He Stood 14 Feet Tall

Which is really tall. In fact, if you've ever faced a basketball hoop poised 10 feet above the ground, you have an idea of tall. To dig into this analogy a little deeper, you might have played basketball during the course of your life, and if you had, you might have possibly seen (I'm just saying this because in a long and reasonably impressive streetball career, I've seen it once.) a human dunk a basketball. It's pretty awesome, and if you have any pride in your defensive skills, (if you're someone who I've mentioned, plays or played basketball) something you will try and prevent from happening again with stunning focus and concentration.

However, getting back to my point, a human who can dunk a basketball, is still a human who, jumping at the full powers of his or her exertion, ends up far below the shoulders of a 14 foot tall man. This man, I might add, also had the proportions of a greek-gjod, and if one were to attempt such an aggressive move as a basketball dunk against him, would find themselves bouncing off a chiseled chest, and (unless said person was also blessed with crazy acrobatic skills) falling to the asphalt court where numerous abrasions would occur on said offensive player's skin, even with the totally best of outcomes.

Nevertheless, this was never about a 14-foot-tall basketball player, or the game of basketball at all. It was just a small sample of perspective of what a 14 foot-tall man (chiseled like a Greek-Gjod) actually resembles, confjronting modern humanids.

The man himself, stood on an escalator. It took him up from a subway station, which - designed to give normal people a sense of grandiosity, carried his huge form much more easily than the subway, that had delivered him to the station in much less comfjort. He stood on the escalator blocking the whole conveyance, much to the consternation of commuter's behind him, who wanted to walk rapidly up the 78 feet that separated the station's platform and the street level above them.

There may be a way to politely tell a 14-foot man built like a Greek Gjod to move aside, but not one person, impatiently stacked behind him on the escalator found it. They waited wordlessly until he walked off the escalator, and unjammed the floodgates of humanity backed up behind. He walked a few paces, and found himself at a busy intersection where a motorcycle cop was busy giving a ticket to a businessman in a suit, who was making dramatic gestures to try and get out of it.

He didn't give the scene a second thought, but did wait for the green walking man to appear on the crosswalk light. He might be 14 feet-tall, but he didn't need a 300 dollar jay-walking ticket.

The light changed, and he strode across the large street in nine steps. On the other side, he ignored the stares of office drones, and looked up to see the name of the small brownstone hotel, well out-of-place in this area of sky-touching structures, where business worth billions of dollars passed in and out of computers and cubicles. It read (stenciled on awnings) "The Savoy." He moved towards the doors which were rapidly opened by a polite red-uniformed doorman. He ducked very low, from long practice.

Inside, he straightened back up. This building was from a time that appreciated grandiosity. He moved purposefully down the hall, oblivious to the startled reactions of people moving towards him, talking on cell phones, looking at papers, or merely carrying briefcases. They all noticed before it was too late, and like cats, (or rats, or cockroaches, or any other nimble pest) lept aside before they were crushed by legs that were the size of a human torso. His destination was far down the hall where a neon sign used red letters to alert anyone passing through the place with working eyes, "COCKTAILS."

He stooped mightily to make it under the entryway, but inside was again built (and possibly larger than) his unique physical specifications. The place was dark, and screwed with his vision, and he stood there adjusting, as his eyes barely made out a long bar, a few tables by curtained windows, and a few black pools on the left he guessed were booths. A familiar baritone voice called out over a Billie Holiday track.

"Chance! Chance! Over here!"

His eyes pulled in five figures sitting on stools at the bar. One waved happily. He moved towards them. As he approached, the various weekdays became more visible in the reflected light off the mirrored bar. Friday, the happily waving gentleman set a low-ball glass on the bar, stood up, and embraced the 14 foot-tall-man around his right leg.

"Hey man! Great to see you made it!" He said, looking up at Chance's massive face staring down at him. A huge right hand dropped on Friday's head, and rubbed it like he was a kid.

"I couldn't be happier you wanted to see me." Chance said evenly. Altho, to be said, as a 14 foot-tall man, the mere act of anyone trying to physically hug him, warmed his soul beyond words, and instantly made him forget the hassles he had to endure to get here.

"I know it's early," Friday explained as he slipped gracefully back to his cocktail, "But something important came up in conversation, and we needed your advice." He took a sip, and looked up at his large friend. "Say," Friday smoothly changed the subject, as the bartender appeared close by, eagerly looking over at the 6'0" 186 lb, early-morning bouncer, who was so far out of his league he had already moved his gaze over to the booths where a dangerous looking rock-a-billy couple ate eggs and sipped Bloody Mary's. "What'll ya have?"

The bartender pricked up his ears at this, realizing excellent service was going to be the way out of his establishment being destroyed by a monster. The monster spoke at both of them. "It's pretty early, I guess I'll just have six double Tanqueray-and-tonics." Then he pulled two empty stools together, and sat. Each of the stools made strange groaning sounds, the kind of sounds a regular person is not likely in their lifetime to hear from an inanimate stool. But the furniture did their job, and held the giant off the ground.

As the bartender lined up, and filled six glasses with ice, Tanqueray, and squirted tonic from his gun into all of them, the weekdays all chimed in.
Monday: "Hey Chance!"
Tuesday: "How ya doin'?"
Wednesday: "Nice threads, brotha'"
Thursday: "Good to see yas again."

The bartender slid drinks at the large man across the bar in two salvos of three glasses each. Chance's huge fist engulfed the first glass like it was a toy, and he emptied it's contents, grabbed another, and another, another,another, and finally the last, dropping the glasses down in succession before the befuddled bartender.

"Another round?" The bartender asked softly.
"Yes please." Chance replied, then turned his attention to Friday.
"Now then. I come all this way, and don't kid yourself, I enjoy an early morning cocktail as much as the next immortal being. But you absolutely insisted on having my advice A.S.A.P.! So, what's the hell is so gjoddang important it couldn't wait?"

Friday looks up at the sitting Chance, wonders if he should tell this 14 foot-tall being about the benefits of nose hair trimming, and quickly abandons the thought. Instead he plunges into the matter which summoned the one entity (that he could get ahold of at this early hour) that would know the answer to the statement that had been brought up a mere hour before.

"Chance look," He said, suavely, "We came up with this idea, and wanted to run it by you before we went off all half-cocked."

While he said this, Chance had already downed another two drinks, and was grabbing for a third. Before he tossed that one back, he offered an amused,
"Go on..."

Friday moved closer, taking a sip of his drink like a prop, and making a sweeping gesture across the gathered weekdays.
"We came up with a great idea...well, not so much an idea, as a suggestion." He stopped, watched the lime floating in his Tanqueray-and-tonic, and decided to begin again. "Actually, it's more of an idea."

"Mmm-hmmm:?" Chance said with a base-note that rumbled through the gathered weekday's chests.

"Okay look," Friday decided to plunge on... "We know there are wishes to be had in this world, it's been placed in literature enough to know that we can believe in them...right?"

"Okay," Chance dropped another low-ball into this vast mouth. "Go on..."

"So if that's the case, and someone stumbles across something, or someone, somewhere, who grants wishes, or even just a wish..." Friday pauses uncertainly, like he may have just realized the 14 foot-tall Chance might not be the person he should be asking this question too. He stops, takes another sip from his glass, and decides to finish it off anyways. "Could someone wish to never make a wrong decision ever again? I mean, that's a pretty fjucking cool wish! But, I want your take on it, I mean, is that within the rules of wishing?"

Chance leaned over, and rested his massive arm on the bar, giving the stools a good reason to make sounds that barstools should never make. He slipped another Tanqueray-and-tonic past his mouth and let out a sound from deep within his body.

"HMMMMM..." He mumbled. The Weekdays all were staring now, intent on his answer, and he knew it. Chance (like us all) isn't above a little showmanship.

"I can spot a few unforeseen blowbacks from such a request. But, I have to say, not only is it within the rules of wishing...but that is a very, very good wish.

Happy Friday.

Don't kid yerself, I'm well aware

That I'm posting now for like three loyal Fjordlings and twelve kooky Google searchers. [Which incidentally, and strangely, often leads me back to two-year old posts that make me very proud. It's truly amazing what three years of text on the internet can put Fjord up on the front page of a google search]

But this doesn't change the fact, that whenever I snipe something from whatever the fjuck I find on the internets during my long, long days at the Casa Aloha H.Q., that it isn't worth checking out! No Sir! No Madam! IT IS!

In fact, I feel my overlooked linkability skills are the envy of the internets. You should be so lucky to be here ready to click over to the next great thing that I've filtered from all the chaff that the internets spits in your face every day. But enough about me.

I stumbled upon a great internet radio station called Luxuria that's been pleasing me for three days now. Just thought you might like to know, if you, yaknow like feeling really good in a 60's Go-Go kinda' way.

Hell, I think there's enough time

For a quickie.

Instead of telling you a series of places I'd rather be right now, I'll tell you a series of places I'd rather not be.

1) Under the front wheel of a semi-truck carrying Wonder products.

2) Having dinner with the Bush family.

3) In the targeting scope of any U.S. Military vehicle with a mini-gun.

4) Digging thru trash cans for bottles.

5) Enduring eternal torment in Hell.

6) Standing in line for a Brett Ratner movie.

7) Fighting off Mummies.

I'm positive if I wanted to continue this list, I could...but since I'm nestled snugly into the Casa Aloha, I'll just leave you with this.

Please remember, we're all in this together.

4th Quarter, bitches!

Yea Fjordlings! It's true. Either you read the headline as a sports analogy, or as a comparison to the fiscal year. I suppose each has it's own thing going for it, but no matter what, we're dead-on running, nay, sprinting for our lives towards the last chunk of 2007.

So in that light, I give you this fine photograph I found under some random website which had a short blurb about the Maldives, which is a small archipelago far out in the Indian Ocean, (where coincidentally, the U.S. has a nice base for our bombers, in order to keep the Middle East under our protective strategic bomber umbrella. I'm sure they feel safer knowing we're there.) and doesn't it look lovely?!? Why the Casa Aloha could open up a branch resort in those parts, and this particular correspondent wouldn't mind the transfer one bit.

Well, with that said, I'll be taking a few days off so as to take care of the early 4th Quarter business that's fallen onto my plate.

So it's like that, huh?

"I'm sorry it's come to this..." the voice rasps, laden with danger.

The voice came from a handsome mouth, attached to a likewise handsome face, at least it would be if it's upper parts were not hidden behind a black mask. There were dangerously handsome eyes behind the mask, and they were dangerous because even with their handsomeness, they were pissed. The mask was made of a long piece of silk that matched the rest of the speaker's black clothing, including his black sombrero. In fact, the only thing that didn't match the ensemble, was the gleaming silver rapier blade, held in the right black-gloved hand. (author's aside - altho it didn't match it was a purrr-fect accessory) If one were passing by and happened to looked over, one might be inclined to say, "Hey! It's Zorro!"

The attire and threatening blade may have added to the danger-ladenness of the voice which spoke the words, but more than likely it was the tone (which would conservatively be called "icy") was enough to convey the fact that there was something very seriously wrong here. The other matter that might convey this, is where (or more appropriately, to whom) the words were directed. They were, in fact, directed towards a man in a fine, yet rumpled suit. The suit was rumpled, since the man himself (perspiring, and with a wilting moustache) was tied sitting down, to the trunk of a large Oak tree.

Perhaps the reason for the man's perspiration and wilting moustache was due to the icy tone of the words. Or perhaps they were caused by the gleaming rapier blade held by the Zorro-clad individual, which was making small circles about his nose. Maybe it was because behind the Zorro-clad man, stood four men attired in the fashion of desperadoes.

[Desperado - being defined at this moment - meaning only the worst possible meaning of the word. Broken and deformed noses, broken and missing teeth, bad breath, killer's eyes, bandoleers of ammo, filthy from travels, pistols, sweatstained sombreros...by their looks, not a-one of them hadn't raped a daughter in front of her hapless father, and not a-one hadn't knifed a mother in front of her helpless son.]

Or maybe it was because behind the tied-up man in the suit, was a saddled Bay horse running off towards the nearest mesa. It passed the corpse of a man in a uniform which from here might be described as reminiscent of the Mexican Army. Altho, to be honest, it could have been a uniform of any soldier in the 1800's, Mexican, Spanish, French, English, American - hell, who can really keep all those guys' uniforms straight? Well, irregardless, the Bay galloped past that corpse, and past another, and another, and then past a fine carriage, horses foaming with sweat and catching their breath thru flaring nostrils, still attached to the conveyance.

Behind that and scattered towards the horizon, a multitude of soldiers lay unmoving, each with hundreds of yards separating their final resting spots from their comrades. Between them, or even munching contentedly on the grasses next to them, were horses, riderless and masterless, wondering what to do. Two picked their heads up, and galloped hard to catch the Bay that seemed to have a good idea.

Yes, there had been a fight. A battle had raged across the plains, for hours at full gallop. If one had seen the opposing forces at the beginning, one would wonder why the uniformed force would not just turn and fight. If one would wonder that, one was clearly not aware of the force that the four men behind the Zorro-clad man could unleash. But I digress from my narrative - so let me start from the beginning.

Friday stood brandishing his rapier in small circles about the man's face. The face was attached to a body tied to a large Oak tree, with his legs stuck out onto the grassland. The voice rasps, laden with danger...

"I'm sorry it's come to this..."

The blade whistles down and up in a "U" shape, slicing off both sides of the wilting moustache. The man flinches back in horror, only to strike his head upon the rock hard trunk of the oak.

"I believe..." Friday continues in his Zorro garb, "That we entrusted you with the power of GOVERNMENT!"

He stands back for a moment, looking at his extremely dangerous Desperadoes. Thursday (flattened nose, eyepatch, and chipped tooth) hands him a hammered flask. Friday tips his head back, and has a long pull. In a flash, he spins, rapier slashing at the man tied to the tree -splitting open the crotch of his pants. A tiny trickle of blood spills from the cut. The man whimpers.

Friday pours the rest of the flask over the man, and sheathes his sword.

"C'mon, let's go." He says, and walks off. The others looking murder at the man, force themselves to turn and follow in Friday's wake.
"Hey Friday," Tuesday says, as they approach their gathered steeds, "After all that, why didja' let him off easy?"

Friday grabs the silver saddle-horn of his black stallion, and pulls himself astride the beast. He peers down on the gathered weekdays waiting for an answer to the question all of them were wondering.

"Off easy?" He smiles behind the mask. "Didn't you notice at the base of that Oak tree, was an anthill?"

Happy Friday.




There's venom in this one, and here's why. This was before our Great People's Congress this week.

1.) Habeas Restoration
2.) The Webb Amendment
3.) Cornyn's MoveOn Bill
4.) Feingold-Reid

Guess which one passed! Yeah, #3, "the Senate hates MoveOn.Org, I'm not even going to link to it, since it's right there. If you're in the government and reading this, you're tied to a tree under an anthill, and the ants are going to rise up and get their piece of flesh. So says Friday, me, and history will say that too. Until then, I bid those of you intrusted with the stewardship of my fine nation a heartfelt
"Fuck you, Dinks!"

-Tsunami-

Shoulda' Known...shoulda' known...

There are SALT MUMMIES!

HOLY CRAP! 803!!?!

Yea dear Fjordlings, we've reached another amazing milestone here at the WCB of Fjord, posting (as of this post) 803 little chunks of text. This has been an effort with a number of ups and downs, or ins and outs, side to sides...heck, it's just like this video! Watch, enjoy, and perhaps contemplate all the amazing things you did, while I was doing this.

Can't remember if I posted this

Back in the day. But even if I did, it's worth another gander. I mean with a sub-headline like this
"A Belgian man has been arrested after a dinner guest helping to clear up after the meal opened a freezer and found the bodies of the host's wife and stepson."

How can you resist? I couldn't.

Cleaning out the "inbox"

Summore stuff that appeared there...

'Battle dancing' kills Connecticut man
Associated Press
Last update: May 09, 2007 – 7:45 AM
NEW BRITAIN, Conn. — It's called "battle dancing'' and it's killed a man in Connecticut.
Police in New Britain say they were told Robert Stitt said he wanted to outdo a dance move another man had done by flipping in the air. The two were in a parking lot with a James Brown tune playing on the radio.

Stitt's friend says the 48-year-old man tried to do a forward flip, and landed on his head. According to police, Stitt went into cardiac arrest and was pronounced dead at a hospital.

Police say there were several people in the parking lot, drinking and playing the game in which people try to one-up each other with dance moves.

© 2007 Star Tribune. All rights reserved.

I'll say it again, sometimes the Universe conspires to please me.

I didn't miss this

I was just too lazy to do anything at the time.

Remember When You Though You Were Underpaid?

Yeah...you were.

Sadly this data is from TWO YEARS AGO! I'm sure using conservative estimates you're still getting the shaft. And Kenneth Lay still sleeps smugly in his grave. Wonder why that is...

Have we told you lately how much we love

Tintin? I guess we should have. Oh, and the answer is...a whole lot.

I dunno if I posted this before...

but it's for us pigmentally challenged.

The Snoop Dog translator.

And it's supa' fun.

Just a little global warming perspective

Lookie heeeere. A satellite photo of the amount of arctic ice, with a 28 year gap. 'Course global warming is a total myth...wait, what was that about those bears?

[eidtor's note] Why exactly, is this story under the "opinion" section? Here's the munny quote,
"All of Alaska’s bears would die out under this scenario – which is based on conservative climate assumptions."

By all means let's go with the conservative assumptions, since they've been totally spot on with all their other assumptions.

They say "history is written by the winners"

To that, I'd say

Meng, tonite I do not wanna do this...

And yet, I figger if I don't you're gonna be stuck with that last heavy post that I just can't, in good conscience leave up for a full day. So instead, I'll treat you to some mummy news I've been sitting of for a moment like this!

A mummy of an Inca girl, described as "perfect" by the archaeologists who found her in 1999, has gone on display for the first time in Argentina

discovered at a height of 6,700m (22,000ft) on Mount Llullaillaco, a volcano in north-west Argentina on the border with Chile. The mummy of la Doncella is on display in a chamber that is filled with cold air that recreates the sub-freezing conditions in which she was found.
Visitors told Argentine media they were impressed at the mummy's state of conservation.
"I'm amazed," one woman said. "You just expect her at any moment to get up and start talking."
Miguel Suarez from the Calchaquies valley tribes in and around Salta told the Associated Press news agency that the exhibit was "a great mistake"

"You'd just expect her at any moment to get up and start talking" !!??!!?? How about, at any moment to get up and start devouring SOULS!! These moronic people probably don't even have a flame thrower handy.

For Gjod's sake wake up to the fact that mummies are not scientific curiosities but the undead who are by nature, ready to feast on the humanid essence in order to empower their already powerful undead selves.

So, yeah, I'd like to second Miguel Suarez's comments and further ask, What The Fuck Are You Doing With A Perfectly Preserved Mummy!!??! Destroy the motherfuckin' thing before it destroys you and all of humanity! Gjoddang, how stupid are you dinks!???

So yeah, it's that day again.

Lemme' tells ya a little something, I read a lot of info-mation on the internets, and a lot of it happens to be news from around the world, and bloggy-deconstructions of actions from the U.S. National (and to a lesser extent State) governments. This is a place that I keep nearly all of that stuff out of, not because I don't understand it, (I gots me a Political Science degree from the University of Minnesota - don't ya know) and not because I think you wouldn't understand it. (cause I know yer as smart as you are attractive) I just figger there's a place for it, and it ain't here.

But I will say this today, of all days, you can't know what it means unless yer a New Yorker, or were one (or were in the Big Apple) when 9-11-2001 happened, you just can't know. No matter what you felt, through what you saw, or heard, or had to deal with that day, you just can't know.

My small powers of perception have allowed me to make this statement because whenever this subject comes up around a New Yorker, the conversation moves from a simple "what I saw made me feel ____" to suddenly dominated by the NYC's "You don't know shit because _____ is what I LIVED THRU!" And after you see the transformation that ripples through a person, you realize that the news and video and what-the-fuck-ever information you got from that situation has nothing to do with what someone who was there felt, watching innumerable masses of dust-stained workers from Manhattan trudge past their apartment windows. Watching the biggest landmark in their city disappear under a gargantuan cloud of smoke. Seeing posters of missing people go up in uncountable numbers all around them. Once you see this, you'll notice it wasn't so much the United States of America that was attacked, as New York, since, that's where it happened. (yeah, allright, there was also that Pentagon and P.A., thing - but pale sideshows to the main event.)

I'd be happy to tell you the most remarkable things about people coming together in L.A., - total strangers bonded by only by their ability to see their fellow American. Of strangely magical conversations I had with random people on the street that gave me faith in the goodness of my fellow Humanids. Of the odd proud feeling I got as a L.A.F.D. truck rolled down the street with a huge U.S. flag streaming behind. And of the stories I heard from nearly every one of my friends expressing the same things.

But out of all that, I at least now know this. No matter how they broadcast it to an audience, no matter what the politicians say, no matter how it was used to justify the gut-wrenchingly horrible response from the people who ran (and still run) U.S.of A., and no matter how they want to "honor" this day, of all days, they don't know.

They don't know because they weren't there. And until you sit down and talk to a few people who were, please, don't even try.

Hi Everybloody!

So lemme start off this post by sayin', I once watched a rugby game on the clable teleevision, and thought, "Holy craps this is cool." Then I asked a few people what the fjuck was goin' on here, and got a few answers, and then I thought, I'll just catch a few games and find out myself. Of course, a large number of months later, and I haven't seen anything. Until I find out thru the Beeb there's a World Cup of Rugby goin' on in Paris!

Sooo anyhoo, I gots me a temp-worker in the Casa Aloha H.Q. who's been a strange character to say the least, and today we gets to talking about sports, and after I mention there's a world cup of rugby goin' on he asks, "Have you ever seen the New Zealand team do their war dance?" And I'm all, "No, but I bet I could find it on youtube."

Anyways, I did. It's called the "haka" and it looks something like this.



So anyhoo, I gets to looking at the wide variety of youtube versions of their pre-game ritual, (and some are better than others, this seemed to capture the whole thing pretty well for folks just dialing in to Channel Fjord who, like me, know shit about rugby. But after watching more than a few, I kept on wondering, what kept the opposing squad from doing anything but standing there like rubes with your arms linked around your teammates' shoulders in some sort of pathetic solidarity, and just taking this kind of psychout shit!?

Then, after a few (or a lot, it's kinda all blended together) more looks I found New Zealand Vs the Tongans, which you should really see.



Anywise, happy gjoddamn and merry fuckin. It's Friday and it's finally cooled down in Los Angeleeze, and that's a lot to be happy about.

OH HOLY GJOD! I may have just stumbled on

One of the greatest things in the internets.

A catalog of Warner Brothers ACME products!

You should probably just go now.

More Linkey!

Interesting facts from history, over here.

Here's something for all you beautiful people

"If all else fails, immortality can always be assured by spectacular error."

- John Kenneth Galbraith

Run Amok Vs. Going Berserk

A great breakdown of crazy can be read over here.

It's tjrue Channel Fjord's now done two posts in a row

of things found at neatorama. But this is really cool. It's got salt, and sound, and some sciency things that I'll never want or try and understand. But what the hell, it's awesome. BTW there's some funky sounds that'll annoy your neighbors, so maybe turn it down a tad.


Salt Sound Waves - Watch today’s top amazing videos here

Not to alarm you or anything

But think of all the mummies that might be hiding in this photo.

Please click to embiggify.

Found at Neatorama, of course.

Those of you who know me

(and judging from the readership as of late, I imagine you all do) know I'm not that much into baseball. But this is totally worth reading.

Stupid Stupid Viewer, Don't You Know...???

That you arrive here wanting nothing, and expecting everything?? I can't, for the life of me, give you what you want. As much as I do (want to give you everything you want)...I can't. I totally can't. But I will give you this.



Then perhaps you'd enjoy this...