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Oh wow, this took a lot of work.
If you liked it please leave a comment or, even better, send this link to a friend.

Season4

01	02	03	04	05
06	07	08	09	10	10½
11	12	13	14	15
16	17	18	19

I’ve done bsg episode commentaries for every episode, the latest all feature cartoons!

If you want to check out some non-bsg stuff, allow me to suggest any of the following:

Perhaps its just me, but it seems like its all the rage this century to start your own religion. The badly drawn artwork is enough of a draw to ensure you’ll want to click the link. But wait until you hear the benefits that await you! Act now! Supplies are limited!	A ringing endorsement of Watchmen, the seminal comic by Alan Moore. Included is over five pages of excerpts from the graphic novel as well as some custom created fake-ads for Dr. Manhattan’s discrete male escort agency. This is really a great comic and completely worth reading.    (the film was very faithful, by the way)
It’s 4.30a Monday; I haven’t slept since Saturday and buses don’t run for another hour. I’m pretty certain I wrote it coming down from a magic mushroom trip. A weird meandering tale taking inspiration from an old-school text-based adventure. It switches styles at least three times and is delightfully random.	My 1978 Chevy power-to-the-max offroading adventurous little go-machine was a camperized wonder of the “how didn’t it break down” kind. And with Betty as my trusty rusty sidekick did I engage in many many fine adventures. Including time travel.

Naturally I have a super groovy feed
that informs you of all
recent awesomeness.

That BSG is still breaking my brain. The best article I’ve seen is The Watcher’s interview with Ron Moore (executive producer), David Weddle & Bradley Thompson (co-writers of 4x11) and Michael Nankin (director of 4x11).  Lots of details with no spoilers.

Also, this just in: Lost was awesome! Wow, they are bringing their A-game and boo-yah! asdj;fsdajdsafj ; so excited. head exploding.  bsg in 2 days, head will explode again!  Thank god zombies un-live forever.  Bless the cursed priest that animated these foul bones!

(thanks to my friend Gabe for the video)

Worship of the Holy Full Time Awesomeness Generator brings many benefits

• 10% discount on all Walmart purchases
• Eternal salvation through the Central Mysteries
• Fun do-it yourself badges, patches, etc.
• Tea

The Afterlife

Of course, the divinity of Jimbo is paramount, but there will be other lesser deities. As with many small cults, the initial membership is currently quite small.  But act now and claim your spot in the pantheon. In an effort to fill the ranks, It has been guaranteed that the first twelve people to announce their cult membership will be given full deity status upon their death and reincarnation. Minor angelic positions will be filled after that, and so on. Operators are standing by.

Sins & Good Works

There are no proscriptions against defined sins. Merit is based instead upon a more positive list

• Level of sarcasm
• Construction of badges, patches and effigies which glorify The One True Jimbo
• Effigies can later be burned at backyard barbeques, etc, It is suggested that beer and cookies be served, but this is not strictly necessary
• Belief in one’s own awesomeness, either inherent or as an extension of their cult association
• Contemplation of the Central Mysteries
• Individual members are allowed and encouraged to create their own meritorious tasks, ensuring a diverse and inclusive structure. Reaching your pinnacle state of awesomeness just became easier. All self defined tasks are automatically endorsed by The Church.

The Central Mysteries

The contemplation of how it can be that His Awesomeness is so awesome. Now while this is certainly egotistical on The Jimbo’s part, it is a sacrifice he is willing to make in the name of sarcasm. After all, a deity must have at least a bit of ego to declare himself as such and besides BillG once read his blog, what have you done with your life?

It is believed by some that should a person ever truly comprehend the full awesomeness he would transcend instantly to a higher plane of existence, be awarded a fruit cup, and be put to work immediately in the labour camps.

Death and Reincarnation

His Jimboness did spake: “Lo, for he that believeth in me, shall never want for ribs and spicy wings in the afterlife. And he shall be returned to the earth, reincarnated in the following order:

And in addition, his name shall be written eternally in the Book of Awesomeness.” And it is said that after this speech, The Jimbo did collapse from intoxication and fell into a Holy Slumber wherein he communed with the cosmos, causing his words to become the truth of the universe.  Reviving only briefly to give the blessing of the holy thumbs up.

In Summary

It’s certain that with the liberal views on prostitution, the universal flat tax endorsement and its compatibility with all other major religions (except Unitarianism), The First Church of Jimbo is predestined to make a significant contribution to many people’s lives. When the apocalypses comes, make sure you’ve got the proper insurance.

My brothers and sisters, Jimboism is the answer!

I first drank Tamdhu in September 2006.  It wasn't the first scotch I drank but it was the first in Scotland.  It's become tied to strong memories, times of occasion and celebration. Here's how I spent my first bottle.

Betty the Gas-Whore | Money & Other Friends | The Shit Dancer

A tasty brew for manly men

Back in November 2007, we got a tiny black cockapoo puppy, which we named Magee (pronounced Muh-gee). My life, along with my wife's, changed. An example: we were forcibly adjusted to higher tolerances of urine in our carpet. Whereas we had been accustomed to levels of 'none,' Magee demonstrated exactly how much more piss and shit there could be. The hallmark moment being when he snuck downstairs to perform what can only be described as The Shit Dance on our carpet. I did not witness it, but I can imagine no other way he distributed so many turds over such a large area than to have been practicing a waltz, while gettin' 'er done.

Over 15 separate turds littered our white carpet when I discovered Magee's latest performance art

Those first weeks were hell. We slept in shifts the first few days, that’s how bad his night-time whimpering was. I understand newborn humans causing groggy nights, but dogs should not mess with you in this manner. Magee took great pains to correct my misunderstanding. Despite having been rewarded multiple times for peeing on a training pad, our eight week old puppy once held his bladder for seven hours rather than pee on his papers. Finally soiled his crate instead. Our dog has a tiny tiny brain. (and we gave up on paper training for outdoor training) I have devoted more attention to my dog's bladder and bowels than I ever thought possible. Oh, the detailed scatological accounts I could give...

Serious doubts were cast during this period. So frustrating and disruptive - why had we ruined our lives this way? Every waking hour of downtime was spent waiting for him to pee on our carpet -- so we could rush him outside and hope he'd make the connection. "Walks" were exercises in spastic leash tugging and his miraculous ability to be where you planned to step next. Neighborhood children, having discovered we owned a cute ball of concentrated evil, would ring our doorbell daily asking if the dog could come out and play. One kid was so regular he could have been a spokesman for high-fibre diets. The cleaning solution discolored our white rug, leaving circular testaments to the us-vs-dog battle that raged. The occasional slightly yellowish stain was hidden away where Magee managed to sneak a minor victory. And rug doctoring sucks.

Serious. Doubts. Were. Cast. Our prior lives beckoned, all we had to do was get rid of the dog. Janine and I swapped roles regularly: one ready to give up, the other willing to try for a few more days. Then we’d swap roles.

Hi.  I'm Magee.

"Why don't you drink some of your scotch?" Janine asked, trying to lift my spirits after a particularly frazzling bout of human will vs. tiny dog brain. Indeed, our small nuclear family/pack of two persons increasing by one dog was unquestionably a Tamdhu moment. But only if permanent.

I shook my head, "if he makes it three months," I countered. Not entirely certain that it would occur.

Obviously he made it. Even months later, though house-trained, there are accidents, shoe issues, obedience issues and a reverential attitude towards Cesar Millan. But our family now irrevocably includes one very cute, lovable and highly excitable Magee. He doesn't always know what he's excited about, or what's going on, but he's very happy to be on the team. I have been so mean to him at times, yet his tail still wags when he sees me. An eternal optimist or just very very stupid?

He has taught me so much. I have learned how much quicker to anger I am than I thought and he provides a constant target upon which to practice my patience. His tiny mind is like a bizarre CPU I attempt to program via discipline, exercise, and affection. Most of my frustrations with him are merely my own flaws and mistakes reflected back on me. It turns out I have many.

Chewing the Tamdhu bottle's cork

But so rewarding is his companionship; I love my dog. Frightened of heights, I taught him to walk down stairs. He now walks alongside me, sans leash, happy for his place within our tiny pack. Knowing there is a certain order to this world he inhabits. But unable to comprehend it he looks to me for guidance. I am his pack leader. Being a good owner to my dog is among the most valuable things I may accomplish in this life. To mold and guide and live vicariously through him, for all the ways he has and will experience the world which I can't or wont. Alternatively teacher and pupil, Magee and I are now part of each others life; I can no longer imagine any other way.

So late one night after Janine had retired to bed, I pulled out the Tamdhu. I watched a little television and got a little drunk. I finished the bottle with Magee curled up next to me on the couch, the fireplace keeping us both warm.

One of the most liberating things I did was not define too closely what Projects was about.  I came to view it as, literally, any of the projects I was working on. Although my focus was always clearly on creative writing, let's start Part One with some of the most eclectic pieces.

The Jib Generator (with bonus Anti-Jib abilities)

Of course, you've probably heard the expression "I like the cut of your jib." But what is a jib? Who knows!  Increase your jibbly knowledge after only 30 seconds of play with this silly little game. A fine introduction!

My Fridge Is Too Loud

A journal entry describe my kicking and smashing the inside of a fridge.  File this under "representative".  Posted in the first month, this was me realizing I had a place to unload some of the strange troubling things that I felt.  To admit publicly to such a moment of bizarre weakness was a theme that carried throughout Projects run.  I attempted to confront myself and do my best to admit and describe my own tiny piece of the human experience.

GENtI

A small windows maze game for download that will amuse for at least 5 minutes while having your morning beer.  A recreation of a DOS game made with my friend Kevin in High School.  Paid $50 each for its creation, by a guy wanting a solitaire-like add-on for his application.  We spent three weeks on it: talented coders, aye, businessmen, nay.  Vintage Turbo Pascal maze-generation code was salvaged and grafted onto a Delphi GUI.

The Vegas music hums in the background

I've written a lot of weird crazy shit in my days; this is a favorite. I'm pretty certain I wrote it after coming down off a magic mushroom trip.  I always had trouble sleeping after those occasions, in part because I tended to drink a lot of coffee during.  A weird meandering tale taking it's inspiration from an old style text-based adventure that switches styles at least three times, makes just enough sense to cause you to wonder WTF?!

I'm sure the URL will get taken down once someone figures out what time it is, so click while the clickin's good

Yah... they took it down. Fuckers. But we'll always have the image. Goddamn jackasses are prolly afraid of law suits or some suck malarkey, If you've done and fucked up good and public, at least have the decency to stand up and say "We are Poo Ass and we are proud!" instead of hiding behind the shed and pretending it never happened. It's not like you went and fucked some other dude's wife or caused the deaths of hundreds of thousands of innocents by claimed you knew where the WMD's were or some other quasi-legitimiate reason to pretend history never happened. Yer a goddamn rag that just mostly reprints the AP. "Poo Ass" is probably some of the most legitimate reporting you guys've done in years. Er... mm.. I'm getting a bit sidetracked. best end this edit while the ending's good.

(via my friend Chris)

AWOOGA!! AWOOGA!!

I’m breakin’ all the rules baby… And in memory of all the dead Viet Cong, this page will be red.

Dead Frenchman alert. Dead Frenchman alert.

In memory of all the dead frenchies, this page will also be red.

SCENE: The Imperial Congress of the Entire World, esq.

New York: Why did you put "esq" there like that

Vancouver: Because "esq" is funny. Not Esquire, though, that’s a magazine.

Seattle: I want to be a flashing 3D rotoscope. Everyone imagine that I’m a kaleidoscope of colors. From now on when I say something, go "Hey, that freakin’ kaleidoscope is talkin’! What the freak!"

New York: Freak! Freak! Freak! Frickin’ Freek! S’up?

Vancouver: S’up? Seattle is a pansy!

Seattle: I’m not a pansy. Shut up.

Vancouver: You’re a pansy.

Seattle: Shut up or I’ll sisko yer ass.

Vancouver: Pansy! Pansy! Pansy with whipped cream on top.

<Seattle siskos Vancouver’s ass>

New York: Ha! Ha! You got siskoed.

Vancouver: Shut up all of yas. I’m going to Vegas.

So they all go to Vegas, and also Pam went to Vegas.

You are in a bar. New York, Vancouver, Seattle and Pam are here.

The Vegas music hums in the background.

>Inventory

>East

You move east:

You are in a casino with a number of slot machines. Various patrons are playing games of chance.

The Vegas music hums in the background.

>Look

Look at what?

>Various Patrons

You look at various patrons:

Various patrons are playing games of chance.

>Eat Various Patrons

Your enormous jaw opens up to devour the various patrons. They scream horribly as they are masticated beyond all recognition. Karma is satisfied.

You are in a casino with a number of slot machines.

The Vegas music hums in the background.

>Eat Various Patrons

You look around you, but are unable to find these various patrons.

>West

You move west:

You are in a bar. New York, Vancouver, Seattle and Pam are here.

The Vegas music hums in the background.

>Look vancouver

I don’t understand.

>Look at vancouver

You look at Vancouver:

Vancouver looks back at you

>Sisko Vancouver’s ass

You have siskoed Vancouver’s ass.

Vancouver sez Stop Siskoing my shit.

>Sisko Vancouver’s ass

You have siskoed Vancouver’s ass.

Vancouver sez Step off, bitch!

New York sez Ha! You got siskoed. Again!

Pam sez Will someone think of the children!

<Pam siskos Vancouver>

Vancouver sez Step the mo’fo’ off, bitch!

! Dead Frenchman alert ! Dead Frenchman alert !

>Get Dead Frenchman

You have a dead Frenchman.

>Inventory

>Use scroll on dead frenchman

Which one: The ancient scroll or the modern scroll?

>ancient scroll

You use the ancient scroll of indescribable power on the dead Frenchman:

As you read the ancient text aloud, the scroll begins to pulsate with an otherworldly glow harkening back to the very beginnings of time and beyond; burning with the very essence of creation. As you finish uttering its dark incantation the light beams toward the dead Frenchman and brings him back to life as the re-incarnated essence of golf legend Tiger Woods. The scroll crumbles to dust in your hands.

You have the re-incarnated essence of golf legend Tiger Woods.

Mr. Woods sez My shit is tight!

>sisko tiger woods

You sisko Tiger Woods

Vancouver sez Take that bitch! AWOOOGA!!

New York dances a merry jig. Soon everyone joins in and then Pam bitch-slaps Seattle. Vancouver busts a cap in Seattle on account of how he siskoed him earlier, then yells "North Siiyyde!"

"Step off, bitch!" Pam shouts, because the shit’s goin’ down. And Pam is an ultra bitch what you don’t mess wit’.

<Texas has entered the scene>

<Vancouver siskos Texas>

The Vegas music continues to hum in the background.

I got my Class 1 license [the Canadian qualification allowing you to operate the 18-wheel behemoths] and landed my first job doing long-haul between Canada and the United States.

I had gotten a pager that allowed me to send email and used it to keep up with friends back home. What follows is the highlights of those communiqués [although much more polished than the originals].

Contents

• The Thong Song
• Water Valley
• Montana
• Las Vegas
• Just Say No
• Signs
• Lucky Bastard (feat. Nine Inch Nails)
• M.O.A. vs W.E.M.
• Epilogue

If you've ever seen those old news reels from the 30's to 60's, you've likely seen those wacky "house of the future" reels, with grand promises of what your life would be like, thanks to the miracles of science. My friend Cliff once sent an angry (but humorous) email to the government, wanting to know where his flying car, as promised by those reels, was.

Well, a month or three later, I clipped an article from a newspaper regarding a company that was actually trying to build one. I also happened to be contracting to the Alberta Government at the time, and managed to steal some envelopes and stationary...

Riseborough, C.
(Address Removed)

Re: P.A.T. Unit(s)

Dear Mr. Riseborough, C.

We have received and processed your recent e-mail regarding personal airborne transportation.

It should be pointed out that neither the Provincial nor Federal Government have currently, nor at any point in the past, made guarantees regarding the feasibility or distribution of personal airborne transportation units. While it is true that a few news programmes of the fifties and sixties did contain stories regarding 'flying cars', On further examination you will find that these news reels originated from the United States Government and/or private corporations.

However, we appreciate your interest in future transportation technologies and would like to assure you that the Alberta Government is firmly committed to meeting the technological needs of tomorrow. We are excited by the possibilities such technology may offer, but remain focused on safety, environment and economic issues such technologies would inevitably raise. Our primary concern is the impact this or any other technology would have on Albertans.

Although neither the Alberta nor Federal Government is actively developing the personal airborne transportation technology, several private Canadian and U.S. Companies are active in the field. Enclosed, find an article for your interest.

The main reason for this communiqué, however, arises from a number of newly created positions within the Alberta Government. You are no doubt aware of the year two-thousand computer problem and the amount of work being invested into fixing it. As these projects draw to a close new budgetary funds are becoming available.

Your original e-mail showed an obvious talent for humor and misdirection; skills we feel may be assets in certain publicity and training related employment opportunities. For example, had the Alberta or Federal Government truly been secretly keeping "flying cars" from the populous, as your e-mail implied, it would be to the Government and tax-payers advantage to have copy-writers working to properly contain such an endeavor.

Of course, I use this merely as an example. It should be reiterated that neither the Alberta nor Federal Government is actively developing the personal airborne transportation technology.

We appreciate your comments, they help us build a stronger Alberta. I look forward to seeing some samples of your work.

Sincerely,

(signature)

R. Boite

RB/fk

Encl. (1)

Liam hoped in the car in what can only be described as a bouncy manner, the smile evident on his face. In a heart-warming ceremony just two days ago all his hard work had finally paid off. He had graduated from University. His loving family had been there to wish him well. But perhaps most meaningful, to Liam, was his professor. The professor was a kind, middle-aged man. The calm type, but with that special glimmer in his eye that seemed to say there was something he knew that you didn't.

He pulled Liam aside after the ceremony. "So, you made it after all. I always knew you would. You're the best student I've ever had, Liam." He gave Liam a fatherly pat on the shoulder.

"Gee, thanks Prof," Liam smiled.

"So I hear you've got an interview at InterTron." Liam nodded. The professor seemed like he was about to say something else, his face taking on a more serious tone, when his sister interrupted.

"There you are! We're about to go over to the dance, let's go."

He turned back to the professor, but the expression was gone. "Yes, best get going. And listen," his tone grew more somber. "Always trust your instincts." Then, in a friendly tone. "Good Luck!" As Liam walked away, if someone were watching, they would have noticed the professor's face grow ever more worried.

But Liam never saw that look. For him it was just some well meant advice from a favorite teacher. He had got the job, the interview went great. Something about his tour of the office made him feel that there was something odd about the place, but the money was really good and the interviewer seemed friendly.

And now it was coffee-time with the old gang. As they sped off into the night, Liam could hardly contain his excitement. "Hey guys, I got the job!" A chorus of congratulations was emitted from the mini-van's occupants.

"So when do you start?" asked Cliff, expertly weaving the vehicle through slower moving traffic.

"Uhh... next week some time."

"Excellent," said Sam. "You can come with us tomorrow."

"Yah, we're going to the naval yards," added James. "They're giving tours of one of the old submarines."

Liam's mood seemed to have suddenly quieted down. "No, that's okay, I'll pass."

"Come on," said Kelly. "They've got hot dogs and chips."

"No," repeated Liam. "I never want to set foot in a submarine." Almost. He almost added the word "again." Perhaps one day he would finally tell his friends about what happened. Oh, that fateful day aboard his uncle's submarine... Would that day ever cease to haunt him? No, never again would he enter a submarine.

Three weeks later.

Another depth charge rocked the sub, and therefore Liam; sounds of pipes bursting, metal twisting and screaming. The sub wouldn't take many more of these. And this bomb in front of him. How many such shocks could it withstand? The casing he had already removed, bypassing the wiring which, ordinarily, would have caused the entire thing to blow.

"Sir, the Australians have launched two more torpedoes!"

"Evasive maneuvers!" He shouted.

"Sire, they've also sent over this message." The corporal handed him the sheet of paper. Liam, I will destroy you and the Theta Device if I have to. You will all die! Sam. Liam would dearly love to make Sam pay - for all the hurt, the betrayal. How did he not see it coming? If only they had discovered earlier that Sam's mother was half-Australian. Perhaps he could have saved his sister's life.

And James. Brave James, shot during their daring raid on InterTron's research laboratory. How he would dearly love to pay Sam back, but firing the torpedoes would only detonate the device now staring back at him.

"Liam! We're running out of power," Kelly radioed from the engine room. "If we don't get out of this mess soon, we'll be sitting ducks." Liam could hear the tension in his voice, but still calm. He knew Kelly would keep it together even up until the end, should it come to that.

He pushed the intercom button. "Don't worry Kelly, we'll make it out of this yet," he reassured. With a gritty determination, he added: "No submarine is going down on my watch."

"Sir, the first two torpedoes have missed," said the Corporal. "but they've just launched two more."

"Evasive maneuvers!" He shouted, pointing emphatically towards the navigation console. Turning back to the bomb, he studied it carefully. His only hope of escape was to try to recall the schematic he had memorized while hacking InterTron's computer system. He recognized the power module and LED counter mechanism, but what were these other circuits. This explosive had been modified.

"They've modified it!" he exclaimed. What to do now? How could he be certain which chip to bypass?

Three more explosions rocked the sub as the depth charges grew nearer.

"Sir!" The corporal exclaimed. "There's a mine field, dead-ahead. If we go near them, we're doomed."

"Bring us about!"

"How do you drive this thing?" Yelled Cliff. "What do I do?"

Calmly. "Turn that dial until it reads one-eighty, then press the activate button." Grim tension as Cliff hurried to follow Liam's instructions.

"Okay, now what?"

"Now we need to try to get under those depth charges. Take us down to eight hundred feet."

"But Sir! We're only rated for seven hundred feet!" Exclaimed the Corporal.

Liam stared calmly at Cliff. "We're just going to have to take that chance." A flicker of doubt flickered across Liam's face. His uncle's sub had caved at only seven hundred fifty feet. Was he doing the right thing?

"Okay," nodded Cliff. "What do I do?"

"Hold down the dive lever until we reach eight hundred. The computer won't let you do it, so you'll have to turn the safeties off."

Cliff turned back to face his console, his brow mopped with sweat. He trusted Liam, but... He toggled the 'Computer Safeties' switch to the off position and began to descend down to eight hundred feet.

Liam tried to maintain his composure. He knew his men would instantly sense his fear, and that would spell disaster.

Six hundred.

If only his professor were here, instead of killed by the government and InterTron. They'd have the world believe there was no such thing as the Theta Device.

Seven hundred.

The professor's dying words were right. Bringing the Theta Device to the U.N. conference was the only chance.

Seven hundred fifty.

But would they make it in time? Or sink to the deepest depths of the ocean, the secret buried beneath a watery grave.

"Sir, eight hundred feet! And the torpedoes have sailed right over top of us."

"Good, now --"

"Liam! We're almost out of power!" Kelly radioed in.

Liam thought about this for a second. "Run on emergency power!" He radioed back.

"Sir! Four more torpedoes in the water, heading our way fast!"

"Evasive maneuvers, quickly!" He rushed back to the bomb. Oh, if only the professor were here, he could disarm the bomb. "If only the Prof were here," he mumbled to himself. "But what would he do?" Liam stared at the exposed circuits contemplatively.

"Torpedo's closing!"

"He'd trust his instincts!" Exclaimed Liam. He deftly attached the clips to bypass the primary circuit, neutralizing the bomb's trigger.

"Sir, torpedo functions restored!" Liam looked up to see the 'Torpedoes Online' light illuminated. Normally, he'd take a moment to congratulate himself, but right now, he just didn't have the time.

"Fire!"

A second later the explosion of Sam's submarine echoed throughout the hull. "Direct hit, sir! We've also avoided the torpedoes, but the destroyer is now directly above us, and they've begun targeting their depth charges for eight hundred feet."

Liam and Cliff rushed to the sonar console. A profile of the destroyer was clearly displayed as 'Depth Charges: 800 feet' blinked next to it.

"Quickly, before they have time to drop them in the water: Launch the vertical torpedo!"

"But that's never been tested," exclaimed Cliff. "With our power levels so low, it could malfunction. We could all die."

Liam gripped a nearby hand-rail. "If we don't make it to the U.N. conference, millions could die." He added quietly: "Maybe even billions."

Both the corporal and Cliff nodded solemnly and did what need to be done. They all held their breaths as the rumble of the vertical torpedo shook the ship. But it worked! Up above their heads, the destroyer was blown into a million pieces.

They all breathed a sigh of relief and exchanged some well deserved smiles. "Now," said Liam. "Let's get to the U.N."

One week later.

In full navy uniform, Liam, his left arm in a cast, quietly walked the rows of the graveyard. He hadn't even noticed breaking his arm aboard the submarine. Stopping before his uncle's tombstone, he placed a single rose on top of it. And with a peace he hadn't felt since his uncle died, saluted and returned home

The Sex Pistols knew they sucked. It was great. Johnny Rotten belting out that he was the Anti-Christ, but we all knew he wasn't. The Anti-Christ will be capable of holding a tune, it's in Revelations. They knew they sucked, we knew they sucked; it was all good fun. Until they tried a comeback, but we'll ignore that.

But as Puff Daddy churns out danced-up-cover after danced-up-cover it's like watching the drunk guy at the party who doesn't realize he's hitting on the football player's girlfriend. One of us should really go up to him and explain that we have more respect for Kenny G. I suspect the notoriously dead B.I.G. must have been someone who regularly pulled Puffy aside, slapped him around a bit and told him "Puffy, you suck." Because it wasn't until Biggy died that we began to hear the tune-less wonder. And why? He had lost his fear of anal rape. I mean compare the two - you know Mr. Combs was the bitch.

And someone teach that boy to dance! Standing still, waving your arms slightly and having the camera jiggle to simulate the appearance of moving just don't cut it. Maybe we could get him some lessons with Micheal Stipe. I'll reserve judgement on R.E.M. - their talent tends to fluctuate wildly. But Micheal's odd gyrations have always served to entertain and amuse. As his arms flail wildly about any given audience is asking themselves "how does he do that?"

But who ever asked Great Big Sea to cover the end of the world? Who listed to the original and said "Yah, great! But what we really need is for this song to be sung by people who have done songs with the word 'Shanty' in it. Preferably one where the lead singer bears a freaky resemblance ot George Clooney." What makes these guys really funny is the intensity they try to fake. Are they all ex-Moist bandmates? Kicked out for being unable to properly emote? "Get out George-Clooney-Man. Take your shantys elsewhere." "No No! Watch, I can do it: PuuUUUssh Juusst a little biiit mooOOOre - Eidle Eidle eidle idle edle idel oh!" "Noo! Be gone! Stop ruining my beautifly crafted songwork." Whatever you think of Moist, you have to admit their intensity emoting skills are up to par, and I'll leave that topic alone.

Much like Paul McCartney should have left well enough alone. Full props to the Beatles - and I liked both Paul and John. But only in the context of their band. Paul: you are Ginger Spice, enjoy the analogy.

Because growing old presents two options: The Rolling Stones or Madonna. I give Madona ¼ props for at least trying to remain fresh (by hiring Orb to do her work for her). But the Rolling Stones are basically Garfield and Peanuts on stage - ran out of new ideas many many years ago.

Time to end this rant, there are far too many easy targets left and I've got other things to do with my life.

Sweat Pants or Track Pants, yes. It should be noted that although all retards wear sweats, not all wearers of sweat pants are retards. Many athletes are fond of them as well.

Is it ok to call them 'retards'? Is that insensitive?

Yes it is. But seriously, they too dumb to know what you callin' them. You could say "Hey Monkey Brains, what's goin' on?" and they still just be drooling on themselves. A mistake many people make is to worry about what the nearby caregiver, who may be rather attractive, might think. But you need to more closely examine this possibility. Do you really want to be saddled with someone that hangs out with retards? So don't you be worried about what you call those drool bags.

Why is it that some male retards seem to 'adjust' themselves quite frequently?

Let's put this more bluntly: They is constantly fiddlin' with their bits and pieces in public. Truthfully, all guys would love to be doing this and the retards have shown an uncharacteristic savvy in these matters. The retards know they should keep their hands out of their pockets but have instead taken advantage of people's dumbass "forgiving nature" to do what they feel like. Maybe those retards ain't so dumb after all.

Is being retarded contagious?

Yes. Do not touch any of the retards or their handlers.

Is it true retards always take public transportation?

No. Although it may often seem that way, in actuality the worst of the retards are boxed up and shipped in special vehicles. So although it may seem that the system is forcing these hideous cripples down your throat, you are actually being sheltered from the most malformed and incontinent of the bunch.

What's with Velcro™?

What acute eyesight you must have. Yes, all retards wear Velcro™ shoes. At one point Velcro™ had considered using "Timmy the Retard" as their mascot but scuttled the plan after twenty-one straight hours of trying to get Timmy to memorize his lines. A retard can also be recognized by his over-dependence on toques and mittens

This FAQ is getting a little disturbing, why are you picking on the Mentally Challenged?

Well basically, they is dumber and less able to defend themselves than me. I mean what would you have me do? Pick on a more athletic demographic that has spent the last eight and a half months working out and shootin' the juice into they arms? No thanks. I prefer those that begin crying if I steal their rock collection or jiggle my arms menacingly

While I was wandering across this marvelous invention that is the Inter-Net I stumbled upon your essay entitled "Wisdom of the Seer." As a practicing Swami I take offense to you referring to yourself as a seer. I would challenge you to produce any sort of legitimate articles of religious authority. I find it highly offensive that you have taken it upon yourself to identify with holy men of any sort. The turban on my head is there for a reason, to keep out the evil brain waves floating through the atmosphere. Evil brain waves generated by the likes of you!

Throughout your article, you make numerous insulting references to people of southern decent, the obese, professional models and Charlton Heston. Both Sandra Schmirler and Mr. Heston are upstanding sports and acting celebrities. The day Mrs. Schmirler passed on was a day I cried. Cried almost as much as that fateful day we, as a planet, lost Diana. What is it inside you that causes you to lash out at people the way you do. I think a good lashing is what you, yourself, need.

Bingo is an enjoyable sport! Without CBC, where would 'Anne of Green Gables' be? And don't even get me started on your comments regarding Mrs. Rosie O' Donnell. I am saddened that a person such as yourself, with such obvious abilities to create, has chosen to funnel that creativity into something so negative.

Perhaps next time you feel the urge to write something so hurtful, you'll think of people like my brother, a professional mime. I'm sure he would be driven to tears by the horrible things you have to say about his profession. Never mind the French! Myself and many I know thoroughly enjoy french fries, and let me tell you neither you nor I would have that privilege if it weren't for them. So maybe you'll just remember that next time.

I hope my words haven't fallen entirely on deaf ears. I hope one day perhaps you will find peace within yourself and perhaps truly become a person at peace with yourself. One who can truly call themselves a seer. If you're interested I run weekend classes twice monthly entitled "Finding Your Inner Seer", cheques to be made out to "International Consolidated, Ltd." I hope to hear from you, and have a good day.

S. Tursam
(practicing Swami)

Have you ever been sexually attracted to an animal?
Yes
No

Was this animal a caribou?
Yes
No

When you found yourself attracted to the caribou, did you act upon these urges?
Yes
No

Did you act upon the feelings you had toward the caribou?
Yes
No
What?

Did you and the caribou mate?
Yes
No
What?

Exchange bodily fluid?
Yes
No
What?

Did you and the caribou hop behind the tree for a quick shag?
Yes!
What? Are you crazy! I'm outa here, this is too disgusting.

Did you use protection?
Yes
No

Were you and the caribou married at a church?
Yes
No

At a registry office?
Yes
No

By some guy on the street called Charlie?
Yes
No

Which of you supports the family?
I do
the caribou

Were you mad when the hunter shot the caribou?
Yes
No

Did you enjoy the caribou dinner that night?
Yes
No

How much were you left in the caribou's will?
Nothing
A twig
A few twigs
A lot of twigs
A pine cone
A tree
A grove
A forest

Were you sexually attracted to the hunter?
Yes
No

Were you embarrassed that the hunter was the same sex as you?
Yes
No

Did you act upon these urges?
Yes
No

When did you first realize that the hunter was really the caribou?
Immediately
When I first saw the antlers
Not until after the cigarette
Not until after a couple of cigarettes
During delivery
After the 2nd child
After the 3rd child
After the 4th child
After the 5th child
When the caribou told me
I still haven't realized the hunter is in fact the caribou in a rather clever disguise

So I got one of those email survey things today. In light of the upcoming valentine's day festivities, I thought I'd answer it in the voice of a generic ex-girlfriend. For the record: No this isn't directed at anyone; all in fun. If I was a woman, this would have been answered by a generic ex-boyfriend. Happy Bitter Single Guy Person Day.

FULL NAME: Your Ex-Girlfriend

SEX: extra-dimensional-hell-beast tend not to have genders

LIVING ARRANGEMENT: Well right now, I'm living at home with my parents, but I'm hoping to convince you to move out so that I live off you.. I mean, move in with you.

WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT OUIJA BOARDS? They're freeky. But I always make sure to check my horoscope

YOUR FAVORITE TV SHOW? Well not Baywatch, like some people. But I do like Angel, he's a hottie. Plus I like Clooney, so guess I should list ER. I also enjoy Touched by an Angel and Oprah.

WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? It has the cutest little floral design. But I switch between that mouse pad and this other one that has a bunny rabbit on it.

FAVORITE BOARD GAME: I don't really like board games. I also don't really feel like going to the bar, watching or renting a movie, going to a restaurant, hanging out with your smelly friends, going for walks and especially bowling or pool.

FAVORITE MAGAZINE: Cosmo

FAVORITE SMELLS: Unindurable by Calvin Klein

WORST FEELING IN THE WORLD: The time my last boyfriend dumped me. Have I ever told you about him?

FAVORITE SOUNDTRACK: Titanic soundtrack, of course! I also like anything with Sarah MacLaughlan

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU THINK OF WHEN YOU WAKE IN THE MORNING? I can't believe I gave in _again_ Headaches don't seem to work any more.

DO YOU GET MOTION SICKNESS? Yes

ROLLER COASTERS -- SCARY OR EXCITING? The opposite of whatever you answered

PEN OR PENCIL? Ooo! My favorite pencil is a hello kitty pencil I've had since grade three, which my daddy gave to me. It's really important to me and I'd ask you not make fun of it. But it's a little to late to ask for *that* common courtesy now, isn't it?

HOW MANY RINGS BEFORE YOU ANSWER THE PHONE: I have call display, so say if it's one of my girlfriends then right away. But if it's someone who.. say.. has been a bit of a jerk lately, we'll just have to see.

FUTURE SON'S NAME: Maybe Lance. That's a good boys name, right?

FUTURE DAUGHTER'S NAME: I was thinking we could name her after mother. Is that ok?

FAVORITE FOODS: Hog'n'dogs [i have no idea how you really spell that stuff. But it's funnier that way ~james]

DO YOU GET ALONG WITH YOUR PARENTS: No, I disagree with them most times. Except sometimes in arguments it's convenient to bring up their opinions, so I do.

CHOCOLATE OR VANILLA? Chocolate

FAVORITE ICE CREAM: Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough

CROUTONS OR BACON BITS? Croutons. Heaven forbid I hurt an animal.

DO YOU LIKE TO DRIVE? Well, I'd prefer it if you could pick me up.

DO YOU SLEEP WITH STUFFED ANIMALS: They're up on a shelves around my room. But sometimes when I need someone to care about, I like to take them down and just hold them. Oh, I mean, I care about you too dear..

STORMS - COOL OR SCARY: Evil. They totally ruin your makeup and just what's the point of going out if your dress is going to get all wet and look like some slut. Not that I'm talking about anyone's ex-girlfriend here.

WHAT TYPE WAS YOUR FIRST CAR? My daddy's um.. car.. thing. I think it was a dodge or a ford or something.

IF YOU COULD MEET ONE PERSON, DEAD OR ALIVE, WHO WOULD IT BE? Oprah. She has so much to say to today's women.

FAVORITE ALCOHOLIC DRINK: Whatever has an umbrella in them.

WHAT IS YOUR ZODIAC SIGN? snake (on the Chinese zodiac)

WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE POET? Maya Angelo.. at least I think that's what Oprah keeps recommending.

DO YOU EAT THE STEMS OF BROCCOLI? uck. I never had to put up with them as a kid, so why would I now? I feel the same way about supporting myself.

GUYS -- IF A GIRL ASKED FOR THE SHIRT OFF YOUR BACK, WOULD YOU GIVE IT?

GIRLS -- WOULD YOU EVER ASK A GUY FOR HIS SHIRT OFF HIS BACK? No, if he can't look at me and figure out he should be doing. I'm not going to ask. But maybe I might bring it up in a month or two when we finally get around to talking about the things he's been doing wrong lately.

IF YOU COULD HAVE ANY JOB YOU WANTED, WHAT WOULD IT BE? I don't know yet. But I'm going to keep taking courses until I figure out what I like. The government doesn't actually want those student loans back anyway

IF YOU COULD DYE YOUR HAIR ANY COLOR, WHAT WOULD IT BE? Maybe the same color as that waitress you seemed so fond of last night.

HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN LOVE? Yes. It's the most wonderful romantic feeling in the world. I wish everyone could be as happy as I've been. I mean am.

WHAT IS ON YOUR WALLS IN YOUR ROOM? Well, the shelves of teddy bears. And that poster of Tom Cruise I should really take down. It's so Junior High, but oh well. Then I've still got that absolutely romantic poem my last boyfriend gave to me.

IS THE GLASS HALF EMPTY OR HALF FULL? Depends on the liquid.

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE SNAPPLE? I don't drink snapple. I only drink bottled water.

FAVORITE MOVIE(S)/BOOK(S)?: Books: Um.. I don't read that many books. But I should really check out that Maya Angelo. Movies: Titanic, of course!

ARE YOU A LEFTY, RIGHTY OR AMBIDEXTROUS? Left handed. And I wish a certain someone would _stop_ implying that's a sign of devil worship

DO YOU TYPE WITH YOUR FINGERS ON THE RIGHT KEYS? Sometimes.

IF YOU COULD BE ONE GARDENING TOOL, WHAT WOULD YOU BE? I don't understand this question. Is this implying that I'm supposed to like gardening because I'm a woman?

WHAT'S UNDER YOUR BED? I've got this little chest of keepsakes, and then a whole stack of Cosmos and some bridal magazines from when I was in Junior High (I don't think about that stuff anymore, of course. Really. It just comes up in conversation, it's not like I'm obsessed or anything)

WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE NUMBER? 666

WHAT IS YOUR DREAM CAR? Well, I'd never get one, but a big musle car is kind of sexy for a guy. But if someone I actually knew owned one, I'd have to mock them. They're obviously just big penis-cars.

FAVORITE SPORT TO WATCH: I don't really like sports, and I will never understand how anyone could waste their time on it. Why can't we do something I like doing?

SAY ONE NICE THING ABOUT THE PERSON(S) WHO SENT THIS TO YOU: I like the really sentimental stories they send. I always pass them on - and hey, it might be good luck!

PERSON YOU SENT THIS TO WHO IS LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND: Probably my sister, she's always so wrapped up in herself (just kiddin' girl). I'm glad *I'm* not like that.

Star Trek: The Alternate Voyages

"Bashir Bonks Everybody"

Vash look about the room, wondering, vaguely, why the bar was on its side. Ah! That was it.

Picking herself up, Vash tried to retain an aloof composure, which was not easy, considering how she was flat out drunk. She stumbled about the room, bumping into something, she apologized to the wall and continued on her way. She thought back, not an easy task, for someone who had just guzzled three Bluvarianoze Wally-Wally-Bing-Bangers. She looked at herself and realized she was still wearing the evening dress she had worn to her business meeting. Damn! She wished she had been able to sell those statues. They would have kept her alive for at least a few more months.

SMAK! Who was this, groping desperately at the figure in front of her, she recognized Julian Bashir.

"Hey Julie-baby!" she managed to mumble.

"Vash? That is you isn't it?" The doctor managed to spurt out.

"Hey come 'ere. I wanna show you something. <hic>"

"I think I had better take you back to your room." He said, and began the lumberous task of half-walking, half-dragging Vash to her room. Upon arrival, the door slid open and he managed to dump the semi-conscious Vash on her bed.

"OUFF! Hey Julie, come here. I got a secret I wanna tell you."

Dr. Bashir felt her nails dig into his chest as she grabbed for him. Although he did put up a bit of a struggle, he had to admit, he was not entirely reluctant. He felt Vash's hand trace a curved path down his front. As it slowly made its way to his lower thighs, he felt her apply the slightest amount of pressure.

He heard the door swish closed behind him, but by that time, he was to occupied to do anything but grunt.

"Well, if it isn't the little slut." It was Q the one and only, Vash sat up in bed, looked down at herself, she saw her breasts heaving in and out in rythm to her breathing. She looked around, Julian was not to be found.

"Oh, don't worry about him, I've fixed him good." That malevolent grin she knew so well crossed his face.

"Q, it wasn't his fault. What have you done?"

"Well, lets just say, I've made things... interesting."

Captian's Log, STARDATE: 2514.8, I have recently had the pleasure of rejoining my Transporter Chief, as we have docked at space station Deep Space Nine. When, to my surprise, the worm hole opened up. And out of it came the Enterprise, registration NCC1701, the original craft. For which the NCC1701-D is named after. It was shortly after this that I learned of Dr. Julian Bashir's disappearance aboard D-S-Nine. I can only hope that these two incidents are not, in some way, related.

"Julian!"

"Dax!"

"Julian!"

"Dax!"

"OH! JULIAN!!!"

"DAX!!!!"

"OOOOOOOOHHHHH! YES! AAAAAHHHH! OH! Do it again! Julian"

"Perhaps another time. There are many other things I have to do."

"No, Julian, please. come back. I want to do it again. Please."

Captians Log, STARDATE: unknown. After our successful mission to get high ratings on late night re-runs, we now find ourselves... thrust into unknown territory, It seems like Federation space, only the person in charge of the other ship is a bald old man. Which stands against current Federation policy that the captain of the ship must be attractive and non-boring. I have consulted with Spock and he tells me that we have been brought here by a man named Q. Apparently someone too stupid to have more than one letter in his name. Bones has taken up arguing with an android called Data, who, according to Bones, is even more annoying than Spock, whereas Spock has decided to go to his room and masturbate, saying "This is way too fucking weird for me"

Acording to last report, my communications officer, Uhura, transported over to the other ship and was speaking to, ugh, a Klingon. My chief of Enginering, Mr. Scott, is apparently over on the other ship as well, deep in discussion with Mr. LaForge as to how he could join them in a future episode. I believe their last idea was for Scotty to get sucked into a ship resembling the death star and then survive in the transporter for 80 years.

The planet we are currently orbiting, I am informed, is called Bajor. We have of course sent the ritual security officer down to be slaughtered.

"Dax! What are you talking about? I thought we had an understanding?" Sisko watched Dax admiringly. He had never seen her naked in her new body. He had to admit, it was a very pleasing sight.

"I'm sorry, but I just can't do it anymore." She looked down at herself, realizing she had forgotten to put her clothes back on. Oh well.

"But it was every Tuesday and Thursday. What's happened?" He watched her closely, following ever subtle movement.

"I'm sorry Benjy, but after Bashir, you just don't measure up, Literally."

"OOOOOOOHHHHHH!"

"Kira, your tits are so --"

"OH JULIAN! OOOHH!"

"Kira!"

"JULIAN!"

"KIRA!!"

"JULIAN! JULIAN! OHH! Oh, Julian, your fabulous. Hey, Where are you going?"

"Lets just say, I have other things to do."

"No Julian, please. Come back..."

"Well, Kira, Did you enjoy yourself" Odo stared at the Major wondering, briefly, what her bra size was. Wishing that one night had gone further.

"Odo, what do you mean?" She stared back at him, thinking, comically about his attempts to make an erection.

"Don't play games, Major. I know you and the good doctor had a rather interesting encounter last night." He stared longingly at her.

"Oh, so what were you this time?" She laughed to herself as she looked at his nose.

"The bed covers."

"Hmpf!" And with that eloquent statement, she left.

With a flash of light, Q appeared in her room. Vash sighed and turned around. She watched him, as he slowly made his way toward her. She was bored, so why not.

She slid off her clothes, leaving nothing.

"OH BASHIR!"

"Beverly, please, call me Julian."

"JULIAN!!!!!"

"Omf!"

"I'm sorry Jean-baby, I'm just going to have to call it quits. I mean, your nice and all, but after... Bashir. Well, I'm sorry."

Picard looked around his briefing room, vaguely wondering what the inverse cube of 49 1/2 was. He reached out to fondle Beverly's breasts, he was surprised when she drew back. "Beverly what's wrong, its nothing we haven't done before."

"Jean Luc, I'm sorry." With that, she left, thinking of the glorious night before.

Hmm... What should he do? He could not help thinking of Beverly, in her tight, blue uniform...

"I'm sorry, what were you saying?"

"Sir, I was merely stating that if something is not done to save the planet Bajor within the next 2 hours, it will be environmentally crippled." Data stood there, unblinking, thinking of Tasha, her firm breasts caressing him, his --

"And how is it that neither Deep Space Nine or the Bajor officials have spotted this problem?"

"It wasn't sweeps week."

"Oh, ok. So, what do you propose we do about it?"

<INSERT VERY TECHNICAL EXPLANATION HERE, WHICH INVOLVES PICARD GOING TO THE SURFACE OF BAJOR>

"Ah, alright, then, I shall depart immediately."

"PLEASURE! INTENSE PLEASURE!"

"What! Deanna, please, I'm sure we could work this out. We could go back to my room, have a little Octurian Brandy, you could sense me, I could blow my horn..." Riker gave her that sly grin she new so well.

"I'm sorry Will, I just can't"

Sisko watched in amazement as the panel in front of him danced with a million colors, reds, greens, blues. They definitely had to get some better special effects on this show.

"O'Brian! What's going on here! what's with these stupid cheap effects? They look lie something 100 years old!"

"I canna' say, sir, perhaps i' is the ol' Enta'prise bein' here."

"Scotty? What are you doing here? I asked for O'Brian."

"Aye sir. That ya' did, But I 'm jus' practicin' for when I'm here as a regular."

"Well, that's very nice but --"

 _____   ______   ______   ____   _
|  _  | |  __  | |  __  | |  __| | |
| |_| | | |  | | | |  | | | |_   | |
|  ___| | |  | | | |  | | |  _|  |_|
| |     | |__| | | |__| | | |     _
|_|     |______| |______| |_|    |_|

"Hey! What the -- Where's all the lights...?"

"Sir, I canna 'splain i'. The pow'r 'as been completely drain'd"

"OH NO! It can't be... It is... AHHHH!"

"Wha' i' i' sir?"

"ITS A CHEAP PLOT TRICK!"

"Why, Nurse Chapel, you hair looks so... old, But you have nice legs."

"OH BASHIR!!!!!!!!"

"Oh Chapel!"

"BASHIR!!!! (Please, call me Sheena, Sex Godess)"

"But I just don't... Understand.. it. How ... could you? How could you... do.. this to... me?"

"Jim, I'm sorry, but it takes you the same amount of time to get an erection as it does for you to complete a sentence."

STARDATE: Oh, who cares <hic> We the Romulan people (No, not now, maybe later, meet me in my quarters tonight) Nooow where wuz I? Ohya, we juss declared war on the rest of the <hic> galaxy, but I dunno if they bulived us. I tell ya though, jus between yous and me, mr. Computer, HQ gave me a helluva first officer, those tits of hers, YAA! (what, no go 'way, no I don't know where the key to the liquor cabniet is) Well, anyways, among today's plans, we'ze gonna ransack that pittsy little D-S-Nine and go steal their liquor <hic>

"JULIAN!!"

"UHURA!"

"JULIAN!!!!!!!"

"UHURA!!!!!!"

"JULIAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"What do you mean you cannot see me any longer?"

"I'm sorry, Worf, you got big ridges and all, but compared to Julian, you just don't measure up."

"Hmf, True warriors are NEVER turned down."

"Ya, give it a rest... I guess true warriors don't last more than a minute either, huh?"

"Alright... is everybody here? Sisko... check. Odo... check. Riker... check. Kirk... check. Worf... check. And of course me. Well men, I know, the ecosystem of Bajor is up in the air, the Romulans are ready to invade, D-S-Nine is suffering not only from a power failure, but from cheap special effects, and, as last I heard, Mr. LaForge informed me that Mr. Data is dreaming and the Enterprise thinks its an old west movie. But, today, we face a far more serious problem... BASHIR."

At this moment the room erupted into general chaos, this, however, was no match for Picard, who merely tilted his head in the right way, cleared his throat in his Picardian way (that he does so well), and straightened his shirt, at which point everybody spontaneously paid attention to him.

"Right Men, I know we'll probably get fired for this one, but I say we use some violence." Said Picard, at which point Kirk wondered what was wrong with violence, stating that it was standard protocol to beat other races up on his show. Riker ground his knuckles and hoped maybe he would rip his shirt, Worf Grunted, stating he had wanted to use violence all along, Odo said, he didn't see anything wrong with violence, and (during his moonlighting as the T-1000) he had killed many people already. And Sisko was busy bragging about how he had punched out Q ("only the most powerful being in the universe") and that he could take Bashir on single handedly. Picard, of course, straightened his shirt and protested that it was in the script.

"Right then, its decided, lets go."

"BASHIR!!!!!!!!"

"GUINAN!!!"

"BASHIR!!!!!"

"GUINAN!!!!!"

"BASHIR!!!!!!! Oh, Bashir, who are those men in the door? Picard, Riker? is that you? Kirk? Hey put those phases down..."

 _____   _____   _____   _____   _____   _   _   _   _
|___  | |  _  | |  _  | |  _  | |  _  | | | | | | | | |
   / /  | |_| | | |_| | | |_| | | |_| | | | | | | | | |
  / /   |  _  | |  _  | |  _  | |  ___| |_| |_| |_| |_|
 / /__  | | | | | | | | | | | | | |      _   _   _   _
|_____| |_| |_| |_| |_| |_| |_| |_|     |_| |_| |_| |_|

"Oh! Great! Now just what am I supposed to do on a Friday night..."

Captians Log, Stardate: 2519.3 Our vist to D-S-Nine now concludes, with sweeps week over, we find ourselves one character less, Bashir has, unfortunately died. He was found in airlock this morning, we can only presume the multiple phaser blasts to his head were an accident of some sort, the Producers are, of course, irrate, but it is expected that everything will return to normal shortly. The Bajorn environmental problem turned out to be the local citizens simply not recycling their Coke bottles. The Original Enterprise has disappeared through the worm hole, this time with the bizarre idea of turning themselves into an animated series in an effort to re-capture their old ratings. D-S-Nine's power has been restored (it turns out that somebody merely hit the wrong switch in the control booth). And the Romulans have left Federation space upon discovering that any type of fun is prohibited (especially non-synthaholic liquor, which is strictly forbidden in any Star Trek show) and went off in search of a -Quote- REAL -Unquote- planet.

I like the cut of your jib

I dislike the cut of your jib

]]> http://feelingsofwhite.com/2000/01/the-jib-generator/feed/ 1 http://feelingsofwhite.com/1999/12/i-like-tea/ http://feelingsofwhite.com/1999/12/i-like-tea/#comments Fri, 31 Dec 1999 07:52:30 +0000 Legion http://feelingsofwhite.com/1999/12/i-like-tea/ James stared at the faces around the table: Cliff, Liam, Kelly and Sam. The five of them were in a small smoky room. James thought to himself: this is going to be good.

“More tea Mr. Riseborough?” James asked.

James imagined Cliff to say “Why yes James, I’d love some tea,” instead of what he really did, which was mumble through the gag in his mouth and make a half-hearted attempt at escaping from the ropes that bound him.

“Lovely,” James said, pouring Cliff some more tea. “And you Mr. Harll?” A repeat of the above performance ensued, featuring Kelly.

Cliff began mumbling fervently and struggling against his bonds. James gave a sigh, then got up to remove his gag and restraints (although he left Cliff’s feet tied to the chair).

“What the hell is going on here!?” Cliff screamed.

James sat down again. “What do you mean Cliff?”

“Do you have any biscuits?” Asked Liam. James nodded and pointed to the plate behind the milk.

Cliff ignored Liam. “I mean what the hell are we all doing here?”

James looked around at the people surrounding the table once more. “Why, we’re having tea, Cliff.”

“But why the hell have I been tied up? And why are we having tea?”

James looked confused. “Um… because.” He stared at the table. “More tea?” He asked hopefully.

“No I don’t want more tea! I want to know why the hell we’re here!”

“Are you sure? It’s chamomile,” voiced Sam.

“Mmmm…” said Liam. “These biscuits are wonderful James.” James smiled.

“I don’t care what kind of fucking tea it is, I want to get the hell out of here, or you’re going to tell me why not.”

“Uhh…” James stared around the room. Then he fixated on a point on the wall and his eyes just kind of glazed over.

“Shhh… Cliff.” Liam whispered. “You’re going to ruin the story.”

Cliff stared at his sometimes friend/sometimes enemy Liam. “What story?”

“The one he’s writing right now.” Liam winked knowingly at Cliff.

“Oh for christsake! Is this some god-awful story? Well what the hell are we doing here then?”

Liam shrugged. “Hey, give him time, he’ll probably come up with something, besides I like tea.”

“No. We’re sitting in some stupid room drinking tea. This story isn’t going anywhere.”

“Hey!” shouted Liam. “Shut up about my story!”

Cliff looked confusedly between James and Liam. “What? I thought James was writing this story.”

“I am.” Liam said. “It’s me, James.”

“Now I’m confused,” said Sam.

Kelly mumbled in agreement.

“What? I’m the author.” Said Liam. “I can do whatever I want.”

“But that’s just confusing,” said Cliff. “If you’re writing the story, you should be the one speaking.” Cliff looked over towards James, who was daintily arranging biscuits around his tea cup.

“Hey, shut up you.” Liam said. “It’s my story, I can do whatever I want.”

“Well, yes, you’ve proven that. Don’t you understand, you’re violating some fundamental laws of story writing? Not only are you talking to us as the author, but you’re doing it through one of your characters, and one who’s not you.” Liam looked disheartened. “And what the fuck are we doing here anyways.”

“I like tea.” Said Liam.

“But is anything going to happen?”

“Like what?”

“Like something funny, or interesting.” Cliff sighed. “Is there a plot even?”

“Hey ya,” said Liam. “Do something funny. Why don’t you guys go to the center of the earth again?”

“What? We did that already. That was another story… and a much better one than this.”

“Ya… you remember when we all had funny names?” asked Liam. “I was Legion, and you were Immortal Goose. Liam was Mighty Viking and I’d tease him about spam. You remember that?”

“No,” said Sam.

“See, that was a mildly amusing joke,” said Cliff.

“What!” cried Sam. “I don’t even know what you guys are talking about. Hi, I’m Sam.”

Cliff burst out laughing. “What the hell was that?” He said, pointing at Sam.

Liam smiled. “See, you do like my story.”

“But that had absolutely no place in the conversation.”

“Hi, I’m Sam.” Said Sam.

Cliff stared at Liam. “What the hell are you doing, James?”

“But I thought you guys thought that was funny.”

“Well… it is, sometimes. But that’s just stupid.”

“Hi, I’m Sam.” Said Kelly.

Cliff stared in disbelief at Kelly. “Now how the hell did he do that? I thought he had a gag or something.”

Liam looked around nervously. “Um… he does.” Kelly mumbled, as if to assure this point.

“Then how did he say something?”

“Uh… I took his gag off for a bit back there.” Liam nodded.

“Well you have to say that you took off his gag then.”

Liam took off Kelly’s gag back then when he said something.

“Well you can’t do it now!” Cried Cliff. “You’re making a mockery of the writing process. I’m quitting your dumb story.”

“What?” cried James. “You can’t do that! Do something funny now.”

Cliff turned to look at James. “So now you’re James, huh? Is this some sort of bad imitation of the exorcist?”

Liam cleared his throat. “Uhh.. I mean, What? You can’t do that! Do something funny now.”

Cliff shook his head in dismay. “Listen, we’re just the characters – it’s your job to make us do something funny.”

“Oh…” said Liam. “How about if I do a jig?” James got up and began dancing a jig.

“No, this is dumb. Who else wants to play Canasta?” asked Cliff.

“Sure, why not.” Said Sam.

“Sure…” said Kelly.

Oh, but Liam took Kelly’s gag off again before he said that.

Liam pulled out a deck of cards and began shuffling.

James sat down again. “Hey, c’mon guys, let’s go do something. Hey I know. What about if some diamonds were stolen. Ya, that’s it. Hey guys! A bunch of diamonds were just stolen! Let’s go rescue them.”

“Would you just shut up already,” said Liam. “It’s bad enough you were making me speak. But you didn’t even have me eat any of the biscuits that whole time.” Liam scooped one of the biscuits from the plate and began chewing.

“Yup, sure, great idea.” Said Cliff as he rearranged his cards. “Why don’t you go rescue them with a bunch of other people.”

“Oh ya, well…” James looked around.

“You have no facial hair!” Finished Claire.

Cliff looked up in disbelief. “Claire!? Where the hell did she come from? And besides, Liam’s bald. See!” Cliff pointed emphatically at Liam.

“What do you mean?” asked James.

Cliff threw down his cards in disgust. The rest of the players stared at Cliff for a moment, then decided that Liam would just play for Cliff. “You said at the beginning. We were all in this little smoky room. How the hell did Claire get in here?”

“Uh… those vents.” James said, pointing at one of the air vents. “She crawled in.”

“To say ‘you have no facial hair’? And besides, Liam’s bald!! Look! He’s bald!” Cliff pointed more emphatically at Liam.

“Yup, pretty much.” Nodded Claire. She bent down and crawled back out through the air vent.

“Why did she say that anyways?” asked Sam.

“Because that’s what she said last night,” nodded James.

“And our readers are supposed to know about this how?”

“Oh, right!”

Flashback: Last night we ran into Claire and she said that Cliff had no facial hair.

Liam was staring in revulsion at James. “That was the worst flashback I have ever read or experienced.”

“Hey, it’s not that bad.”

“Yes. Yes it is. James, end this story, now.” Liam looked around. “Oh, but first let me eat some more of these biscuits.” Liam grabbed a number of biscuits and began shoving them into his mouth. “Where did you get these anyway?” He asked through a mouthful of crumbs. “They’re delicious.”

“Oh, just the supermarket. I can show you where.”

Liam smiled and nodded. “Ok. Now end this story.”

“Oh... come on.”

“C’mon, do it.” Said Cliff. “To think… I’ve utterly wasted my time here. I could have been in some porno story instead of this.” A huge smile crossed Cliff’s face. “Ya…”

“Well, ok. Thanks for coming guys.”

“I liked the story.”

“Shut up Sam.”

“I liked the biscuits.”

“Shut up Liam. I swear if you prolong this any more I will erase your nads in my story.”

“Sorry.”

• The World's First Trans-Sexual Burger Joint
• Eating Dead People for Fun + Profit $$$
• Punch The Bus Driver and other suicide games.
• Tired of Dead Zombies Constant Interspacial Wormjumping?
• Together at last: Anticoagulant fluid.
• "The phones are all out of goosepimples mr. retardo!"
• "Rent to Own" + seven other playground taunts.
• Wishing your way to happiness the I Dream Of Jeannie Way.
• How to throw up on pople and government property without being caught.
• Secret Agent Falacies on the next shopping mall with a side of malt vinegar
• No I'm serious. Stop doing that or I'll hit you.
• 7200 Tennants of the Ipso Switch Manufacturing Corp.
• Nazi's getting you down? Try new Nazi-away (tm) - now in new spray on forumla!
• Writing Your Name In The Snow, an instructional booklet. You and Your Penis.
• The turban is supposed to be orange. That's how you know it's working.
• Genetically Engineered to please your tastebuds

I used to read mags like spin and rolling stone and after a while you really start to notice the glaring similarities between any given article and review. Plus gansta speech is just plain funny. I suddenly remembered having worked on this sometime in the past. I fished through the archives and actually found it, finished it, and posted it just in time for Christmas...

There's a lot to be said for image.

My dinner guest and I are seated in an out of the way Italian restaurant and while he sprinkles a bit more parmesan cheese on his tortellini ("Spaghetti is so cliché") I reflect that, unlike so many others, my guest recognizes the importance of image. He has latched on, and rode, the most impressive display of sheer marketing prowess since the Easter Bunny decided to lay eggs.

There's a lot to be said for image.

And my guest, Santa Claus, has said almost all of it. He's gone through more phases and names than Bowie and Madonna put together. Santa Claus, Kris Kringle, his bad-boy "Nikki 'Two-Streams'" phase, the Father Christmas/St. Nick period ("What do I call you?" "Whatever's easiest for you, but if you're confused, most call me Santa.") When you add in the international cross-marketing and numerous imitators, you have one of the most recognized media figures of all time. But is he basically a one-hit-wonder? Pundits are asking can he do it again?

A somewhat slimmed down, mustache-only Santa is in town to promote his newest holiday, on which he collaborated with the Easter Bunny and "featuring Lil Kim."

Rolling Stone So what, exactly, is the title of this new holiday? there's been a lot of press, but no title has -

Santa Ya... Ya see, is all a marketing thang. They's all gonna be revealed in time. But for now, yous just hafta sit tight.

RS Big Secret?

S [smiles] ya, somethin' like that.

RS So before we get into it, we have to touch on Christmas. That one you collaborated on with Christ. It's not only your biggest hit, but some say the biggest hit ever. How do you expect people to look past that?

S Right. Ya. See Christmas was huge. I mean, just huge. And I ain't wantin' to take away from that. But see, I think peoples'll be able to see that. It might take a bit, but... See, Christmas, that was, like, me and J.C. And I ain't tryin' to take away from what we were doin' there. But I'm an artist, see? I gotta keep doin this, too. I'm not trying to replace Christmas, I don't see that I could ever touch what we did there, but I gotta still keep doing this for me.

RS You said you're doing this for artistic reasons. What about critics that claim Christmas is over-commercialized? That it's just a media thing?

S [sighs] See... lotsa people just don't get it. I mean, I'm an artist, but one that uses the media. The media and their reaction. It's all part of it. It's everything, right?

RS Fair enough. So your collaborating with the Easter Bunny on this new holiday. How did that happen?

S Ya. Well I first met the Easter Bunny through J.C. We had both done stuff with our Immaculate Savior, and he introduced us at this party. I'm real excited 'cause I've just been a huge fan of his for a long time - and he was the same way 'bout me. So it's worked out really well.

RS And Lil' Kim

S She's jus' sexy. We've known each other forever and always wanted to do something together. It just hasn't worked out 'til now.

RS What is it she's doing, exactly?

S Oh... she laid down a few vocals and then just some of the colors and themes we were trying to get down - really pulled a few things into focus for me an' Easter.

RS So it will be more 'you and the Easter Bunny' or more 'you and Lil' Kim'?

S Oh ya, it's me an' Easter all the way, y'know. Kim's more just a guest spot. Ain't a bad thing, y'know, just a thing.

RS So what is it that you're trying to do this time? What is it you want to do?

S [grins] Y'know, I just' gotta let some people know: The Claw is back! Gonna show some people how its gotta get done! [laughs] But no, serious. I think a lot of people have gotten mixed up with this whole holiday business, forgotten their roots. An' I'm here to give 'em all a little reminder.

RS How so?

S Well... I'm jus' sayin...

RS No, really. You're saying things are wrong? What is it? What is it that today's holiday originators are doing wrong?

S Well... this whole 'week/month' thang. I mean... It's stupid, right? I think yous should just... y'know... stick to a day [pauses] I mean, don' get me wrong or nuttin' - I ain't tryin' to start no war. But I mean sheeet... like "frienship week" or "history month" Damn! Me an' J.C. bring the house down with one day. If people wanna dig you for a month before - that's their thang' right? But don't be shovin' yo talent-less ass down they throats 'n'shit...

RS So you think holidays should be one day affairs?

S Damn! Random Act of Kindness week? A day, sure. For the shorties an' all. But a week? By the end o' that mutha it be more like random act o' violence! Sleigh some muthas that need sleighn' is all I sayin' [chuckles]

RS So what will this new holiday bring? What can we expect?

S I think my fans are gonna see a more personal side. There's gonna be layers, y'know. Like... Christmas: Green. Red. But this new one it's like a rainbow when you compare them. I mean, I really feel like I've grown as an artist. I got the skills, ya... It's gonna be a smaller afair. In some way it's like the opposite of Christmas. More introspective. Less mistletoe.

RS And it's due...

S Ya, it'll hit in the next month or two. It's kinda all up in'a air now. We all waitin' on the distributors 'n'shit.

RS Right. Well thanks for your time Santa.

S Ya. Peace out.

The following is an out-take from my upcoming short story Adventures in CLab.

Lunch Time: I meet Friendly-Guy, Katrina-The-Cleaning-Girl[1] and The-Other-Consultant again for lunch. Friendly-Guy (who works as a techy-type) relates the following tale: They have a laptop that they need to open up. This laptop has special screws. He's asked around: No one has a screwdriver for it. They need to contact Compaq for it. They have put in a request to have someone from compaq come out so they can open up this laptop. Switch Perspectives: You are Compaq-Screw-Guy. Your sole job is to go out to client sites and unscrew things. Switch back: Now the thing I love is, they can't just bring in a screwdriver, they have to bring in Compaq-Screw-Guy. I ask Friendly-Guy about this. He tells me they tried that, but the Guy-Above-The-Guy-Above-Friendly-Guy[2] said “no, bring in the guy.” Mere mortals cannot unscrew this screw. This is a job for: (booming voice) Compaq-Screw-Guy!

When I later related this story to my Co-Worker-Who-Knows-About-TheRestaurant we began wondering how this guy operates. When you're done do you get a note that says You've been screwed? Perhaps he makes you answer questions or fill out forms before he actually gets down to the actual screwing. “Where do I put the screws when I'm done? ... Well, I can put them in a cup, or place them on the desk. I'm here to help you out, I'm flexible. You just tell me what you want ... Oh no, I'm afraid I couldn't wait for you. You'll have to give me a call back if you want me to screw them in again. That'd be a separate service request.”

Friendly-Guy digresses into detail, because, don't worry, there's more to this story: Apparently this is a French Laptop. They got it by mistake, or something. But whoever got this laptop sees it's a French Laptop (different keyboard and everything) and rolls it out anyway. Now we come to the user, who is English. English-User gets French-Laptop...and starts using it! But apparently, after a while (not right away. English-User is apparently the determined sort), English-User finally gets fed up with it and sends it back. It sits on a shelf for a while with everyone kind of avoiding it. That's when it comes across Friendly-Guy's desk (well, he doesn't so much have a desk as he has a pager), because they need the hard disk swapped out of it. This is definitely a job for a screwy guy.

Maybe it'll make sense to him.

[1] Katrina Story II: Katrina is my current hilarious-quit-smoking-attempt-story champion. My brother has been bumped to second place: Reasoning that whenever you drink, you want a cigarette; if he could manage to drinking without smoking, he'd be set. You have to admire the shear style of a week-long drinking binge under the pretense of quitting smoking. Katrina usurped my brother as the all time champ: To curb the pangs of nicotine addiction she began using chewing tobacco and smoking cigars. Thankfully both my brother and Katrina have realized the folly of continuing these attempts over the long term.

[2] Or maybe the guy above him, I'm not sure

A humorous email I sent to my friend Cliff. He was working as a night watchman for Paladin Securities at the time and had been told that he sounded bored on the radio [which he was]. Told to liven things up a little, he intentionally took it to the other extreme and began acting overly jubilant. He actually had to have a meeting with his boss, Leo, regarding what he should sound like on the radio. I decided to offer him some advice

When you ask him about what a 'good radio voice' is.. I think you should sound really keen an interested. Not at all sarcastic. If you can try and get him to give you examples, and then keep screwing it up. Plus keep calling him chief

"Ok Leo, sure. I just wanna make sure I'm doing things right for Paladin. How's this? [really enthusiastic voice] This is Charlie-Five over!"
"Uh.. no.. um.. less enthusiastic, you don't need to scream."
"Right Chief. How about this then? [completely monotone voice] This is Charlie-Five over."
"No.. you need more gusto than that -"
"Ok Chief. [normal voice] This is Charlie-Fi [COUGH! COUGH!] Sorry.. I got [COUGH!] Ugh.. [COUGH!] [COUGH!] Whoa.. sorry. Lemme try that again. [really dry raspy voice] This is Charlie-Five over. [clearing throat] Sorry.. Do you have some water or something? [clearing throat]"
"What?? Are you trying to make this difficult?"
"No way Chief. [clearing throat] There.. that's better. I just wanna win one for Paladin. Y'know.. make everyone happy. Maybe you could show me how to do it? I'm really sorry Leo. [getting sad] I'm honestly not trying to screw up.. I just want to know how to do it right."
"[feeling guilty] Um.. ok. No, it's ok. Uh... here. like this. [Pleasant, deep radio voice] This is Charlie-Five, over."
"[still kinda sad, but holding it in. In a slightly-too-deep radio voice] Charlie-Five, over."

"No.. no.. like.. [Pleasant, deep radio voice] This is Charlie-Five, over."
"[Pleasant, deep radio voice] This is Charlie-Five, over."
"There! [smiling] That's it [realizes he's forgotten Cliff's name] -- uh.. That's it! You got it."
"[Practicing. Pleasant, deep radio voice] This is Charlie Five. This is Charlie Five [normal voice] yah.. ok.. I think I got it. [Pleasant, deep radio voice] This is Charlie Five [insanely enthusiastic] Everything's A-OK here! Locked and Secured up *Right*!!"
"Whoa! What was that?!!"
"[pleasant, deep radio voice] This is Charlie Five [smiling]"
"No, no.. everything has to be in that voice?"
"It was. [confused look] Sorry Chief. What did I do wrong?"
"Like this [pleasant deep radio voice] This is Charlie Five, everything's secure."
"Sorry Chief. [Pleasant deep radio voice] This is Charlie Five, Everything's locked up and buttoned down."
"What? No you can't say that. It's not professional. Just say everything's secure."
"[pulling out handbook] I don't remember reading that. I remember the call-signs [flipping pages]"
"Just.. Listen, it's my company, just trust me."
"[putting down handbook] Sorry Chief. [insanely enthusiastic] Charlie-Five, Everything's *SECURE*"
"No, normal voice. Remember?"
"Right Chief. [insanely enthusiastic] Charlie Five!"
"No.. [pleasant] Charlie Five"
"[pleasant] Charlie Five"
"[pleasant] Charlie Five, Everything's Secure."
"[pleasant] Charlie Five, Everything's Secure."
"Perfect! Now you got it."
"[beaming] Right Chief. [pause] But what if everything's not secure?"
"What??"
"I mean, if I find some doors unlocked or someone sneaking around. Should I still use the voice? Or should I try and vary my pitch a bit more?"
"Uh.."
"Like, see should it be. [pleasant, calm radio voice] I've spotted an intruder. [normal] or should it be more like [semi-hysterical] Intruder! I've spotted an intruder!"
"Uh.. it doesn't matter, if you actually find an intruder it's okay to be frightened."
"[stiffening] Hey.. I didn't say I was scared. I'm just sayin.. maybe I'd be a little excitable."
"No, no.. I wasn't saying -"
"Listen Chief. You want to see what this cowboy's made of? Do you know what I've done with that MagLite?"
"What? [scared]"
"I'm just sayin' Chief. I'm out there. I'm *Rep-Re-Senting* Paladin. I'll take them down!"
"ooh... kaaay..."
"[in his own little world] But when the adrenaline's pumping it's like [picking up radio and screaming into it] MuthaFuckers! They's some intrudas! [pulling out maglite] I'm takin' these muthas *OWT* [letting radio fall to his side. Muttering] Fuck with my watch.. willya.."
"Listen [again trying to remember Cliff's name. Realizing it's on Cliff's name-tag] Rice-- Rish-- Uh.. [giving up on pronouncing Cliff's last name] Listen. I'm thinking maybe this isn't the right line of work for you."
"[all calm and appologetic] Oh, hey.. it's ok. It's just the adrenaline. No, no I'm ok [pleasant deep radio voice] Charlie Five [normal] See? I got it. I'm cool. I'm just sayin I'm there for Paladin, right? If something goes down. I just want you to know, is all. That I'm there for you Chief."
"uh..."
"[pleasant voice] Charlie Five. Charlie Five. Everything's secure. [normal] See.. it's cool. I got it."
"Ok. Ok then [reassured] I guess that about wraps everything up."
[[..later..]]
"[Pleasant, Deep radio voice] Hello everyone, this is Charlie-Five coming to you live from Surface Engineering. I'm pleased to report that everything is currently locked down and secure. I'll be making my rounds shortly and Mobile-One? I'm looking forward to seeing you in.. just a little bit. That wraps up my report - I'll be talking to all of you [smug voice] later."
[[..still later..]]
"[Insane] AHHH!! The door is *FUCKING* Open Man! Holy Shit! I can't believe it. Fucking on my watch too.... [...static...] -obile-One. Come-in Mobile-One. I NEED Backup. Repeat. Charlie-Five requesting immediate assistance. [...pause...] Uh.. wait... [Pleasant, Deep Radio Voice] This is Charlie-Five, Everything is secure. Seems I left the door unlocked the last time through. Over."

I wrote this for a friend that was intending to start up a magazine back in '93 or '94. The magazine never got past issue one (it was a good attempt though), and this is all that remains of it.

Surname: Unknown
Given Name: Barney
Status: #1 most annoying puppet or person in a TV series.

Origin

Barney's true origins are unknown, although much has been speculated on this subject. One theory is that he is a product of a time traveling experiment gone [very] bad. Although somewhat plausible, this theory is generally discounted due to the lack of supporting fossil evidence. However, if Barney were a true relic from the Jurrassic age, and these were the results of dinosaurs developing speech, it would explain why no other dinosaurs developed such a capacity. The next possible explanation is that he is a space alien. This would explain many things, including Barney's "teeth" which match no other species known, as well as his purple-green color, which no respectable Terran species would don. It would also explain the complex machinery required to create Barney's hypnotic effect of children. However, it becomes apparent that a race of beings capable of creating such a devious creature, who's purpose would obviously be to destroy the minds of our children and thus weaken our defense to an attack, would have the technology to wipe us out without such an elaborate hoax. Still, this theory cannot be totally discounted, for there is the remaining possibility that Barney is an outcast of such a species. Also a possibility is that Barney is a demon come to destroy us all. This theory, at first, seems correct, but on detailed study, this theory also fails the test. For why would such an obviously powerful demon require assistance from the creature known as "Baby Bop" or, indeed, any of his minions. Truly, Barney's origins are a mystery.

Background

Thankfully, much more is known about Barney's personal history than his origin. It is known that Barney is in someway related to Grimace, one of the notorious Ronald McDonald's top agents. It is believed that Barney and Grimace are cousins, although it has been suggested or that the two are brothers. It is also known that at one point in Barney's life, he was fiercely loyal to Grimace and Ronald. This was toward the beginning of Barney's career, it was also during this period that he met Natasha (who is now works under the alias "Baby Bop"). It is unclear what exactly occurred, but all evidence seems to point toward some sort of falling out between Barney and the McDonald gang, and that when he left he took Natasha with him. Barney maintains a fierce hatred of the McDonald gang, and most especially Grimace. Barney has take out a contract on Grimace, and there have been numerous attempts by Barney to kill Grimace. So far, all of these attempts have been unsuccessful, although during one hit, which occurred at a meeting of the Fast Food syndicate, Wendy was accidental shot and killed. This knowledge has not yet been publicized, mainly due to the massive efforts by her father, Dave, to maintain an illusion of normality, denying anything is wrong and maintaining his daughter is still alive. To this day Dave maintains a hatred of Barney and has taken a contract out on Barney as well as Natasha. Grimace has been driven underground by the numerous attempts on his life, and is now rarely seen out side of his home "McDonald land" and even then, glimpses are rare. Barney is hated by many members of the Fast Food syndicate, who regard him as an upstart, someone who was let in and then betrayed them, he is especially hated by Ronald McDonald, who is believed to have recently taken out a contract on Barney, jealous of Bareny's newfound success. After splitting from the McDonald Gang, Barney laid low for a number of years. Much of what happened during this period is pure speculation, as little hard evidence exists. It is known Barney was experimenting with drugs during his sojourn with the McDonald Gang, and it is commonly believed that at least during part of his absence he experimented heavily with them. Currently, Barney is a heavy user of drugs and illegal narcotics [although the exact type is unknown], he is also a supplier to many of his agents. His heavy usage of drugs also explains his effortless ability to maintain an atmosphere of inane happiness. It is also believed that during this time Barney made numerous contacts that allowed him to surface in his present day position, a PBS show. It is perhaps this, more than anything that gives us insight into Barney's persona, for he made this choice for a number of well planned reasons. For one, PBS does not allow commercials, thus giving Barney more air time. Also, the general public is unprepared for this kind of an onslaught from a PBS channel, although their "guard" is up when vie wing normal channels, the majority of people have a great trust for what PBS channels put on the air. It is unknown how Barney joined up with his current band of elite followers, although they are fiercely loyal to him, and confrontation without backup is ill advised.

Profile

Upon the first appearance of Barney on PBS, it was felt that Barney may be part of a conspiracy, but on further investigation this was proved wrong. It is now known that Barney is working alone, with the exception of his followers. Barney is a "lone operator." He is also an egomaniac, believing himself supreme among all of his competitors. It is believed Barney wishes to slowly gain control of our young through his TV show. It is speculated that Barney plans to influence children into becoming his loyal followers, forcing them to buy Barney merchandise, adding to the Barney fortune. Once he gains this control, it is unclear what he intends to do with his new found power. Much speculation has occurred on this subject as well, but none of it provides any clear, true explanation that fits the known facts. However, growing evidence is leading to the conclusion that Barney, although brilliant, is insane. This fits all of the facts gathered thus far on Barney's activities. It is believed that this condition is a result of his drug abuse, and it is also speculated that this may have been the reason for his split with the McDonald land gang and his brother Grimace. Normally Barney is peaceful, however, when Barney is not under the influence of drugs, he has been known to become violent and abusive, it is believed that Barney's elite group of followers have, on occasion, fallen victim to Barney's rage. Barney's temper is also believed to have caused a number of deaths, mostly during Barney's disappearance. No charges can be laid because little evidence was ever left behind. It is believed that at least one of Barney's elite was killed, but this was covered up by the Barney cult, realizing that this would be harmful to their public image. Barney is also a known sexual deviant. It is believed that Barney has on a number of occasions, molested the children he is so often seen with. Thankfully, however, these situations are relatively rare, as most of his sexual energy is spent with Natasha. Barney is very protective of Natasha, his moll. In fact, it is considered a private joke among the two that Natasha donned the name of "Baby Bop."

Tactics

Unlike many other criminals of Barney's type, the open killing of Barney is not a problem. Almost all those over the age of seven recognize the threat of Barney. The problem instead, lies in getting to Barney. It seems that only Barney's elite know how to contact and summon Barney, and attempts to duplicate this feat have never been successful. A number of raids have been conducted, but all have ended in failure. Barney can only be seen in"safe" situations, highly guarded and controlled. It is unsure even where the taping of the show occurs. Approaching Barney or any of his followers, especially "Baby Bop" is extremely ill-advised unless considerable force is present. Due to the uncertainty of Barney's origin, it is unknown how the death of Barney could be brought about. It has been attempted to gain information from one of Barney's elite, but it has been found that all are extremely loyal. The reason for this loyalty is unknown. It is obvious that they see through Barney's character, and recognize him for what he is. Most prized would be the turning of one of these agents, as information they could provide would undoubtedly be extremely valuable.

The sesame street movie 'Follow That Bird' is it is actually a communist analogy. Big Bird represents the common man/woman, living and accepted by Sesame Street, the communist collective. Cookie Monster represents the capitalist-mole that must be beaten down. John Candy representing the universal equilibrium/karmic retribution. And so much more... discover the true evils of Sesame Street's large yellow menace.

Written originally as a humorous email I unleashed upon my friends, enjoy!

I've just realized that Sesame Street's "Follow That Bird" movie is actually a pro-communist analogy. Follow:

Initially, Big Bird is contented in his idealic life on Sesame Street. Sesame Street represents the purist form of the Utopian Communism which Marx, Lenin, Plato and so many others dreamed of. However, the capitalist pig-dogs (represented by the "Society of Feathered Friends" as well as "The Dodos" [Big Bird's adoptive family]) see this as unfit. Mrs. Finch [a representative of the Feathered Friends, and the bird that convinces Big Bird that he would prefer to leave sesame street] represents the Ultra-Left Wing Liberal "Democratic" Media. She confronts Big Bird and, against Big's better judgement (is big bird a boy or a girl? No one knows. S/he represents the common person, genderless, accepted by communism, rejected by capitalism), Big Bird decides to leave Sesame Street to live with the Dodos.

Sesame Street (the loving communist collective), allows Big Bird to leave, wishing only Big's happiness. But what happens?! Upon arrival, Big finds the Dodo family to be prejudicial, stupid, and stuck in their simple minded beliefs regarding the pursuit of happiness. Indeed, who would wish to join the Dodos.. ingrained in their simpleminded ways? Big Bird naturally grows dissatisfied with their materialistic ways. Note the Dodo's constant exercise programs - broadcast from the "t.v." (or television) - the Mrs.Finch-inspired media. As long as we slave away to the capitalistic television's every wishes, we have no desires. But Big Bird, born from the beloved womb of communism, cannot allow his life to waste away! He cannot stand this life - absorbing every whim that the capitalist tells him. Note: Big Bird receives a postcard from Snaufallupagus, what happens? The Dodos (capitalists) inform him that Snuffy cannot be his best friend! Because he is not a Bird (ie, he is not a capitalist, like them). Conformity! Birds (capitalists) only! Let's all follow Mrs. Finch (media) like good little automatons! Do the capitalists have any love for the common man/woman (big bird)? No!

Snuffalufagus ([Big Bird's best friend] who represents George Orwell's Big Brother) writes Big, asking him how things are going. Once Big sees how The Dodos (the stupid capitalist pig-dogs) reacts to his multicultural inter-relations with Snuffy (they scorn him, stating Birds must only associate with other Birds - No Tolerance!), Big Bird finally sees through the so-called "democracy" of the Dodos/Feathered Friends and decides to leave. To return to his loving communism. But unlike Sesame Street, which allowed him to follow his heart, the capitalist media (Mrs. Finch) will not allow this! It does not fit within their single-minded view of human(bird)-kind! Mrs. Finch pursues Big, hunting him/her down! Mrs. Finch (the capitalist media) knows that if Big's message of rebellion and communist-satisfaction reaches the masses, the jig will indeed be up. Big's loving communist fellows (sesame street) launch a search. They must find Big! Communism looks after it's own. Protect Big from the capitalist pig-dogs!

The Count (who obviously represents a Stalin/Hitler composite ["One! One dead Jew! Aha!Aha!Aha!"]), Oscar the Grouch (representing the worldly communist who has seen the other side, and knows it holds no glory), as well as others love Big Bird. As only a communist can care about his brethren. They will find Big Bird! A massive search ensues. Will Sesame Street (communists) or Mrs. Finch (the capitalist media) find Big Bird first?

Hilarity Ensues. The Tension Rises!

As Bert and Ernie search for their dear friend, using a flying machine (airplane), they reflect that the world, as they see it, is an "upside-down" world (they do this through a musical number). The capitalistic, so-called democracy, of the lands outside sesame street, has had it's values polluted. Indeed, it is an "upside-down world" when the values of the media and conformity are placed above the common man. And as they reflect on what a twisted society capitalism has turned their landscape into, we, the viewer, reflect that Bert is not evil. He has merely been painted that way by the damning media (Mrs. Finch/webmasters everywhere). Communism accepts and loves Bert and Ernie for their differences. "Democracy" has Bert run over by a bus. I ask you: Indeed, who has more love for their populous?

Other musical numbers constitute a down-to-earth truck driver informing Big that you must "Learn to say Yes when life (the capitalist) says No". A heartfelt number in which Bird, Snuffy, and others sing of their heartfelt longing to be together (to rejoin the collective). Scenes in which Cookie-Monster (the capitalist-mole who must be beaten down) devours the car in which he rides - A metaphor for the way a capitalist will run his economy. He only thinks about the now! And two ex-second-city actors, representing the capitalists themselves (as opposed to Mrs. Finch, representing the media), who seek to *enslave* Big Bird; wishing only for the monetary gain they could receive from caging and using Big Bird.

Indeed! We see the folly of the capitalist/democratic view!

Eventually, the law (John Candy), representing the universal equilibrium/karmic retribution, arrests the second city actors (capitalists). Big Bird returns to Sesame Street (communism), having seen the error of his/her ways. And Mrs Finch (the brainwashing left-wing media), is laughed out of sesame street - as the *true* multiculturalism and acceptance of communism is drilled into her. Her old-world prejudices have no place within the acceptance of communism! Well-meaning as they might be, the capitalist media has no place within the hallowed halls of communism.

Finally, Big Bird returns to his/her nest to talk with Snaufallupagus. To return to Big Brother and let him know that s/he made a mistake, and has now returned to the loving collective.

VIVA LA COMMUNISM!!!

Can You Tell Me How To Get To Sesame Street?

I can... but it's not a physical destination, it's a mental one. We will get to Sesame Street (utopian communism), when we learn to reject Mrs Finch and her ilk. Viva La Communism? No. Viva La Sesame Street! Let us home that, as the youth of tomorrow are raised with the loving communist influence of sesame street, we are one step closer to overthrowing our democratic oppressors.

VIVA LA SESAME STREET!!!