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?!?!?!?!?!?