Friday, July 25, 2014

19 minutes ago

19 minutes ago (over IM). What follows is a conversation between me, and another human. Usually I add some merry little names, but this time I'm going to try and be stark and realistic, so you will see a conversation between @me and an @other. Notice that nowhere in the conversation is anyone making a cup of tea for the other person. Come on. I think, in the future, these conversations will always begin with a cup of tea, however virtual the cup or tea is.

@me: Dirk Gently show is great.
I love the story about the random intelligence that appears in the body of the young woman.

@other: did u make sure you saw the first episode?

where the guy travels through time?

@me: holistically, yes.

@other: they took the two best British Comedians & the best Writer of all time and created a TV show.

Fuck i miss it

@me: i wasn't aware of the accolades. but fuck, it was a bally well beginning.
How many more seasons do you expect?

@other: 0

i wish i wish i wish

there was another season

it's canceled

@me: WHAT

@other: i fucking hate the british for it

i read an article saying that it was an expensive show

and although it had like 3 million viewers, they would rather play reruns of ameri an shit TV

for more hours or something ... bullshit

bascially cost to do 1 of those shows is like equal to like 4 re run samerican shows

@me: what is ameri
lol. ok

yeah, the brits like to let the shows be longer in length, and try to say there is more substance.
personally, i feel that it's so that everyone can have enough holidays.
two or three episodes are enough
may four, if the weather is alright. (an error occurs here on my part: should be 'maybe four', not 'may four')

Doctor Who tries to follow a more transatlantic model

@other: yeah, honestly if you make 4 really awesome fucking episodes i'm happy

but, u gotta give me more shows is all

@me: Yeah, I think they shouldn't just cancel like that.
It's like
"Here's a new monkey we discovered!"

@other: having to wait 2 years for Sherlock was god damn murder

@me: "Now there is no longer that monkey anymore. It may as well never have existed."
At least if we could holistically join the lives of all the actors, it would be ok. But I don't think they have done the technology for that yet.

@other: lol

u should write a dirk gently novel

@me: Like right now I would love to hang out with Danerys and cry with her about the dragons she is repressing.

@other: u would be right for it

u have the crazy mind

@me: Crazy, huh?
Anyway, enough about me. How does it feel to be pop pops?

@other: good and tired as hell

Saturday, July 19, 2014

Poor Little American Parents

tobi was a chinese spy sent to the united states in order to alleviate the local's misunderstandings about china, and chinese domestic affairs. 


They know that if a child (a child?) a child traipses on over unto their fertile ground, this will be the end for their own child (a child) a child. 

(What is this child-a-child?)

Child is pretty okay, and knows how to say 'barn'. That's good enough for most of uz, and we don't need no more pollution in the form of children coming in. Cos that means we would have to recalculate the whole farms we have, back around, and make sure everyone is covered.

Ha ha ha. And that, my friends. That's just not 'realistic'.

"Riiiiiight," said Tobi, a Chinese Spy sent to spy on the United States most intimate affairs. "How about we switch off these 'placards' you guys have come up with (yes, just switch off) and we simply glide to a world where a lot of you guys can't even have babies!"

"Tobi, this is an exaggerated fact, I am virile, I assure you," said a Poor Disenfranchised American Parent. "Don't you start knocking on my virility, because I will come at you like a moose!"

"Will you shoot me to shit?" asked Tobi. "In China we have billions of people that we can import. Why are you so concerned?"

"Yeah I'll shoot to fucking ribbons motherfucker," said a Poor American Parent who apparently could afford a machine gun (but was finding it tough to care for spawn), "I'll tear you!"

Tobi died.

Sunday, July 13, 2014

The Motivational Nature of Speeches

tobi was a chinese spy sent to the united states in order to alleviate the local's misunderstandings about china, and chinese domestic affairs. 


"So you see that only I can save Shangri-La's babies from despair and ruin," closed Midge T. Liberty. He had closed very well, and, as a true member of the society, bowed, and then walked down into the dirty masses.

He happened to sit next on a pedestal next to Tobi. What a surprise! "Hey...Tobi, right," said Midget, as though casual, but his conversation was cut short.

"Do you know about teep?"

"I've heard that his name is teep," said Midge T. "Didn't you get shot to shit, or something, just trying to save it?"

"It?" said Tobi.

Midge T. nodded. "In English, pronouns can often be allocated to designate, say, something of negligible value. You will be wise to hear of this, please take it close to your heart."

And with that, Midge T.'s time was over, and he got up and walked away.

There was a certain wind that blew over Shangri-La as Midge T. finally retired to his bedroom. Tobi felt this now, and he forgot the question that had been a goblin his mind.

Saturday, July 12, 2014

The Entrance Into The Kindness and Care Institute For Extremely Gifted Souls

This is a part two of an ongoing story, not just some random cursing drama. Please see the following link for part one, The Kindness and Care Institute For Extremely Gifted Souls

It was like he was walking into some kind of deep tunnel, with only the hint of light toward the end indicating the whole curve of the tube. And he could hear this crazy squeaking sound bouncing, resonating all over the place.

You see, Masood was a perfectionist with audio. He was what he would call an 'audiophile'. He would call himself that. Then someone on the Internet Audiophile Maturity Achievement Notary for Accredited Sound Supervisors (IAMANASS, to be abbreviated) forums had disagreed with him. That had been a long and sordid battle, full of both the most commonplace gags such as getting each other banned from the forums, and then escalating to hiring chefs on online food delivery services to make food and have them delivered (purely through tools for the blind but not deaf, of course) to each other's houses at such inopportune moment as the befuddled delivery guy may slip over the mysterious bubbles and accidentally poke the wrong person's eardrum with a chopstick. In both debaters' minds there had been this image of a ridiculous man just sinking quietly into his bathtub, strings of red diffusing quietly into the water, and no hint of the drowning (because the eardrum was messed up). "If me eardrum was working I would have known I was drowning, just by the sound". The two would have probably been even more hilarious if packaged over to the ISS for immediate evac.

Then Masood realized that this squeaky, rubber-sole on stone-floor soul-crushing sound was actually coming from his sneakers, as he was walking. "Dammit," he cursed unto the echoing dammits, and carefully scooped the two shoes off his silky socked feet. He looked around, but, because it was a long, never-ending tunnel, they hadn't provided any racks or anything to put the shoes on. So he just put them down and continued walking into the dark foreboding tunnel, this time quietly. He had attained stealth, even to his trained ear. He knew exactly how far back the shoes were, in case he would ever need to turn and run back.

Now, as he walked, he began to keep seeing Pullperry, in some kind of strange loop, except this time it wasn't him who was trying to calm the child down. It was Pullperry calming him down, and his voice was gentle. "What happened, Masood?" said Pullperry, who Masood now felt may have arms as long and deep as his eyes could see into the tunnel. "You were so relaxed outside, so ready to simply breathe the day's tumults away. You were so cool before, now you're so angry."

"Is that what you think, Pullperry?" screamed Masood into the darkness. "Is that what you think I was prepared to do? Just forget about all my failures of today?"

"Ah yes," said Pullperry, "FAIL FAIL FAIL, your unit tests. Of course."

"Yes, and you are making fun of me in the darkness?" screamed Masood into the unknown. He screamed very loudly, because, well, it was the unknown, so who cared? No questions about audio fidelity here. "I knew you were trying to ruin me from the moment I came to sit and relax on the bench," screamed Masood at Pullperry. "With your stupid turning around like some nonsencical thing. And wanting to take my phone away from me!"

There was a child's laughter and the sound of Masood's personal ringtone dissipitating down into the a curve of the tunnel.

"You bastard, Pullperry!" he screamed. "You fucking devil of a bitch's spawn. You're not even a son of a bitch, you bastard. You're the illegitimate outcome of the bitch's shrimp. You're a fucking son a offa shrimp, Pullperry," yelled Masood. It was over. There was no more. He had given everything, and just when he was ready to take a break, this son of a shrimp had just spun over and fucked him.

"Ahem," said a somewhat older voice than Pullperry's, and Masood opened his eyes. And it was a older woman's voice too. He found himself suddenly no longer in the tunnel, but in some kind of musty laundry room with poor yellow lighting.

"Pullperry is just a poor child, dear Masood, please try and contain yourself," she said. She was wearing a blue khameez, and black churidars. "And please take off your shoes before you enter the Institute.

My name is Saleema," she said. "You may call me Saleema. Don't call me aunty."

Friday, July 11, 2014

Why Old Men Like Me / Should Stay Away From The Khaleesi (it rhymes)

After work last night, I decided to stop by the opening of the subway station for a quick smoke.

This is simply a small adjunct for Friday evenings, a shift away from the electronic dragon breath my soul has recently preferred.

I switched because I got bored of e-cigs. Sure, I'd found (among all the e-cig solutions) something that worked. And I've been using it for almost six months now, and I've only bought 10 whole packets of real cigarettes since then. (That doesn't sound great, but it actually is, for a

But I digress.

So I was standing there, smoking real cigarettes, when this girl who totally looked like the Khaleesi came and began checking her cellphone.

Surely not, I thought to myself. But I kept looking, and surely, yes. The same eyebrows. The same distance from hair to eyes. The same demeanor. It was like, she was the Khaleesi of the 21st Century (this is based purely on looks, not personality or anything deeper), probably talking to one of her 'advisors', on that phone of hers.

We stood for a good while there, me wondering if it would be appropriate to walk over and tell her how much I felt that she looked kinda like the actress from the Game of Thrones (it did not help that I do not remember the name of said actress, only who she acts as). So I imagined myself walking over and telling her that.

She would say "What fuck you, you compare me to a fucking actress on TV?"

I would say "Well, I did say 'kinda'. Doesn't mean the actress is *better* than you. You just 'kinda' remind me of her. Your eyebrows, and their juxtaposition to eyes, for example."

The girl runs away into the subway. I wait, wisely, a few good ten minutes and two cigarettes later, and follow her path, but only to go to my own home.