I don't understand this whole 'bein a villain' thing. There you are one day, livin your life like normal. You get up, maybe go to work or somethin like that. Maybe you brew some coffee or you go out and hunt a cheetah with a stick and some fire, I don't know. But then, one day, everything changes. You do somethin evil, and then another thing evil and pretty soon, you're trappin kids in cages and surroundin some guy from Iowa with crazy penguins in your weird underground mall that seems to have no bearing on anything and, not only are you not amazed by any of this, but you gloat about it. You just stand there tryin to explain how not only does this not sound not as bonkers as a meth addict after drinkin a case of red bull playin whack-a-mole, but that it all makes total sense and it's the way things should be. I mean, if you're the last of the ice giants and you been on Earth for a billion years, you're bound to get lonely. I'm not heartless. I get that. I spent some time alone myself. When you spend time alone, you do get a little weird. In my case, I sing songs about a lot of things. One time, I sang a song for a half hour about makin coffee. I didn't even realize until I was well into the song that I was really just singin Wagner's Ring der Nibelungen. By the time it really struck me, I was really commited to the role and I just pushed on through until I got to the aria. Before I was finished, the phone rang I had to run out and do somethin or another. It was like any other song that gets stuck in your head if you don't finish singin it. For the next four year, I had Wagner in a loop in my head. It was a good two hour loop, though, and I didn't mind so much. The people around me kept askin me to stop humming Ride of the Valkyries however. After that, I got stuck on Holst's The Planets and it's still spinnin around up there. Right now, I'm hummin Mars. So, like I say, I understand that whacky things can happen to someone when they spend time alone. But there are limits. Never once during my time humming Wagner did I say to myself, "Pat, ol' boy, you need to move to Antarctica and build a mall under a volcano and then staff it with a bunch of nutty penguins and whatnot." I guess what I'm sayin here is that there are limits. Singin to yourself is one thing, but this is a whole other.
That's was I was thinkin to myself when I was standin there in from of Amelia Earhart and waitin for her explanation. At least, that's what I thought I was thinkin until she said, "Excuse me?" and I realized I'd just said all that out loud. But I stood by it. I wasn't about to let her back me down. I mean, she can't even tell a decent story and she's been around for a trillion years or so. You'd think in that time she'd learn how to tell a real story, but no, she couldn't story her way out of a paper bag.
"Excuse me?!" she said again. Then I thought, or thought I thought that I'd better stop sayin all this out loud.
"I agree," said Alistair. Then I stopped thinkin.
"You know, Pat O'Neil," began Amelia, "you don't understand. You don't know what it's like to be the last of your kind. You don't know what it's like to have to survive off the tears of orphans. And you don't know what it's like to be the proprietor of a mall that no one ever comes to and that you have to staff with crazy penguins because those are the only kinds of penguins that talk. Sure, other penguins know how to talk, but they also know when to shut up, which, for a penguin, is always. They're great admirers of John Wayne and Clint Eastwood. All sane penguins really see themselves as the strong, silent type. Think High Plains Drifter meets Happy Feet. Here I am, runnin this mall and drinkin orphan tears, older than you'll know. Do you know how that feels, Pat O'Neil? Do you?!"
I had to admit that I didn't know. So that's what I did. "I don't know," I admitted.
"You're right," she gloated, "you don't know. So shut your donut trap and listen, maybe you'll learn something before I kill you."
Cowed, I told her, "Yes ma'am."
"That's better," she crossed her arms and nodded her head like a six year old that thinks she's just won an argument. "Now, I'm gonna tell you, Pat O'Neil, it feels awesome! I'm not even kidding you. There's no rush like grabbing an orphan, leading it around the mall looking for it's mommy and then telling it that it's mommy was eaten by zombie bears and died screaming she hated the child. Oh, the joy you get from those tears, it's like the ambrosia of the gods."
Alistair butted in, "You mean ambrosia."
"That's what I said," she retorted.
"Actually," he explained, "you said 'ambrosia of the gods'. By definition, ambrosia is the nectar of the gods, so all ambrosia is ambrosia of the gods."
She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "Are you serious? I'm about to kill you and you're giving me semantics lessons?"
He nodded, "You've got a point."
"I sure do," she said, self satisfied, "and I will drive it through your eye if you don't shut up and let me talk!" The penguins moved in menacingly. They even sneered. I kid you not. Up until that day, I would have told you that it was impossible to sneer without lips, but now, I would tell you that the Pat who spoke to you before is a liar, and then past Pat would get hurt, because Pat O'Neil hates to be called a liar. Then, past Pat would probably resort to fisticuffs with present Pat and future Pat would have to live the rest of his life with the regret of giving himself a wedgie. So, don't go back in time and let me tell you that something without lips can't sneer, because none of us want that.
"I am the queen of my world, Pat O'Neil," she began again. "I control it all. This mall? I had this mall built from the screams of a thousand tortured souls. That and drywall. These penguins? I have been breeding the entire species of penguins from when they were still dinosaurs. I have set all of this up to lure my enemies in, confuse them and then strike them dead. I am like a spider wearing leiderhosen. Just when you're getting ready to ask, 'hey, why is that spider wearing leiderhosen?' it's too late, because you've been spiderized! Take that!"
"What?" Douggy and I said in unison.
"I have set this whole thing up, Pat O'Neil!" she announced triumphantly. "I have lured you into my mall, knowing that you are willing to risk life and limb by driving past a black hole to go to WalMart. So I've built this bastion of commerce to give you a false sense of security. Then, I got my army of mad penguins to appear as shop keepers, because I know that you feel comfortable with animal labor, seeing as you use the squimonk to make donuts. Finally, I posed as the FedEx delivery man to give you the directions to my throne room, which is really just my trap room! And now, you are in the trap! Because you are in the trap room! HA HA HA!" Again, she just said this "HA HA HA," which is disturbing to hear. "Now, Pat O'Neil, do you have any last words before my penguins rip you to pieces?"
"I do believe I do," I said slowly, the idea coming quickly to my mind, "I just have one question, really. It's a small thing, but I think it's important to clear the air about this before we die."
"Ask away," she granted, seeming very pleased with herself.
I couldn't keep the sly grin from creepin into my lips as I said, "Why'd you steal these penguins eggs?"
The cry of the penguins was almost deafening. A thousand penguins, in unison, yelling "MY EGG!" was almost more than my ears could bear. Fortunately, they were still stuck up with a little of the bacon grease. If not for that grease, I may be deaf now. So, thank you, bacon. You are forgiven and you may re-enter my life in all your salty, smoky glory.
As the army of penguins descended on the ice giantess, she threw off her human form. She stood a hundred feet tall if she was an inch, covered in fine white hair. Her tusks had to be longer than a man and sharper than a razor cared for by an OCD barber. It looked hopeless for the penguins. She swatted them away as if they were so many black and white marshmallows. They always got back up, though. They are persistent little guys. Then, I saw what may be the oddest thing I've witnessed in my life up to this point.
All together, the penguins shouted, "Penguin Power! Unite!" And then they all stared to stick together, standing on top of one another and linkin their little flippers together. The mass grew and grew until it was as tall as the ice giantess. When the wriggling stopped, I saw the penguins had joined together to form a giant penguin made out of smaller penguins. This ran, well waddled, full speed at the furry giantess. She would swing at it, but the penguins would open a hole in the penguin mass and her fists would move harmlessly through. Then the penguin made of penguins would swing back at her, swatting her to the ground or pecking her in the genitals. I don't think that works on giantesses, but she did get real mad about it. As they fought, Alistair and Douggy picked the lock on Jared's cage, pulling him to freedom despite his shouts of "Careful! My arms and legs are asleep."
We turned to run away, leaving the two pugilists locked together. But then we started to feel bad for the penguins, who were really just trying to protect their eggs and health insurance and never really did anything against us. We didn't want to abandon them, but we couldn't think of a way to help them. We discussed it in low tones at the door to the back hallway.
We were at a loss until we heard a voice behind us say, "I have an idea." We turned around and saw the penguin from the Build-a-Bear. I knew it was him because his Build-a-Bear tag read Gunther.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Antarctic Volcano Base Assault Part 3
Now, where was I in this tale? Let's see, there was some stuff about bacon, some other stuff about penguins and then some stuff about stuffing. I remember now. We were trapped in the Build-a-Bear, the doorway was filled up with utterly mad penguins filled with bear stuffing and we had just accepted a package from the FedEx guy who told us the back way to the throne room. I gotta say, I felt pretty bad for that FedEx guy. He must've drawn the short straw when they were handin out the routes. I imagined that he had to collect his packages every day and then drive all over Antarctica deliverin sciencey type equipment to all the researchers and whatnot along with droppin medicine of to the penguins and then havin to deliver to this mall. The weird thing is that he still did it wearin the purple shorts. You'd think FedEx would relax the dress code enough to let the poor guy put on some pants, or a snow suit or a giant fur cape or something. I thought it really spoke to his professionalism to not complain one bit about it or even show that he was bothered by it.
After signing for the package and leaving it on the counter of the store, Douggy, the squimonk and me slipped out the entry door into the back hallway. I don't know if y'all ever been in the back hallway of the mall, but they're scary places, full of dripping ceilings, spider webs, fire traps, pitfalls, razor sharp walls connected to touch sensors and landmines hooked up to trip wires. Well, I assume that to be the case. I've only ever been in the back of one mall, and I'll be the first to admit that it was run by an ice giantess and could only be accessed by diving through a volcano; well, that and the back door. But we spent a good long time in that back hallway, waiting for the squimonk to find and disable all the traps while Douggy and I guarded the back and tried to block out the screaming of the penguins. I started to feel a little bad for the little guys. I mean, they had risk life and limb to go to work at this mall every day so that they could have the health insurance to afford their medication for a problem which I bet is not really their fault. Then some guy comes in, busts up their store and fills them with animal stuffing. I was thinkin for a minute about goin back and helpin 'em out. But then I started to think about them tryin to get my, you know, "eggs" from me, and I decided that I'd better not so me and Douggy played some cribbage instead and we just shouted out our points really loud to drown out the struggling penguins.
Just as I was about to skunk Douggy with a sixteen point hand, Alistair came to us and said, "We're ready."
Sadly, we had to fold up the board and put our cards away, which was for the best really. Last time I skunked Douggy, he got in a tizzy for about two days because he said I cheated. I kept tryin to explain to him that I didn't know how that fifth jack got into the deck and that I'd really just had an itchy wrist, but he didn't buy it. But I later remembered the camping trip I took with Frank and her kid, who wanted to show me a magic trick about disappearing and reappearing jacks, which I thought was poorly performed, but was still kinda neat nonetheless. On that very same trip, I was walkin out to relieve myself in the middle of the night when I tripped on a root or a sleeping bear or somethin and fell right into a pile of poison ivy, but my wrist just sorta grazed it, so I didn't worry too much about it. I tried tellin Douggy that later, but he didn't want to hear about it. It's just as well, really, because I really was cheating. The whole episode taught me that I just need to do it better or I need to come up with justifications faster. Don't look at me like that, it's cribbage! Read the rules and I think you'll agree that the whole thing was invented by drunk cheaters. I was just playin in the spirit of the game.
We made our way slowly and carefully down the hall, just in case there were any traps that were too subtle for the squimonk to detect, but everything went according to plan. We passed a couple of stores and I was lured to one particular door by the smell of cookies. I was thinkin I might be able to sneak one, you know, just to settle my stomach after all that bacon. So I opened the door a crack and looked into the back of the shop to see if they had any cookies just lyin around. I didn't see any. Instead, I saw a penguin in the process of mixing up a batch of cookies. He had a bowl full of flour and some other stuff and he was cracking eggs into the bowl. My opening the door made some sort of bell or somethin go off and he looked over at me. We stood staring at each other for a couple of seconds before he threw himself in front of the bowl, holding his flippers out protectively and yelling, "It's not what it looks like! Don't judge me!" Then he fell to his little penguin knees weeping, "It's not my fault! They make me do it! I didn't want to but they made me!" He toppled over and pounded his hands on the ground shouting "Curse you, Mrs. Fields! Curse you and your house from here to eternity!"
I closed the door and slowly backed away. I turned down the hall and, for a moment, Douggy and I made eye contact. He looked from me to the door and back to me. I told him, "I don't.. I just...I don't know."
"Let's just move on," he said.
With that, we finally arrived at a large, ornate door marked Throne Room!!!! I felt the exclamation points were a bit unnecessary, but I didn't paint the door or have it designed or anything, so I didn't say anything. We pushed on the door and, as all throne room door must do, it creaked noisily open, settling with a loud thump. We descended a small set of stairs into a large, magnificent room. In the middle of the room, trapped in a cage, was Jared.
When he saw me, he called out, "Pat!"
"Jared!" I yelled, "We're here to rescue you!" and I started running towards him.
"Pat! No, it's a..." Just then, an even bigger cage fell down on top of us. "trap" Jared finished weakly.
"Oh, are you friggin kiddin me!?" shouted Alistair.
Then the laughter started. That deep, horrible laughter that I have come to associate with an ice giantess. "Pat O'Neil!" The sound of my name echoed through the chamber. "I have you now, Pat O'Neil! You have fallen for my clever trap. And now, because I am sure that I have you and that there is no possibility at all for your escape, I will gloat and reveal my entire trap to you. In this explanation, I am sure that you will not find a way out. In fact, I am so confident in my ability to utterly destroy you, that I will now surround you with mad penguins and remove any other restraints on you at all."
I'm really not sure why she phrased it like she did, but I just went along with it. I figured there'd be some way we would get out of this predicament. Or would there?!?!
Yes, there probably would. I mean, if you just think about it for a second, how could I be writing this if I were killed by a bunch of mad penguins? Or even by an ice giantess? Or how could I write this if I were still trapped there. Unless, of course, I had a laptop and she gave free internet to her prisoners, which would just be silly.
After signing for the package and leaving it on the counter of the store, Douggy, the squimonk and me slipped out the entry door into the back hallway. I don't know if y'all ever been in the back hallway of the mall, but they're scary places, full of dripping ceilings, spider webs, fire traps, pitfalls, razor sharp walls connected to touch sensors and landmines hooked up to trip wires. Well, I assume that to be the case. I've only ever been in the back of one mall, and I'll be the first to admit that it was run by an ice giantess and could only be accessed by diving through a volcano; well, that and the back door. But we spent a good long time in that back hallway, waiting for the squimonk to find and disable all the traps while Douggy and I guarded the back and tried to block out the screaming of the penguins. I started to feel a little bad for the little guys. I mean, they had risk life and limb to go to work at this mall every day so that they could have the health insurance to afford their medication for a problem which I bet is not really their fault. Then some guy comes in, busts up their store and fills them with animal stuffing. I was thinkin for a minute about goin back and helpin 'em out. But then I started to think about them tryin to get my, you know, "eggs" from me, and I decided that I'd better not so me and Douggy played some cribbage instead and we just shouted out our points really loud to drown out the struggling penguins.
Just as I was about to skunk Douggy with a sixteen point hand, Alistair came to us and said, "We're ready."
Sadly, we had to fold up the board and put our cards away, which was for the best really. Last time I skunked Douggy, he got in a tizzy for about two days because he said I cheated. I kept tryin to explain to him that I didn't know how that fifth jack got into the deck and that I'd really just had an itchy wrist, but he didn't buy it. But I later remembered the camping trip I took with Frank and her kid, who wanted to show me a magic trick about disappearing and reappearing jacks, which I thought was poorly performed, but was still kinda neat nonetheless. On that very same trip, I was walkin out to relieve myself in the middle of the night when I tripped on a root or a sleeping bear or somethin and fell right into a pile of poison ivy, but my wrist just sorta grazed it, so I didn't worry too much about it. I tried tellin Douggy that later, but he didn't want to hear about it. It's just as well, really, because I really was cheating. The whole episode taught me that I just need to do it better or I need to come up with justifications faster. Don't look at me like that, it's cribbage! Read the rules and I think you'll agree that the whole thing was invented by drunk cheaters. I was just playin in the spirit of the game.
We made our way slowly and carefully down the hall, just in case there were any traps that were too subtle for the squimonk to detect, but everything went according to plan. We passed a couple of stores and I was lured to one particular door by the smell of cookies. I was thinkin I might be able to sneak one, you know, just to settle my stomach after all that bacon. So I opened the door a crack and looked into the back of the shop to see if they had any cookies just lyin around. I didn't see any. Instead, I saw a penguin in the process of mixing up a batch of cookies. He had a bowl full of flour and some other stuff and he was cracking eggs into the bowl. My opening the door made some sort of bell or somethin go off and he looked over at me. We stood staring at each other for a couple of seconds before he threw himself in front of the bowl, holding his flippers out protectively and yelling, "It's not what it looks like! Don't judge me!" Then he fell to his little penguin knees weeping, "It's not my fault! They make me do it! I didn't want to but they made me!" He toppled over and pounded his hands on the ground shouting "Curse you, Mrs. Fields! Curse you and your house from here to eternity!"
I closed the door and slowly backed away. I turned down the hall and, for a moment, Douggy and I made eye contact. He looked from me to the door and back to me. I told him, "I don't.. I just...I don't know."
"Let's just move on," he said.
With that, we finally arrived at a large, ornate door marked Throne Room!!!! I felt the exclamation points were a bit unnecessary, but I didn't paint the door or have it designed or anything, so I didn't say anything. We pushed on the door and, as all throne room door must do, it creaked noisily open, settling with a loud thump. We descended a small set of stairs into a large, magnificent room. In the middle of the room, trapped in a cage, was Jared.
When he saw me, he called out, "Pat!"
"Jared!" I yelled, "We're here to rescue you!" and I started running towards him.
"Pat! No, it's a..." Just then, an even bigger cage fell down on top of us. "trap" Jared finished weakly.
"Oh, are you friggin kiddin me!?" shouted Alistair.
Then the laughter started. That deep, horrible laughter that I have come to associate with an ice giantess. "Pat O'Neil!" The sound of my name echoed through the chamber. "I have you now, Pat O'Neil! You have fallen for my clever trap. And now, because I am sure that I have you and that there is no possibility at all for your escape, I will gloat and reveal my entire trap to you. In this explanation, I am sure that you will not find a way out. In fact, I am so confident in my ability to utterly destroy you, that I will now surround you with mad penguins and remove any other restraints on you at all."
I'm really not sure why she phrased it like she did, but I just went along with it. I figured there'd be some way we would get out of this predicament. Or would there?!?!
Yes, there probably would. I mean, if you just think about it for a second, how could I be writing this if I were killed by a bunch of mad penguins? Or even by an ice giantess? Or how could I write this if I were still trapped there. Unless, of course, I had a laptop and she gave free internet to her prisoners, which would just be silly.
Friday, February 6, 2009
The book of faces
So, y'all can find me on Facebook. Friend away. Also, I'll try to write somethin tonight. Prolly about malls under volcanos and penguins and stuff, but it might be about waffles shaped like gremlins. It just depends on how the fancy strikes me.
Here's a nice link fer it.
Here's a nice link fer it.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Antarctic Volcano Base Assault Part 2
The thing about penguins is, they may look all cute and cuddly when they're standin on their daddy's feet and drinkin the last of his vomit, but when they grow up, they sure can turn into vicious bastards. Maybe that's only if they go mad or somethin. I'm not a real penguin expert or anything, but I feel my small experience in this area has led me to want to tell you people that, if you're ever plannin to be wanderin a mall under a volcano in the Antarctic, and that mall's full of penguins tryin to sell shoes and whatnot, bring a 2x4 with you, because, if you're anything like me, you are gonna need that 2x4 boy. Them penguins can rush in on ya before you know that you're bein attacked, let alone by penguins.
I tell you this because it is what happened to me. As soon as them lights came back on, we was overwhelmed with small, flightless birds. Since we had, up to that point, been blinded in a dark room by a spotlight, we still had them little light spotty things in our eyes and so we was havin the dickenest time tellin spots in our eyes from spots on penguins. And do you think those penguins gave us a chance to recover from our temporary blindness? I will answer that. No. No they did not give us that chance. And do you know why those penguins did not give us that chance? Because they are vicious little bastards. They fight dirty, too. Believe you me, they fight dirty. I been in a fight or two, and I seen a number of them on the tv, but I ain't never seen so many penguins go for so few man parts before. Now, when I seen them fights on the tv, I learned that there is an occasional shot that falls below the belt. But that's all the shots them penguins took. Now, I know you're out there sayin to me, "Pat, penguins are all below the belt. How can you expect them to take any other sorts of shots?" And I understand the confusion. When I say "below the belt" I do not mean all of the real estate on my body that happens to be located below the belt. I mean only that part of a man that he is makin sure remains covered up by his pants by wearin the belt in the first place. That, my friends, is the only spot a mad penguin will go after. If you don't believe me, go try it. Just wear a cup before you do.
So, there I am, tryin to stave off the flood of penguins and defend the future generations of O'Neils in the meantime when I hear Jared's voice. He yells out, "Pat! You came! I knew you would."
He sounded hopeful, which was more than I could say for myself at this point. Douggy and the squimonk were havin a time of it, too. We was runnin this way and that, just lookin for somethin to drive back the mad penguins. We had nothin, though. They were pushin us back into the Build-a-Bear and all we had at hand was creepy, deflated teddy bear skins, and those often don't make good weapons. Finally, I decided I'd had enough. I figured, if I was gonna die fightin a bunch of penguins, I was gonna take as many of them little black and white so and sos with me, and I was gonna do it like they was doin it. Now, I didn't know if penguins had jewels, but it was worth a shot. And that's just what it was; a shot in the jewels. The first penguin I kicked just went flyin off through the window somewhere. I think he prolly came down by the Orange Julius in the food court, if the map of the mall was correct. The next one, I kicked a little less hard, hopin to build a defensive wall of narded penguins. It turns out, penguins really do have jewels. I kicked that little sucker right in his and he bent over like any school boy would, graspin himself and cryin.
When that one had collapsed at my feet, I heard Alistair say, "That gives me an idea."
He disappears behind me for a few seconds, during which I down three more penguins. I hear some whispering and then somethin like a machine revvin up. Then Alistair yells, "Keep kickin Pat! You, too, Douggy! We'll take care of the rest."
Not knowin what else to do, I keep kickin like I was a Rockette and I'm about to be thrown out of Radio City just before Christmas. And also, I'm being attacked by psychotic penguins. I kept kickin and kickin, downin penguins left and right. As soon as I had one down, the squimonk would rush in, grab it and pull it behind me. Then there'd be this big ol' WOOOSH noise and the squimonk would be out to collect another one. After what seemed like a week of this, I kicked another one pretty hard and sent it through the window. As I looked up to follow its trajectory, I saw this black and white ball sail over my head and land in a pile of similar balls in the doorway. Then it struck me, them squimonk was fillin the penguins up with the fluff from the big bear fillin machine at the back of the store and then usin the newly stuffed penguins to seal up the door.
A mere fourty or fifty stuffed penguins later, the doors and windows were all sealed up and it was finally quiet again. Well, relatively quiet. Instead of the war shrieks of a flock of mad penguins, we now just heard the groans of a flock of stuffed mad penguins.
Then one of them spoke, "What is wrong with you people?!" He yelled.
I was taken aback. "What's wrong with us? What's wrong with you?"
"Hey!" he retorted, "We aren't the ones who filled someone with bear stuffing! Do you know how hard this stuff is to digest? We haven't eaten in three months and now you expect us to go through a load of shredded cotton? This is gonna be murder on my colon!"
"What did you expect, tryin to peck us in the swimmer stagin area?"
"Yeah," he said philosophically, "I sure am sorry about that. See, she knew you were comin, so she took us off our meds a couple days ago. That makes us get all weird and think everyone is tryin to steal our eggs. DON'T STEAL MY EGG!" Then he started thrashin around, tryin to bite somethin that wasn't there.
We all just looked around at each other. None of us wanted to be the one to climb through the pile of mad penguins, but we still needed to rescue Jared. It looked like we were stuck. Just then, we heard a doorbell go off. We looked around, not knowin what to make of it, when the penguin said, "Hey! Hey man! Could you get that for me?"
"What is it?" I asked.
"It's FedEx!" he yelled when he'd stopped thrashin. "They've got our delivery. Come on, man, help me out, here! If I don't get that, I'm gonna lose this job! I need this job, man! It's got health insurance! Without that insurance, I can't afford my medication and then I've gotta go back to the home! Don't make me go back to the home!" Then they all started yellin, "Not the home! Not the home! Please!"
I tell ya, they may have tried to end my line, but my heart went out to them little fellas right then. So I asked him how I got the delivery and he calmly explained to me how to get the key out of the register and then open the back door. So, that's what I did. I opened the back door up, took the delivery, signed his name (Gunther) to the FedEx guy's pad and then asked the delivery guy, "Hey, do you know how to get to the throne room from here?"
"Sure," he said. If you ever need directions anywhere, ask someone who delivers things for a living. They know where everything is, man. And if they don't, they can always radio in for someone who does. This guy didn't need to radio, though. He had it all in hand. He gestured down this back hall thing that was just a row of doors with store names on it. "Just go down this hall, turn right after the Mrs. Fields, then it's four doors down on the left."
"Hey, thank ya kindly," I told him. It looked like we had our way to the throne room and were a step closer to rescuing Jared.
Well, that's it for now. I'll let ya in on some more tomorrow or the next day. I also wanna thank y'all for clickin on them little ad thingies. I found out that I make about twenty cents when one of them gets clicked on. When it just gets "seen", I make about 1/100 of that. So, I ain't tryin to beg here or anything, but if you feel like this is worth someone else givin me 20 cents, please keep it up.
I tell you this because it is what happened to me. As soon as them lights came back on, we was overwhelmed with small, flightless birds. Since we had, up to that point, been blinded in a dark room by a spotlight, we still had them little light spotty things in our eyes and so we was havin the dickenest time tellin spots in our eyes from spots on penguins. And do you think those penguins gave us a chance to recover from our temporary blindness? I will answer that. No. No they did not give us that chance. And do you know why those penguins did not give us that chance? Because they are vicious little bastards. They fight dirty, too. Believe you me, they fight dirty. I been in a fight or two, and I seen a number of them on the tv, but I ain't never seen so many penguins go for so few man parts before. Now, when I seen them fights on the tv, I learned that there is an occasional shot that falls below the belt. But that's all the shots them penguins took. Now, I know you're out there sayin to me, "Pat, penguins are all below the belt. How can you expect them to take any other sorts of shots?" And I understand the confusion. When I say "below the belt" I do not mean all of the real estate on my body that happens to be located below the belt. I mean only that part of a man that he is makin sure remains covered up by his pants by wearin the belt in the first place. That, my friends, is the only spot a mad penguin will go after. If you don't believe me, go try it. Just wear a cup before you do.
So, there I am, tryin to stave off the flood of penguins and defend the future generations of O'Neils in the meantime when I hear Jared's voice. He yells out, "Pat! You came! I knew you would."
He sounded hopeful, which was more than I could say for myself at this point. Douggy and the squimonk were havin a time of it, too. We was runnin this way and that, just lookin for somethin to drive back the mad penguins. We had nothin, though. They were pushin us back into the Build-a-Bear and all we had at hand was creepy, deflated teddy bear skins, and those often don't make good weapons. Finally, I decided I'd had enough. I figured, if I was gonna die fightin a bunch of penguins, I was gonna take as many of them little black and white so and sos with me, and I was gonna do it like they was doin it. Now, I didn't know if penguins had jewels, but it was worth a shot. And that's just what it was; a shot in the jewels. The first penguin I kicked just went flyin off through the window somewhere. I think he prolly came down by the Orange Julius in the food court, if the map of the mall was correct. The next one, I kicked a little less hard, hopin to build a defensive wall of narded penguins. It turns out, penguins really do have jewels. I kicked that little sucker right in his and he bent over like any school boy would, graspin himself and cryin.
When that one had collapsed at my feet, I heard Alistair say, "That gives me an idea."
He disappears behind me for a few seconds, during which I down three more penguins. I hear some whispering and then somethin like a machine revvin up. Then Alistair yells, "Keep kickin Pat! You, too, Douggy! We'll take care of the rest."
Not knowin what else to do, I keep kickin like I was a Rockette and I'm about to be thrown out of Radio City just before Christmas. And also, I'm being attacked by psychotic penguins. I kept kickin and kickin, downin penguins left and right. As soon as I had one down, the squimonk would rush in, grab it and pull it behind me. Then there'd be this big ol' WOOOSH noise and the squimonk would be out to collect another one. After what seemed like a week of this, I kicked another one pretty hard and sent it through the window. As I looked up to follow its trajectory, I saw this black and white ball sail over my head and land in a pile of similar balls in the doorway. Then it struck me, them squimonk was fillin the penguins up with the fluff from the big bear fillin machine at the back of the store and then usin the newly stuffed penguins to seal up the door.
A mere fourty or fifty stuffed penguins later, the doors and windows were all sealed up and it was finally quiet again. Well, relatively quiet. Instead of the war shrieks of a flock of mad penguins, we now just heard the groans of a flock of stuffed mad penguins.
Then one of them spoke, "What is wrong with you people?!" He yelled.
I was taken aback. "What's wrong with us? What's wrong with you?"
"Hey!" he retorted, "We aren't the ones who filled someone with bear stuffing! Do you know how hard this stuff is to digest? We haven't eaten in three months and now you expect us to go through a load of shredded cotton? This is gonna be murder on my colon!"
"What did you expect, tryin to peck us in the swimmer stagin area?"
"Yeah," he said philosophically, "I sure am sorry about that. See, she knew you were comin, so she took us off our meds a couple days ago. That makes us get all weird and think everyone is tryin to steal our eggs. DON'T STEAL MY EGG!" Then he started thrashin around, tryin to bite somethin that wasn't there.
We all just looked around at each other. None of us wanted to be the one to climb through the pile of mad penguins, but we still needed to rescue Jared. It looked like we were stuck. Just then, we heard a doorbell go off. We looked around, not knowin what to make of it, when the penguin said, "Hey! Hey man! Could you get that for me?"
"What is it?" I asked.
"It's FedEx!" he yelled when he'd stopped thrashin. "They've got our delivery. Come on, man, help me out, here! If I don't get that, I'm gonna lose this job! I need this job, man! It's got health insurance! Without that insurance, I can't afford my medication and then I've gotta go back to the home! Don't make me go back to the home!" Then they all started yellin, "Not the home! Not the home! Please!"
I tell ya, they may have tried to end my line, but my heart went out to them little fellas right then. So I asked him how I got the delivery and he calmly explained to me how to get the key out of the register and then open the back door. So, that's what I did. I opened the back door up, took the delivery, signed his name (Gunther) to the FedEx guy's pad and then asked the delivery guy, "Hey, do you know how to get to the throne room from here?"
"Sure," he said. If you ever need directions anywhere, ask someone who delivers things for a living. They know where everything is, man. And if they don't, they can always radio in for someone who does. This guy didn't need to radio, though. He had it all in hand. He gestured down this back hall thing that was just a row of doors with store names on it. "Just go down this hall, turn right after the Mrs. Fields, then it's four doors down on the left."
"Hey, thank ya kindly," I told him. It looked like we had our way to the throne room and were a step closer to rescuing Jared.
Well, that's it for now. I'll let ya in on some more tomorrow or the next day. I also wanna thank y'all for clickin on them little ad thingies. I found out that I make about twenty cents when one of them gets clicked on. When it just gets "seen", I make about 1/100 of that. So, I ain't tryin to beg here or anything, but if you feel like this is worth someone else givin me 20 cents, please keep it up.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Recipe Time
Bein as the Super Bowl is today and all, I thought I'd take myself a little break here and share with y'all my favorite party recipe. It's called Manarole and it is, without doubt, both the most delicious thing you could eat at a party and an affront to all things good and holy. I'm sure some of them there cheffy types would die in horror at what you're about to read, but don't worry, it'll put hair on your chest.
To make this tongue dancin abomination, y'all need to gather up these ingredients:
6 frozen hamburger patties
a small pack of peperoni
a pack of hot dogs
two cans chili
6-8 slices american cheese, or some other type of yellow cheese you may like
a bag of frozen tater tots
Now that the hard part's over, you can get to cookin. The basic idear is to just layer up all them ingredients like you was makin a lasagna only you was plannin on havin a heart attack afterwards. I like to layer hamburger first, then peperoni to form a kind of shield around the bottom so the chili won't get away on ya, then put the cheese, then the chili, then hot dogs and the tots on top. The tots always gotta go on top because they need to get crispy. I also discovered that if you put the cheese layer above the chili layer, you get yerself some browned cheese. I ain't sayin browned cheese is bad, mind you, but that's what you get. When you got it all layered up, put it in the oven accordin to the tot directions. Mine says 450 for 20 minutes, and that's what I did. When that timer goes off, you got Manarole. I suggest servin it with some mustard, some tobasco and maybe some bread or chips or something. Also, sometimes you gotts to suck the left over fat off the bottom with a turkey baster, just so your Manarole ain't floatin.
Enjoy the game, more Antarctic Volcano Base action tomorrow.
To make this tongue dancin abomination, y'all need to gather up these ingredients:
6 frozen hamburger patties
a small pack of peperoni
a pack of hot dogs
two cans chili
6-8 slices american cheese, or some other type of yellow cheese you may like
a bag of frozen tater tots
Now that the hard part's over, you can get to cookin. The basic idear is to just layer up all them ingredients like you was makin a lasagna only you was plannin on havin a heart attack afterwards. I like to layer hamburger first, then peperoni to form a kind of shield around the bottom so the chili won't get away on ya, then put the cheese, then the chili, then hot dogs and the tots on top. The tots always gotta go on top because they need to get crispy. I also discovered that if you put the cheese layer above the chili layer, you get yerself some browned cheese. I ain't sayin browned cheese is bad, mind you, but that's what you get. When you got it all layered up, put it in the oven accordin to the tot directions. Mine says 450 for 20 minutes, and that's what I did. When that timer goes off, you got Manarole. I suggest servin it with some mustard, some tobasco and maybe some bread or chips or something. Also, sometimes you gotts to suck the left over fat off the bottom with a turkey baster, just so your Manarole ain't floatin.
Enjoy the game, more Antarctic Volcano Base action tomorrow.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Antarctic Volcano Base Assault Part 1
Covered in four inches of bacon fat and stuffed into a wing suit, we jumped out of the zeppelin. That was just Douggy and me, though, squimonk don't need wing suits. I thought that was pretty fortunate for them because I felt like a goldfish in a bag full of jello. Every time I moved or shifted my weight any, bacon goo warmed by my body would ooze a little out of all the suit openins. Every time that happened, I thought about the 84 packs of bacon I had to eat to get to this point and I felt a little green around the gills. But the squimonk didn't have to put up with that. They were always wearin their wing suits and so we couldn't get bacon grease stuffed inside of them. I suggested a way they could do it without eating it, pointing out they had another bodily cavity in which bacon could enter, but they didn't take that suggestion very well. One gestured towards the ceiling of the zeppelin with his longest finger and asked me what I thought about that. I guess everyone would get a little grumpy after bein stuck in a zeppelin with no showers and fryin bacon for a few days, particularly if those people are preparing to dive into an active volcano. Most of that was solved after we jumped, well, the part about bein stuck in the zeppelin, anyways.
As soon as I was out the door, grumpiness and discomfort was changed into a new feeling; total, complete, heart stoppin, foot stompin, whiskey backin, leg shakin, dog yelpin, war whoopin, nose runnin, cryin so hard you give yourself the hiccups like when you was nine and you broke the cookie jar tryin to get out another oreo without your ma seein ya because she told you you was havin a special dinner and you'd not only ruin your appetite but you'd be all covered in chocolate when the people from the church came over and they'd all think she didn't know how to raise an obedient child and then they'd get all Leviticus on her an talk about how ifn' that rod is spared the kid end up with cookie all over his face and you get a floor full of oreo and jar shards and so while she's upstairs takin a shower and you just want one more cookie because one cookie isn't really enough if you're nine and you have poor impulse control and so you reach up into the cookie jar and it's gotta shift just a little and then it shifts a little too much and the jar comes crashin to the ground and you don't know where the broom or the glue is and so you run and hide in your secret spot which turns out not to be secret and your mom's got her hair all in curlers and her face all red and she looks like a Medusa with pearl earrings and you sure as heck ain't no Hercules and so all you can do is sit there and cry out how sorry you are in tears big enough to drown a hamster in and then you think about your hamster drownin and that just adds an extra level to anything and you can't cry any harder and finally you end up givin yourself a headache and your stomach cramps up and you end up just pickin at the meatloaf your mom makes and the church ladies get worried about you not eatin so they start sending over a casserole once a week or so and it's always got chopped eggs in it for some reason and you hate eggs so you never eat it and you and your mom always gotta try to sneak it out to the garbage without anyone seein you and then ten years later the church ladies finally do catch you and you're standin there with their casserole poised over the trashcan and you're scrapin furiously and you know you're busted and now you're gonna have to listen to a lecture by these ladies just because you wanted a cookie and you don't like eggs, abject terror. This was twistin my guts all up but I didn't have much time to think about it.
Before I knew it, Douggy was tuckin his arms in for the final dive and I followed his lead. I must've been goin a mile a minute when I hit the crust of the volcano. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, rememberin that time I set my coffee down just a bit too quickly and I splashed a little bit of hot coffee into my eye. It stung and burned and I had a red spot on that eyes for a week. For a moment there, I thought I was goin blind because everything went white, but it turned out that was just the half and half I put in the coffee. Since that time, I always been real careful about settin my coffee down. It's not always easy, I tell ya, because sometimes I'm watchin that guy on the tv and he gets me real mad. You know, the one that's always yellin at people who disagree with him, oh, what's his name? He's the guy who's always a jerk to everyone who has anything to say to him, but it's just sort of in his character to do that and he makes good money for his channel through advertisin and tours and everything. It's that same channel that claims to be fair and even handed, but really and obviously isn't. I know that name, it's on the tip of my tongue. Let's see, he's the guy with the funny lookin hair and people are always tryin to reason with him but he just keeps gettin more angry and more angry. That's it! Oscar, Oscar the Grouch. That little guy really gits my blood to boil. When that happens, I gotta be extra careful about settin my cup down because I don't want another case of coffee eye. All this was swirlin around my head and I know that lava is at least five times as hot as that coffee is so I sure as shootin didn't want any in my eye.
The moment I touched the lava with my face, everything started sizzlin like a frog in a cast iron skillet. The heat pushed in on me like it was a cash-strapped bride and I was that store in New York that has a wedding dress sale every year. Then everything was white light and soft pillows and rollin around to get the fire out and bacon, still the smell of bacon. I just couldn't take it any more so I threw up a little in my mouth. I tried to play it off like it was a burp or somethin, but I'll admit to you now, a little bacon came with the burp. I managed to get it back down, but it wasn't a sure thing there for a minute or two.
When I'd gotten over my gastronomic battle of the titans, I looked around and discovered we was in a big room full of overstuffed pillows, bean bags, stuffed animals, goose down mattresses, puffy coats and faux fur blankets. Looking up, I saw that there was a kind of diaphragm above us, keepin the lava at bay. The lava seemed to heat and light the room, givin everythin a reddish glow like that there red light district I've heard about in Amsterdam. I turned to Douggy and asked, "Where are we?"
He sighed, "Pat, we've been over this. We're in Amelia Earhart's Antarctic volcano base. We're rescuing Jared, remember?"
"I knew that," I protested, "I meant, within the confines of the previously mentioned Antarctic volcano base, where are we. That is to say, where are we relative to Jared?"
"I'm not sure." He pulls a map out of his pocket and then goes over to a map on the wall.
"It's mighty convenient for there to be a room full of pillows under the volcano entrance to break our fall," I note. "It also seems suspiciously convenient that there is a map of the volcano base here in the room we landed in that seems to have everything labelled."
"That is true," said Alistair, "perhaps that will come clear later. If it doesn't, that's just bad writing."
"What was that?" I just wanted to make sure I heard right.
"Bad writing," he reiterated, "It's just bad writing of the plan on our part if we there's something out there we didn't expect. We should prepare for that just in case."
Because we didn't bring any thread with us, we unravel some of the pillow cases to make a thread that will help us find out way back if we need to. While we were doing that, Douggy marked our path out on the map. We were tryin to get to the throne room, which appeared to be between the Mervyns and the Frogurt place, if the map was accurate.
For the first five minutes, things seemed to be going swimmingly. We passed the Buckle and then checked our path towards the Build-a-Bear workshop. There was something off about the stores, though. Not only were there no customers, but all the employees appeared to be penguins wearing name tags. Not only that, but both name tags I saw read "Gunther". Now, I don't deny the possibility that there may just happened to have been two penguins who happened to be named Gunther working at that particular Build-a-Bear Workshop, but somethin about it didn't seem right. It seemed my companions had the same feelings and we stopped to consult.
"This is creepy," began Douggy.
"Yeah," said Alistair, "why the heck does it look like a mall?"
"I dunno," responded Douggy, "but I don't like it. There's something not working about this scenario."
"Well," I asked, "what should we do? Go back or press on?"
Before we could decide what to do, the lights went out with a thud. Off in the distance, there was a spotlight or somethin shinin on us. Then we heard the laughter. It started as a low rumble, like a tank left in neutral while the soldier went to pee but the soldier didn't know the tank was on a hill and so he's peein and he gits this sneakin suspicion somethin is wrong and then he feels the ground shakin under his feet. It sounded like that moment, and just like that soldier, we were filled with impotent panic. The rumble grew into an avalanche and finally, like a bit of pineapple in the middle of jello, a voice rose.
"Pat O'Neil," it echoed around us.
"Uh, yeah?" I wanted to be friendly. "What can I do ya for?"
"Not so smart now, are you, Pat O'Neil?"
"Well," I reckoned, "It would seem not. But I don't think I was so smart then, whenever then was."
"The contest, Pat O'Neil! The Makin Stuff Up Championship! That trophy was mine and you stole it from me! Now I shall have my revenge! I've been watching you travel through my fake mall, Pat O'Neil. Little did you know that I have stocked all my stores with a penguin army. And I can assure you, Pat O'Neil, that they are all quite mad. Quite mad indeed. Ha ha ha!" She didn't actually laugh there, she really just said "Ha ha ha!" I've never heard anything like it. I didn't have much time to think, however, because, right at that moment, the lights came on and we were inundated with penguins.
As soon as I was out the door, grumpiness and discomfort was changed into a new feeling; total, complete, heart stoppin, foot stompin, whiskey backin, leg shakin, dog yelpin, war whoopin, nose runnin, cryin so hard you give yourself the hiccups like when you was nine and you broke the cookie jar tryin to get out another oreo without your ma seein ya because she told you you was havin a special dinner and you'd not only ruin your appetite but you'd be all covered in chocolate when the people from the church came over and they'd all think she didn't know how to raise an obedient child and then they'd get all Leviticus on her an talk about how ifn' that rod is spared the kid end up with cookie all over his face and you get a floor full of oreo and jar shards and so while she's upstairs takin a shower and you just want one more cookie because one cookie isn't really enough if you're nine and you have poor impulse control and so you reach up into the cookie jar and it's gotta shift just a little and then it shifts a little too much and the jar comes crashin to the ground and you don't know where the broom or the glue is and so you run and hide in your secret spot which turns out not to be secret and your mom's got her hair all in curlers and her face all red and she looks like a Medusa with pearl earrings and you sure as heck ain't no Hercules and so all you can do is sit there and cry out how sorry you are in tears big enough to drown a hamster in and then you think about your hamster drownin and that just adds an extra level to anything and you can't cry any harder and finally you end up givin yourself a headache and your stomach cramps up and you end up just pickin at the meatloaf your mom makes and the church ladies get worried about you not eatin so they start sending over a casserole once a week or so and it's always got chopped eggs in it for some reason and you hate eggs so you never eat it and you and your mom always gotta try to sneak it out to the garbage without anyone seein you and then ten years later the church ladies finally do catch you and you're standin there with their casserole poised over the trashcan and you're scrapin furiously and you know you're busted and now you're gonna have to listen to a lecture by these ladies just because you wanted a cookie and you don't like eggs, abject terror. This was twistin my guts all up but I didn't have much time to think about it.
Before I knew it, Douggy was tuckin his arms in for the final dive and I followed his lead. I must've been goin a mile a minute when I hit the crust of the volcano. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, rememberin that time I set my coffee down just a bit too quickly and I splashed a little bit of hot coffee into my eye. It stung and burned and I had a red spot on that eyes for a week. For a moment there, I thought I was goin blind because everything went white, but it turned out that was just the half and half I put in the coffee. Since that time, I always been real careful about settin my coffee down. It's not always easy, I tell ya, because sometimes I'm watchin that guy on the tv and he gets me real mad. You know, the one that's always yellin at people who disagree with him, oh, what's his name? He's the guy who's always a jerk to everyone who has anything to say to him, but it's just sort of in his character to do that and he makes good money for his channel through advertisin and tours and everything. It's that same channel that claims to be fair and even handed, but really and obviously isn't. I know that name, it's on the tip of my tongue. Let's see, he's the guy with the funny lookin hair and people are always tryin to reason with him but he just keeps gettin more angry and more angry. That's it! Oscar, Oscar the Grouch. That little guy really gits my blood to boil. When that happens, I gotta be extra careful about settin my cup down because I don't want another case of coffee eye. All this was swirlin around my head and I know that lava is at least five times as hot as that coffee is so I sure as shootin didn't want any in my eye.
The moment I touched the lava with my face, everything started sizzlin like a frog in a cast iron skillet. The heat pushed in on me like it was a cash-strapped bride and I was that store in New York that has a wedding dress sale every year. Then everything was white light and soft pillows and rollin around to get the fire out and bacon, still the smell of bacon. I just couldn't take it any more so I threw up a little in my mouth. I tried to play it off like it was a burp or somethin, but I'll admit to you now, a little bacon came with the burp. I managed to get it back down, but it wasn't a sure thing there for a minute or two.
When I'd gotten over my gastronomic battle of the titans, I looked around and discovered we was in a big room full of overstuffed pillows, bean bags, stuffed animals, goose down mattresses, puffy coats and faux fur blankets. Looking up, I saw that there was a kind of diaphragm above us, keepin the lava at bay. The lava seemed to heat and light the room, givin everythin a reddish glow like that there red light district I've heard about in Amsterdam. I turned to Douggy and asked, "Where are we?"
He sighed, "Pat, we've been over this. We're in Amelia Earhart's Antarctic volcano base. We're rescuing Jared, remember?"
"I knew that," I protested, "I meant, within the confines of the previously mentioned Antarctic volcano base, where are we. That is to say, where are we relative to Jared?"
"I'm not sure." He pulls a map out of his pocket and then goes over to a map on the wall.
"It's mighty convenient for there to be a room full of pillows under the volcano entrance to break our fall," I note. "It also seems suspiciously convenient that there is a map of the volcano base here in the room we landed in that seems to have everything labelled."
"That is true," said Alistair, "perhaps that will come clear later. If it doesn't, that's just bad writing."
"What was that?" I just wanted to make sure I heard right.
"Bad writing," he reiterated, "It's just bad writing of the plan on our part if we there's something out there we didn't expect. We should prepare for that just in case."
Because we didn't bring any thread with us, we unravel some of the pillow cases to make a thread that will help us find out way back if we need to. While we were doing that, Douggy marked our path out on the map. We were tryin to get to the throne room, which appeared to be between the Mervyns and the Frogurt place, if the map was accurate.
For the first five minutes, things seemed to be going swimmingly. We passed the Buckle and then checked our path towards the Build-a-Bear workshop. There was something off about the stores, though. Not only were there no customers, but all the employees appeared to be penguins wearing name tags. Not only that, but both name tags I saw read "Gunther". Now, I don't deny the possibility that there may just happened to have been two penguins who happened to be named Gunther working at that particular Build-a-Bear Workshop, but somethin about it didn't seem right. It seemed my companions had the same feelings and we stopped to consult.
"This is creepy," began Douggy.
"Yeah," said Alistair, "why the heck does it look like a mall?"
"I dunno," responded Douggy, "but I don't like it. There's something not working about this scenario."
"Well," I asked, "what should we do? Go back or press on?"
Before we could decide what to do, the lights went out with a thud. Off in the distance, there was a spotlight or somethin shinin on us. Then we heard the laughter. It started as a low rumble, like a tank left in neutral while the soldier went to pee but the soldier didn't know the tank was on a hill and so he's peein and he gits this sneakin suspicion somethin is wrong and then he feels the ground shakin under his feet. It sounded like that moment, and just like that soldier, we were filled with impotent panic. The rumble grew into an avalanche and finally, like a bit of pineapple in the middle of jello, a voice rose.
"Pat O'Neil," it echoed around us.
"Uh, yeah?" I wanted to be friendly. "What can I do ya for?"
"Not so smart now, are you, Pat O'Neil?"
"Well," I reckoned, "It would seem not. But I don't think I was so smart then, whenever then was."
"The contest, Pat O'Neil! The Makin Stuff Up Championship! That trophy was mine and you stole it from me! Now I shall have my revenge! I've been watching you travel through my fake mall, Pat O'Neil. Little did you know that I have stocked all my stores with a penguin army. And I can assure you, Pat O'Neil, that they are all quite mad. Quite mad indeed. Ha ha ha!" She didn't actually laugh there, she really just said "Ha ha ha!" I've never heard anything like it. I didn't have much time to think, however, because, right at that moment, the lights came on and we were inundated with penguins.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Editorial note
I've gone back into all the old posts and created paragraph breaks. I've been meaning to do that and now I have. Now I can mean to do something else for a month. Also, I've been thinking about having a squimonk design contest. Let's give it a whirl. If you would like to conceive of and then render a squimonk in some fashion and then send it to me electronically, I will consider that a contest submission. If I get one that I would like to put on a t-shirt, I will send you a free t-shirt first. I guess I have to put the legal stuff here, but I don't know how it goes. I'll just say that if you send me stuff, you agree to let me put it on shirts and possibly make money off that design and you'll get a free shirt out of the deal, but won't make profit off the shirt sales (it's minimal anyway). I won't put a date or anything on the contest, I'll just put the first one I really like on a shirt and that'll be that.
Also, while I'm writing, would some of you readers mind clicking on the ads? You don't have to buy anything from them, but I'm tryin to raise some beer money for myself and maybe get some money to buy my wife a nice birthday present. If I don't get her something sparkly, she'll hit me. She's asian, and they know how to hit people. They're all born with this Kung-fu know how. It's awesome. We had to fight actual ninjas one time, and she kicked them all in the face with one foot and in the butt with another ALL AT THE SAME TIME! I wish I'd taken a video of it, but you usually don't think of video cameras when you're being attacked by ninjas. So, in short, if you don't want me to be a bruisy face/butt guy, please just click an ad after you read and before you hit the "stumble" button.
Thanks.
PS, those submissions can go to squimonk@gmail.com
PPS If I get anything in there about getting a new mortgage or improving my *ahem* manliness, it will be deleted without even looking. Just to be safe, put something from a Pat O'Neil post in the subject line.
Also, while I'm writing, would some of you readers mind clicking on the ads? You don't have to buy anything from them, but I'm tryin to raise some beer money for myself and maybe get some money to buy my wife a nice birthday present. If I don't get her something sparkly, she'll hit me. She's asian, and they know how to hit people. They're all born with this Kung-fu know how. It's awesome. We had to fight actual ninjas one time, and she kicked them all in the face with one foot and in the butt with another ALL AT THE SAME TIME! I wish I'd taken a video of it, but you usually don't think of video cameras when you're being attacked by ninjas. So, in short, if you don't want me to be a bruisy face/butt guy, please just click an ad after you read and before you hit the "stumble" button.
Thanks.
PS, those submissions can go to squimonk@gmail.com
PPS If I get anything in there about getting a new mortgage or improving my *ahem* manliness, it will be deleted without even looking. Just to be safe, put something from a Pat O'Neil post in the subject line.
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