Inspired by Jostein Gaardner|
Welcome people to my little corner of the main Asylum page. What is this all about? Something that I find fun and engaging. Something that some believe to be boring and banal. What is it? Philosophy, but wait, before you click away think about it for a minute. A column that examines ideas, that is what I am putting forward, nothing more nothing less. Ideas, as they say, make the world go round.
In the coming weeks and months I am going to go over the philosophy of a theorists and thinkers that have shaped the way we all see the world. The ideas generated by a few that have become second nature to the many. Ideas that have effected the way we think and shape our world view. And yes my good thinking friends, you will be able to comment on this in the suppository. So flame wars ahoy as you battle about ontology, phenomenology and whatever else we may discover on this journey into thought. So sit back and relax, its time to explore the nature of us and the nature of being. But where shall we start? Lets start at the beginning and ask the question.
What is philosophy?
To begin to answer this question, which is in itself ironic, given the subject matter, we have to ask some 'philosophical questions'. What are these questions? Well , What is being? What is the world? Why I am here? How ought I live my life? These are questions that we all ask over time, and that my friends, is the essence of philosophy. Philosophy is the art of asking questions. The ability to be questioning, and, at the same time is (to sum extent) what makes us human. We question. But why do we question? What kind of analogy can be used that describes why we question?
Lets put it as simply as possible. Imagine a seal. A seal that is in a circus. The seal performs trick for us; we watch the seal. We know that the seal only performs tricks because of the training that the trainer has given. We see past the showmanship of the exhibition and have the realisation of the deeper reality of the seals training. We see [know] the other elements to the equation of the seals tricks.
But, to understand philosophy we have to put ourselves in the place of seal. We are (that is the world) the seal. We do not know that we are trained to perform, we just do what we do. We are innocent, unexposed to ideas, and dormant as beings when we are the seal. But; if you remember. We want to know what the philosopher does and what philosophy is. How does the philosopher relate to the seal of our example? What is philosophyís place in the analogy?
Imagine that the philosopher is (and all of us for that matter) some microscopic living element in the fur of the seal. We, the philosopher's (the people), are continually trying to climb up the strands of seal fur and see the outside world for what it actually is. This is the key to what philosophy is about.
So what is philosophy? Philosophy is the ability to ask questions. The action of asking questions about the world that we cannot answer instantly. The answering of questions that require further investigation. Philosophy is the historical origin of all human inquiry and thought.
And so my friends, now that we have the definition of our journey outlined, we can start to journey itself. A journey into the world of the self, the phenomenology of spirit, the ontology of life, and all those fascinating words we may hear people say but never truly understand.
We've been streamlining the Asylum Well-Oiled Machine a bit, and have added another editor to read and mock your User Updates behind your backs. |
Please welcome INKY, our newest addition to Censorship Central!
We'd like to graciously thank Inky for being a part of this website, and for helping us keep things going.
Also, thank you's go to Morgana as well for being steadfast in her help to the site. She rocks. But you all know that already.
So welcome Inky, thank Morgana, and if anybody wants to add a piece of literary genius to our User Updates, feel free to e-mail an admin.
Me 'n' that jackass Wonderaz decided to take in another flick tonight. As usual, that pork-butted sumbitch was embarrassin' as shit. Fer the life o' me, I don't know why the silly bastard even bothers wasting my money (I always get to "loan" him the price of admission, since he rarely ever has a plugged nickle to his name) goin' to the show. And, tonight was no diff'rent--he was sawin' logs five minutes into the previews.
Y'all hafta understand it's not really his nappin' durin' a movie that gits my goat. Rather, it's the racket he makes when he conks out. I can't hardly describe it, but it's a strange . . . nay, alarmingly cacophonous medley of hi-decibel whistles, screeches, hacks, snorts and gutteral honks uncannily reminiscent of the Fort Worth Zoo 'round feedin' time. On top o' that, the movie audience can expect a wide assortment o' random farts mingled in fer good measure.
Hell, I know from years of experience there's no use tryin' to wake his sorry, uncouth ass; if I do, he gits all riled up 'n' indignant, denies everything, and starts in accusin' me of very bad things. Hence, I generally just mosey over to the other side o' the theatre once his freaky audio sideshow begins.
Anyway, where the hell wuz I? Oh. This is 'posed to be a moooovie review. I can do that. No problem.
Yeah, the flick I saw was "Angel Eyes", starring Jennifer Lopez (good-lookin' singer wit' the really wide ass); James Caviezel (he needs a good soap scrubbin' with a GI brush); Sonia Braga (the porn business wuz rough on her bein' as she looked like 10 miles o' hard road); and several other assorted pricks 'n turds. Oh, and before I ferget, it wuz rated "R".
Ya know, I'm not a movie reviewer by trade, but I've always heard that you're supposed to be careful not to give the plot away. Well, they can kiss my ass. Ol' JEB'll do whatever the hell he wants.
J-Lo stars as a cop who wears skin-tight uniforms and craves sex all the time. Responding to a bad wreck, she spies a man named "Crotch" (James Caviezel) trapped in a car. He's too bunged up to screw, so Jennifer tells him to just hang on while she goes and does it doggie-style with her partner. This may seem unperfess'nal to some, but she knew Crotch wouldn't die while she got some, 'cause he's co-starring in the movie with her and it'd just started.
Later on, Lopez and her partner drive around having sex. They grow bored with that, so they chase down some sweaty lads for her to breed while her partner watches. It's here that we see Jennifer likes the ruff-stuff, as she hand-cuffs 'em and forces 'em to use filthy language while she's showing them a variety of sex techniques. There was even one feller she applied the business end of a strap-on to his rear bumper.
Later, she meets up with Crotch in a bar. She pulls the train with her shift crew and lets Crotch be the caboose. She apparently humps his brains out, 'cause he stumbles out into the street and tries to have sex with passing automobiles.
Throughout the movie, Crotch hallucinates a lot and Jennifer's mom 'n' dad have fartin' contests. This may not be apparent to the normal viewer, 'cause they were silent farts. But, I could tell it on their faces. Anyway, Lopez also makes a porn video and Crotch becomes a Boy Scout Leader so he can have sex with the old lady in the wheelchair. She begs for it and shows him dirty pictures, too.
Oh, I damn near forgot. Crotch picks up a stray dog. Decorum prevents me from describing herein what occurred with that dog. Let's just say he was real frisky.
Y'all don't need to thank me for savin' you the price o' admission. I'm just glad to do my part fer public service. I'll give 'er a coupla Fred Heads, no pun intended. Amen.
Friday I wake up at 5 am. For some reason for the past month I have gotten up before the alarm, & it doesnít matter when I go to sleep. The 1st thing I remember is that I donít have to go to work today. I had received a call while I was at work the day before from my Temporary employment agency telling me that Bank One (the company I was working for at the time) wanted to thank me for my services but I my services were no longer required. She then gave me some info about another assignment that I had been to before (data entry, I HATE data entry) and to be there on Monday. I got off the phone and told my supervisor who sits next to me. We get along quite famously, he cracks me up. He was not thrilled because nobody had told him about this decision & he thought it was unfair (and was as surprised as I was that I had gotten the call while I was a work, you usual get calls like this when you get off work and come home and violaí msg that sez Ďdon't come to work tomorrow. buh byeí. He told me donít bother coming to work tomorrow and then let me make a bunch of personal phone calls So anyway. I wake up feeling... like I was at one of those damn turning points.
So I pack, and I farted around on the computer, and I wait till Mom comes and she takes me to the airport. I had only a backpack that had an extra pair of pants, some underwear, and extra bra and t-shirt. I also bring my small portfolio case with 2 filled recent sketchbooks, some examples of flash done on macromedia freehand, and some slides (I brought this not knowing what to expect, I figure itís best to be prepared for anything). So I checked no bags & I waited to board the plane.
The plane was very small, very very small. There was one seat on the left, the isle, and then 2 seats on the right. I got the window seat with nobody next to me. The flight both ways was a little over an hour or so.
And Boom, Iím in La Guardia airport, and now the fun begins.
my plan was: get on bus that takes me to Jamaica Station (Jamaica is this town on Long Island, most of this takes place on Long Island), get on the Long Island Rail Road (LIRR) and go to Hicksville. Walk to shop (very close to the station thank god). There I was going to talk to shop owner, who I had chatted with 3 days prior and was expecting me. He said that he, or someone else, would then drop me off at the hotel that he suggested & that I made reservations at. & that would be Friday. Saturday I was gonna wing it.
So. I get on the bus to Jamaica. The bus STANK like ASS. I mean that in a literal sense. It smelled like ass and disinfectant. I had forgotten, but to me, everywhere in this area has a foul aroma. I think it has to do with so many people packed together. Anyway, I ride this stank ass bus to Jamaica, watching the scenery. Trees like what we have in Ohio, small houses and apartments packed close together (I wondered how much they paid for those dinky houses) lotsa trash, lots and lots of graveyards that are just huge, and jerky stop and go traffic. I have decided that honking your horn is a kind of art form in New York, they are certainly creative with it. So I get to Jamaica, which is some kind of Hispanic neighborhood. A friend of mine warned me not to wander around there, not very safe for white girls from Ohio. With that noted I bought a ticket to Hicksville, and got to experience rush hour on the train (it was about around 5-6pm). That was ... interesting. Good thing I had packed light. The view from the train reminded me of areas in downtown Columbus. Little houses with little yards, strip malls, schools, playgrounds, I was told I wasnít in for a typical New York City experience. I also noted that the towns just ran together, there was no dividing line between the neighborhoods except for the skin color of the people who lived there.
So anyway, Hicksville.
I go down to street level and check my directions, and start walking north. Iím dead tired, and very bemused at the fact that here I was, completely alone in another area of the world, with only a vague idea of where I am going. Then I see the sigh for Utopia, the name of the shop. I go in and introduce myself & ask for Mark, the shop co-owner. & guess what, HE WASNíT THERE. Only one guy knew I was coming, and he received about 24 hour notice. They didnít know when, and they werenít even sure of the day that I was coming. The shop by the way, is a huge head shop. It sells, goth and raver clothes, hippie crap (sculptures with mushrooms, incense, candles and the like), new age crap, jewelry, bongs & other smoking toys, dildos, music, knives, swords, posters, shoes, jewelry, and a ton of other crap including the piercing jewelry of course. it was like some big altera-culture super store. As one of the guys called around to locate the owner I hang out with the girl who was in charge of body jewelry. Nice girl, had braids in her hair, & was quite informative. I was then told by the guy calling around that the owner was at the other shop setting up display cases and wont be in tonight. I then met the head piercer who was in the back, and him, an apprentice piercer, and myself went to sit down to talk. Rather it was them talking at me. Keep in mind I had been on the move since 2 pm, and it was now 9 pm, I was very very very tired, and now they wanted to interview me (if you could call it that). The head piercer told me that he was basically concerned that since I started out looking for a tattoo apprenticeship & that he wasnít getting paid to train me (keep in mind that he said that) that is major concern was that he didnít want to start training me and then have me leave 3 months into it. Also apprenticing would require 30-40 hrs of my time a week, + Iíd need a full time job because I would not be paid to be an apprentice (because for the 1st 3 months all Iíd be doing was watching and learning). & there was no openings at the shop. At this point I was about to state my side of things, but the food for everyone arrived and he went to go eat. It was that point when someone asked me where I was staying that night. I told them the hotel name & nobody had heard of it. I had the address and phone of course, I knew it was about 2 miles away. Someone asked me how I was gonna get there, I said walk. Well apparently it was across a major highway & that wasnít an option. Someone suggested that I called a cab. Mind you the owner said heíd arrange transport when I got to the shop. So I call the cab company that they suggested, guy on the phone said heíd be able to send someone out in about 2 hours. it was almost 10 by that point, shop was gonna close, and nobody seemed inclined to give me a ride. then this older guy, who had been hanging out in the back, seemed to work there but didnít actually do anything, asked me where I was going to stay. I told him the situation & he said ďlook, you go call that cab company and tell them not to bother. Iíll take you to the hotel, make sure youíre set up ok. Iíll also give you my phone number and Markís number, & Iíll have him pick you up tomorrow.Ē
He told me on the ride over that he used to own the shop and was retiring. (BTW he looked very normal looking, and drove a nice SUV). He thought the way the new owners were treating me was bull shit, and also stated that what I was considering as far as moving out there was very difficult. He said he wasnít trying to dissuade me, but wanted to let me know what I was in for. I did appreciate that.
So we get to the hotel. I check in and go to my room. Kinda shitty, but cheap. I got to watch The Outer Limits on tv, that was cool. and so I went to sleep.
and got up again at 5 am. Damnit.
at around 9 I walked next door to McDonalds for breakfast. Before me was this guy who wanted extra eggs and no ham on some kind of value meal he was getting, and he and the manager discussed this for about what felt like 3 hours. I get my food and go watch cartoons, debating what to do.
I knew they were blowing me off. This was complete horse shit and they were wasting my time. I did have to go back there because I had left my portfolio there, but I didnít feel obligated to stay. What I wanted to do was visit a tattoo artist I have been corresponding with for a while and say hello, & then figure out what to do from there. But since I had the ownerís # and I did need a ride back to the shop, I called him. He said heíd be there in 10 minutes.
I was planning to spend 2 nights at the hotel, but in light of the current goings on, and the fact that I couldnít get from the hotel to the station on my own (flight left at 9 am on Sunday and I was paranoid that I would miss it), I decided to check out & told them I may be back. And then the owner shows up (also driving a nice SUV, they must be popular out there).
What struck me about him is that he was in his mid 30ís, kinda small, and had no tattoos or piercings what so ever. Kinda odd for a head shop owner, especially one that had piercings and was trying to branch out into tattooing. Well I thought it was odd. He tells me why he wasnít at the shop (I was wondering why he didnít give everyone some kind of notice if he wasnít gonna be there, he knew 2 weeks in advance when I was coming, when the plane landed and around the time I would get there). He was also telling me about other tattoo shops that I may check out, One was some local shop that had a bad reputation for producing off center piercings and shitty tattoos, but I may want to go check them out he says (WTF? yah I want to work for some shitty shop. BAH!). He says when we get back to the shop he, the head piercer, and I can talk, but the shop gets really busy around 2 or so, so I may want to go check out some other opportunities. I figure since I am already there, Iíll wait around for an hour and see whatís doing & get to state my case. I have been and am a very dedicated person. All I need is an opportunity. I am very interested in all of this (piercing and tattooing). Iíd be a good asset to the shop because of the skills that I have. They are planning on expanding into tattooing. I happen to be very good at what I do. I donít know tattooing now, granted. But I can paint, and assist with the shops flash and prep the customers. Hell all I need is one opportunity!
so I wait. and wait, and wait. I talk to the other employees. I am able to plot a course to my tattoo artist friend so I can visit him later. The piercer is constantly busy. Itís just him and a small room which I was not allowed to see. It was locked when the piercer wasnít there. I noticed that customers were taken right in after jewelry options were discussed. I was wondering how they had time to autoclave. I did find that btw, it was in the bathroom, away from the piercing station. I donít recall the piercer going in there. The people who were pierced did sign a form stating that everything was sterilized, and they were of age or had a parent present, and that needles were only used once.
Finally I sit down with the owner (the head piercer guy was busy). He stated all of the things that he told me before, that I would have to be there 40+ hrs a week, and that the piercer demanded 150.00 a week for the apprenticeship (note that the piercer never said that he was getting paid to train me). Owner said apprenticeships take about 6 months, so thatís 600.00 a month, and for 6 months I would be paying 3600.00 to learn how to pierce with out being guaranteed a job. Hell I may as well take a course and be charged less. I know this isnít unheard of, but they should have stated all of this up front.
He also mentioned that the reason why he didnít have any tattoos or piercings himself is that it was against his religion (I think that means that he is Jewish). I thought that to be really weird, especially a shop like that. It would be like me owning a Christian book store. He was quite proud of it though (he and his partner, who I think is the head piercer but I am not sure, have owned it less than a year).
Why didnít they just tell me they werenít interested? All they had to do was say, Iím sorry youíre not what weíre looking for. Instead what they told me is that they were kinda iffy, but I could still come out to prove my dedication and talked to them in person if I wished. I really want to do this, so I bought the ticket. The owner sounded very surprised when I told him I was coming out, but never said ďya know, I know youíre going to a lot of effort, but weíre not interested.Ē So Instead I waste my time with them when I could have been doing a number of interesting things.
So I leave, and begin the second phase of my journey....
I traveled by LIRR to Bellmore, where I meet up with my friend (not gonna mention his name, cos I know a lot of tattoo artist have a problem with guys who give info to people who are not tattoo artists themselves, & I have no desire to damage his reputation. He and I exchanged portfolios, he does good work. He told me that he really enjoyed mine & wanted to buy one of my paintings, so perhaps I could break even on this whole adventure. We had pizza, and then it was time for him to go work. This guy was having a tattoo covered, a heart with an exís name on it to be covered by a black and grey piece of an angel showing T&A. I stayed to watch. The shop was nice, had lotsa old fashioned flash on the walls, Old memorabilia pictures, & was quite clean and had a great atmosphere. I watched him work, looking at how he prepared the tattoo machine, the order in which he put in the inks, & the techniques he used to create various effects. I knew then that despite all my misadventures so far in trying to obtain an apprenticeship, that this was still something I want to do.
Later we had a chance to talk. He told me I was crazy for coming out there like that. He also gave me some suggestions on people to contact and web sites to check out, and told me again that he really enjoyed and respected my work. It was real nice meeting him.
So it was getting late, and it was time for me to go.
On to part 3.
I had decided that what I would do is go back to La Gauardia. Iíd then either find a hotel there, or hang out in a diner until it was time for my flight. What I was going to do was go back to Jamaica Station and catch a bus back to the airport. So I go, and I wait, and wait, and wait. As I waited there was this guy with a trachomotomey (sp) tube in his throat (itís a hole in his neck, created because he cant breath through his mouth and nose anymore, usually the result of throat cancer or something like). He kept going up to every bus and cab with his note pad that had scrawled on it ĎLa Guardiaí. I noticed how he was coughing and putting his hand up to his throat underneath the bandages, and how his hands were smeared with blood, and how his note pad was smeared with blood. and how he touched everything. I watched an old woman pick her nose and wipe it on the front of her shirt. I saw lots of unfriendly people. I then went back into the main part of the station. I asked the ticket officer when does the bus come for the airport. He said every hour on the hour, & it was 10:50, so I go back out and wait and wait and wait. 11:15 I go back in, and the ticket officer tells me that the last bus comes at 11. he gives me change for a 20 and I buy a ticket to Penn Station. I figured that it was safer than Jamaica station, & If I was going to be stuck Iíd rather be stuck in a place with more people. I get there and I was relieved to see a food court and lots of people. I get some food (nasty hot dog and fries that was overpriced) and eat slowly. After waiting around a bit, I see that thereís no line to the ticket window, and so I go and ask where does the airport bus arrive at. The woman told me that it wasnít her job to know and that I go walk around and look for myself.
So I figured it was time for plan B
In researching this trip, I noticed that there was a bus that went from the airport to the N line (subway) and that it connected near Penn Station. What I would do is wait for a reasonable hour & walk there & take the subway to the bus stop and then on to La Guardia. But what it meant was that Iíd have to wait at Penn Station for a while. It was then 11:45. I wanted to wait till sunrise, I left at around 5am.
I just sat around and waited. I saw many homeless people, I saw 2 people puke, watched a crazy man yell into the phone without making any noise, about ten people passing through talking to themselves, a few punks, a few goths, a few trendy folk who looked like the just stepped out of a GQ magazine (I noticed that most of the young people were either very thin or very buff, Kinda strange to me cos people arenít like that so much here. Columbus is one of the Ďheaviestí cities in the US, and hey, I do my part! ). Several people came up to me and asked me for directions to this or that train or to such and such street, I thought that was pretty funny. & the pinnacle of my evening, (and I think summed up the trip nicely) as I was studying a map of the subway system and comparing it to my street map a bum walks by me and blows a wet raspberry on the side of my face.
I hadnít slept for 24 hours, I was tired, a little chilled, and a bum spits on me.
I was so shocked I couldnít react. I just went to the bathroom and washed my face off.
Finally 5 am, I go up to 34th street and walk to 42nd street. The streets were quiet, with light traffic. As I was walking I saw the airport shuttle bus pass me. I get to 42nd and I see Time Square, most of the lights were off. I go down to the subway and hop on the N line. & then realized I had to pee really bad. Right before I left Penn Station I got a huge cup of coffee to wake me up, and it hit me at just the wrong time. I get to the stop ( think it was in Astoria), and buy a bus token. I see a Burger King on the corner and relieve myself. MAN I never had to go so bad in my entire life! Bus comes, I get on and off to the airport. Got there at 7:30, perfect timing. A bit of a wait and and I get on another dinky plane that was at the same terminal I got off on. The flight attendant was a older Japanese woman who kept getting in my face. As I was putting on my seat belt she asks me real loudly if I would like and extender and that I had to wear my seat belt. I know Iím a big girl but COME ON SHUT UP YOU BITCH! she really got on my nerves. As we were leaving and she was doing her flight attendant speel I was amused to notice that she was reading from a script and was getting the order all screwed up. I also noticed that the pilot was driving the plane in a rather jerky fashion. I figured we were all gonna die. So we fly home. the flight attendant bitch stole my drink before I could finish it because we were landing soon. and about 10 minutes before we were gonna land there was a lot of turburlance. I thought to myself ďOh great, we get back and now we crash and dieĒ but no we landed ok, and 30 minutes early.
I call my brother, he picks me up and takes me home.
Before I went to pass out I checked my messages. Turned out that the job my temp agency had lined up for me canceled. I was now without income.
What a trip.
today (Monday) I was able to get another assignment through the agency, so I should have work on Thursday if all goes well. As far as the trip goes and everything, I decided Iím not gonna move, at all, anywhere. No more of these trips, Iíve had it! I still want to tattoo, but I gotta tell you I am extremely discouraged.
Yah damn turning points... Too bad I donít know which direction to go.
But at least I know what I donít want.
I figure I should finish the story of the Ebola Gray and the monumental flight back home as I donít want to leave you unsated after hearing of the monumental feats we had survived getting to the river.|
It was near time to go back to civilization and leave the river to itís relentless journey to the sea. We had spent a fruitless few days fishin and our well had pretty much run dry in the food and drink department.
JEB was getting mighty crabby over the lack of both and was catching an earful from me for putting us in that situation which wasnít helping his crabs any.
He had eaten most all the grub on the first day we were there, swearing that he was gonna snag up every fish in that river and goin on as to how we would be feasting away on panfried catfish and bass burgers in no time.
It didnít quite work out that away, in fact, by the next day we were so drunk (having nothing to eat for breakfast but whiskey and beef jerky) that if some had drained that river, I wouldnít have put money on us even being about to walk out an catch a fish flopping around, specially that old walrus, JEB.
Now, as soon as we had landed on that beach, he had picked himself out a spot on the river side of this old log that was about 15 feet from the bank and set himself up a wallow. He had stashed most of the supplies on the other side of the log so he could just reach over and grab what he wanted without having to actually get up. This was fairly typical for the JEB style of fishin.
Drinking can have an effect upon oneís perceptions after awhile and JEB was no exception. We had been fishing and drinking for a few hours when he started mumbling about the river. About every five minutes he would ask me if the water was rising which I couldnít rightly tell and told him as much every time he asked.
After about an hour of this, he rolled himself out of his wallow and crawled down by the water and stuck a stick in the sand about three feet from the waterline and then crawled back to his spot all proud of himself for no longer having to depend upon my vague observations to keep his drunken personage from eventually being swept away as he now had a watermark.
I got up to fetch up a fresh bottle of fishing tonic and noticed that the old curmudgeon had dozed off. Not wanting to pass up an opportunity such as this, I took a long draw off the bottle and tiptoed down to his stick and moved it right to the waterline figuring that this act could stir up a little entertainment since the fish werenít biting anyway.
I then noted where Fred was sprawled out on the beach and positioned myself so that JEB was between Fred and me and held up a piece of jerky and said, ďFoodĒ.
Now, when it comes to eating or humping, Fred will invariably take the most direct route to his target, in this case it meant climbing over JEB which would of course wake his ass properly up so I could see if he would notice the stick without my having to wait for him to wake up on his own. Hell, he could have died in his sleep and I wouldnít know for awhile as he would have just gone on snoring for hours after he kicked the bucket, being the way he is and all.
He spotted that stick right after he got done sputtering and threatening and went and got all puffed up, going on about Noah and Bangladesh and all sorts of stories about just about every flood that ever happened, just going on like all of a sudden he was the foremost authority in the whole damn world on everything involving water from moist on up.
It was pretty interesting to listen to even though he was getting his facts all twisted up as he went on to where after awhile he had Custer drowning in the Nile and Gabriel blowing a foghorn off Nantucket. I almost believed it, too, he was so damned convincing.
Well, then he starts in on me about how I was such a bag of shit because I was just standing there watching the river rise up on him while he was ďmeditatingĒ and would have let it sweep him away , carrying on about the last time I let him float off. He was making sure I got a good look at the scar on his cheek where I hooked him that time too. Well, thatís another story that I already told you.
I pointed out to him that he was erroneously assuming some sort of similarity between meditating and passing out and reminded him that I DID save his life that day and that he was an ungrateful bastard who I should have left to float out to sea.
Moving that stick was a good idea, it turned out. Fish werenít bitiní anyway.
So, now he comes up with a brilliant idea to circumvent having to depend upon me to warn him of the rising waters in case he fell back to ďmeditatingĒ. He takes this chunk of rope and ties it around his ankle, lures Fred over and ties the other end to Fredís back leg.
Now, he figureís that even if Fred forgets that he is Manís Best Friend, his own retreat will alert JEB to the approaching peril in time for him to escape. Ole Fred just sat there and let him tie the rope, showing his teeth in silent protest. JEB flopped back down and within two minutes, was snoring like a train.
Fred sat down and began chewing on that rope and within five minutes, had severed the offending bond, leaving about six inches dangling off his back leg and the rest attached to JEBís. Then he hiked up his leg and commenced to soaking down that rope, especially the part around JEBís leg as a reminder that he never has appreciated that sort of behavior.
When he finished, ole Fred took off walking down the beach, stopping every three or four steps to shake his roped leg. Damnedest thing I had seen in a while, him doing this weird dog cha-cha and JEB snoring away in a puddle of piss. I didnít make a sound, just bathed in the glow of the grandeur of it all.
Now, about sundown, the old fossil wakes up and immediately starts yeowling about how he is near death from starvation and would not last another hour without sustenance. He staggered up and snatched the last bottle of fishing tonic out of my hand and we commenced to arguing about who was the hungriest when all of a sudden, this big ole frog hops out of the brush onto the beach not 15 feet from us.
Sensing our spewing hunter/testosterone manscent, Fred spun around, spotting this potential dinner right off and started galloping toward the frog; it was every dog for himself.
JEB knew that Fred wasnít planning on sharing that frog so he took a step and quickly launched himself at the frog and with the strength of Thor, he brought that bottle down on the spot that the frog had vacated a split second before, smashing it into a thousand pieces, the last of the tonic arcing into this singular fountain onto the sandy beach, gone forever.
Fred had also launched himself at the now retreated French delicacy and managed to slam into JEB just as he started his first bounce. No football game ever produced a more impressive crunch than that collision. They laid there motionless while I watched the frog swim off downriver as casual as can be.
JEB rolled over and moaned and Fred was at least twitching so I knew they were alive. I announced that with the untimely destruction of the last of the tonic and the departure of our last chance at a meal due to the inept attempts by both of them, we would be taking off just after sunup when the Ebola Gray had warmed up enough to start and I flopped down on my blanket in disgust after tossing a chunk of driftwood on the fire.
JEB started in on his emaciated condition again and must have said something about being a goner but I heard different and asked him why he mentioned the Donner family. The whole area became deathly silent as the portent of those words sunk in. We knew then and there that there would be no sleeping that night. Both of us were suddenly aware of the potential for treachery from the other two as Fred was already known for not having much consideration for where his next meal came from and we both knew the fate of the less attentive of the Donner partyís members. It was going to be a long night.
Hours crept by as we kept a constant bloodshot vigil on each other. Around midnight, Fred let out a woof and both of us snapped to full attention, staring with intense loathing at each other, tensed for the expected attack from the other. We slowly rose from our blankets and picked up long sticks of driftwood, preparing to defend ourselves to the death if need be. The fire flared up to find us slowly circling it, sticks waggling, each looking for an opening, it was the moment of truth.
What Fred had woofed at wasnít either of us but a group of rafters drifting down the river apparently on some weekend adventure. As they drifted past us, they all quietly crouched down in their rafts, staring in horror and wonderment at the savage scene before them.
Fred cut loose with another woof and we both looked at what he was woofing at, a potential meal. We ran towards the water screaming and flailing our sticks. Jeb was bellowing ďFeed me!!!Ē and Fred started braying which caused these terrified souls to jump up and start paddling like mad, disappearing around the bend downstream. I stopped at the edge of the water and watched JEB and Fred go crashing through the underbrush, chasing after the rafts while screaming and howling like a couple of Banshees. They never stood a chance though, those boaters were running for their lives having just been told the tale of the Pecos River Demons by their guide and were firmly convinced that those very demons were now on their tail. The guide was paddling with no less ardor than his charges as he too had never encountered the likes of us especially with the eerie and unfathomable shape of the Ebola behind us. This was one raft trip that they would never forget.
I took advantage of their preoccupation with chasing down the rafters and went and locked myself in the plane and finally was able to get a few winks in before the impending flight only a few hours hence.
That morning I arose to the harmonious snores of the two marauders who were sprawled out by the smoking remains of the fire. I woke them up and we prepared for takeoff and the real fun that was about to commence, but thatís another story.
Actually I guess it was supposed to be this story but I seemed to have gotten sidetracked. Oh well, maybe next time, eh?
As you all must have noticed by now, MooP is missing. I and I alone know where he is right now. Yes, he has been abducted by me, but the rumors that this is just a lark or sexually motivated prank are patently false. MooP is still alive, but there are no guarantees at how long that will last. If the Asylum doesnít acquiesce to my demands, MooPís outlook is not good. A deep sea burial in his future, if you catch my not-so-subtle point.
Many of you are wondering why Nutrimentia, such a nice upstanding member of the community, would partake in obviously treasonous behavior. If you have seen the movie Mishima you may understand. This "treason" is anything but. I am an Asylum Patriot through and through and am willing to give my life so that it may live. I am fully aware that this action may incite many of you to attempt to terminate my command with extreme prejudice (I have already destroyed those mail bombs you tried). But for the sake of the Asylum, I do what I do. I am prepared to let history be the judge of my actions, for I know that I will be revered as a hero and seen as the savior that I am.
When the Asylum started, it was a refuge. A refuge from that cesspool known as SPF, which itself was a refuge from the real world, a steaming pile of shit so horrid that we chose to immerse ourselves in the world of Jay Stile to get away from it. The Asylum was a dream community, full of frolicking freedom and unfettered fun.
Alas, all good things must come to an end and the Asylum now hangs by the neck from a tenuous tether. This place has been infected and effectively destroyed. What are we now? Where are we now? This is supposed to be a place for socializing and meeting people, but those days are long gone.
We profess to desire new membership, but we crucify newbies mercilessly. We claim to give bewbie points fairly, but avondale had to force Dingleís hand (away from his greasy funstick) to get any points. We claim to be a bastion of freedom, but the Natsi Admins constantly are moving threads and deleting posts.
GoFuckYourselves infects every thread, every post, every comment, with dry wretched humor. PaintCHiPs waxes eternally on every fucking subject to the point of causing brain aneurysms in anyone foolish enough to begin reading his tripe. Rav and Chelle prance ruthlessly throughout the forum, and who knows what would happen if we didnít have flood control? WastedPotential slaughters everyone in trivia and then flouts his savantism in our faces. Founder tack has seen the problems and tried to save us from ourselves, but the powers that be quickly snuffed out that point of light and ray of hope.
The site almost went down a few weeks ago because wonderaz broke his desk being a fuckwit. We have been foolish to place our trust in reckless fools who donít value the life and longevity of the site. Remember what it was like when Stile shut down his forum because we were acting like babies? Imagine the pain and frustration involved in a site shutdown caused by inattentive administration and lax concern for the hardware that we reside in. At least stile was thinking about us; wonderaz just cares for his birds and that shiteating mutt he calls a dog.
Things must change, and I am the one to do so. I have taken MooP from the confines of the asylum and brought him here with me. I am currently taking my frustration out on the poor bastard. My frustrations with life, with you, and perhaps most of all with MooP himself. I had planned to let you all sweat it out a little bit before I made my demands, but I can only take so much of this crap. I know you want him back, you need him back, so listen up:
Demand "1: I want the site name changed back to asylumwhores. This place was better when we all had degrading self-perceptions and felt that we were worthless disease infested nobodies. Now that we identify ourselves as a "nation," we are all proud and xenophobic and shit.
Demand #2: I want the keys and passcodes to peer. I debated dismissing the admin team outright, but realized that I canít handle it all on my own and decided to let them stay on under my command. But I require full unfettered access to peer in order to begin cleaning up the crap. Registered members will rejoice to hear that I will immediately end all peer-related IRC connection resets, as well as revoking the admins ability to move threads, delete posts, edit comments, or otherwise fold, spindle, or mutilate our content.
Demand #3: I want stile as moderator of the TLF. He really knows how to run a forum and getting rid of the prior mods to make room for a moderator of stileís caliber can only make things better.
Demand #4: WastedPotential (and any variation of that nick/ personality, etc.) is banned from all trivia events, forever. WastedPís new role in trivia related events is as score-keeper and repository of information. Anyone wishing to host a trivia event need only to think of questions and then go get the answers from WastedPotential (he has them, trust me).
Demand #5: Streaming webcams. All you people with cams may need to buy new hardware and upgrade your internet connections, but the current once-a-month update situation is just unacceptable. When we visit the cam page, we should be able to see you in action, not just trapped in some glassy-eyed pose. Streaming webcams will make inter-cam interactions more exciting as well.
Demand #6: This is the only selfish demand I have. I require a new computer, a non-Mac. I know that Macs are the best and will continue to use my current computer, but since so many fools here seem to think that windows and linux machines are better, I figure I should have one. If nothing else, it will enable me to play more games and give me a chance to familiarize myself with these machines so I can better convince fiend and macker that my mac-hine is truly superior. I donít care if you decide to pool your resources and send me the box or just want to send cash and Iíll buy the computer over here. As long as it is a 25Ghz Pentium Athlon Mega with a terabyte optical RadeoForceX graphics chip, Iím happy.
Demand #7: Free Samples of Store Stock. We can start with the toilet brush, but as additional inventory is added to the store, I want complimentary samples. Forever. This is an ongoing demand.
Demand #8: 15 "demand credits." I canít think of any more demands right now and my foot is sore from holding MooP down while I type. But I know that there is more that I want and more changes need to be made, so I need guarantees that my future desires (for the good of the Asylum, of course) will be honored and implemented.
Thatís it, plain and simple folks. As soon as I get confirmation that these requests are complete, I will return little Ďole MooP and you can go back to your blissfully ignorant lives. The Asylum will be rejuvenated with this fresh start I am giving it.
A final word of warning: Those who choose to characterize this as a "coup" should refrain from voicing such obviously ignorant and confrontational opinions until these alterations have been implemented. I am not dictatorial or power hungry here. If it should turn out that these changes do not improve the state of the Asylum, I will promptly return it to the condition it was when I took over tried to save you from yourselves.
And donít try to save MooP without my permission. I have implanted a tiny detonation device that will kill him if he is taken out of range. Only I know the code to disable this device, so any attempt to kill or otherwise disable me or to snatch MooP back would be dreadfully ineffective.