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About Me
Puzzled, not sure how this works, but one thing I am sure of is that I will never learn how to delete my first moronic comment.
This is a picture of a complete wanker.
Blog Posts
Griffonder the Bold Vs. Wombarth the Halfth
Wombarth the Halfth Watcheth Thee, declared the ubiquitous poster bearing the face of the Dark Lord of Evil and all Thyngs Profane and Harmfulle, plastered onto the gable end of the Hive of Scum and Villainy Tavern. Griffonder paused long enough to whip out a quill and draw a moustache onto the leering visage of the Emperor. For good luck he drew an arrow through his head too. There, that should do it. Griffonder ducked his remarkably attractive head and passed through the low doorway into the tavern beyond. The tavern was typical, it had a counter, some scattered low tables and a Place of Doleful Disposition for the annual public torture-fest. The barkeep and some few patrons were just finishing up the obligatory hourly prayer for the Emperor.
"... and keep safe always the Evil One who masters us, and keep Him Evil and Insane. Amen"
"He's not evil and insane, he's merely misguided and misunderstood" challenged Griffonder as he tossed a coin of the realm onto the greasy counter.
The barkeep gasped and paled visibly. "We don't want any trouble here, stranger. We are a loyal tavern. Ye'd be wanting the Vomiting Nun on the corner. We won't have any sedition spoken here, I'll call the City Guard!"
"Fret not womanly one, you may finish your knitting in peace. I'm only here to meet someone."
The barkeep relaxed somewhat, though anxiety was still written all over his face.
For a thousand years the Empire of Teoti had been ruled by evil and insane despots. Purposely, the people chose those who seemed least able to rule in order to prevent those who wanted to rule from having any power. Amazingly, this worked quite well (all things considered). The empire next door for example, the Realm of the Shining Light of Holiness was always filled with the moans of the tortured, and the sullen silence of the oppressed, and the cheerful crackle of burning heretics. Tens of thousands were roasted alive each year for various offences such as not genuflecting when passing a Pious Brother, not attending service, attending service but falling asleep, not paying tithe, complaining about paying tithe, masturbating, masturbating someone else, having someone else masturbate you... and on and on. That empire seemed to have an endless list of offences, each of them meriting immolation at the stake. On the other side dwelt the Serene Empire of Democracy. It too killed tens of thousands each year, but for different reasons depending upon which faction had gained power in the last elections, which were held every four years. In order to prevent usurpation of power, parties were limited to two consecutive terms. In reality, it made whichever party currently held power mortally aware of how brief their time in office would be, and ensured that they would do everything they could in the short time allotted to them. The present ruling party the Fascist Scum, which had last held power some thirty years before, had at that time destroyed many of their enemies by showtrials and public executions, and had in turn been almost wiped out by the next party which had been elected, the Liberal Twits Party, who had plenty of scores to settle against the Fascist Scum. The intervening years had seen the Fascist Scum keep a low profile as slowly their numbers were built back up, until at last they could once again challenge for supreme power. Now in power once again, their enemy du jour was not the Liberals (almost made extinct by a Commie Bastards backlash) but rather the Intellectual Elitist Swine, who were currently neck and neck with the Fascists in the polls. The number of PhDs in the Serene Empire was now dropping precipitously as the Fascists exercised their power as they saw fit.
In contrast to their two neighbours, the teeming citizens of the Empire only had to sacrifice a few hundred lives a year to the insanity of the Emperor. Of course there were occasional aberrations like Barmy Ben the Bloodthirsty who had ended up killing some twenty thousand virgins to sate his insane lust for fresh blood to drink, and the odd bizarre fetish to deal with such as Horny Henry The Bestial who demanded an annual goat fucking festival in his honour (this had the unintended consequence of allowing every goat fucker out of the closet, and indeed the festival is still eagerly held annually in the far off province of Massachusetts). But by and large the Empire prospered, as long as the Emperor was truly bonkers. And the more bonkers he was, the more the Empire liked it. There was widespread discontent with the current emperor, Wombarth the Halfth. Now one could accuse him of being right up their with the very Essences of Evil such as Xixx the Contumelious, Dastardly Drick the Despondent, or Realitie the Fair Wise and Homicidal. Many commentators believed that the emperor Wombarth was hardly mad at all, and had achieved power with the aid of some nobles, such as Count DJ of Skitz ruler of the land of Skegneth rather than through the disgust and opprobrium of the population, as is right and proper.
Power in the Empire was gained either through the disgust and fear of the population at large, or else through a challenge of single combat. No one in their right mind would challenge someone truly mad (i.e. the emperor of Teoti) and there was also the consideration that only the truly mad could beat an emperor, because really the emperors were fucking bonkers and unpredictable to the nth degree. Most emperors were eventually challenged, though Marksyzm the Meek and Disorderly (widely loved for his habit of giving alms to the poor and sucking out the eyeball fluid of his enemies) had been dead for fourteen years before anyone had dared to challenge him (emperors have to be insane, not stupid).
Griffonder settled his shapely and desirable behind onto a barstool and sipped his lemon beer. Wombarth had decreed that all ale served on Tuesdays (now renamed back, from 'The Third of the Days of Golfhacke' a much loved and esteemed emperor) must be lemon flavoured. It was exactly this sort of lightweight madness that was causing so much dissent in the realm. Griffonder the Bold had had enough of this sort of shit. He gripped his tankard until his knuckles turned white, and then called for marshmallows. As the barkeep slid a bowl of pink and white marshmallow goodness in front of Griddonder, the door opened and in stepped Wombarth the Halfth. "Who here seeketh his death" he boomed, loosening his sword in his sheath.
Challenges for power were always single combat in nature, and the emperor was bound to answer each one in person. After all, it would be mad to do so, and the people therefore wholeheartedly approved of such a notion. Any emperor who failed to answer such a challenge would invite the disapproval of the people, and let's be honest here, any population who could genuinely love and admire a homicidal maniac is not be trifled with.
Griffonder turned his beautifully stunning face to the door, and leaned against the bar. He uttered the traditional words of defiance and challenge.
"You sane bastard, I'll have your guts for garters!"
And then they fell to bloody mortal combat.
The emperor swept out his gleaming blade, and bravely pierced an unsuspecting and innocent bystander in the heart, and then relentlessly swung at the corpse, chopping it into little bits. Meanwhile with total abandon, Griffonder commenced eating all the candles he could get his hands on. Grimly and mutely, the barkeep and his surviving customers witnessed the struggle for ultimate power. Abruptly Wombarth switched tactics, leaving the mess of mincemeat the corpse had become, and instead he commenced smashing walnuts against the counter with his forehead, shouting out 'You bastard!' at each one. Soon his frenzied attack had left him dazed, confused and covered in blood. Griffonder meanwhile had eaten all the available candles, and now in the red glare of the tavern's fireplace, he started stuffing marshmallows up his nose, naming each in alphabetical order one before it was ensconced within his proboscis with a wild thrust of his elegantly shaped finger. 'Albert!' *squish*. 'Bernard!' *squish*. 'Charlie!' *squish*.
The barkeep nodded in approval at the quality of the political discourse he was witnessing. He realised that this was the real deal with neither of the interlocutors ready to give an inch to the other. Gripping point and counterpoint was exactly what the realm needed at a time like this. Wombarth was ranting about betrayal to a footstool and his opponent had reached W (William! *squish*) when suddenly Griffonder collapsed and fell prostrate by the fireplace. His stomach, full of candle wax, marshmallows, and lemon beer, gurgled ominously. The barkeep was no fool and seeing the shapely posterior of the enormously handsome Griffonder so close to a naked flame caused him to evacuate his bowels in fear, and his tavern in haste.
The gurgling within the fair and semi-conscious Griffonder reached a climax, and he farted most inopportunely, flammably, and mortally. The fireplace exploded with great force and vehemence, shooting Wombarth and his footstool out the door and into the gutter beyond, and filling the tavern with lovely cleansing flame. Within the blazing fire could be heard a small voice cry 'Xavier'. And then there was silence, as the inferno engulfed the tavern completely.
On the way back to the Palace of Depravity, Wombarth the Halfth decreed that Griffonder be put on this year's honour's list, and be posthumously given the award of 'Grossest Insanitie' the greatest award a civilian was eligible for.
The emperor shed a silent tear as he signed the decree, and whispered, "Did I not foretell that I would put thee on 'The List'".
My Brother's New Bar Tap
He has a bar in his basement, with a kegerator. Basically that is a keg in a fridge (it's sweet sweet Guinness at the moment). However, I was most impressed with his cast resin bar tap which someone gave him recently. The detail is quite astonishing. We watched that George Harrison documentary that night. Pretty cool flick, very interesting guy.
Whadya Know, It's St. Patrick's Day
Another traditional tune, this time it is "Whiskey in the Jar". As performed by Thin Lizzy in 1973, with the original Lizzy guitarist Eric Bell on lead. I saw him play this some years ago with Metallica. Kickass!
HAPPY SAINT PATRICK'S DAY EVERYONE!
Lá Fhéile Pádraig Shona Dhaoibhse Go Léir
Saint Patrick's Day is Tomorrow
Kate Bush sings Mná na hÉireann (women of Ireland) in Irish.
BONUS BONUS BONUS
The Chieftains and Sinead O'Connor perform "She Moved Through The Fair". Written by Padraig Collum, a cousin of my grandmother.
Didn't I say St. Patrick's Day is Coming?
A real treat. Planxty in the National Stadium in Dublin in 1973.
"Raggle Taggle Gypsy", which segues into "Tabhair Dom do Láimh" (give me your hand).
This is simply brilliant. The piping from Liam is sublime, as always.
Saint Patrick's Day is Coming (to get you)
Sure an bejaysus. 'Tis St. Paddy's Day (almost). Note: not ever is it "Saint Patty's Day". A patty is something filled with delicious Jamaican spiced beef and melted mozarella.
This is an odd but endearing version I found of an old traditional song. They only do a few verses, but they do a good job, I think. A nice take on a classic.
The Humours Of Whiskey (traditional)
--------------------------------------------------
Let your quacks and newspapers be cutting their capers
About curing the vapors the scratch and the gout
With their medical potions, their serums and their lotions
Upholding their notions, they're mighty put out.
Who can tell the true physic to all that's pathetic
And pitch to the divil, cramp, colic and spleen
You'll know it I think if you take a big drink
With your mouth to the brink of a jug of poteen
So stick to the cratur' the best thing in nature
For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys
Oh what botheration, no dose in the nation
Can give consolation like poteen me boys.
No liquid cosmetic to lovers athletic
Or bodies pathetic can give such a bloom
As the sweet by the powers in the garden of flowers
Ever gave their own bowers such a darling perfume
And this liquid so rare if you willingly share
To be taking your hair when it's frizzled and dead
Oh the sod has the merit to yield the true spirit
So strong it will shake all the hairs from your head
Then stick to the cratur' the best thing in nature
For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys
Oh since its perfection, no doctor's direction
Can cleanse the complexion like poteen me boys
While a child in me cradle, me nurse with her ladle
Was filling my mouth with a notion of pap
When a drop from her bottle fell into my throttle
I stumbled and capered clean out of her lap
On the floor I lay crawlin' and screaming and bawling
'Til me mother and father were called to the fore
All sobbing and sighing they feared I was dying
But soon found I only was crying for more.
So stick to the cratur' the best thing in nature
For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys
Oh lord how they'd chuckle if babes in their truckle
They only could suckle on poteen me boys
Through my youthful aggression, through times of depression
My childhood's impression still clung to my mind
And at school or at college the basis of knowledge
I never could gulp 'til with whiskey combined
And as older I'm growing times ever bestowin'
On Erin's potation, a flavor so fine
And how ere they may lecture on jove and his nectar
Itself is the only true liquid divine
So stick to the cratur' the best thing in nature
For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys
Oh lord, 'tis the right thing for courting and fighting
There's nowt so exciting as poteen me boys.
Come guess me this riddle, what beats pipes and fiddle
What's hotter than mustard and milder than cream
What best wets your whistle, what's clearer than crystal
What's sweeter than honey and stronger than steam
What'll make the lame walk, what will make the dumb talk,
The elixir of life and philospher's stone
And what helped Mr. Brunnell to build the Thames Tunnel
Wasn't it poteen from ould Inisowen
So stick to the cratur' the best thing in nature
For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys
Oh lord, it's no wonder, if lightning and thunder
Weren't made from the plunder of poteen me boys.
You maidens pathetic, with lovers athletic
For liquid cosmetic, you can't beat the drop
With a glow to your cheek, it will make your heart leap
It'll quiet a stallion or cure an old cob
At the mouth you would drool, be reduced to a fool
You'd kick up your heels and you'd peel to the buff
Then 'tis he'd be pathetic while you'd be athletic
If only you'd take a few drops of the stuff
So stick to the cratur' the best thing in nature
For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys
For there's nothing like whiskey to make maidens frisky
It soon separates all the men from the boys.
Whore My Posts
"Actually", he sniffed, "I'm whoring my palindromic post count, it being the same forwards and backwards."
He took out his monocle, and polished it ostentatiously on his red silk kerchief. He flipped open his battered notebook, tore off the page containing this very post, and summoned a telegraph runner who came into the room, his cap respectfully in hand.
"A shiny sixpence for you boy, if you can get this to the telegraph office for transmission to Teoti Central before the office closes for the night."
He consulted his pocket watch.
"That gives you fifteen minutes exactly to make it all the way to the telegraph office. Can you do it boy?"
"Yessir!" chirped the ragamuffin. "I shall run ever so fast!"
He gave the boy the folded paper, a shining sixpence, and as a bonus he included a picture of a well known actress showing off her ankles. The slut.
He turned his magnificent frame to me, and tugged on his bristling moustaches. "Palindromic, I say. Happens only once every ten million years according to that Darwin fellow".
I couldn't deny the truth of what he said, and consequently I gave him all my points, counting out each one into a large leather satchel which he held open before him.
Perhaps you should do the same?
Indeed, the steamer Mirabelle is due in port tomorrow, and she may be carrying a trunk of new points for the reset, and griffin shall have those too! How I admire him!
10001 a Post Odyssey.
Sitelogged
"Tremble before me, puny mortal!"
These words came in a deep baritone from the purple cloud of sulphurous smoke which had just manifested itself in the kitchen of Castle Skitz.
The Prince of darkness looked about, narrowed his eyes, and then recognising where he was, brightly said 'Yo Deej, may I?'.
The fridge opened by itself and a can of Stella floated out and into Satan's open hand.
'Cheers, I could use one' muttered Satan as he downed half the can in one go.
'Easy on the beer there sport, they have to last until Saturday. Anyway I summoned you because I need some help'
'Aha! I knew it. Never ask me around unless it's to ask a favour. I thought we were mates.'
DJ hated the 'Big S' when he was like this. He thought the other side were supposed to be the ones with all the bloody martyrs.
'It's just a hand with the points contest is all, should be easy. Thanks for Ghaddaffi by the way, I owe you one.'
The Prince of Darkness frowned. 'Hmm, what's the problem, you're doing well so far, oh it's griffin, isn't it. He's coming up fast. Sorry dude can't help you there, the force is strong with that one, as we say in hell.' The Prince of Darkness crushed the now empty beer can and underhanded it out the kitchen window, off the shed, ricochet off the downpipe into the recycling bin, nothing but net. 'Sorry pal, out of my league.' Poof! He was gone.
DJ was annoyed, and then he doubled his annoyance when he realised he had forgotten to bring up the subject of the twenty quid he was still owed from that trip to the Jerusalem Sexateria. He sighed. Sometimes, you couldn't even trust the Lord of Lies.
Just then the Archangel Michael manifested himself in the kitchen. He leaned over, opened the fridge and grabbed a can of Stella, popped it open and chugged it in one go. He pulled up a chair and sat down, belching loudly. He flourished before DJ the empty can like it was a newly discovered hominid jawbone and cheerfully asked 'Do you mind?'. DJ rolled his eyes. That left only about 138 cans until Saturday. These guys were taking the piss.
Michael sniffed the air. 'Is that a bit of a whiff of brimstone I smell? Funny company you keep, DJ'.
Rather than get bogged down in a discussion of his social habits, DJ decided to go on the offensive.
'Are you here to help with the points contest?'
Michael's gaze went blank for a moment, as he consulted with the cosmos. 'Oh, griffin's gaining ground fast, isn't he?' Michael shook his head. 'Not sure if I can do anything mate, sorry. He's a bit on the special side, you know? Besides' smirked the angel, 'you might not need any help'.
'Special?' blurted DJ. 'I never thought he was special, I always thought he was a bit of a...'
'PAUL!' came the commanding voice of Mrs. Skitz.
Out of the corner of his eye, DJ noticed Michael wave goodbye and disappear as he turned to Mrs. Skitz who had just entered the kitchen.
She thrust out a hand holding a pregnancy test.
'I'm late, and it's not with the rent'.
Maybe. Just maybe, he could beat griffin after all.
What's Your Date?
Gmail went 'live' on the first of April 2004.
I got my 'Gmail is different. Here's what you need to know.' email on August 24th 2004.
When did you get yours?
What's Under the Sidewalk*
* That's 'pavement' to our Brits.
Answer: rusty steel girders and a damn big drop.
I took these the other day on Broadway in Manhattan.
First Snow of the Year
The snow is mixed with rain, so it isn't sticking. The protesters marched by at about 9am, no posters, just umbrellas. A small group.
About twenty fire trucks at Zucotti Park
They showed up starting about fifteen minutes ago, sirens wailing and lights flashing. Plus all the usual support vehicles, plus a few ambulances and a helicopter overhead. From John St. down to Wall St, it's a flood of flashing lights. More are still arriving right now.
Broadway is blocked off to traffic from Dey Street down to battery Park. Some cross traffic is allowed, I can see that.
Terry Pratchett
Book signing tonight, will show up early, hope there's not too many there!
Can't wait!
No he was wrong, and so are you.
Taken today at the protest. Cops were moving everyone along (pedestrians, not protesters) so I didn't get many photos. This one is good. Earlier a couple of hundred skateboarders came down Broadway, I assume to join the protest. They came in dribs and drabs, and were weaving back and forth through traffic. I thought for sure one of them would get splattered, but they all made it safely through.
Wall St. Protestors
As promised, I went over yesterday at lunchtime, and took some snaps on my way to get some tasty Ho-Yip chinese food.
