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!!

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.

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???

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.

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!!

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.

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.

Hi There!

Just skimming around the internets and found this

It's just nice to know there are people like this in the world.

That's better.

humph!

why does my blog...

show the infinite white void?

remember kids, when you look into the abyss, the abyss looks back at you...

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

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."

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...

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.

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.

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!

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.

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

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!!

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?

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.

GOOOOOOOD DAY TOOO YOOOOU

I waz just spending a little time over at gizmodo, and wanted to redirect your surfing attention there. There's a ton of techno-jargon that I don't understand, half the things will never make it to the market, and nearly all of it is out of my price-range. But that doesn't mean it's not fun to window[s] (tm) shop.

Home again home again, rigga-jig-jig!

If anybody can I.D. the movie where that phrase is from, I'll be impressed.

I've done a lot of living in the last two days, and have got enough material to last for a weeks worth of posts...so let's get started.

To preface this tale, I'd like to say that my moniker here at Fjord is NOT the name I walk around with during my normal business hours. Like any superhero-esque character, I have a secret identity, that I guard with numerous defenses in order to lead a reasonably normal life, when not writing hard-hitting reports for our little publication.

So, I show up in the casino, and after getting vaccumed at pi-gow, I meander over to the craps table. After playing a few rounds, I started becoming enmeshed with a particular croupier's banter. He was a non-stop stream of stories, advice, jokes and information. Everybody at the table called him "Doc." His best one was, "The less you bet-the more you loose when you win." Sound advice, my friendly Fjordlings, sound advice. The dice got passed over to me, and right off, out of the six shoved my way, I saw the two little red cubes I wanted to throw. They stood out from the others like they were lit with neon. I picked 'em up and proceeded to work the table.

Now to be honest, I've gambled quite a bit. I've lost a lot of money gambling, a lot more than I've won anyways. That doesn't mean I haven't had a few moments of stupendous personal victorious glory...but this passed all that.

I was telling this story the next day, and I stopped and double checked with the guy who was with me then, just to make sure I wasn't bragging too much. "Was it twenty minutes I was rolling, or was it thirty? 'Cause it felt like thirty." "No." He said, "It was thirty."

So anyways, after winning enough to make up my losses with super-duper conservative betting, and about 25 minutes in, "Doc" pushes the dice back over to me, and says, "You've got a really nice throwing style. It's smooth and easy. It reminds me of the Hawiians, it's so smooth and natural, you'd think they were throwing dice before they were walking." Of course I thanked him for the compliment, and then he said really loud, to the fifteen people around the table, "And this guy!" Looking at me, "He's hitting this table like a Tsunami!"

I smiled one of those secret, inside smiles, and thought, "Man, you don't know how right you are."

Hope you're all on a roll, cause it's the goddamn weekend.
Happy Friday.

Gettin' Krunk Up In Da Club We Like, "Oh, Oh"

Aren't we, Fjordlings? I mean, really. Aren't we? When we krunk up in da club, ain't we all like, "Oh, oh?" Gjod knows I am, and I think some, if not most, of you are too. We all like, "Oh, oh." Well, at least those of us 'round here who ride it slow. Or those who keep it tight, and they should know.....

Fjoks, what's going on in that paragraph above is the song that has been in my head since before 8am, this morning (I've also been prone to redundancy today, but that's a whoooole other post. Well, maybe not another post, but I would probably do well to save that redundancy story for another post). The song in question: "Oh" by Ciara, or as I like to call her, "Aaliyah Part II. This time it's aaaaaaall krunk." Don't get me wrong, I think the track is live as fuck, but it's after midnight now. It's time for da club that is my brain pan to close up for the night, you know? I mean, the ol' cells up in there that keep a song in your head for a torturous amount of time don't have to go home, but they can't leak endorphins here anymore tonight. Christ's Pecker Tracks, think about that you gjuys, that's over 16.5 hours with the same groove in your head! I don't give a fuck if a choir of Angels followed you around and whispered your favorite Classic Rock hits into your ears, in perfect Angel pitch, you would be tired of it after almost 17 hours........and probably a little creeped out......in that sort of "I think Michael Jackson's been licking my head," kind of way.......you know, harmlessly creepy....at first.....then it would turn into that, "Why is there always blood in my underpants after I spend a night at Michael's house," creepy. You know, that creepy you feel when you're 10 years old and it dawns on you that the King of Pop is fucking you. Come on, you guys! Don't be difficult here. You KNOW the kind of creepy I'm referring to......

Anyway, yeah, what a haunting song. I mean, not haunting, but definitely sort of following me around. Almost as if it's haunting me......

Hey Gang...

I'll be slipping away to Sin City for a couple of days...I'll fill you in when I get back!

OTHER APPROPRIATE MONDAY HEADLINES...

If it smells like a Monday,

Giant rare bloom gives off stench

The stench, likened by one visitor to "dirty nappies", attracts the insects needed to pollinate the flower.
(...)
It is renowned for its hideous smell which is said to be a cross between burnt sugar and rotting flesh.

And feels like a Monday...

There's this little nicety...

A fierce species of Amazonian ant has been seen building elaborate traps on which hapless prey are stretched like medieval torture victims, before being slowly hacked to pieces.

mmm...it's probably a monday
Welcome to the beginning of the last week of April.

Fjordnews...Fjordnews...Fjordnews...

What monday would be complete without your exploding toads?

Great Tower of Empties!

The weekend came and left like a gentle breeze leaving behind empty beer cans stacked in neat towers about the Casa. It's like...it's like they came from the metal rectum of a big robot. Just poop! There's one...poop! there's another. This must have gone on for hours! I was going to put them all into a huge tower, superglue it all together, then carry it out to set by the street as a monument to the weekend that all might enjoy.

Then I remembered, "of course, the wedding!"

I'll be off to Vegas this week to catch my girl's sister getting hitched...and they're gonna need cans!!!

Since I never been a part of this ritual (attaching cans to the back of the wedding ride) I started wondering how I was gonna get all the cans tied together. So I took all the cans, and stuck them in a big giant row. Behind that I made a big wall of sandbags.

Now if I can just get this harpoon gun lined up just right...

When was the last time

You read our amazing archives? I just skated thru the last two months, and we ain't yer normal blog. If you're tired of the future you inhabit, and sick of the past you just lived...then GO!

Hello Ladies and Gentlemen

I have removed my head from my computer today in order to congratulate every single one of you! Yesterday was the biggest Friday EVER here at the most fjriendliest Fjord in the universe! And it was also the biggest day of the month so far! And that means that you were all pretty bored at work or something. I dunno.

See, as much as I'm a junkie for seeing my words blasted into the media across humungus distances, I'm also a junkie for our hit counter...I'm sorry, I'm fucking vain. Like, for instance, we had three new readers last week that came from search engines looking for "Zombie + Pope" Now those are the kind of folks we're happy are finding our little corner of the universe, altho there's no reason to say that they'll be back. (I wonder what ever happened to the human that found us by searching WookieSex...I doubt they came back.)

So anyways, I look at the little graph that makes up weekly, monthly hits and whatnot, and watch the little spikes that happen (and they are little, for the most part we have a readership of 20-40 very loyal readers...and we love each and every one of you...very deeeeeply) and I wonder why on some days there are near 100 hits, and on others 30. It gets to be like predicting the weather...which, like many meteorologists...I'm very poor at. Like last week, seeing the traffic we were getting from Sunday to Tuesday was like watching a big wave begin to form. I thought, "This is going to be a big week" and whaddayaknow, it wasn't. It just slacked off. I guess that's what you get for trying to predict things.

But this Fjord medium is a totally random thing, and trying to predict what's going to appear next on our little page is about as precise as trying to predict our internet traffic patterns. Like this post...I was going to say how writing for Fjord is like fast food compared to what I've been working on for the last 9 hours...then I realized nobody is reading that. Then I thought, maybe I could mash up my love for the last Blink-182 record, the new Kelly Clarkson song, Benny Goodman's "Sing Sing Sing" and just about every Peggy Lee tune, and write that. And I thought, fuck, I'll just talk about the stupid hit counter.

So yeah, congratulations! You murder of readers of Fjord, you are on the cutting edge of what's going to happen next.

At Fjord!


(and btw...we've got big things planned...)

leo kottke!

plays harder and better than anyone you could think of...

don't talk just listen

A quick warning...

Okay, it's Friday and I don't want to waste a lot of your time. There's a lot of juicy new posts...and accordingly they have to do with earthday. (And Q-dawg has a dilly...you might just want to skip down a bit, and read that first!) This, doesn't. I just have to alert you to a wave of social conditioning that's happened without your awareness...or maybe it has! I dunno.

Look, cellphones are cool, nobody's discounting that (at least here at the West Coast Branch of Fjord) but this whole "separate mic and headphone" thing is just fucking dangerous as hell to normal civilians who by now (if you live in any sort of urban area) have developed senses to detect deranged and crazy people, and avoid them.

See the first time I saw some guy talking on a cell phone without using a phone at all, I thought he was crazy as fuck. I actually looked for someplace to escape to, just in case. Then I noticed he was dressed in a 700 dollar suit and had clean shoes. I looked closer and saw the wire hanging down, and realized what he was doing. Well, after a couple of years, I got used to people talking to themselves, realizing, they're not nuts...they're talking on the phone.

Today, I came face to face with how wrong it was. Instead of relying on 15 years of urban conditioning, I looked at the lady walking down the street talking to herself rather loudly. In an instant I picked up the condition of her clothes - no not a deranged lunatic, too well dressed for that - must be talking on the phone. Until she was within five feet, and I saw her eyes!

Holy fuck! Her brain was buried on Uranus 40,000 feet down! She was ranting about ice and washing machines and dust covers or whathefuckever. We met gazes and for a second, I thought, "Am I going to get in a close combat fist-a-cuffs fight-off with a ravenously insane woman?!?" Cause, I wasn't ready. Luckily she passed without incident. But I gotta warn you, that nutcase talking to themselves might just want to rip out your throat with their teeth. And you should be ready.

Ha-ppy Fri-day.

IT GETS BETTER

Earth Vaginaists, or "spelunkers" as they like to be called, have traveled farther into the warm naughty bits of our fair planet than any have traveled before!!

The nine-strong group travelled 2,080m (6,822ft) underground, passing the elusive 2,000m mark at Krubera, the world's deepest known cave.

Note: Up till now "the elusive 2,000m mark" is called "The "G" Spot" by Earth Vaginaists.

While nobody knows what the earth really feels when "spelunkers" touch and massage the insides of her mysterious passages, popular theory is, that the further down they go, the better it feels.

"Even now, we don't know whether we've reached the limit - or if it will go on. We're pretty sure we'll eventually go even lower," said Alexander Klimchouk, the veteran caver who organised the mission.

Haha! Veteran Caver! Whatever you want to call it pal!

Here, for more saucy details!

EARTHNEWS…FROM THE FJORD NEWSDESK…EARTHNEWS…

In a tangentially related development to the yardfucking celebration of Earthday, Russian mankinders are fucking the earth with a monumentally sized mechanical dildo!

“Well, we started back in the 70’s,” Says Boris “Vodka” Stoli, “since we had lots of cold war money around. The Politburo would never have agreed to a 40,000 foot long dildo, so we just called it a drill.” (note, scroll down a bit to see the artist rendition of the “tip” FHAP? I GUESS!)

As the dildo plunged down through the earth’s tasty outer crust, actual screams of pleasure were heard from the earth itself. (Of course making the rounds on the Christian websites, which have for eons wanted to deny the earth any fucking pleasure, have suggested an alternate theory …which should be discarded as complete fallacy - it’s Scientific Fact that the earth does have orgasms…but that’s another story)

“After twenty years we basically gave up doing it,” continued Stoli, “We were just worn out, and the equipment was beginning to fail. The earth said it was good for her too, but, it’s really hard to know if she was just being nice. I suppose we’ll have to take some comfort that it was the best she’s ever had - until someone comes along with a longer and thicker one."

HEY FJORDLINGS, IT'S EARTH DAY! WHO CARES?

Hey, it's no secret, we here at Fjord are not afraid to ask the tough questions. The burning questions. The questions that make grown men cry and little girls pee themselves, albeit just a little bit. Questions such as:

- Where in the name of Christ's Boy Band did I put my watch? Seriously, it's been missing for a few days now and it's most perplexing to me. Have you seen it?

- Do these pants make my cock look fat? No, not THOSE pants, these ones. The ones I'm wearing.....

- This is how I turned out, huh? Like this? For real? I mean, when I was a kid, had I known this was my fate, I woulda made some serious, drastic, whole scale changes, man. I mean, farts! Now I'm stuck with me like this. I mean, I spose I could change now, but look at me! Christ's Protoplasm, can't you see how exhausted I am?

Yes, these are the questions Fjord has the balls to ask. But today's question is not about whether or not I'll ever see that precious watch again, how ginormous my delicious (so I'm told) dick is, or how uncomfortable I am in my own Gjoddamn skin prison. Nope, todays question is about the Earth. More specifically, the day Earthlings set aside to think about the Earth. That question is:

DOES ANYBODY CARE ABOUT EARTH DAY?

I mean, really care? If so, what do you do? Do you celebrate it somehow? Do you buy the Earth flowers and a thoughtful card? Do you take the Earth out to dinner and a movie? Do you stare longingly into the Earth's eyes over a glass of Earth's favorite wine? Or, do you simply cut to the chase and fuck your backyard?

Whatever it is you do, Fjord wants to know about it. What do you do, if anything, to tell the Earth, "Hey, buddy, thanks for not sliding off your Axis and shit. You did some hella tight revolving this year. So good, in fact, we're practically willing to forget that whole Tsunami business."

This question is posed to anyone who's not a hippy. I don't address hippies. If you are a hippy, you should not be reading Blogs, you should be in the throes of a suicide that would even make your family say, "Well, it makes sense that Roger killed himself. I mean, he was a shit eating hippy." Really, if you are a hippy, kill yourself.

Everyone else feel free to answer!

All right damnit, I'll admit it. I'm sad.

"Why?" You ask, all the while thinking, "What could the worlds most prolific resort owner have to be sad about?" "What with," you continue thinking, "The fancy cars, steady income, free well drinks (tuesday thru wednesday) Southern California weather, and nightly floor show - could you possibly be sad about."

Well, I'll tell you what Fjordlings, I'm sad about parties. See there are two kinds of parties everyone dives in head-first for. One - the costume party. Whatever theme you might choose, even the most stupidly unprepared usually makes some kind of effort at the last minute. That usually makes for the kind of extra-fun effort people need to give, to immerse themselves in the party spirit. Two - the cocktail party, Where everyone gets dandied up in their finest nightwear for some sophisticated drinking. Even if the conversation doesn't live up to the billing, at least people look good.

Why is there such a shortage of these two simple and great themes out there? Surely it can't be that hard to say, "I'm going to throw a party!" And then say, "And the theme will be 19th Century cruise ships!" Or something along those lines. I swear, the next party I get to that's full of a bunch of yahoo's dressed in their Friday-night dive-bar-wear drinking Pabst from bottles is going to get a full on Supervillain D.Tsunami.

That's why I'm sad.

YOUR BETTERS...

Success is one of those subjective words that has little to do with the quality of life...but somehow has a way of sneaking in and (no matter what quality of life you have) fucking with everything you're happy with.

No matter how you splice life up, there are always going to be people who are heads and shoulders above you...no matter what. Better schools, better jobs, better cars, better wives/husbands, better houses, better friends, better jokes, better electronics, better knowledge, better social scene, better trust fund, better fastball, better blogs - whatthefuckever...you name it, someone's better.

Of course it's already happened, the system is in place...and the only recourse you have is to "try and keep up," by devoting yourself to whatever it is that you see someone has, and get as much of that as possible, but we all know it's a pretty futile task.

Somewhere along the lines, I came across a quote that made me feel good, just about any time I heard it, and in whatever socio-economic state I was in...

A stylish life is only worth living dangerously.

Obviously, we all want to have good lives, but on top of that, we all want to have STYLISH lives. And accordingly, the only thing a stylish life is worth, is living dangerously. There's something to that, methinks. Style will never get you a monetary (or any other kind of) reward, but if you have it and risk it...it transcends into something more valueable. Stylish Risk. Of course, on the tail end of the post-it note I have that particular phrase written down...Fjord Borg wrote in small neat printing:

The Better You Look
The More You See

The seemless integration of both of these phrases into daily life would defy nearly every definition our culture has of success...for everyone would think the person that had, was someone worth emulating, and the person that had would have far surpassed the realm of wanting anything but new and remarkable experiences.

Plus, it would make the world a way more fun place to live.

I've always felt

That women keeping things in their bras was WAAAAAAY underused. (really, did this go out of style in the 60's?? (come to think of it, I've also regretted the passing of the female "feinting spells" but that's a different story)) What could be more adorable - or sexy, than a female placing a small grab-able valuable next to the things we fellas most want to grab?

This is probably taking it to the "eeeww" level...

As I suspected, Tuesday is Popeday...

Thank Gjod that's overwith for the next 6 months! Now, back to better, less overplayed topics. Howabout this!

Motorist's nose broken by sausage

"I feel very sorry for him - it must have been an incredibly lucky or unlucky shot to get the sausage through a moving car window. I have never seen or heard of anything like this before."


Obviously someone has been practicing our Fjord Luckbuilding (tm) exercises!

The Great Snail Race is Over!!!

NEW POPE NEW POPE NEW POPE NEW POPE NEW POPE!!!!!

I'll Leave This to Dario

As he is Fjord's Vatican correspondant, but I just wanted to say one thing on the subject.....

DON'T YOU JUST LOVE THAT NEW POPE SMELL?!?!?!?!?!?

Monday is not Popeday

That's right kids. Those Cardinals got together and couldn't come up with the fella they wanted to be Pope. However, I do have it on good authority that the Cardinals were involved in a minor scuffle, that led to a full-on battle royale between the entire College of Cardinals! Of course you are aware, that upon becoming a Cardinal, God bestows mighty fighting prowess upon these mortals...and when those prowesses are turned against each other - titanic forces are at play. Apparently, after six hours, they called it a draw, and came up with how they're gonna choose tomorrow. SNAIL RACING!

That's right. Tonight in the dark stone of Vatican City, if you look close you might see a hunched over Cardinal searching for the snail, blessed by God, which will speed past all other snails put upon the earth by Satan, so that the owner of said snail, might then choose the next Bishop of Rome.

According to ancient tradition, a circle 64 furlongs in diameter shall be drawn on the floor. Then Cardinals shall place their snails upon a silver platter, covered with a crystal dome. Then the platter is walked to the center of the circle, and the lid removed. Accordingly, the snails might not cross the edge of the holy circle until days have passed. We will keep you posted!

Sunday: The Random Review

Well, folks, it looks like it's that time again. It's been awhile and that means I gotta post something. Yes, posting is very much like killing, suing and climbing. You gotta kill something. You gotta sue something. You gotta climb something. You gotta post something. Folks, you simply gotta do something. And, since you can't spell "ranDOm" without "DO," sometimes you gotta ranDOmize something and pray for the best. Pray for us all......

- The only good thing that came outta my time in prison, was my prison life concept album, entitled "Attitude Adjustment: Worth More Than Smokes." It featured such hits as "The I've Got The Sleep With My Mouth Open Blues," and "Ow, Stop Doing That Please."

- I don't look at it so much as "murder," I look at it more as one step closer to that sweet Editors' job at "Comtemporary Killing for Today's Mass Murderer" magazine.

- When two lesbians go on a date and they both pay, do they call it "going Butch?"

- When the gay guy was introduced to me, they told me his name was Richard. I didn't call him that, though. Yeah. Cuz I knew he preferred Dick.

- I'm gonna start calling my cock and balls "Moses & The Hebrewites." Cuz, believe you me, I have definitely been known to part the Red Sea with the end result being the freeing of my unmade peoples.

- I got a haircut yesterday. I got a comb-over. I just wanted to see what it would look like.

- How do you make a panda sad? Tell it Ling-Ling died.

- I was voted "Least Likely to Win a Gold Medal for Women's Gymnastics in the World Championships" in high school.

- Basically, 90% of a shoes' job is to sit there and wait for feet.

Well, you guys there it is, huh? I wasn't gonna publish it, but then I started looking at it the same way I look at pussy........Fuck it..........

Don't You Know We Know?

All you beautiful fjordlings, of the fairer (and most lovely) sex, let me tell you a secret. We know! We know! Our secret, is that we know, your secret!

That in the back of every Victoria's Secret (and every other lingerie-selling) store, there is a special hidden room where you lovely and curvaceous creatures don the most intimate apparel. We know, that there, cosmopolitans made with pricy vodka flow in an unending stream. And we also know that in your intimate apparel, and drunk to the point of giggling, you womenfolk fight each other with pillows!

I'm not suggesting you open those most secret and beautiful doors to just anyone...but there are some deserving members of your opposites who really need - nay must - see this strange, bizarre, and most sexy ritual...

I suggest inviting members of your local Fjord branch office. I think we've done enough to deserve it! Don't you???

Too Many Exclamation Points In the Last Few Headlines!!!!!!!!!

I have placed a moratorium on exclamation points on my titles from now on! There will only be one post title per week with exclamation points! I promise!!!

and now back to our regular programming...

The rest of the week kneels...finally subjugated after tormenting us for four days. (well, Thursday's usually pretty good...but sometimes...sometimes Thursday don't know his place.) The bastards finally got a taste of what's coming to them. "DIDN'T YOUR MOTHERS TELL YOU..." The King of All Weekdays shouts in a booming voice. Car alarms go off! Birds take to the air in panic! Even the skyscrapers tremble. Small Franklin Mint figurines fall off shelves. "TO PICK ON PEOPLE YOUR OWN SIZE!"

Of course, they did, but weekdays get a bit squirrelly when they're in charge. Now, we'll see if The Most Regal of Weekdays can teach 'em a lesson they won't forget. I don't have my hopes up for that tho. Mostly I have my hopes up for libations to flow fourth with great merriment, and numerous nymphs will be present. (or youknow, A present - whichever's good for me)

So...anyhoo, over here on the West Coast...yeah, that's right...the laggards of the entire continental United States time zone system, are the last people left minding the store. One by one you all have left, moving forward towards your date with weekend destiny. "Don't forget to turn off the lights...oh, and lock the door." You say, without even looking back.

We will, don't sweat it, and don't feel bad at all. We got your back. And besides, in another hour or two, we'll start up exactly where you did. Same Friday Time, Same Friday Channel - Eastern, Central, Mountain & Pacific. All Friday - Everywhere. 'Cept for at the dateline. It's Saturday there...lousy dateline.

Happy Friday...

It's Coming!!!

WORKERS AT THE VATICAN HAVE PUT UP A CHIMNEY WHICH WILL FIRST TELL THE WORLD THAT A NEW POPE HAS BEEN ELECTED.

The Whole Story is here.

The Chimney's Up!! The Chimney's Up!! Huzza for the CHIMNEY!! LONG LIVE THE CHIMNEY!!!

I'm starting to get excited.

Hey, is it just me, or is "chimney" a funny lookin word?

HOLY CRAP-N'-GOATS-N-SHIT!!!

Somewhere, someone was tapping into my bestest dreams!!! Oh man!!!...

*okay, just breathe*

ROBOT CAMEL JOCKEYS! ! !

Finally, a future I can look forward too - without the stupefying terror.

Taxing Day Is Near Upon Us!!!!

No time for posting Handsome Raccoon! It's time for number crunching the likes of which haven't been seen in these parts since...since the last Taxing Day! I can see behind his little bandit mask - in his eyes, HE wants to be the Tax Raccoon! "Write me a check!" He says, while devising ways to spend your hard earned clams...on, well, clams, and crayfish...and shiny trinkets!

Only Three More Days for you laggards, then the jackbooted army from the I.R.S. will swing their mighty billyclubs of justice on yer financial asses!

Speaking of clubs...on the plus side, I can hear the club-foot of the hunchback of the week sliding closer. That's right kids! Humpday is right around the corner...and after that - why, just a toboggan run off his mountainous shoulder, smack-dab into the mighty and unstoppable weekend.

What's Your Favorite Massacre?

Mine's Jonestown, by far........Yours?

In A Strange Twist

I just got a letter indicating that I've just been elected the new Pope! Can you believe it?!?!? Me? The new Pontiff?!?!?!? I mean, I only sent in the application as a lark, you know? I figured they'd do a background check and AT LEAST find out I was Lutheran! Not to mention the murder! Dear Gjod, all that murder! Ahhhh, the Church.....so gullible and devoid of a quality fact-checker.....Well, it's too late now, fuckers! I'm the Pope and there's nothing anybody can do about it. So, without further adieu, here's my plan as your latest Holy Envoy:

- Bridge the gap between Satan and Gjod. Hey, isn't it about time SOMEONE sat down with these two and tried to figure it out with them? I mean, they used to be boyz, you know? I'm not sure what in the name of Christ's Childhood House Pet all these other Popes have been doing about this, but clearly they've dropped the ball on this all-important issue. It starts with a little thing I like to call CONVERSATION.

- Develop and train a band of Holy Marauders that I'll call "The Questioners." While I'm not sure what they'll ask quite yet, rest assured, they'll make the Inquisition look like a mere Probe.......yeah, the good kind of probe.....

- Taco Tuesdays!

- Papal blow jobs from Hot Vatican Whores.

- Changing the name "Nuns" to "Hot Vatican Whores."

- Abortions for every baby.

- And finally, last but certainly not least, reminding everybody once and for all, that it's "Vati-CAN" not "Vati-CAN'T"

There you go, servants! Pretty awesome, huh? And all I'll ask in return for all this sweet, sweet reform is that you wake up every morning with the following prayer:

"Dear Great and Benevolent Gjod-Pope-Lord-Master Q, please allow me to live without the constant threat of a solid smiting today. I will live every moment as a monument to your Supremeness and pray that one day I may bask in the Absoluteness of your, you know, absolute Awesomeness and stuff. May the Vatican Whores shine their mouths upon you today and everyday. Your humble servant, (your name)"

Man, this is exciting for me! I'm gonna look at my election letter again real quick. Oh......oh, this is terrible.....shit......fuck......This letter doesn't say I've been ELECTED...it says I've been REJECTED.....farts!!

Oh well......who wants to be the stoopid Pope anyway.......

Monday is acceptable?

I stayed up waaaay too late last night reading a book called "Tales of the South Pacific" (a kooky fun book about various characters and their adventures on Islands during WWII) and I woke up at the crack of dawn, with the alarm clock ringing in my head. And right then and there, I decided, I'd call in late. And went back to bed. I only had an hour of extra sleep but Gjod did it make all the difference.

The weather was lovely, the traffic, not-so-bad, and nobody seemed to mind after I was there for 30 minutes. I'd like to suggest that sometime this week, all of you decide to show up late. It'll be an official International Community of Devoted Fjordlings Holiday Week! Sometime between the 11th of April, and the 15th is "Fjordlings Take Back the Weekday Morning Week!It's not a holiday, exactly, just a little movement to fight the tyranny of the alarm clock.

Humans: 4,739,652,047, Bugs:137,482 (and one restaurant)

It seems the bugs are definitely catching up...and using our own technology to do it. One wonders it they've made a pact with Al-Qaeda. Insidious little bastards!

They Come in Threes!

In all the Papal-media-orgazmic-frenzy (which was pretty arousing btw), we forgot to mention that Prince Rainier III of Monaco passed away. He's been the last in what seems to be a list of bigtime deaths in the news. Usually these come in threes, but here, we have a little problem. Seems as tho there are four bigtime celebrity deaths in the last little span...Let's find out who really doesn't belong.

Terry Schiavo -Braindead for 12 years...globally famous in the last 3 weeks of "life" for living through a feeding tube, and being turned into a political football by the conservative right wing. (altho her psychic powers have yet to have been challenged!)

Johnny Cochran...Probably the most famous lawyer of all time (really, name another lawyer, just try) - a powerful advocate for civil rights. Not to mention the kind of quote "the practice" had longed for, for it's entire run..."If it doesn't fit, you must acquit!"

The Pope John Paul II- Leader of the Catholic Church (with near 1-billion members) Credited with ending Communism in Poland, helping bring down the Iron Curtain, and an advocate of Human Rights across the globe.

Prince Rainier III - Longest reigning monarch in Europe, protector of the Principality of Monaco (of which France has had designs on for centuries...you know...those guys), and was married to one of the hottest uber-babes on the planet, ever, Grace Kelly.

- man, the jokes that I want to write here...Race, Pope-ing, Lawyer-ing, Star-Banging, Being bedridden for years...But yaknow, we're gonna have to kick out someone. -fuck, the jokes I want to write here, THE JOKES I WANT TO WRITE HERE...it's just not fair. It really isn't. I only want to offend only some of you, not all of you. Christ's Goatfuck....I just can't do it. In the end, I choose to offend no one.

I'll tell ya this tho, Johnny walked out with some fucking august company.

R.I.P. - alls ya all.

An Inspirational Message, From Yer Pals at Fjord

RENAULT -
Well I was right. You are a Sentimentalist.

RICK
Stay where you are. I don’t know what you’re talking about.
(Rick puts a cigarette in his mouth.)

RENAULT
What you did for Laszlo, and that fairy tale you invented to send Ilsa away with him. I know a little about women, my friend. She went, but she knew you were lying.

RICK
Anyway, thanks for helping me out.

RENAULT
I suppose you know this isn’t going to be pleasant for either of us. I’ll have to arrest you, of course.

-From Casablanca-

There’s been a buildup of shit lately. I know it’s happening. I sit here behind my computer in the Casa Aloha like a spider, sensing every tremble in every strand that makes up the world wide web, and I feel it…building up in the wires and tubes and cables and phones and routers and switches. It’s in the sewers (and probably in your intestines and colon, too) and in the gas-pipes to every stove on the planet. It’s building like congestion in the streets, and it’s in the electrical grid, and even in the airwaves - radio, teevee, cellphone conversations, and WiFi - information that passes in waves through your body (beyond, and right through the cellular level) every second of every day. It’s in all your relationships with every human being, and building up in your aspirations and dreams. It’s even in the fruit you eat because someone told you a while back, “Just eat better than you do.“ It’s a large- nay- global sized buildup of shit.

With all of that going on every second of every day, Fjord would like to pass on a simple statement that might just help. It’s a string of 10 small, but important words.

“We would like you to start having a good life.”

Tjoday's Tjop Stjory

So, I show up at the protest, ready to share my voice with the gathered throngs. All of us there to voice our displeasure over something. They've got their reasons for being there, I'm sure, although I wouldn't have a clue as to what in Christ's Acne Cream those reasons would be. You see, I've got my own agenda for being there. I'm there to protest them. That's right, I'm protesting protesting.

A solo cowboy in a stanky sea of hippie-crites, I stand among them, armed only with a sign that reads: "Take A Shower Not a Stand!" on one side and: "You're not making a difference, you're only making a lot of noise!" on the flipside. Once immersed deep inside their mass, I begin the chants:

"Down with chanting! Down with chanting!"

"1-2-3-4 Shouldn't You Really Be Home Right Now?"

And the most complicated chant of all (for seasoned anti-protesters only):

"When's the last time this sort of thing really worked? What, like, the 60's? Yeah, maybe the 60's. Christ, I mean think about that! The 60's were a long time ago! Now, the only thing the denizens of America care about is whether or not baseball players cheat, who the next "American Idol" "champion" is and if Brittany Spears is knocked up. Besides, nobody likes a hippie! Unless "hippie" is short for hippiepotamus. Everybody likes a good hippiepotamus.......They're very cute....you know.....ummm.......in their own way and shit......" (trail off and repeat)

Now, Dear Fjordlings, you're probably thinking to yourself, "Cowboy, or no, surely you must be worried about standing among those whom you mock." To that I say;

That's the last thing I'm worried about. What I most worried about is that you guys think I'm paranoid.........

More Proof that Machines Will Destroy Mankind!

Okay, it doesn't crush cars yet, it doesn't look like its got a functional weapons system, and I doubt that it will climb hills, and the download speed is un-Gjodly slow. But if you have five minutes while you're doin' laundry - the video tells the frikkin' story. (you won't need to install language packs...)

K.O.A.W. - or - Fjord: Helping You Get Lucky

Like clockwork, the big daddy of all weekdays has arrived. Irregardless of my theories that the global corporate hegemony plants extra hours, and (more insidiously) extra days in our workweeks in order to increase their profits and productivity, Friday shows his sunny face once again. This has been one of those weeks where I didn't know it was coming. I didn't hope for it, I didn't long for it, I didn't wish for it, and I didn't pine for it... I just got up every day without thinking about it.

Which is almost exactly how I feel about luck. Most of the time I don't think about it at all. Then one day, it'll pop into my head in various ways..."Man, I'm so lucky!" (rare-but cool) Or, more usually, "Where's the luck man? Jeezzus!" I might even quote the only reference to luck (I can recall) in the Warner Brothers Cartoons when Sylvester says, "If it wasn't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all."

Anyways, when I start thinking about luck, I always ponder how I'd like to be more lucky. (sure, who wouldn't?) Like, would I be any more lucky if I was born 35 seconds before I actually was? Well, it's possible that could actually make a difference! But hey, being born isn't exactly up to you, for the most part, being born is *ahem* up to chance. However, a while back I read about a pretty good study. A guy who decided to study luck.

Richard Wiesman has conducted research for a number of years, and came up with this...

My research eventually revealed that lucky people generate good fortune via four principles.

They are skilled at creating and noticing chance opportunities, make lucky decisions by listening to their intuition, create self-fulfilling prophesies via positive expectations, and adopt a resilient attitude that transforms bad luck into good.

...I Know I know, you're all saying, "Fuck Tsunami! Of Course Lucky People are Skilled at all that - BECAUSE THEY'RE LUCKY!"

Well kids, that is true, however, when Weisman took groups of people who were "Lucky" and others who were "unlucky" and had them run thru some "luck building experiments" he found...
One month later, the volunteers returned and described what had happened. The results were dramatic: 80% of people were now happier, more satisfied with their lives and, perhaps most important of all, luckier.

The lucky people had become even luckier and the unlucky had become lucky.

Pretty cool huh? And the funny bit is, the exercises are totally easy. You can start today!

Here are Professor Wiseman's four top tips for becoming lucky:

Listen to your gut instincts - they are normally right
Be open to new experiences and breaking your normal routine
Spend a few moments each day remembering things that went well
visualize yourself being lucky before an important meeting or telephone call. Luck is very often a self-fulfilling prophecy.

The whole article is here.

Anyways, lucky, unlucky - Happy Friday.

You thought you were having a bad day?

Okay, sorry, but you're not. This is just gross.

Happy Friday Blogger

Umm, blogger's been like a crazed mule - not going forward...not going backward, hopping up and down on one leg...eating a lot - so I've got a couple of things on back-order that hopefully will get up later today. Probly be after 6 on the westernmost coast of the North American landmass.

Lousy mule.

Just Another Day...

He stood at the top of the escalator shouting, “YOU SHALL NOT PASS! YOU SHALL NOT PASS! YOU SHALL NOT PASS!!!” After he stopped the first few with large arms and solid fists, the escalator began funneling more and more people towards him. There was nowhere else for them to go - trapped between the mass of humanity behind them, and vicious assaults from in front. The guy was overcome buy sheer numbers. After a bit, the crowd (and myself) did pass. I’ve spent more than a few nights wondering what he was really trying to stop.

Nothing earth-shattering today

You've probably noticed there are many renditions of states of being in drawing. Notably, a white robe and wings (with or without harps) for death, or an "X" over each eye when drunk. These make reasonable sense, I guess, but what's the background for being so destitute that instead of clothes, a person is shown wearing a barrel with two straps over the shoulder keeping it up? I haven't gone barrel shopping (or selling) in a while, but I figure at best, you could sell a barrel and get enough money to get a couple of outfits down at the Goodwill.

And now back to our regularly scheduled popecast...I mean broadcast.

Since there has been a LOT OF STUFF going on -over in the hot chickboot of Europe - my recent technocentric-paranoia has taken a back seat. But that doesn't mean I haven't been watching what those devious scientists are up to. This is exactly the kind of media smokescreen they need to release such groundbreaking news as...

US scientists say they can tell whether one person trusts another, by using a brain scan.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/4397269.stm

Or this...

US scientists have designed a bionic eye to allow blind people to see again.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/health/4411591.stm

Holy Goats! While the Pope is off in the big sleep, scientists are working overtime to create cyborgs and robot warriors and thought sensing (and no doubt controlling) devices. Clearly if there's one thing I've learned through years of watching techno-sci-fi movies, it's that Jeff Goldblum is my mortal enemy. Whether it's his snide voice, his "I know more than you at all times" characters, or just his super-agent's ability to get him into any and every mega-blockbuster movie in the last ten years...I just can't stand the guy.

Anyways - all loathing aside, with the Pope gone, scientists running amok, and the world on a collision course with destiny...isn't it about time for Goldblum to get up off the bench and SAVE US??!!

GASP! Terry Shaivo Killed the Pope!!

New evidence reveals that it's practically indisputable that Terry Shiavo, in a vain effort to attach herself to ANY feeding tube whether it was stuck in the Pope or not, actually could have quite possibly murdered your Pontiff!!

Actually, folks, I don't have any of what you would call "facts" to support this claim. Hell, I'll say it, I don't even have "truths," or "reliable sources" I can point you to on this one. What I do have, however, is a can-do attitude, a love for flimsy gossip and a keen eye for catching bullshit others may have missed. I like to call that bullshit "metaphorical evidence." Allow me to present my case.

Perhaps the Holy Envoy between Earthlings and Gjod just decided he had had enough of living in a world where the media, a government and a small bit of plastic tubing used to shove "food" into a dead mouth (Mmmmmm....dead mouth) was turned into a frenzy of UNREAL proportion. Yes, that's right. When put like that, you can hardly turn a blind eye to the "facts." Simply put, the Pope grew tired of leading a Flock of Idiots. This whole Shaivo ordeal pushed him to his Holy limits. In point of fact, it is my belief that the Pope's last wheeze of his Holy life sounded something like this, "Wheeze......there'll only......wheeze-cough-gasp.....be more Shaivo's, man. Wheeze-cough-hack.....fuck Earth, yo's! Hack-hack....I'm outty." Now, sure, I don't have any proof that the Pope actually wheezed this on his death bed, but I ask you, Dear Reader, do you have any proof he DIDN'T? Furthermore, doesn't that all sound like something the Pope would wheeze? The prosecution rests. Terry Shaivo killed Gjod's favorite earthbound minion. The metaphoric case to support posthumous involuntary manslaughter is undeniable......

Abstinence....Best......Religion....Ever......

Monday is a dirty sock you have to wear, because all your other socks are even more dirty.

I rarely ever get up on a Monday, and greet it like it was the first wrapped gift of the week. I just can't muster up that kind of positive reaction after beating up my snooze button, calling the alarm foul things, stubbing my toe on the chair I moved the night before, to replace the light bulb that burned out on the ceiling...

Today, my mantra whenever anybody ajsked me, "How was your weekend?" was,

"Lost the Lotto. Lost the Pope. Lost an hour."

I did see Sin City tho, and that was really cool. Beautiful sexy women, noir dialogue, and tons of ultra-violence. Pretty much like the every day life of a correspondent here at Fjord.

It was a funny juxtaposition from all the pageantry of Vatican City I watched on the teevee.
I decided it was a pretty big media spectacle, with a plotline that was not bad, and lots of good backstory...but it should have had more beautiful sexy women, and a little ultra-violence is always a crowd pleaser. I suppose that's why Sin City won the box office war, but I don't think the Vatican disclosed it's earnings.

M.P.J.D.

If anyone is in a jam, I have a great out for you. Now you'll only be able to use it for a limited time, so get good use out of it while you can. Ready for it? Well, here it is in one simple phrase... "My Pope Just Died." Big or small, this will get you out of anything.
For Instance, Let's just say you just plugged the toilet and all of your housemates are yelling at you. All you say is "My Pope Just Died." You are out of the jam. Now they would have to be some heartless demonic bastard cyborg programmed to be a real assface, not to let you slide a little for that.
Say it's a little heavier problem, like your boss comes to your workstation only to find that your are pissed up on Sparks, and there is a half-snorted line of pure Peruvian cocaine on your desk. What can you say to get out of that jam? "My Pope Just Died." Did somebody say promotion?
Now you're thinking, Hey Mindfuck, what if my problem is a little bigger. Like all of a sudden you get tapped on the shoulder by some man who says to you, "What in the hell are you doing with my bedridden, mentally handicapped, 15 year old daughter that involves you pants around your ankles?" And what is your response? That's right, "My Pope Just Died." All of a sudden you have yourself a trophy wife.
Here's the problem. I'm not Catholic. I'm Lutheran, and believe me, I've abused the piss out of "My Martin Luther Just Died." So folks, do what you will. Just keep that little "M.P.J.D." in your pocket.

Where the FFFFFFarmers Almanac is My Flippin' Hour?!?!?!?!?

Hey, Weekend! That's right, I'm talking to you! Where in the name of Gjod's Breath Mints is my hour?!?!? You know the one I'm talking about, too, you Rat Paw, Hour Robbin' Weekend, you! The hour that happened somewhere between when I went to bed last night (after seeing "Sin City" which was fucking awesome, FYI) and when I woke up this morning. I'm not sure which hour specifically, cuz I was fast asleep, but when I awoke this morning with my normal child-like, wide-eyed enthusiasm, ready to take on yet another installment of the vast experiment that is the "Life of Q," I couldn't help but notice that it was an hour later than it should have been. At least according to my time-telling calculations, which I have honed down into a handicap of about 10 minutes. Even if I am off by those 10 minutes, that makes 50-Gjoddamn minutes you owe me, Weekend!!! Judging from my collegue Dario's latest post, he could use the time, as well. Don't be a prick, either, Weekend. I know your schedule. You'll be back next week, the week after that, the week after that and so on. I'm a patient man, too. If I have to, I'll wait until fucking October to reclaim this hour. After that, though, the gloves come off, Bitch. If I haven't gotten my hour by then, I'll come looking for you and I know one way or another, you'll relent. I know this because I am human, and humans always win.

In the meantime, I'll just sit back and enjoy the longer days.........and the convenient "I forgot to change my clock" excuse to be an hour late to work tomorrow......

The morning after

The bar we call "Club Blackout" is always a dicey affair. I just had a call from my pal who wanted to play basketball. I looked at the number in my caller I.D. and just let it ring. I have about as much strength in me right now as the scorpion my grandfather caught, encased in plastic and turned into a paperweight. It's sitting on my table in front of me right now, doing exactly the same thing as it's done for the twenty-or-so odd years I've owned it. Nothin'.

It's been three months since I saw Q-dog in the flesh, and near five years since I caught sight of Mindfuck. Fjordborg lives practically next door, and wanted to go somewhere last night, instead of nothin', which was a good idea at the time, but you wouldn't want to be a bystander in the Casa Aloha vomitorium afterwards, trust me. But one of our pals was just back from a movie shoot in Cambodia, and I wanted to talk...I mean, how often do you get a first hand account of Cambodia?

And the rest of you...I've probably never met, but I am aware of your eyes, reading...and your hungry hungry brains thinking, not to mention plotting. All of this happens for free. Fjord -broadcast to any computer connected to anything, anywhere. We get readers from New Zealand, Korea, Europe and Alaska, and like anyone, I want more. I want Fjord on every cell phone, in every sidekick, on every television, and every billboard across the globe. And don't think it won't happen, we're pretty smart.

But on this little Sunday, they've closed down Hollywood Boulevard, (right outside the window) and are having a parade. I don't know why, but it's a small reminder that the real world goes on every day, and why I should spend less time with my head in a computer. I probably won't, but it's nice to have options. Oh yeah - fix your clocks, it's an hour earlier than yer used to.

Uninspired, So I Look to the Random......Wish Us All Luck!

Before the undercover cop was gonna walk away from me, he stopped and asked me why I was being so suspiciously secretive about drinking a Red Bull on the subway platform, considering Red Bull is not an illegal open container, I Said, "Because I know it LOOKS like an illegal open container and, perhaps ironically, I didn't wanna risk being harassed by an undercover cop." I then leaned in closer and whispered, "Cuz I got a lot of weed in my pocket." I forget what happened next, but man are my shoulder blades sore......

My vote for the most hilarious NCAA sporting event match-up: Dartmouth vs. Brown.

Is it just me, or are ALL the hot, retarded girls already taken?

When it comes to life, I have a real "It's us versus them and I wouldn't want to be them if I were us right now," mentality.

I'd be more apt to take communion in church if A.) I ever went to church, or B.) The Body of Christ came in three great flavors!

When you don't have health insurance, your two best friends are time and bread. Cuz there's sweet, sweet penicilin locked inside that mold.

I'm pretty glad I live on a planet that only has one moon.

Sometimes you gotta look fear in it's face and fuck it's mouth.

As humanids, we should never forget that the only thing that separates us from dirty, shit-flinging monkeys is reason......and a prehensile tail.......

I'd be lost without the distant future and my immediate past.

And lastly, (I know, too bad, right?) I feel that hate is worse than killing, because killing ends the hate......

Well, there it is. My post for the day. I'm not sure how. I'm even less sure why. Come to think of it, that's probably exactly how and why it ended up like this. Hope you enjoyed it.....or something.......sigh.....

Regarding the Next Pope...

The link from the post (from back in February) no longer has current odds on who the next Pope will be, so go here...

http://sports.bestbetting.com/specials/current-affairs/religion/who-will-be-the-next-pope
or here
http://www.kbtx.com/thebuzz/1313447.html

I'm sure you guys can find more if you need...

April 1

And no, I didn't get fooled. At least I don't think I did. Then again, I don't think anyone actually tried. Which I imagine is the upside to being very,very,very smart all year long. People get to April fools day, and just say "Fuckit, Tsunami's just too on-the-ball for us to get...Hey let's go prank Bob! He's stupid as shit!"

Of course, it's growing towards evening, traditionally the time of drunken outlandish times, and even moreso with it being the King of All Weekdays...so I'm still keeping my joke defenses on high alert. Which brings us to today's news...

THE POPE IS BARELY HANGING ON TO LIFE!

Altho you guys know my speculatin' on this whole Pope affair...But wouldn't this whole thing be one hell of an April Fools joke? Huh!?! Tomorrow John Paul II comes out to the window. "Hi guys! No I'm fine - just had a cold. But I really had you goin' didn't I! Suckered the world media too. You're all so gullible, why do you think the Devil gets so much action? Well, see you in church." And he'd laugh and laugh...

Happy Friday.

I guess I should repost this one...

seeings how the end seems near. However, I'd like to add two new categories for the New Pope Pool. RoboPope, and ZombiePope which shouldn't be discounted.

While I must say, I'm personally saddened by the Pontiff's deteriorating health, I'm getting pretty excited to see who's gonna walk away with that cool Pope hat!

(from 2/24/05)

(...lots of stuff cut out before we get to the heart of the matter...like most of my posts...)

Howabout a Pope Pool!

No You Sicko’s! Not a Pope death pool. A more sporting and positive pool, based on the values and good nature of those of us responsible for Fjord. Also, one based on the legal and traditional structure of the Catholic faith and Vatican Law! I mean, let’s bet on which cardinal will become the next Pope!!

Here’s a brief rundown
http://www.catholic-pages.com/pope/election.asp

the Cardinal Electors enter the Conclave to choose which of them will emerge as Holy Roman Pontiff. The Cardinals must take an oath when they first enter the Conclave that they will follow the rules set down by the Pope and that they will maintain absolute secrecy about the voting and deliberations. The penalty for disclosing anything about the conclave that must be kept secret is automatic excommunication.

So basically a bunch of Cardinals go in and vote for the next Pope.

Oooh, this part’s cool. ---
If a new Pope has been elected, the papers are burned with to give white smoke. Otherwise, they give off black smoke, so that the waiting crowds, and the world, know whether their new Holy Father will soon emerge from the Sistine Chapel.

Pretty Suspenseful! Anyways…

To be elected Pope, one Cardinal must receive more than two-thirds of the votes. Except that if 30 elections have taken place without any one Cardinal being elected Pope, then the Cardinals may then elect by simple majority. Once a Cardinal has received the required number of votes, the Dean of the College of Cardinals asks him if he accepts election and by what name he wishes to be called as Pope. On giving assent, the Cardinal immediately becomes Pontifex Maximus, the Holy Roman Pontiff.

COOL!!

So those are the rules! Now, here are the Cardinals (there’s like 183 of ‘em, and I don’t want to cover the next three screens with lists of potential Pontiffs…so hit the link and check those dudes out!) I’m sure you’ll find a couple you like…
http://www.catholic-pages.com/hierarchy/cardinals_list.asp

BTW – due to Vatican legaleeze, there are only 119 guys that actually can VOTE to see who becomes the next Pope!

TOTAL CARDINAL ELECTORS: 119

Okay, so here we have a huge field, and for those of us not familiar with Vatican politics (heh, like we know who YOU THREE are) just check out this handy website, that has all the major players, handicapped with odds!

http://www.online-betting-guide.co.uk/Next-Pope.htm

so pick your favorite horse, and ride him all the way to the top of the Vatican hierarchy! The winner will receive a Fjord prize pack (so far made up of a worn Dario Tsunami T-shirt, with some coffee stains on it…but it might get better) Besides, What exactly, are you doing that’s more important than this?