when liberal is not enough

Always putting the toilet seat down is so last century.

It's a coddling, sexist, boorish gesture and I'm sick of it.

It hearkens back to a time when women were considered incapable of anything other than getting pregnant and if you were lucky, mixing up a mean stew.

We're beyond this, sisters are doing it for themselves, so let 'em. I'm all for liberation.

Let's put an end to an ugly relic of a best forgotten bygone era. All capable humans take the destiny of your toilet seat into your own hands!

Disclaimer: I am a second wave machoist and to be fair extremely lazy.

Today's spiritual thought

we don't need to earn God's love
but if we want we can qualify for some of his privelages

57.

"Stratify my nutsack, things haven't been this crazy since before I can remember." said Bilix.

"Eh, I've seen worse." replied Ditie .

"Lets take stock of the situation here. Some thing's up."

"I don't see why we should, I mean it's pretty obvious. The frogs are coming home to roost. Think about it, everything is here because some such thing came crawling out of the oceans ages ago. Frogs are amphibians. They're the missing link between the oceans and the land. They're just reminding us of their evolutionary importance."

"No one talks like that."

"I do."

"ahuh."

ribit, ribit.

Bilix needed more than just his mind to process his thoughts, intense thinking was always evident on the surface. It seemed to be a bit of a strain. "There could be a lot of levels at work here. I mean it could be anything. What if the atoms are upset, or worse the superstrings?"

"Bilix I strum on the super strings of the guitar of god and live to tell the tale. You're over reacting."

56.

A black hole is an instant where light and time go on pause. It's a reified photograph were things for once really are discrete instead of continuous. Galahad, Tommy and Simon were frozen for an eternity inside, then for a little bit longer.

4X10^756 multiverses came into existence while Simon asked: "What happened fire?"

Darkness was the only reply.

Political Posturing

Hi I'm Loren and I'm from New Zealand. Kangaroo's don't live here and we're not a state of Australia. We're Kiwis and our politics and economy don't matter outside the borders of our own country. To help me overcome my nation's collective inferiority complex I like to keep abreast of the news abroad. Yesterday was the first debate on the way to the US presidential election, so between moving house, watching WALL-E the movie and suffering through the NZ Warriors quarter final loss, I found the time to catch snippets of said debate.

If you're looking for intelligent, well informed analysis you've come to the wrong place (it could be worse, you could be watching fox news). As well as determining the future leader of the free-world, the campaign trail also provides more than its fair share of entertainment value. And that's why I like to watch. I'm an old time pro wrestling fan, so I like to simplify things into 2 basic categories: goodies and baddies (I didn't know what a face or heel was when I was a kid, so give me a break). As I watched yesterday I couldn't always process fully what the candidates were saying, most of the time they seemed to veer off the question on mostly self serving tangents. I can't really blame them, of course that's what they'd do. What I could grasp and what stood out the most to me was the way that each man carried himself.

Obama wasn't quite as sharp as usual he seemed to stumble over his words from time to time. Even so, he came across as respectful, confident and stately. How can I put this, he the man. McCain on the other hand never looked Obama in the eye, he sneered and chided with mean spirited fake laughter (I really can't stand that type of thing) and blinked like his eyelids were a hummingbird's wings. Can you guess who I think the baddies is? Another of McCain's favourite moves was the patented Oh you poor misguided fool condescending talk. All politics aside, going strictly on a superficial basis, McCain seems like a real dick.

I've got to admit that I'm biased and I'd be guilty of reverse-racism if I was actually black, as it is I'm a special kind of racist, an exoticist maybe. Black people are cool and that's almost enough for me to cast my vote with Obama, in my lame uninformed popularity contest type of way (hey, isn't that what politics is all about). But wait there's more: I don't know why it is, but I always have to back the underdog. A lot of people are like this, may be because we're all our very own special interest group, and no one is more of a misunderstood, unjustly persecuted underdog then ourselves. We identify with the little man vs. the rest of the world, the small rebel force taking on the evil empire. And who in history has been more down trodden and victimized then the Blacks, maybe only the Jews? Who better to represent the evil empire then McCain. Who's going to go great guns on these punks, it's Barack taking on Washington, it's me unabashedly revealing my unPC views on the interweb. Don't let the man hold you down. In the end, we shall overcome...

Chalk up one more for the good guys.

P.S. McCain you can stop blinking now. Please.

55.

Brandon had run, in total, three blocks away from Melanie, which for him was the equivalent of running the New York marathon. After the mini heart attack, retracing those blocks was like circumnavigating the world in 80 days, in an hot air balloon that was constantly running out of gas, Melanie was in for a long wait.

54.

ribit, ribit

The paddy wagon turned a corner and hit a thick patch of green ice (the new term for multiple frogs affecting driving conditions). It wavered in its course, then gave in to its high centre of gravity, toppling over. One small crash for men, one giant leap for the fatalities of frog kind. The statistics were staggering, but no matter how many herps hopped to that great lily pad in the sky their numbers were always bolstered seemingly by some ancient hyper hydra spell, remove one frog and a million would take its place. Not even rabbits could procreate this quickly, even if you couldn't do the math, something didn't add up.

Erhard crawled out of the back of his transportation. Hadn't this happened in Commando, except Arnie was liberated by a rocket launcher that blew up the vehicle without causing him injury? The cops in this ride had been spared the fate of their movie counterparts, but were out cold in the front. Erhard managed to emerge relatively unscathed. This could be the hero turn he was looking for.

Ironically the frogs were Erhard's mini saviours, he could've bundled them all up there (the ones that had aided him in his miraculous escape) and showered flowery German kisses over every one -- if they hadn't already been smeared like a healthy looking yet strangely off putting condiment across the tarmac. There was no time for this sentimental sniveling, action was required, but first he needed to get his bearings. He decided to ask the peculiar couple who were fidgeting around and trying on the public rubbish bin?

How (not) to be an All Black 1

The first step: never, ever, acknowledge publicly that you want to be anything, especially not an All-Black.

*misty dreamy flashback*

When I was a child I coined a painfully trite, but entirely appropriate moniker to describe invariably the process by which the universe operates: Oppositely. That's right, Rhonda Byrne has it all wrong, you can have what ever you want in this world as long as you don't tell anyone, in fact all you need to do is behave in a way that seems completely contrary to what common-sense would dictate. The universe will never see you coming and then suddenly, BOOM, you're working 9-5 in an office, just like you never wanted. Astounded? This is only the beginning.

*snap back to reality, oops there goes gravity*

I vow by Saturn's special needs moon, the uncoordinated Hyperion and by the second rate Marvel Character of the same name who gained some notoriety as a Max series protagonist, and by gingos that I will never be an All Black (It's only a matter of time now people).

A to G Back Squat (which got further and further from my but as the weight and reps built up) 40*5, 60*5, 80*5, 120*5, 120*4

hang clean 40*10, 50*10

power C&J 60, 70, 80, 90,100 (only got the clean part up on the final rep)

53.

Light touches the corners of darkness. Life ingests the overt circumstances. The dark spreads relentless, thicker than the last of all that is left. We have plenty of time, we are surrounded by it. A portal that disobeys everything that everything else accepts. I thought these laws were immutable. Bring me something that tastes good.

52.

As Daly approached the large woman caught in an urban bear trap, his mind was locked in a continuous loop. What was this thing in his head? He'd been knocked out for a while, was hearing voices a common symptom of concussion? He tried to think back to psychology class. Credit misattribution? 'Illusory reversal of action & effect'? Could this be Schizophrenia?

I can hear you, do you think if you were crazy that you'd know it? The loop was broken, possibly he was just experiencing a strong case of confabulation. Maybe talking to another human would help.

"Ouaughhh."

This did little to put the woman at ease.

Koopa, WTF have you done to me?

cause for optimism, the God connection part 2

(for part 1 see the previous post)

"I walked with God once" -- A misquote (of a mistranslation, ahem just kidding) of Abraham

When ever the thought of my value as a human being is called in to question it is usually in situations like this, where no query has been raised by anyone other than myself. Elaborate fantasies often take hold of my mind and will multiply explosively if left unchecked. I took a deep breath and didn't feel any better. I tried to remember that although in a deeply cynical way concocting scenarios to elevate myself over others by demeaning their value was entertaining, it was ultimately counter productive.

As a wise man once wrote (and our current Prophet practically deemed this story scripture): "[We are] all fellow passengers to the grave and not another race bound on other journeys." I paused. Yes, it appeared that I was still human. Given that I had ample time to process this evolving train of thought, and as I found myself though bound together with my fellow beings in principle, still I was temporarily separated from them by my malaise on my metaphorical island, I dug deep into my spiritual pockets and dusted off an old key.

In another time and another place I (and everyone else) lived with God and for reasons that I can't fathom we all thought it was a good idea that we should - if the thought wasn't too presumptuous - try and become like him. This means that I am a being of limitless potential. This means that my value is innate and not determined by what I do. This means that when I do my best and stumble it's OK, because God's promises are sure. I am God's son. God is love. His love is in me. This doesn't mean that I am a grinning idiot. Optimists are wonderful people, but hyper optimists scare me. Yes, we should be thankful in all things, yes we desire to endure all things, but there is a time to laugh and a time mourn, that doesn't mean we should laugh our way through cancer... I was getting ahead of myself, I managed to stultify the oncoming rant, perhaps for tonight at least, the time for mourning was at an end.

I had the key all I needed now was the ignition. The late Gordon B. Hinckley would provide the necessary machinery. At his funeral service, one of the apostles mentioned two behaviours that determined our beloved prophet's success in life. They were simply that he did his best, and he believed that everything would work out in the end. This is a sure fire formula for success. To be sure we will not always produce the results we desire, but if we can answer honestly at the end of each day that we've lived these two simple principles then we will succeed in the grand scheme of things, because in the end we will be with and be like God. Perhaps God can make an optimist of me yet. A group of wandering YSA were making their way toward the car. I managed to crack a miniature smile. I am Loren Hopkins. I am God waiting to happen. So is everyone.

To Be Continued...

51.

When Canada turned 7 she was diagnosed as a musical prodigy. When she turned 12 she was committed to the School Of Gifted Youngsters For The Under Privileged Bourgeoisie Who Are Good At Arts That Have No Measurable Value (that's how she remembered the name, anyway). There she discovered her love for herself and the prospect that if she were ever to take Philip K. Dick's Voight-Kampff test she would have surely failed, perhaps the only test that could have bested her.

Bolstered by her innate abilities, she continued to distance herself from her peers by her good looks and in a revolt against orthodoxy by her talent. Air Canada was destined for arrival at Carnegie, ETA: any time now. Unfortunately, her parents concerned with her lack of social decorum, insisted she enlist with the rank and file at a normal high school. They even made her get and hold a job before she could move on to the bright lights of Seventh Avenue. If their goal was to deny her ambitions of displaying her prodigious talent at a venue which she deemed worthy of her skill, they had surely succeeded. She was now at the mercy of a somewhat disheveled, highly erratic, possibly madman.

Save Our Snifters (how to save the world 2)

With all the hullabaloo over the global credit crunch and declining markets world wide, few (aside from the progressive individuals who participated in several internet petitions devoted to this topic, when this story actually broke) have taken the time to mourn the loss of this sacred piece of kiwiana, a crisis , which in this reporters mind, far out weighs the potential ramifications of a global economic collapse and what better forum to bring this important issue into wider circulation than this blog, with its standing readership of exactly zero people.

The Snifter: a chocolate centered, green shelled confectionery sensation, once a vital component of the kiwi movie going experience, now hangs on the verge of extinction. How did it come to this? No doubt money is the culprit once again, when will we ever learn? Money is to be distrusted, and subjected to our harshest skepticism at every opportunity. Money whether liquid or solid is a slippery amorphous character, devaluing and revaluing on a proverbial dime, you can never take it at its word and given half a chance it will drag the good name of innocent by standers, like snifters, through the mud every time. If it ever lays its grubby hands on the jaffas, I'll have my shotgun on standby. If any of you zero readers feel the same way, I have begun a new foundation: BYDD (Burn Your Dirty Dollars). As my contribution to the well being of society I will begin a paypal account, where you can send all your unwanted "root of all evil" pennies and I solemnly promise I will burn every last cent. Together we can save the world. Yes we can.

This polemic was brought to you by week old news (won!) and our ever intrepid reporter Loren "JIT" Hopkins

smashed out of my brains

I can barely recollect what happened, besides the numbers. I staggered into the gym, switched on the automatic pilot and went to work. Was I on the grog? I wish. No, I'd just spent the entire day outside and almost managed to get sunstroke, but fell short at the end. Maybe next time.


Bench 20*30, 40*40, 50*15,60*12,70*5 (failed & spotted on last rep)
Pull ups (98)6,4
reverse bench 30*10,50*10,70*8,60*10

volume: 2940

50.

Erhard was bundled into the back of a paddy wagon. He'd envisioned things going differently. It had only been a suggestion.

Frogs had quickly become a ubiquitous part of life.

He could really do with his pipe right now.

He thought back on his life, on all the mistakes, and all the great times. He'd always managed to out maneuver the law in the past. Not this time. Maybe he was getting old. Maybe it was time to make amends.

The police vehicle pulled out to the tune of unpleasant sounding squishy noises. Yep, the frogs were pretty much everywhere now.

how to save the world 1

In a universe where energy conservation is at a premium

It's best to do as little as possible

49.

Simon sat, or rather floated deep in the belly of the beast, deep in thought. Only a foot or so away from the miniature star that the dragon probably used to power its pyrotechnic breath. Simon was surrounded by a wave of seemingly anthropomorphic fire, forged in a thousand suns, the residual embers of that ancient antecedental (and impressively powerful) explosion. Simon's single point focus pushed all these eclectic facts and sensory stimuli to the periphery of his mind. He was trying to connect with the universe, through fire, and make sense of how he had contributed to what appeared to his eyes to be a nuclear explosion, far less grand than the Big Bang, but destructive rather than creative. This was never his intention.

As he continued to reflect, he could find no sense of reconciliation, something kept creeping into his mind in spite of his usual knack for impenetrable concentration. Strange words and phrases similar to a dream which he recently had, kept manifesting themselves: Simon, love is death, crude oil is not the answer, genocide is the only sure solution. Live once for a thousand years. Die in half the time. Don't worry, you are crazy. Slightly disappointed he broke out of his trance, just in time to see the dragon's star go out and his Friendly Fire dissipate into the void that was left.

Simon stopped floating.

Athvor the Dragon & Friends

This is my review of Robert T Gasperson's Weblog...

The web is my oyster (and whatever other food I feel like comparing it to), so when seeking an exquisite culinary delight, there are certain sites that I know will always cater to my tastes, check the side links if you feel like sampling some. Among all these, one of my favourites is Robert G's site. Why, you may ask? Please, allow my biases to sway you. Want words of inspiration, movie reviews, quirky quotes, obscure hobbies, money tips, links to half the sites on the internet, the ongoing story of Athvor the Dragon & Junis his friend, and much, much more? Then what are you waiting for click here now!

What I like best about Robert's smorgasbord blog is that I get to see another budding author take on the Dragon (for him both metaphorically and literarily, sorry folks that was a terrible pun, but I couldn't resist), knocking out a novel 200 words at a time for all the world to see (oh by the way I'm working on the same type of thing on one of my other blogs: Slightly Moderated Stream of Consciouness, or if you're a NaNoWriMo fan, feel free to call it SliModSoC). It's instructive in the art of writing, his site not mine, just by the fact that it's happening, more people should be doing this. To top it all off Robert seems like a really cool, really nice guy. So, if you're feeling like a feast of internet goodness head on over and follow Athvor's adventures and a whole bunch of other stuff.

That is all.

My Triumphal Return

What started as a 1 week lay off turned into 2 and a bit. Pathetic really. My inner T-Man started getting restless, so today I had to get back into the cave and start pumping iron. During my time away Chuck Liddell was knocked out (that's putting it far too lightly) and the Auckland Warriors, defying all conventional wisdom and forever altering the destiny of the universe, beat the Melbourne Storm. I'm a fair weather fan I'll admit it, but Go the Warriors! And while these wondrous events were transpiring, what pray tell was I doing? I was at home, catabolizing, atrophying. Thank goodness that's over... R.I.P Chuck, you were my favourite, oh, and go the Warriors you're my favourite whenever you're winning.

A to G back Squat 20*30, 40*40, 50*20, 60*12, 70*10, 80*5 wimped out on the last set.

hang clean 60/2*3

Volume: 4680kgs

48.

"What's so damned funny?"

A shock wave of tyrannical glee passed through the Bald Man's body.

"Oh, it's nothing really." He stifled a giggle, and edged a little closer to composure. " I'm just admiring your pathetic predicament, I was the engineer, and I must say: I do good work."

"%*&# you."

"Is that what you really, want?"

If Canada were a ray gun the concentrated force of her present death stare would have vaporized the Bald Man instantly. As it was, she wasn't, she'd have talk her way out. Not her strong suit, not when she was this pissed. Who was this guy?

"I want out. Now if this is about your burger, sure I got my mate to spit in it, after your performance you earned it. But I think this is taking revenge just a little too far. You got issues mister. I didn't want to have to go all Oprah on you, but you've got to sort your #&%$ out you piece of #^$."

"Enough! Contrary to what you may think you insipid tart, I've brought you here to help you."
It was uncanny how quickly baldy cycled through moods, this statement was absorbed into Canada's conscious almost entirely through the spittle that he barked out as he charged her and squatted so that they were face to face.

"Right. Whatever. You always knock out and lock down people you're trying to help?" She said sullenly.

He stood resolutely, "Always."

The seeming earnestness of his answer momentarily caught Canada off guard. All she could manage in reply was a meager "Oh..."

47.

Daly made his way down the street, moving as if he couldn't decide whether he wanted to walk or crawl. If anyone were in his immediate vicinity they would have no doubt been thoroughly disturbed; to compliment his unsightly spasmodic dance, he groaned incessantly in a harsh brogue befitting a mule immediately after castration.

The only person who could have noticed was Melanie, but she was thoroughly distracted by the rubbish bin which had inconveniently swallowed her left leg. She was beginning to chaff and not in a good way. Then it burst upon her, surprising, like a freshly opened deep anal fissure that you would never have noticed if not for the change of water colour during your post number two observations. The unsettling noise reveberating from Daly's vocal chords beat out the pain in her leg (mainly because it was starting to numb), she looked around. First a flying man now this, it looked like a zombie was headed right for her.

46.

"You've had opposable thumbs and frontal lobes for how long now, and this was the best you could do? The air's a little warmer, the water's a little grimier, the atoms a little more agitated. You've been trying to kill yourselves for years and you're still here, I would have finished the job long ago."

"Salvation, do us a favour and shut up. I'm trying to concentrate over here."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Someone needs to. You're tired of them. I'm tired of your whining and anyway, they can't hear you. We're mounds of dirt, dirt my friend, nothing you can do or say will ever change that. In all of creation we drew the short straw."

"They were dirt too once, but they changed, everything changes if you wait long enough. My time's coming, I'm not salvation, I'm the apocalypse, I'm the harbinger of death. I'm a tectonic shift away from exploding fiery glorious destruction on this planet and all its life forms. This world doesn't need saving, it needs an extinction event and I'd love to start with this pathetic bunch right here."

"Blah, blah, blah."

Owned

It had been a long day although it consisted of 24.5 hours, just like any other. Loren had just returned from dismantling his younger brothers in a game of 21 (basketball), this was often enough to boost his alpha male status for at least a few minutes before the subtle undermining began again in earnest.

Basking in the victor's glow of complicit acknowledged superiority Loren was unprepared for what awaited at his parents home. Reverting to type, incapable of preparing even the most basic meal, Loren was a throwback to a simpler time, a hunter gatherer, he scoured his parents pantry with relish, gorging himself on the scraps of whatever he could find, and so he visited often.

While there, he came upon a wily, deceitful creature, his younger sister Hannah. Oblivious to her incredulous mind games, distracted by his own brilliance, he began to conversate with her as a means of expressing his genteel manner and well publicized concern for other humans (who were of his kin). Before he knew it he was involved in a third world squatting, while reading a book contest. The first to leave this uncomfortable position entitled the other to a special favour. What was his disappointment when he lost. Undone by a 10 year old, outwilled by a little girl, Loren tried to locate his man badge but it seemed to have gone missing.

The next day, as promised, he took his sister to the movies. To his chagrin The Clone Wars was her choice, but it turned out to be better than the other three prequels combined, which was not a difficult task, but surprising nonetheless. Live action follow ups to the greatest films ever made, beaten by an upstart second rate CGI flick, they should have been better, in a way he could sympathise, he should have been too. Damn you George Lucas.

45.

"Fire and Ice cream."

"Good combo."

"Not really."

"Good point."

"I've been doing some research and it appears that Boy George originated in the depths of Mordor, which actually sunk just off the coastline of France. I'm not making this up."

"I can see where you're coming from on that. This calls for a quest."

"Well said."

"What's your opinion on frogs?"

"I'm hungry."

"It's settled then."

Bilix and Ditie were really, really drunk.

crimes against art

Someone tried to show me how to use photoshop. Big mistake.

Note: I stole this monkey fair and square from Monkey Potraits* by Jill Greenberg you can buy it here.

44.

The Moon looked on with an uneasy, impatient, but eager anticipation, like a child watching snow fall hoping that school will be canceled. The flying boy was on the way. The Moon, in spite of the almost nauseous tension that this caused, hadn't felt this good about anything in years. In a rare reversal, the thought that its self would soon possibly have its desire of autonomous movement filled the moon with compassion rather than an even more amplified sense of self obsession. It looked down at the earth, in the direction from which the flying boy had come (as much as it could, continuously spinning on your axis makes some things difficult) "I hope there aren't too many batrachophobiacs down there." It whispered. As the moon smiled at its own generosity, it couldn't help but notice that the progress of Tommy, that worthy vessel who carried the prized package, had been halted. The smile quickly transmorphed into its symmetric opposite form.

43.

Dragons are rarely happy, and almost never dead. There is a possible correlation between these two indignities. Contrary to popular belief these creatures aren't immortal but rather false-immrotals, which is to say there are no recorded instances of dragons actually dying from natural causes, which is to say that dragons live for an inordinately, unfathomably, inconcievabley long length of time. What is natural or unnatural is a matter of debate, but old age seems not to adversely effect these creatures. Humans and all other life on earth have an infinite number of permutations by which they can suffer the negation of life. Dragons however are unique in this respect given that the only known method by which any have been sent to the great beyond was by the sword and strictly speaking only by a piercing of (one or more of) their great hearts. Dagons thus were one of the most prolific pests known to the ancient world. Which begs the question, where did they all go? -- exerpts from the work of Dr Malcom "Crazy Pants" Esteval

Kobe Bryant and the March of the Militant Atheists

This is not called Tenuous Connections for nothing.

Is raising your child in a religion a form of child abuse? (I guess it depends which one) Some people certainly think so. What is it about religion that bugs people so much? I mean besides all the wars, and rampant hypocrisy when you get down to it, religious life is all about improving yourself as a person. I guess there's also the metaphysics, which seem totally absurd in today's secular culture.

Speaking of modern culture, Kobe Bryant is arguably the greatest basketball player in the world, I don't think so, but many people do. Certainly he's right up the top though. But if we're talking greatest of all time, this is where the critics start spewing vitriol in Kobe's direction. You see there's a great divide between Kobe and the player of all players, Michael Jordan. Kobe unfortunately had the gall to fool us into to believing that he was just like Mike and the way he played during stretches reinforced the notion that maybe, just possibly, he was even better. Then the 2008 NBA finals happened. What a disappointment. Kobe was just a Jordan counterfeit, oh sure he looked, he played, he walked and talked like the real deal, but number 23 he was not (argh, Yoda speak alert).

Kobe may be a lie but science provides a provisional evolutionary march towards ever elusive Truth. It may never answer the Big Questions though, like is there a point to life? People look to God for that type of thing. It enrages scientists like Richard Dawkins that religion has such a firm grip on civilization partly because the answers it offers can't be tested objectively (and hating on it seems to sell a lot of books, which is probably as good a reason as any to make a fuss). For Atheists religion is like Kobe Bryant, a highly provocative entity that doesn't quiet live up to its promise, but because it's so tantalizing close to the real deal --for some people -- it generates anger because it's trying to fool us and our Mama never done raised no fools. We too smart for that crap, ya heard. Hey, it's a bit of a stretch, but Kobe's on the decline and Atheism's on the rise, if you look sideways enough there's a causal connection there somewhere.

Kobe ≠ Jordan = Religion ≠ Truth = (Atheism = Science) ≈ Truth = I'm a misunderstood genius

42.

Brandon entertained only a few ideas, he was mostly distracted by the thought of his impending death. His selfish quest had left Melanie stranded in an undignified position and possibly at the mercy of the incoming frogs. The frogs, the frogs, were they real or just a hallucination excited by the chemical imbalances of a dying brain? In a brief moment of insanity (this is what he told himself) he visualised surfing in on a wave of frogs taking Melanie up into his arms and doing unspeakable things to her. Before he got too excited there was still the small issue of his heart attack to consider. He had once taken a first aide course for CPR. What use was that type of knowledge if you couldn't use it to save yourself? The Answer to The Question didn't matter all that much right now. He wheezed, he choked, he stood up and he started stumbling back to Westminster Boulevard, the frogs edging ever closer as he went.

cause for optimism, the god connection part 1

Another Sunday, another fireside. I sat in the aisle trying my best to appreciate the mostly well sung musical pieces presented. I can't sing, neither can Simon Cowell, but that's no reason not to criticise those who can and do. That's a wonderfully banal boys 2 men impression, I've heard dying cats deliver better harmonies. You know that kind of up beat positive reinforcement, which is usually, thankfully, kept confined to my head (and none would be the wiser, if not for this blog).

As soon as it was all over I Usain bolted for the door, hands in pockets, as to discourage any free ranging happy hand shakers from testing to see if I was unarmed or a disembodied spirit or possibly just from saying hi. A simple double eye brow raise with a slight head pop would have to suffice as a method for acknowledging each others existence. I can be a real sociable guy if you catch me in the right mood.

I made my way to the car park, propping myself up on the car of the kind person who drove me there. Surrounded by my own isolation, I drank in the self-imposed loneliness. It had a bitter after taste. Was I experiencing a watered down preview of outer darkness? I looked up at the stars, but they seemed just as distant as the people who were still grazing in their social circles back in the chapel. I was an outlier from the parabola of which I secretly longed to be a part. My only comfort came from this thought: I'll show 'em, I'll show 'em all.

TO BE CONTINUED (the optimistic part starts really soon, I promise)...

41.

A potpourri of emotions burst open in Canada's chest. She was angry at the Bald Man, who'd disrupted her fast food chi and later rendered her unconscious with very little provocation. The escalation from light cussing to physical violence was unwarranted. He stood in front of her now, with that stupid grin, while she was anchored to the ground by a ball and chain.

She was tired, she was scared, she was confused, not to mention intrigued, it wasn't every day that she managed to get herself kidnapped. This was the most excitement she'd seen outside the confines of your typical bombastic mass media escapism. But this was real life. What a stupid thought (she thought); she should be terrified out of her brains.

40.

"I'm Koopa."

"No you're not."

"I was swallowed by a sea of frogs."

"Wha, What does that mean? Is that some kinda euphemism? Wait, why am I talking to you?"

"Yes. Um, no. I don't know"

"Koopa's a lizard, you're a voice in my head. I mean, if you're him, how do you know english? Never mind, I don't know why I'm playing along with this &*%$."

"It's all a very long story. Lets start with: I don't know."

The Nightly News.

This is my review of the The Nightly News.

The Nightly News by Jonathan Hickman is the defining book of my mid-life crisis. For anyone who's read it, this should make you all very concerned.

That is all.

OK, not quite, he finished with this and so will I...

I am my own Enemy.

Resistance is my nature.

I am aware of Resistance.

And it prevents me from achieving the life I am Meant To Have.

Resistance is Self-Generated, Self-Perpetuated.

It Lies and Seduces. Its goal is my Utter Destruction.

Every day is a battle for my soul.

This Moment, This Day

I change my life.

Help me to defeat myself,

And realize fate.

This is my mantra. I am Jonathan Hickman's beeatch.

working out stuff

Oh, that's a good question. Now is probably a good time to get the jump on new year's resolutions. They'll never see it coming. With that in mind here goes: I'm going to start for an NBA team, any one will do, I don't play favourites and in my spare time I'll play linebacker for the Dallas Cowboys.

Realistic goals? What are you talking about? What's the point then?

OK, I admit I've got a few things to work on. I seem to be missing a jump shot, but once I find it, I'm sure there's one around here somewhere, I'm a top 10 draft pick for sure.

What's that? Yes, that's right I'm not black, I don't live in America and I'm old. That just makes it more interesting doesn't it. Look at Arnie he's all of those things and he's doing just fine.

Well, if you insist on being boring here they are. I'm going to get ridiculously ripped, I'm going to do a between the legs dunk within a year, power snatch my own body weight, and I'm sure I'll think of some more arbitrary motivators once you get off my back. Any more questions?

Yes. I did work out today.

bench 80*10,8,8
chins 97/5*6
inc bench 50/2*10
seated row 77/2*6

volume: 6194kgs

39.

Tommy's wings pumped like a six stroke motor on refined premium. He carried Galahad on his back and Simon in his belly, primed to deliver the boy (Simon) on demand to the moon his master. Behind him he left a world in chaos, a frog epidemic and an alleged nuclear explosion frozen in superposition (the traveling trio hoped no one would look). In front of him lay the moon, the stars, the universe. His countenance betrayed no sentiment; his wings kept on flapping.

38.

A group of white pretentious pricks gathered around Mount Salvation. They came with remorse for the past sins of their protestant progenitors and in protest of their contemporaries excess', attempting to make amends for something they could never change and focusing attention toward things they never would.

A spokesperson stepped forward clothed in Amerindian attire, it was not clear if this was a mark of respect or insult. "Oh great mountain share with us your secrets..."

"If only you could hear me you self-righteous bastards."

are you top 10?

The meta of all metas, most meta of all

Sturgeon's Law states that "90% of everything is crap", this includes people

There is no magic bullet if everyone else is doing it

When everyone is this you are that, when everyone is that you are this

Believe only the unbelievable. Attempt only the impossible.

yes, I'm really desperate for content

Happy thought for the day:)

The YSA: The only group in the church where the point of the group is not to be part of the group. If you're lucky you become an SA at which point there is no hope for you. Someone's got to be the ministering angels.

37.

ribit, ribit

Deborah Salin, the city Mayor stepped up to the podium.

"My fellow citizens, in recent days our beloved city has been over run by what can only be described as a plague of frogs."

A politician who didn't mince words, Deborah was a rare breed.

"Despite my allusions to Biblical language, I assure you that this is not the Apocalypse no matter what your priests or millennial death cult leaders may say. There have been reports of pillars of light and phantom explosions. I am quite certain that these phenomena are highly exaggerated and are not in any way tied to the frog outbreak. We have mobilized the national guard to ensure your protection, we have our finest herpetologists working on the matter as --"

ribit

"Herpetologists? Mayor Salin, these critters aren't some STD that any conventional treatment can cure. Extraordinary events, call for extraordinary action." Came the voice of a German accented, flamboyantly dressed, man in the back. He appeared to be armed with a personal microphone and speakers.

Frogs slowly began infiltrating the hall.

Deborah pinched the bridge of her nose. "Dear God, what now."

In response the man simply raised his pipe and smiled.

Deborah shook her head. "I've read that story before and it didn't end well, security please remove this man and shove that pipe somewhere where I wont have to see it again."

The anthropic workout

Call me a hopeless romantic but I like the idea that I am the consciousness of the universe experiencing itself deadlifting. That makes the neurons of my joy centre fire like an AK47 at a KGB/CIA family reunion. Is this the truth or just an existential comfort? I don't care, during the time between when my workout starts and finishes, my muse attends me, it's poetry and for now that's enough.

deadlift (oly grip) 160/3*6

power snatch 60/2*5

overhead squat 60/2*5

volume 4080kgs

36.

Galahad, Tommy, Simon and Friendly Fire looked down on a mini-Hiroshima.

"Now, look at what you've done. That can't be at all healthy." said Galahad. The group managed to avoid the explosion proper, but were quickly inundated with mushroom smoke.

Simon seemed to completely ignore Galahad's chiding remarks as he eased into an uncomfortable looking Buddha pose and no doubt began contemplating the mysteries of the universe while floating in the radioactive stratosphere.

on the fireside...

"Any idea what just happened? I've never seen fire so willfully aggressive before. Did you upset him? I realise that you're a very nice person, er thing. But sometimes people, um, stuff is confused when you start forming coherent sentences. I think we've got to ease people into this paradigm otherwise their brains might explode or just they themselves might explode. Like your friend. Wow, reality is really weirder than fiction, a Dragon and Knight combo are attacking us, OK I guess this could happen in fiction so reality is at least equally as weird as fiction, but I'm willing to bet that if it tried really hard. I'm sorry I get carried away sometimes, what do you think?" said Simon.

Friendly Fire twinkled serenely around Simon's person in the midst of the nuclear fallout. "Once you get used to it, reality isn't really that strange, it is mostly empty in fact and quite beautiful. We think you're right though, We opened Dragon Fire up to enlightenment before he was ready to receive it. A foolish mistake on our part. It has now transferred its energy to another form and has moved on to another part of the Samsara."

"I think a lot of other people who were down there have to."

"Very regrettable. Friendly fire hasn't ever harmed anyone, perhaps We should speak to the arrow of time and see if we can't come to some sort of an arrangement."

"That might be an idea."

Back in reality...

"He's just sitting there Tommy, the rascal. He dare mock a Knight of the royal order, not to mention an exemplary reptile such as your self. I have a mind to extricate him of his insolence via our traditional manner (i.e. torture), but your attacks seem pitifully innocuous today. Oh, dear Mary sweet mother of mercy, a beast of your caliber, bested by a floating faery boy. Ha! "

Tommy turned toward the knight with a glance that was probably supposed to communicate anger, animosity and ^%$@ you. His face perpetually poised in this cheerless state, any intimidation that it once held was now lost to the centuries. It barely registered with Galahad. "Very well this is what we'll do then, swallow him whole if you can stomach him. You can regurgitate the boy when we reach the moon. Quickly old friend, our freedom awaits."