Wow, Did Friday Actually Knock Me Into Tuesday?

Short answer: Yes.

Long Answer: I can't get into it right now, but DANG! He threw me a curveball at such astounding velocity it would make Dan Quisenberry jelous. (and it would)

Now, with that out off the way, I'm about to go deal with the Alcohol Control Board regarding a horrific injustice inflicted on Fjord Borg sometime in 2005, and then skootch up to the Great Northwest for a brief Labor Day break in labors.

So in some sort of Pavlovian reward I've got Chris Titus doing a little standup that'll be worth hearing.


Video is 7:27 long

Meanwhile, I found this at Thinkorthwim, of which I read three posts, and added to my favorites, then proceeded to read 22 pages in a row. Good stuffs over there. If I'm not back before the next post, have a great Holiday, and I'll see ya on the other side.

I wonder what Friday's doing tonite...

Maybe he's left for greener pastures. Maybe he's got some hot party info that will blow yer mind from all the residue that this week left stuck all over the insides of yer head like resin. Maybe he's on a intergalactic cruise that'll have cyber-ninja's, four-breasted alien broads, and rug devouring space-hamsters. Maybe he's decided to take up a nice villa in the South of France - yaknow, something with a waterwheel and an old crotchety guy who knows his grapes, and his vines. Maybe he's just kickin' back with a couple of tall cold ones, and figgers the world might be able to do without his particular brand of fun for tonite. Maybe he's dealing with Leprechauns and trying to get them to help the sitch-ee-ation in Iraq.

Maybee he's hangin' at your local tavern wonderin' where you're at. Maybe he's about to catch some mass-transportation and turn the gjoddang vehicle into a party-bus. Maybe he's milking goats, and trying to make cheese. Maybe he's got some plans for the upper levels of the talles building in the world. Maybe there's a race somewhere with high stakes on the line. Maybe he's in a duel to the death with some stupid fuck who doesn't know what's wjhat.

Maybe it's the kind of question a person shouldn't ask themselves. Maybe it's the kind of question that will never be answered correctly until you go out and try and find that most noble of all weekdays, and ask him yourself.

Sometimes the world does conspire to please

sometimes. Here are two tales about animals I know you're gonna love. One's about a camel. The other's about monkeys. I suspect that there might be something in my love of actual news that comes from the simple idea that, "no, you can't make this shit up."

Maybe it'd be 'cause you'd read this in fiction and think, no way.

Nothing? Nada? Really?

Well, that's okay, since I have more mummy news for yas. And speaking of, before I get to the good stuffs, I really would have thought in this day and age, that an image search for "Mumra fights Thundercats" would have come up with more than this.

So, I'll have to go back to more classic Fjord mummy artwork.

Because I missed this back in the day, but it has severe repercussions, along the lines of man's best friend being turned into a mummy and used against us. In fact there's a more serious problem we're facing. Mummy Lions!

After allz this time dealing with the most nefarious of all the undeads, (and by now I'm sure you'll agree I have some unique knowledge of these bastards) I sure as shit don't wanna have to fight against mummy lions.

The King of the Swamp People has not forgotten

Nope, no he hasn't.

O.K., so the Rugsian Press, I mean, the D.T. Press, I mean FJORD appears (and I really mean "appears") to be back in action

And there's nothing I can think of to make Monday roll than these guys.



Oh, hells ya mang, hells ya!

Now, the other thing that mesmerized me on the toobz

Holy Crap! Dr. McNinja is awesome.

I'm gonna say this just once...if this is not what the global interebweb-net-database was made for, all civilization has meant nothing. Nothing I tells ya! Nothing!

Ahhhh Crap crap crap crap crap! Crap!

No, this is not crap! But it's totally NSFW, unless you work by yourself and nobody monitors your internets content. But if you do, then go POST-HASTE! And if not, write yourself a note to go there when you get home! And then when you get home, don't just throw your note in a pile of junk you take out of your pockets or handbags on the coffee table, and throw it away when you're cleaning up trash that's piled up on your coffee table in three weeks. I'm saying check out this good shit!

Hey - did you do this!?!

Where I said to go over here, and look at this thing? Cause I just did again, and dang, I was right. Fuckin' incredible.

I hope to hell that this is as good as it looks.

Because, dang...

There was something about this

I thought was kinda cool.

MJ: You have your own publishing company, and you've put out other works from people like Nick Cave, but also a lot of your own stuff. Why did you get into writing, and what do you think your strongest skills are as a writer?

HR: I'm not a very good writer. I'm working at it. What I have is access. I go places. I can get in and out of places and come at it with my $3.50 an hour mindset. All my big heroes are literary, writers. I'd love to meet Jimmy Hendrix or John Coltrane, but I'd much rather meet Thomas Wolfe, or F. Scott Fitzgerald, or [Albert] Camus, or [Charles] Baudelaire, or what have you. Words and books have always meant a lot to me. That someone can take words and string them together to where they will move me is just a hell of a thing. It's amazing to me; more amazing to me than music or painting. It's always been the written word or the spoken word, like a great lecture or a great lyric, or a great poem. To me it's just amazing. And I always aspire toward capturing that, or my version of it.

Funny, I always thought the opposite...that the written word does not have the impact of music or video or mooovies. I'm happily entertaining the idea that I'm wrong on that. At least for the next two and a half minutes until I find something on yooootube.

Oh. here's something.

Whachoo lookin at?

Better yet, whatcha' drinkin?

Finally, some gjoddang mummy news!

I've been waiting!

This street art is probably going to fuck the hell out of blogger

But it's worth a shot.

Ahh, crap, it did.

So go over here, and look at this masterpiece. Make sure to blow it up! Kay?!?

Oh yeah...I wanted to throw this your way

If you might be fashionable inclined, which I think you are. Actually, I'm not sure if you are. Quite a while ago we put the interwebs on notice of how readers of Fjord were the most attractive of all blog readers, but it's been some time since then, and I, like you, are well aware that how hot you are has no relation to how great you dress. However, Shoutfit appears to be a networking site where you can show off your style. I haven't really explored it in depth, but it's worth a look. Lemme know what you think, kay?

Well, maybe a little tittilation wouldn't be a bad thing

So you might just click over here.

Well, this has been a weird week, no?

"So how long is it before it's too long without..." Tuesday's baritone began, but was interrupted by Wednesday, who said,
"What?"
"Without a change?" Tuesday finished, and reached forward to ash a chunk off his cigarette into a black plastic ashtray that sat on a large round table, surrounded by a red leather booth that held the assorted weekdays in a very dark bar.
"What kind of change?" Asked Monday, while Thursday and Friday worked to finish their coctails quickly enough to order before happy-hour was up.

"Like everything you've been in a rut over...I mean, how many times do you tell yourself you've got to change, before it's the time you actually do anything about it?"
"Seventeen!" Wednesday said.
"Thirty-Seven!" Monday chipped in.
"At least a hundred." Thursday spoke with a rasp from downing a lowball of scotch.

Friday leaned back and waved to the waitress who was obviously lurking in the background waiting for the move - the tavern they had chosen was dead except for two drunks leaning heavily on the bar about fifteen feet away. She walked up attired to get the maximum tip value from her 24 year-old body.
"It's not too late for another round before happy-hour ends?" Friday asked.
"Not for another 12 minutes." She said saucily.
"Then another round for us blokes." He said whirling his finger around in a circle. She moved off and Friday gave a gander at his assorted minions.

"A man can take what he's got to take...until he can't take it anymore." Friday spoke the words but began moving his head until he was speaking at a television mounted in the corner of the place, watching highlights of best sports plays of the day. "Then, when it's too much, he makes a change. I'd imagine it's the same for womenfolk, but I can't speak from experience on the last bit." He moved his thumb up to his mouth to bite at it's nail.

"So..." Wednesday began uncomfjortably, "how long is that, exactly?"
Friday watched a magnificent goal by the Panamanian National team with a crossing pass from the right wing, to a midfielder near the edge of the box, who made a tiny touch pass behind him to a midfielder, who lobbed a ball up for the forward who nailed a header back to the original passer who shot the ball well past the befuddled keeper, then turned back to the booth.

"Days, weeks, months, years...who the hell can say! The fates? Maybe it's not even up to them. One day you just wake up and decide enough's enough. People quit their jobs, they quit their relationships, they quit their dreams. Why? They just do. Nobody knows, except the person who's doing it. Why the hell are we talking about this?"

"I was just trying to make conversation." Tuesday said after a long pause. "Not trying to be confrontational. Jeesh." The body language of the gathered weekdays seemed to be in agreement with Tuesday's point rather than Friday's.

The waitress returned with a welcome distraction, setting down drinks leaning more than she should, her tank-top shirt hanging a tad loosely around her bust. She sauntered off well aware that her performance would gather at least a few looks at her other attractive assets, which it did.

"Sorry fellas," Friday said as he rolled a misty glass between his hands, "I've got a lot on my mind, and I'm afraid that question hits a little too close to home. Let's just enjoy this low-cost beverage, and prepare for a few more, at slightly exaggerated prices, and have a fucking nice night."

"Hear, hear!" Wednesday nearly shouted...and unlike most times when Wednesday does something like that, the other's raised their glasses and shook the bar with a resounding "HEAR HEAR!" The drunks at the bar even turned their heads to see what the commotion was.

Happy Friday!

This came up in conversation the other day.

And words do not do it justice.

First up...this

it's just too damn goofy. A little slow at first, but be patient, and have sound.

More Art History!

Part 2 of the Laska Movement!

Unbenumingly - the revolutionary piece by Fransis Laska was, as mentioned previously, was nearly unframable, and totally un-hangable, however, it did lead to the innovations in art that people rarely see. Taking headlines from sensational broadsheets from Paris, Laska combined stories as diverse as the Spanish American War, the recent patent of the rubber heeled shoe, and the exploits of Mademoiselle Bridgett Margot, who performed on Paris stages, and literally made news that would make Lohan and Paris jelous. (In fairness to Mademoiselle Margot, the broadsheets did use hype to sell their product, but taken in context, the story of her, the Duke of Burgundy, the Courtesan Chantell de Morazon, his Valet, and two goats, was a sensation that didn't subside until the collapse of the Rolando building which housed a department store, killing 35.)

Nevertheless, the piece combined words and printed images nearly in the mode of "sampling" in music, and created the line of text which read "Mademoiselle Bridget Margot takes the advances of all the Philippines and two goats in her mouth, while wearing rubber soled shoes which will provide traction in all kinds of weather." If this wasn't enough, the fresco which was applied in the upper right quadrant to the lower center, was a reproduction of a fresco found in a Pompeii whorehouse which depicted a woman orally pleasing a Satyar. Laska then used egg tempura over the fresco to place all weather shoes on the nymph, and added masked goats tied by a leash to her wrist. All in all a titillating and erotic picture.

Unfortunately, the temper of Fransis Laska had by the time it was displayed in three galleries, had driven the salons of Paris to discard Laska as a raving madman. Which, undoubtedly he was. Whatever the public reaction to his works, he didn't seem to mind. In fact, it appears he relished the idea of being an outsider and began staging reenactments of his piece with poor and too-long out of work actors and actresses, where he apparently, in spoken word form, added more outlandish strings of text. This became a huge sensation in the poorer areas of Paris, where heroin use was on the rise. While he never made the kind of money he had hoped for, Laska developed a following of the most undesirable kind. Yet, it appeared that being a king of the underclasses for Laska, was still a form of honor, and he began indulging further into the stranger tastes of drug use, which seemed to inspire a number of his circle, to begin the descent with him.

His seminal performance seems to be when he took his goat/satyar theme, and arranged a strap-on dildo to be fitted upon a goat, which was made to mount a man dressed in horns and the garb of a Satyar. Whereupon, in front of an audience of some 400 interested spectators, Laska proceeded to paint the scene, occasionally directing the Satyar, and the goat handler in more unique poses, ending with the Satyar sucking the goat's oversized and prosthetic fallus. Since Laska was also aware of newer forms of artistic medium, this was also captured on a large camera, and is the first known pornographic photo of bestiality.

This performance made Laska an untouchable in the respectable Parisian art world, but made him a cult hero in the circles that never claimed to have taste. He took this status, and while destroying his life, created works which would influence the next 100 years.

Next up...How Fransis Laska developed his movement, simply with three astounding pieces!

And now, some art history.

Part 1: The Laska Movement!

The Laska Movement was a subset of the impressionists, and never reached real prominence as they were frowned upon by the salons, and galleries, mostly through their own decadence, which led to small groups of Laska adherents trashing works of other notable artists. In fact the most notable occurrence was at an unveiling of a Monet, where a piece called "the whipperwill" which was reputed to be (through only eye-witnesses from the gallery unveiling) the finest work in his brief "burgundy period" which lasted April-October of 1892. About fifteen followers behind the noted Laska painter Brillheim Corveir, entered amongst the elite of the art world, and under the influence of some drug (the Laskas were known heroin users) proceeded to not only destroy The Whipperwill, but also a Cezanne, and unable to smash a sculpture by the famed Italian artisan Mirivar Alonzo, carried it off, and threw it in the Seine.

Fransis Laska was born in 1870 to wealthy vintners, and was sent to the Chateau de Vorn, nestled in the forests of Verdun, to study the fine arts. All indications were that Laska was a top notch talent, and by the time he left in 1886, he was already commanding thousands of Francs for his depictions of rustic settings, urban life, and violent seas. In fact in the cabin of Edward John Smith, the captain of the Titanic, the only hanging piece of art was the Laska oil called "Homeward" which dramatically captured the power of the seas, smashing upon an outcropping of rock, where a lighthouse stoically resisted. Nevertheless, once Laska gravitated to Paris, and while there was a buzz about this new talent which had arrived from the provinces, he quickly slipped from the polite society, and began experimenting with forms which never again caught the public eye. However, there were creations of note.

Laska's piece "Unbenumingly" was a revolutionary mixed medium piece which combined egg-tempura, fresco, and the first noted use of the sensational newsheets of Paris in collage form, which was remarkable for the juxtaposition of heavy and light materials, but was formed compositionally on a framed canvass, where the plaster of the fresco made the piece nearly impossible to frame (an unthinkable thing at the time) and no matter what steps were taken, seem to be totally impossible to hang in a level square. The few curators who would display the piece finally fixed the problem by setting it in an easel, but this infuriated Laska who took it as a slight by the displays - as if the piece was still in progress. Whether this was the case or not, it was the last time his work publicly would have any exposure.

Publicly - but wait till you hear about what this guy was doing! Stay tuned for part 2.

Hi Guys!

Well, I just got back from somewhere, and I'd like to say, fuck that last post! You should have been left with something astronomical like hovershoes, or lasers, or girls who are tied up and helpless (or for you fairer of the Fjordian sex, boys - hey we all know what we want, don't we?)

Anyways, hope the Universe is about to treat you real nice, and if it's not, you're about to blow the motherfucker up, since that's the last thing we - or it, would see coming.

I sniped the pic off'n Tbogg who's been on my interweb favorites for as long as I can remember.

Tuesday Happy