone else was around he could talk to besides this drunk, sulking frog.
"So how'd you get the hump?" Mr. Frog asked, clearly the liquor had taken away all inhibitions, like common courtesy. "Were you born with it?"
Wednesday had a split second thought of his fist, moving like a swift hammer, smashing the frog, but it quickly passed. Wednesday would unleash his wrath on many creatures, but making a pile of goo out of a drunk frog would be more trouble than it was worth. The waitress would have to wipe the table, he'd have to get up and wash his hands.
"A catastrophic packaging failure." He said with a straight face, as if that would explain everything, and as far as he was concerned, it did. At that moment, the door to the dive swung open blinding everyone with the light from outside. Friday and his entourage of Weekdays walked in like...well, like a King and his entourage. Friday spied Wednesday holding down a booth, and shouted over the Fall.
"Two pitchers!" And pointed his index finger in a roundhouse point that stopped at Wednesday's table. Then they rolled over to the booth and flopped in.
"Hey Wed! Thanks for holding down the booth!" Said Friday happily.
"No problem." Wednesday replied back - faking it.
"So what are we going to do tonight Friday?" Asked Tuesday.
"This again..." Friday sighed. "Why is it...hey BEER!"
The waitress appeared holding two pitchers in her right hand, five glasses held in a pinch in her left, and set the pitchers down squarely on Mr. Frog, who was too drunk to even squeak a death cry. Wednesday smiled, and poured a glass.
"I got something." He said.
"What?!?" The others asked incredulously. Wednesday with an idea - when was the last time that happened?
"something I saw on the internets a couple of days ago." Wednesday said.
"What?" Asked Thursday, "Robots!?"
"Video Boobs!?" Shouted Monday.
A guy in the next booth leaned over, put his arm up on the edge and said,
"World of Warcraft?!"
"Nothing like that." Wednesday said, as he watched Thursday pick up a pitcher, and while he filled a glass, frog guts leaked off the bottom. "Tonight, let's live out of our imagination...not our history."
"That," said Friday, "sounds like exactly the plan we need."
Happy Friday
"So I realized," He croaked out more of his narrative, (I've edited out the beginning 'cause it's boooooring) "That it was horribly sad, that the most important and ambitious plan I had ever acted out in real life, was a miserable failure. In fact, it took me most of four years to even begin to pick up the pieces." He looked pathetic, after finishing his tale of woe, he lapped up a tongue-full of spilled Tanqueray and tonic.
The Fall played in the back on a jukebox. They were mixed in with a soft burble of conversation and the clinking of glasses the bartender was washing, to fill in the silence.
"Ahh, that's not so bad." Said Wednesday, wishing someone else was around he could talk to besides this drunk, sulking frog.
"So how'd you get the hump?" Mr. Frog asked, clearly the liquor had taken away all inhibitions, like common courtesy. "Were you born with it?"
Wednesday had a split second thought of his fist, moving like a swift hammer, smashing the frog, but it quickly passed. Wednesday would unleash his wrath on many creatures, but making a pile of goo out of a drunk frog would be more trouble than it was worth. The waitress would have to wipe the table, he'd have to get up and wash his hands.
"A catastrophic packaging failure." He said with a straight face, as if that would explain everything, and as far as he was concerned, it did. At that moment, the door to the dive swung open blinding everyone with the light from outside. Friday and his entourage of Weekdays walked in like...well, like a King and his entourage. Friday spied Wednesday holding down a booth, and shouted over the Fall.
"Two pitchers!" And pointed his index finger in a roundhouse point that stopped at Wednesday's table. Then they rolled over to the booth and flopped in.
"Hey Wed! Thanks for holding down the booth!" Said Friday happily.
"No problem." Wednesday replied back - faking it.
"So what are we going to do tonight Friday?" Asked Tuesday.
"This again..." Friday sighed. "Why is it...hey BEER!"
The waitress appeared holding two pitchers in her right hand, five glasses held in a pinch in her left, and set the pitchers down squarely on Mr. Frog, who was too drunk to even squeak a death cry. Wednesday smiled, and poured a glass.
"I got something." He said.
"What?!?" The others asked incredulously. Wednesday with an idea - when was the last time that happened?
"something I saw on the internets a couple of days ago." Wednesday said.
"What?" Asked Thursday, "Robots!?"
"Video Boobs!?" Shouted Monday.
A guy in the next booth leaned over, put his arm up on the edge and said,
"World of Warcraft?!"
"Nothing like that." Wednesday said, as he watched Thursday pick up a pitcher, and while he filled a glass, frog guts leaked off the bottom. "Tonight, let's live out of our imagination...not our history."
"That," said Friday, "sounds like exactly the plan we need."
Happy Friday
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Friday, May 05, 2006
No Sense At All
by Husker Du played out of a ghetto blaster that had a slice of duct tape holding the cassette door closed. It sat on the stonework that lead from the brownstone apartment stairs, down to the street. Various shady characters lounged on the steps in wife-beaters.
Friday sauntered by, in a white linen suit, followed by the Weekdays. It was one of those warm kinda' evenings - made for sauntering.
Monday said, "I've always loved the words "ghetto blaster."
Tuesday said, "Owning something is really only proximity to an object in space."
Wednesday said, "Elvis is King."
Thursday said, "My bank account always looks bad in April."
Friday finished, "It seems like weeks since I've heard an original line."
"We could all grow moustaches!" Says Wednesday hopefully.
"Or...we could have a bicept building competition!" Helps Monday, flexing his arm.
"Disguise-off?" Adds Tuesday.
"Why not just see who can bake the best pie..." Thursday adds snidely.
Friday turned around and barged through the Weekdays, and back down the street. At the stoop of the brownstone (the ghetto blaster was now playing Cellophane by Knapsack.) Friday spoke in a rich baritone to the shady stoop-dwellers.
"If I might ask, what are you doing tonight?"
One stood up, and fished out a switchblade from his pocket. He flicked the blade out, and held it near Friday's cheek.
"What's it to you man!" He said as defensively as a man with a threatening switchblade might possibly say it.
"I was just wondering." Said Friday. The weekdays, having turned and followed, stood aghast, afraid any action might actually endanger the life of the King of All Weekdays.
"Who told you - you could fucking wonder about us!"
"Nobody." Said Friday with calm and humility. "I'm just tired of hearing the same old thing, and wanted something new. I thought you might possibly have something along those lines."
The ghetto blaster began playing Lali Puna, and the shady guy with the switchblade relaxed a little.
"It's Cinco De Mayo, we're going to make margaritas, and drink 'em out of Atlas Mason jars." The shady guy realized he'd slipped into Friday's charm for a moment, and exclaimed, "So what's it to ya!?"
Friday responded evenly.
"If I got a mess of tequila, could we join you? Sounds like fun."
The shady character dropped the knife a bit, and made small quotation marks with his hands when he said,
"How much is a "mess?"
"How much do you want it to be." Said Friday, "A case? Four cases? A truck?"
The shady character looked back to his companions on the stoop. They shot unfathomable looks back at him.
"Yeah, okay...a truck's cool."
"All right then. Let's make that happen. Allow me to introduce myself...I'm Friday."
Happy Friday
Friday sauntered by, in a white linen suit, followed by the Weekdays. It was one of those warm kinda' evenings - made for sauntering.
Monday said, "I've always loved the words "ghetto blaster."
Tuesday said, "Owning something is really only proximity to an object in space."
Wednesday said, "Elvis is King."
Thursday said, "My bank account always looks bad in April."
Friday finished, "It seems like weeks since I've heard an original line."
"We could all grow moustaches!" Says Wednesday hopefully.
"Or...we could have a bicept building competition!" Helps Monday, flexing his arm.
"Disguise-off?" Adds Tuesday.
"Why not just see who can bake the best pie..." Thursday adds snidely.
Friday turned around and barged through the Weekdays, and back down the street. At the stoop of the brownstone (the ghetto blaster was now playing Cellophane by Knapsack.) Friday spoke in a rich baritone to the shady stoop-dwellers.
"If I might ask, what are you doing tonight?"
One stood up, and fished out a switchblade from his pocket. He flicked the blade out, and held it near Friday's cheek.
"What's it to you man!" He said as defensively as a man with a threatening switchblade might possibly say it.
"I was just wondering." Said Friday. The weekdays, having turned and followed, stood aghast, afraid any action might actually endanger the life of the King of All Weekdays.
"Who told you - you could fucking wonder about us!"
"Nobody." Said Friday with calm and humility. "I'm just tired of hearing the same old thing, and wanted something new. I thought you might possibly have something along those lines."
The ghetto blaster began playing Lali Puna, and the shady guy with the switchblade relaxed a little.
"It's Cinco De Mayo, we're going to make margaritas, and drink 'em out of Atlas Mason jars." The shady guy realized he'd slipped into Friday's charm for a moment, and exclaimed, "So what's it to ya!?"
Friday responded evenly.
"If I got a mess of tequila, could we join you? Sounds like fun."
The shady character dropped the knife a bit, and made small quotation marks with his hands when he said,
"How much is a "mess?"
"How much do you want it to be." Said Friday, "A case? Four cases? A truck?"
The shady character looked back to his companions on the stoop. They shot unfathomable looks back at him.
"Yeah, okay...a truck's cool."
"All right then. Let's make that happen. Allow me to introduce myself...I'm Friday."
Happy Friday
Thursday, May 04, 2006
deet...deet...deet deet...FJORDNEWS...deet...deet deet
This one's cause I really like you...
BUDAPEST (Reuters) - Hungarian builders who drank their way to the bottom of a huge barrel of rum while renovating a house got a nasty surprise when a pickled corpse tumbled out of the empty barrel, a police magazine website reported.
According to online magazine www.zsaru.hu, workers in Szeged in the south of Hungary tried to move the barrel after they had drained it, only to find it was surprisingly heavy and were shocked when the body of a naked man fell out.
The website said that the body of the man had been shipped back from Jamaica 20 years ago by his wife in the barrel of rum in order to avoid the cost and paperwork of an official return.
According to the website, workers said the rum in the 300-litre barrel had a "special taste" so they even decanted a few bottles of the liquor to take home.
The wife has since died and the man was buried in a proper grave.
Thanks to J. Nitro for the breaking news.
BUDAPEST (Reuters) - Hungarian builders who drank their way to the bottom of a huge barrel of rum while renovating a house got a nasty surprise when a pickled corpse tumbled out of the empty barrel, a police magazine website reported.
According to online magazine www.zsaru.hu, workers in Szeged in the south of Hungary tried to move the barrel after they had drained it, only to find it was surprisingly heavy and were shocked when the body of a naked man fell out.
The website said that the body of the man had been shipped back from Jamaica 20 years ago by his wife in the barrel of rum in order to avoid the cost and paperwork of an official return.
According to the website, workers said the rum in the 300-litre barrel had a "special taste" so they even decanted a few bottles of the liquor to take home.
The wife has since died and the man was buried in a proper grave.
Thanks to J. Nitro for the breaking news.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
I Chainsawed Frankenstein!
I have something written down on a piece of paper that I don't understand.
It's not that I don't understand my own handwriting, or get what the words say...it's just the context...I'm just not sure what I was shooting for. The words (on a small post-it note, which appears to be reasonably "fresh" - so it was written not so long ago) read simply,
"I chainsaw Frankenstein"
I'm not about to suggest that Frankenstein didn't have it coming - I mean, while the movies play him up as a misunderstood monster who just wants to be loved, or left alone, or...allowed in arm-wrestling tournaments - that's the movies.
In real life, if you were to turn around a corner and end up face-to-face with Frankenstein, he'd probably rip off your arms, and proceed to eat your children. He's an inhuman monster made up of cobbled together re-animated corpse-parts! He's not just inhuman, he's like...reheated-un-life. I bet he doesn't even like bunnies! Cute little bunnies.
So, faced with this unpleasant reality, I'm under the impression that coming face-to-face with Frankenstein, the most effective weapon might just be a chainsaw. Certainly a pistol wouldn't really help, an assault rifle might (if you're lucky) take off a leg before you ran out of ammo - giving you time to escape. I doubt an axe would be much use against him, since you'd have to get really close to use it, and he could certainly take a blow or two, before grabbing it out of your hands. Maybe, just maybe, a harpoon gun could affix Frankenstein to a handy nearby telephone pole, but it wouldn't stop him for long. But a chainsaw would do some serious damage if he tried to grab it out of your hands. Lop off a hand here, an arm there, and pretty soon, you've got yourself a (watch out for that slooooow kick - he's got hobnailed boots!) reasonably harmless Frankenstein that you can carve up at your leisure.
Well, all this speculation has opened up a few windows (for me) into my mentality for writing those words. And, at the moment my best bet is...
I was jealous of the title of the movie/book, "I shot Andy Warhol" Which is not only a great title, but an amazing boast. I mean, top that one? Not sure if I could. But, right after those words were spoken/bragged, someone said, "Yeah? I chainsawed Frankenstein."
Might be enough to make a crowd wonder, "what's a more dangerous foe to your mortal life, Andy Warhol or Frankenstein."
It's not that I don't understand my own handwriting, or get what the words say...it's just the context...I'm just not sure what I was shooting for. The words (on a small post-it note, which appears to be reasonably "fresh" - so it was written not so long ago) read simply,
"I chainsaw Frankenstein"
I'm not about to suggest that Frankenstein didn't have it coming - I mean, while the movies play him up as a misunderstood monster who just wants to be loved, or left alone, or...allowed in arm-wrestling tournaments - that's the movies.
In real life, if you were to turn around a corner and end up face-to-face with Frankenstein, he'd probably rip off your arms, and proceed to eat your children. He's an inhuman monster made up of cobbled together re-animated corpse-parts! He's not just inhuman, he's like...reheated-un-life. I bet he doesn't even like bunnies! Cute little bunnies.
So, faced with this unpleasant reality, I'm under the impression that coming face-to-face with Frankenstein, the most effective weapon might just be a chainsaw. Certainly a pistol wouldn't really help, an assault rifle might (if you're lucky) take off a leg before you ran out of ammo - giving you time to escape. I doubt an axe would be much use against him, since you'd have to get really close to use it, and he could certainly take a blow or two, before grabbing it out of your hands. Maybe, just maybe, a harpoon gun could affix Frankenstein to a handy nearby telephone pole, but it wouldn't stop him for long. But a chainsaw would do some serious damage if he tried to grab it out of your hands. Lop off a hand here, an arm there, and pretty soon, you've got yourself a (watch out for that slooooow kick - he's got hobnailed boots!) reasonably harmless Frankenstein that you can carve up at your leisure.
Well, all this speculation has opened up a few windows (for me) into my mentality for writing those words. And, at the moment my best bet is...
I was jealous of the title of the movie/book, "I shot Andy Warhol" Which is not only a great title, but an amazing boast. I mean, top that one? Not sure if I could. But, right after those words were spoken/bragged, someone said, "Yeah? I chainsawed Frankenstein."
Might be enough to make a crowd wonder, "what's a more dangerous foe to your mortal life, Andy Warhol or Frankenstein."
I've been thinking about pirates...
pillaging, raping, looting, killing...
Then this comes along
If you kill someone in the virtual world, in order to take his virtual money, which you then convert into real life money...are you a real criminal?
And if not, we should probably get on this...(there's a space station we can take over!)
Then this comes along
If you kill someone in the virtual world, in order to take his virtual money, which you then convert into real life money...are you a real criminal?
And if not, we should probably get on this...(there's a space station we can take over!)
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Dios Mio Man!
Once again Tsunami's ducking under the radar.
I'll try and bring you back something nice.
I'll try and bring you back something nice.
Monday, May 01, 2006
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