Deet...deet deet...deet deet...Fjordnews...deet deet...

Oh holy mother of all things that are great, this is HUGE!!!!

In fact, so huge you may wish to grab ahold of your socks, because if you haven't heard, this will surely knock them off your fjeets and across the room!

"Astonishing Tsunami!" You say, "But what are you even talking about?"

Well dear reader, the crack scijence team here at Fjord has found this amazing fact. NO LONGER IS THE SUN THE LARGEST OBJECT IN OUR SOLAR SYSTEM!!!!

Yea, the largest celestial body in our solar system is now this exploding comet! 17P/Holmes (or just Holmes to people familiar with the deets) is now even bigger than our own dear Sol, to which we owe so much! (photosynthesis, evaporation, day, hurricanes, skin cancer)

As a fully credentialed correspondent for the West Coast Branch of Fjord, I'd have to say, wait a few weeks and months before you shift your solar system allegiance! I for one, still have faith in our ever-present sun. Just because this interloper happens to be bigger than our own star, does not mean it's badder!

By this, I mean seriously, who's been there day in and day out? What's been there throughout your waking life and only occasionally obscured by clouds or the moon? Even then, you knew it was there, didn't you? Who's even seen this "Comet Holmes?" I sure haven't, but I'm gonna start looking! There might be a radar shadow, and behind it, might be a U.F.O., and we all know what happened the last time that happened!

Oh Yeah...

Here's something you should spend 10 minutes or so reading!

Bar Hopping Thru History!

Slack-it-ude!

Yeah...I dig, I'm just fooling around with the answers right now. Sofar, none that are too great. So here's a joke.

What's brown and sticky?

...

A stick!

Yeah!

830...

The high powered rocket-sled raced across the white expanse of the polar ice cap. Thrust from its propulsion threw up a huge rooster tail of snow and ice behind it, which was quickly caught by the raging arctic winds and scattered in all directions as a huge white fog. Inside the pressurized control module, the crew of the rocket-sled was working in near silence, with only quiet transmissions coming in or out from the radio operator - from his position in the back.

Captain Benjamin Homberbun sat in his command chair in the middle of the control module in a raised swivel chair, and he watched the rocket-sled's progress from a variety of screens tied to radars, GPS, and tactical relays from the unified battlefield system, through which the location of every unit of the Polar Defense Force could be plotted and moved for overwhelming battlefield advantage. At this moment however, Captain Homberbun stopped watching the unified battlefield system as two more icons representing other rocket-sleds vanished.

"This could only mean one thing," he knew, "That those rocket sleds had been utterly destroyed."

It should be noted that "rocket-sled" is a slight misnomer since it was really a titanic arctic fighting vehicle. It had twin hulls, like a catamaran, which were 400 feet long, and armored. Stretching between them was a huge platform 200 feet wide, where cannon turrets, racks of rockets, anti-missile and close in defense Gatling guns, missile launchers, (ground-to-air, ground-to-ground, and anti-ship) chemical lasers, microwave and sonic anti-personnel weapons were mounted, along with their targeting systems, radar, and communications arrays. Beneath that hung the armored and pressurized control module. Behind that was a larger module that held the rocket-sled's 500 Marine contingent, and their three attack hovercraft.

Captain Homberbun switched his gaze to the armored glass windscreen which revealed at the rocket-sled's speed, only white which they raced over, that encompassed everything towards the horizon, until it took on a noticeable curve. He placed his hands in front of him in a pyramid, and tapped them against his lips as he stared. The Radioman Brice interrupted with a quiet voice but laden with passion.

"Sir, The Glorious and Excelsior have been destroyed! The airstrike reports no negligible damage."

"What about the subs?" Homberbun asked.
"The Neptune has been out of contact for 42 minutes, and the Tompkins reports their targeting systems can't get a lock."

Homberbun looked again at the unified battlefield display, he saw a small blue dot with an icon of 132 next to it, move closer to the target (a large red dot).

"Ops." He said in a calm voice, "Identify 132."

His man at Operations Control, Jenkin's, sat to his right manning a number of screens and information systems, replied,
"132, attack hovercraft 3 of the Glorious."

"Switch to Ops screen of 132." Homberbun commanded. And it was done. Any eyes that could be spared from the control module watched the live video stream being broadcast from the Attack Hovercraft 132 onto two of the vid screens above them.

"I don't like it any more than you do..." Homberbun spoke, "but if it's taken out the Glorious and Excelsior, and the Neptune, I don't like the idea of what it's going to do to an attack hovercraft." Heads on the bridge echoed their agreement with his logical statement. And watched what unfolded before them on the screen. Which was something like this.

Attack Hovercraft 132 sped across the ice with some bouncing, and every time it hit a large chunk of ice or a massive dip, the screen shifted for an instant to static, but it came back every time. Then , over the horizon, a huge shape emerged. It was difficult to make out, since it was white, and the ice in front of the hovercraft was white as well. However, it became apparent after a few moments, that the head, which resembled a white fanged gorilla, was attached to a likewise white torso of a gigantic body. From their vantage point, watching the attack hovercraft 132's live feed, the crew of the rocket-sled saw the contrails of the hovercraft's missiles race away from the craft and streak across the sky towards the huge towering beast. At that moment, the twenty mounted 40mm rapid fire cannon on the hovercraft opened up. Tracers flew across the sky, marking every third round, and the tracers looked like lasers.

Then the missiles struck! Explosions blew flames and smoke from the torso of their target. It replied by raising it's left arm, a huge hand pointed at the camera, then it's white clawed fingers retracted as if on hinges, and from each, a missile fired. They raced straight towards the camera!

"Employ countermeasures!" Shouted Smith, the rocket-sled's pilot, at the screen.
"Bail out!" Yelled the radio operator from the back.
"Shit." Said Homberbun, quietly.

The tracers from the 40mm guns on the hovercraft changed targets, to try and knock down the missiles. Homberbun was the only on to notice at this time that where was just smoke and flame where the hovercraft missiles struck revealed metal and short-circuiting electronics. Then he watched what they all watched on the bridge of the rocket-sled. The 40mm guns firing like mad at the incoming fire. They nailed three before the remaining missile came in and blew the video feed into static.

"Place the unified battlefield system back on the monitors." Homberbun commanded, then asked, "How long until we reach the target?"

Jenkins hesitated for a moment, then replied,
"Four minutes sir."

He thought for a few split seconds, then made a command.
"Deploy Marines."
Smitty the weapons officer knew what Homberbun was asking and had enough balls to question the order.
"At this speed, they won't make the combat area for another 20 minutes! We'll need their swarming attack to at least distract this thing!"
"I know, said Homberbun, "But this thing destroyed two rocket-sleds with no negligible damage. I'm not leaving an armored contingent of 500 men to be destroyed in the hold of my ship! At least we saw that 132 did some damage, did we not! Deploy."

There were a number of beepings, and warning klaxons, and messages from the radio operator speaking quiet directions. Finally Jenkins finished the deal by speaking,
"Marines away."

Homberbun felt better. He knew the Marines would do what they could, and it went against all the handbook's rules by deploying them well before they could engage in the combat that was about to ocurr, but the idea of them being on his ship useless and being slaughtered before they could do anything they were capable of doing, made him sick.

Smitty, the Weapons Officer called him away from his feelings,
"Laser batteries one, two, three and four, ready Sir."
He snapped back,
"Missiles!"
"Batteries two and four ready, One and three report electrical malfunctions!" Smitty replied.
"Fire missiles!"

Unseen by the crew of the rocket-sled, four massive polaris-sized missiles shot straight up, into the sky into a parabolic curve that outraced their speed by many times the speed of sound.

"Missiles away." Said Smitty professionally.

Captain Homberbun put his hands back in a pyramid and tapped his fingers against his lips. He watched his missiles shoot across the unified battlefield system, and saw his rocket-sled leave the Marine hovercraft behind him, and wondered when he would have the beast's head over the horizon in order to fire the powerful chem-lasers that could lance through anything within the horizon. Then, for no reason, he had a strange memory.

It was back when he was in the surface Navy, running a guided missile cruiser, and he thought he'd enjoy some time meandering in Hong Kong. And meander he did. In fact, he didn't remember the place, but there was a moment when he leaned up against a bar somewhere, and ordered a drink. He had no more than two sips before a huge hunchback moved into the space next to him. This didn't bother him too much, but it was when the hunchback turned to him and asked something like,

"You look like a guy who's in need of a good time!"

In truth, he was. But that didn't change the fact that he knew the kind of good time he wanted was not going to be provided by a 8 foot hunchback. In fact, an 8 foot hunchback was the kind of being that was pushing away the kind of good time he was looking for. But pinned into the situation by intoxication and the fact that the only person who spoke English in the whole joint was this stupid hunchback, and no girl had rubbed herself against his Captain's uniform since he walked into the joint for the eight minutes he'd been there, he had to come back with an answer.

"Nothing personal, friend" Homberbun replied "But, I'm sceptical that you might provide the answer towards my good time."

"Hah!" The hunchback said, "This place ain't going to provide it, I assure you of that. However, I know of a place I'm sure you'll be swept away by."
"I doubt it." He replied.
"What's your name Captain?" The hunchback asked knowingly. The Captain couldn't stop it from slipping out of his mouth.
"Homberbun."
"Finish that, Captain, and we'll go straight away!"

Captain Homberbun indeed finished his drink, and went with the hunchback, following him down strange alleys and unsavory corridors, all the while wondering why he was doing such a thing, and trying to reassure himself that he was trained in personal combat and had very little to steal. However, he found himself completely disoriented looking for danger from every shadowy door that he didn't notice where he was.

He found himself stopped at an elevator bank which opened with a uniformed elevator operator, who asked,
"What floor sir?"
And the hunchback replied,
"47."

The operator made the motions to move the elevator, and the hunchback looked at him.

"I understand your trepidations, but I assure you, this will be exactly what you're looking for."

They rode up the next six seconds in total silence, then the doors opened to blasting house music, and a full-on raging party with all manner of debauchery happening. The huge hunchback put his huge arm around the Captain, and led him out of the elevator into the fray.

"There's one guy you've got to meet, then I've got some stuff to do!" He yelled into his ear, and even then it was barely understandable. The Hunchback led, or basically pushed him through the crowd, towards a staircase, up it, and into a reasonably quiet room.

Inside, there were a number of huge black leather chairs scattered pretty far from a large black lacquered table, and in one of those chairs was a man, not exactly surrounded by four women of various nationalities, and in various alluring costumes, but they were what might be called, "close." The man looked up as Homberbun and the hunchback entered. The hunchback spoke a few quick words.
"This is Captain Homberbun, I thought you'd might like to talk for a minute."
"Thanks Wednesday!" The man said in a strangely familiar baritone. Then the hunchback disappeared.

"So look." The man in the chair began. "I know you want to enjoy yourself at my party, and I would never delay you that endeavor."
"Thanks!" Said Homberbun, not really sure how to approach this social interaction so he feigned excitement.
"I have only one piece of advice for you, and you can clearly take it, or leave it."
Homberbun really didn't know how to respond to this. So he stood their in his Captain's uniform uncomfortably as a woman in an insanely tight fitting peacock dress got up from her chair, spread feathers out into a humongous fan behind her and proceeded to nibble on this man's ear.

"If you're ever in the spot, where you have to fight a giant Yetti Deathbot," The man said, beginning to get distracted by the peacock clad woman's tongue. "Make sure you remember that they put the control servers in the left knee."

"Thanks, I umm, I, really don't know..." Said Homberbun uncomfortably, and by the time that had escaped his lips, the man had given into the woman's actions, and instead of finishing his question, he turned, walked out, and had such a wonderful time it would haunt his memory of Hong Kong until his death.

His memory was interrupted by Smitty who shouted out,
"Missiles impact 5 seconds!"

He looked up, and realized the video feeds on his screens were in real time. A white head had appeared over the horizon, and contrails from the missiles had converged upon it. Then they exploded! Huge clouds of fire and smoke blasted from it, revealing a gargantuan skull of humongous proportions. It shot lasers from it's eyes!

"Hard left!" Homberbun commanded. The beams missed by a fraction of a meter, and dug though the ice cap, boiling the water beneath in a massive jet 500 feet high, that instantly froze behind the racing rocket sled.

"Smitty!" Captain Homberbun shouted, "Time till the left knee will be within range of direct weapons?!"

"48 Seconds! But what's that got to do with..."

"Target left knee with all batteries! Status of missile batteries one and three?!" Smitty answered,
"Ready to fire!"
"Change targeting of one and three to the left knee! Helm, adopt any evasive maneuvers you might think of. Radio, transmit to Marines, attack nothing but left knee! Weapons! Fire when ready!"

Homberbun leaned back in his chair with a sense of satisfaction. He knew he was doomed, but he had done everything he could. The rocket-sled moved in a series of jerks, missiles and lasers sped past them, or were destroyed by close-in and anti-rocket defenses. Then the full size of the giant robo-yetti deathbot came over the white icy horizon, and it was huge! Four times the size of the Empire State building, and eight times as wide...then Smitty shouted
"Missiles away!" Then the beast got larger and closer.

Another blast of it's laser eyes shot towards them, along with rockets and sonic weapons. His helmsman had performed a series of maneuvers that evaded all but four of the attacks, but the close in defenses destroyed the missiles that had remained. Finally, the icy white revealed the robo-yetti-deathbot's left knee. The rocket-sled unleashed it's full power, just as the overarching missiles slammed into the knee. The robo-yetti-deathbot stumbled, shot out another beam of death from it's eyes, then fell to the ice, and lay immobile, dead.

"Captain! Shouted Smitty, over the cheers of the bridge of the rocket-sled, "Thank you Sir! That was brilliant!"

"Don't thank me," Homberbun replied, "Thank Friday. He really came through this time."

Happy Friday.

So tonite, being Monday...

A day I don't usually post, I went thru a yoo-tube experience, and ended up with this. I'm putting this up because, it'll probly make yer whole week better.

It's time for...

WHAT'S BETTER!!!!

Oooh, we've got a coupla things that you need to compare. You'll know what's what, but it's still up to you to decide! If yer intra-net connection at wurk don't get yooo-tube, well, watch and judge at home!

Either, it's this...or it's this!

Crikey! It really could go either way...

hmmm...

perhaps this tasty snadwich? Gaze upon it's snadwichian gjoodness. With the layers of tasty meats, toppings of cheese filled with savory savory taste, and even crunchy lettuce? Why what could possibly add more savoriness to this snadwich? Mayo!?!? What a fantastic idea! Yes, by all means, lettuce add mayo! Hahaha - a pun to be sure, but a pun laden with flavor so potent, anyone who might enjoy a snadwich of this caliber would be happy to laugh. A laugh that would be filled with satisfaction! I agree. It is now one of the most savory snadwiches I have ever set my eyes upon. In fact, I might now go so far as to place a dill pickle spear next to it, just because a snadwich of this potency should not be placed on a plate by itself. I'd add chips of some kind, but what type of chip would do this snadwich justice? Corn? Ha! I spit on your corn! *Paaa-too-ey!* Potato? Phaa! Potato's are for poor Irish and small children in orphanages who ask, "Please sir, may I have another...potato?" Nay, the potato is would not suffice in any of it's myriad of forms, especially in "chip" form to do justice to this snadwich! If one could somehow combine the juiciness of a pineapple, the crunchiness of an apple, the consistency of a slow cooked rack of bar-b-que ribs, and the lean biting finish of a tanqueray and tonic, that might, be a chip worthy of this delicious snadwich. Enjoy!

What to doooo...?

Yes, that's the question tonite. What to doooo...?

Even Minor League Media Demons occasionaly are stumped, wondering what the next step will be. (Imagine a cat trying to cross a shallow stream, placing a paw here and there, but trying not to get it wet, even tho it needs to cross the shallow stream.)

At the moment, I'm considering why I'm totally over my favorite media format...which is interesting since one of my favorite quotes of all times is, "There is no art without the resistance of the medium." (Followed closely by "Beware of surprise!")

I'm worried that I'm starting to appreciate content more than the effort to create it, and I'm worried that I don't give a rats ass about any content whatsoever unless it's amazingly awesome. But, I still plough through at least 50 blog-posts of semi-interesting, yet meaningless content every day hoping for something impactful for my life, or at least conversation (and BTW the line "I saw this on the internet the other day..." is not an effective conversation tool, unless you have others, I'm just sayin'.)

And I'm also worried that while I was waiting to cross the street today the idea popped into my head that told me,
"Either you're thinking about writing, or you're writing"

Right now, I'm just thinking about it, at video, and audio, and all sorts of other ways that a webzine could be more interesting. If I come up with anything I'll letcha know. I promise.

Happy Friday.

A Normal Life

A while ago I had a friend who was the most far-out dude you could ever hope to know, and not expect an axe to the head while you were resting on the couch. A year or so later, he ended up becoming friends with my first collage roommate, who was the most straight-laced dude you ever met. (A friend of mine at the time remarked, "Man, he even hangs up his T-shirts!")

So I asked my friend one day, "Why do you like Steve?" (names have been changed to protect the innocent)

And he said, "Because he's the only truly normal person I know. I have to have some sort of baseline."

Earlier today, I had a conversation which brought up the concept of living a normal life, and on both sides there were some statements about how we had failed to transcend (at the moment) such a fate. But, I do feel (after a certain amount of wondering, and pondering, which brought up my previous remembrance) there is a baseline that is normal, and if you're reading this, you're nowhere near that baseline. If things in your world appear to have reached a plateau where you're tired of your life being normal, please remember, you're normal life would blow the fuck out of some "normal humanid's" perception of normal so far out of the water, that it would easily be called amazing.

Don't kid yerself. It would.

Now: some photos of a nice lookin' woman.

Drunk Elephants...

When I first saw this story, it was "six elephants electrocuted." Interesting, I thought, but no angle for me to cover, so I just let it be. Today, I find via this, THEY WERE IN FACT, DRUNK!

since it's yahoo, I'll post the juicy bits incase the story dissapears...

Shillong, Oct 23 (IANS) Six Asiatic wild elephants, including three calves, have died of electrocution after the herd, drunk on country liquor, dashed against a high-tension electric pole and came in contact with a live wire in a Meghalaya village...

During the past few months, herds of wild elephants have been wreaking havoc in several parts of Meghalaya and adjoining state of Assam, especially in villages where tribal people brew rice beer in large quantities,' noted elephant expert Kushal Konwar Sharma said...

'There have been several incidents of elephants drinking country liquor and then going berserk, at times plundering granaries and tearing apart huts, besides inflicting fatal attacks on human beings,' he added...

Beware of Surprise!

Apparently this was spoken by George Washington during the Revolutionary War to one of his generals. Good line.

A something to get the juices flowin'

Forgot how good this was.

So there's more yummy talk of

Fighting 'em there, so we don't have to fight them here.

I pass on the link to a reasonably non-Fjord related topic because of this line.

I used to watch Batman when I was a kid, and these piker bad guys would all be threatening to destroy Gotham. A mere city. And we in the audience were supposed to understand that this was bad because that means a lot of people dying. Now, our nation is ruled by people who like to threaten to destroy entire countries, just for kicks. Whole countries.

No shit.

I think that dialed it in quite nicely.

Couple of things

Hi there! You might be wondering what's happening at the Casa Aloha, what with all the brew-ha-ha about the fires and whatnot. Well, here's the view from the dude from the street. Everything's on fire! Yes, the streets are on fire, the dirt is on fire, the buildings are on fire, the ocean is on fire, and the sky is on fire. As you might imagine, that means everything in contact with those things...is on fire! Ooop, there go the sidewalks, and my dumpster! Awww, dang. I liked that dumpster.

Apart from that, it's also hot as fjuck, and at least 85-90 degreez right now (at near 6:10) which must have made it awful for firefighters, but pretty dang miserable for anyone who had to breathe the smoke flavored air to live...I hear there's not much that's going to change in the weather, and, well, there's like 18 separate fires being fought right now, and the Governator has called up 1800 National Guardsmen to help. (Sorry boys, but 1800 guardsmen ain't gonna do nothin' against this inferno (didn't I mention THE SKY IS ON FIRE!!!), 18,000 - maybe. I'm reasonably happy the rest of our boys is keepin me safe from terrorists in the Iraqi-lands, cuz, I been worried about that for 5 years.)

Anyhoo - there's about 20 miles of city that has to burn before it gets to your favorite virtual resort, so I think we'll ride this one out just fine. Oh, and flights are still on schedule at LAX, so it might be a great time to take that fall vacation!

-Tsunami-

Comparisons...

If the week was a scorpion, Friday would be its stinging tail.

"I walked past a supermarket today." Friday spoke. He was standing in a toga, and held a very large goblet of wine in his left hand, that he sloshed around as he began his tale. The other weekdays were scattered about in various stages of repose on what appeared to be a Grecian hillside. They also wore togas. "The double automatic doors for some reason remained open for longer than normal, and that's when I saw the wasp (or hornet, yellowjacket, or whatever flying insect it was) which was inquisitive about the cool air, or perhaps the smells of the groceries held within the store, and it flew in about a foot, then back to the threshold, then back in, then back out."

"Wasps built a nest in the wheel well of my car once," Tuesday said, "It was a very unpleasant scene whenever I needed to go somewhere."

"Quiet you!" Said Thursday, "There's more...I'm sure."

Friday took a moment to finish a large gulp from the goblet, and continued. "Indeed there is, for as I walked on, I didn't see the conclusion of the drama that was playing out before me. Would the wasp be on the inside when the doors closed? Since if this happened, it the chances of it ever seeing the outside again would be very very small. But if it were shut out of the place, would it linger about, still trying to investigate the contents of the store?"

"A common enough quandary." Monday said, "Will your curiosity lead you into a realm of satisfaction and fulfillment, or will it trap you in a prison which will become your tomb!"

"Exactly." Friday said with authority, then he had another drink. "But this example of literally the luck of this poor bug, versus the chance function or malfunction of an automatic door which would determine his fate, made me think of another comparison."

"How much longer..." Wednesday said, propping his hunchback up against a large stone, "is this lecture going to last?"

"Not much..." replied Friday, "We're almost out of wine." And immediately after speaking those words he emptied the rest of his goblet, and walked over to a wineskin, and drained the rest of it into the vessel. "You see I was wondering about finding meaning. And I thought to myself, it's fine if you want to find meaning in things. Hell you can superimpose it on almost everything - a rabbits foot? Why not. Photographs, sure. In accomplishments one might have made - of course. However, trying to find meaning in everything, the unifying force of meaning between and in all things...well, that's different."

Tuesday spoke softly. "How is that different, exactly?"

"Well, if one might devote themselves to such a thing, is there any point in living in the material world? The experiences here are not transcendental. They may be life changing, or they might be boring as hell, and they might be repetitive to the point of madness, but they are real." He paused for a moment, had another sip of wine, and looked off to the hilltops above them where the sunset had made them a jagged black edge across a deep violet sky. "To search for meaning in everything is to find it nowhere, and to find meaning in one small thing, is to find it everywhere."

Friday sat down and drank the rest of his wine to the various grumbles of discontented weekdays. Finally Monday spoke up, louder than the rest.
"Hey, whatever...let's hit up the Parthenon, restock the wine, and race hovercraft!"

Happy Friday.



[just wanted to say I wanted to start with the line "if the week was a scorpion then Friday would be its stinging tail." And somehow get to the line "To search for meaning in everything is to find it nowhere, and to find meaning in one small thing, is to find it everywhere" Not sure how it played out, but it got there.
P.S., totally saw that wasp thing tho, it was kinda spooky once I thought about it. Kinda hope he got out ok, but that's not really our world, is it.]

Once again...this time with feeling!

I found this in the cellar of my emailbox. I don't know which book it's from, who the author is, or what blog I sniped the excerpt from, but it's sheer written genius.


"It is sad," observed Grassfog, "that our friend here is dead, and we
have no wine."
"It is your custom," inquired Piro, "to become drunk when a friend
dies?"
"Not in the least," said Grassfog. "I was merely making an observation
about two conditions that are both true, and both regrettable."

Been a little light on the robot stuff as of late...

But you should probly read this.

How you doin?

Well, I hope it's as nice a place as the Casa Aloha, where the water tastes like wine. Of course, we don't drink much water here, but that's beside the point. The point is, there's been a major shift over at the resort, and I gotta tells ya, it's crazy nice to actually have good njews appear in spades. It's sooo nice, in fact, we might just be installing a revolving restaurant for your added pleasure. I don't know if it will be enough, but at least it's something.

There may be more, but yaknow, there might not. Either way, I'm positive you'll be fine.
And with that completely ambiguous crapola...here's some pop to make yas feel nice.




I wanted to find this, but the video was kinda crappy.
But instead I stumbled on this and decided it was too cool to not post.



Man, I'd hate to think that Garden State might have sullied the rep of that Frou Frou record, cause' it's pretty damn bueno. Ohh, and then there's this! A really solid record, if you might like that kinda' thing.

I guess there's not much left to do from there, but to go here.



And from there, the only logical segway leads us right here.



Happy Monday

P.S. - I updated this post, just cause it really turned out to be cooler this way.

-Tsunami-

Justa nice little image of something you might be a part of...

Or as I like to call it, "The Webmonster!"

(Click to embiggify)

Two posts down...

Sure enough...it's already coming into focus.

Altho, it appears I gots the weaponry wrong.

Please make your adjustments quickly - Fer Fjuck's sake...

IT'S GJODDANG KING TUT!!!!

Oooh...!!!

I ment to tell you about this!!!

But I forgot.

I hope it's not too late...

Hmm

There's a certain something in the air tonite. Actually, it's been in the air for a few days, and while I haven't been ignoring it, It's been there. Almost like...things are coming to a head, like confrontation is about to be what you should expect walking out your door every day. I'm not sure if I'm right (altho it's true we've seen me be wrong before...you know I hold my cards pretty close to the vest within the realms of Fjord.)

While this is a feeling, and nothing tangible, if you're one of the few people living in the U.S. that doesn't own a firearm, I'd recommend the outlay of unworthy U.S. dollars into one of these. Something solid, time-tested, and dependable might be the only thing you can rely on...if you're catching my very post-modern drift.

(The...I just found off a Holy Google Search: Buddhist Blog says this) "It has been reported that an Emergency Committee, chaired a senior general has been established to "forment trouble" in protest marches led by monks in various parts of the country.

The plan includes ordering soldiers and policemen to take off their uniforms, shave their heads and dress like monks, infiltrate the peace marches and forment trouble to break them up. The move is to pre-empt condemnation by the international community, which would be the case if the army moves in to forcibly attack the monks."

Yeah...if you can catch where I'm coming from, this sums it up rather nicely. If you can't, then clearly I'm just sayin', I wish those monks in Myanmar had some proven baseball bats.

Where I'm at.

Seriously?

I'm at first and goal from the 9 with a power fullback on my roster. Where you at?

Seriously, I don't know why I'm the guy who has to keep flogging this.

I don't know how long this link is gonna hang in there. So I'm gonna paste it...

"Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad invited President Bush to speak at an Iranian university if the American leader ever traveled to the Islamic Republic, state-run television reported Friday.
Ahmadinejad caused an uproar during his visit to New York this week when he spoke at Columbia University. He faced tough questioning and the university's president introduced him by saying Ahmadinejad exhibited "all the signs of a petty and cruel dictator."
"If their president plans to travel to Iran, we will allow him to make a speech" at a university, Ahmadinejad told state TV earlier this week before leaving New York to travel to South America. He was in New York to attend the United Nations General Assembly."

I can't (after five google searches...I suppose that's a can't, I do this for free yaknow.) find the official White House response. But I saw it on the internets a day or so ago, and it read something like this.

"We are not taking such an invitation seriously"

Well, here's another invitation he didn't take seriously.

Seriously, how bout a speech, Mr. President?

Curses!

I probably haven't mentioned my love of curses. The Stephen King movie "Thinner" is a good use of such a device, just for an example. In my daily wanderings I decided that to be a very potent curse, it must be something small enough to (at first) barely get under your (or better yet, your victim's) skin. Something they can laugh off, at first.
"THAT'S YOUR CURSE!?"

But then over time, it would grow more and more maddening, until it either drove you (or better yet, your victim) over the brink into madness. It was about this time I walked down a sidewalk that for a few weeks, had a small cloud of flies hovering over a particular section of it. By small I mean, 15 or 20 bugs in total, and all sort of hovering around in that way that flies do, not even a tangible "thing" as they'd part for any humanid walking through them. And that's where I got my idea for my curse.

Flies, would be what I'd call it, and it would be a small cloud of 20 flies buzzing around the victim's head. It obeys my one simple curse rule, to be small enough at first to be laughable.

However, it's potency would soon become apparent. Eating in restaurants is out. Eating at home is disgusting. Girlfriends are out. Keeping a job is out. Parties are out. Sleeping would be awful, not to mention waking up. How can you possibly be stoic enough to overcome the crazy-weird looks you'd get from everyone everywhere with a swarm of flies buzzing around your head. Not to mention the incessant sound of fly-wings in your ears that would slowly replace the sounds of humanity, as all the people you knew started to drift away, either from sheer pettiness, ("You hang around that dude with FLIES!?!") or from sheer disgust. ("Well, we had wine on the patio since I thought it'd be okay with his flies outside. But right as I had a sip from my glass, a fly dropped in the wine, and Oh My God I drank it! Never again I tells ya...never again.)

So that's my idea for a curse. Hope you liked it.

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.