Do you remember what it was like to read?
Do you?
I've heard it come up, now and then, about certain apes not particularly enjoying reading. Well, that's just a kick in the teeth, isn't it? You know, the ironic part is that I 'heard' this over on the FacebÜks. You know, a place where 99.9% of anything that goes on over there is.. written.
Mmm, typed.
You get where I'm going?
No, you probably don't.
You saw the link (granted you aren't ear-deep in your colon) and didn't bother. Read? Read?!? Pfft, I'd rather put my penis in a garbage disposal! <---This is conjecture. I don't have a penis.
Try to keep up.
Hey look, I can't help that this comes across chaotic. Perhaps if you spent less time making sandwiches and giving away blankets and more time educating yourself on the temporal displacement of spacial anomalies in polydimensional -- lost you?
sigh
Since we are not going to be communicating.. much of ANYTHING.. this will be my final attempt to dissuade you in your chosen course of action.
It may very well be you are heading to a fateful encounter.
If you persist..
it may very well
end up
fatal.
Head Shot!
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Santa and Me
I've done it!
I'VE DONE IT!
The Multiverse™ will soon fall to OBLIVION!
I've been working diligently all year, striving to complete this one.. thing.
A few years ago, I discovered a brilliant young scientist who was working with paradimensional resonance or some junk and took him under my wing (ie. held him at gunpoint and forced him to do my bidding; kill your family and friends leverage crap, you know the take). I funded his wild experiments and he made sure I was always with coffee.
He would explain quantum theory (or try to) and I would not sleep through his presentations ever! I payed 110% attention to every word, every detail.
As The Multiverse™ expanded, he expounded.
Just last year, several of the lowest levels of Los Sauces were flooded and we lost progress on several key elements. It was a setback, but only a minor one. We also lost a few investors that put us in the red.
That was a bigger setback.
Dr. Tarantula, greasy maniac that he is, offered to 'loan' us some cash to help get us back on our feet. He subsequently pulled the rug out from under us and we went spilling out of Los Sauces.
To be refused entry by chickens (of all creatures) was insulting.
It was Henchmen that we turned to, Dear Reader. Henchmen.
Vile beings, though loyal, who were willing to do what it takes to get the job done.
They caught me, my guard down, and pulled me from the edge of OBLIVION's caress.
Through the last year, with strides, I returned. Operation: Kill Kringle 2011 was not a complete bust, for I took from the Fat Man his coveted list.* With all the names.
All the names and all the addresses.
And all your desires.
And what do i want all this for?
Ü
to burn it all down, of course
Oblivion, Dear Reader, is my only course.
The Multiverse™ has it all. Everything. Every possibility.
The only action that would make any sense, that would have meaning, is oblivion.
Oh poo, I guess you caught me monologueing. Sigh, I guess you're going to try to stop me now.
Aw, shucks, I would have gotten away with it if it weren't for you rotten kids.
Oh wait.
I'm not giving you my plan.
I don't make plans.
I also wouldn't tell you any of what I am up to if you had any chance of stopping me. Operation Kill Kringle 2012 is already over. The Fat Man is already dead.
His sack was removed (long ago, according to his Missus), reindeer captured (barbequed, tasty!), elves slaughtered, and technology reverse engineered by capable robot hands. Better luck next ti ha ha haha. There won't be a next year, kiddies! Nets.
Santa's reindeer are a different breed, Magnus. They could chew through irradiated cables, mutated. Not keen on the netting. Or the barbeque.
Don't give me that look.
The Multiverse™ gents. And ladies.
And whatevers.
ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE.
Look into the face of Oblivion.
Gaze into nothing.
My marvelous weapon, Dear Reader, is yet to be revealed.
It took several raids, some in the dead of night when secrecy can be maintained the easiest. We tramped into others' territory and pilfered what secrets we could. I did a few drops in Lake Town, had a chilling brunch in Colorado Springs, and got crates full of loot out of New Jersey.
Oh sure, some of it smells.
A combination of alcohol, crow, and actors.
I spent some time up in Seattle, though brief, and came out the other end a more vicious, more determined ghost. I got down to Portland, up to Yellowknife, across to Kingston, and missed the flight to Essex.
We had more planned, but we don't make plans, so Beijing is right out.
Thanks for all the plans, scientist-types. Your work is harmless apart, together all is made dangerous.
The culmination is a weapon of awesome power.
Well, weapon is in the eye of, well, the hand of the be-- well, holder.
It's not a weapon, in the right hands.
Fortunately (unfortunately) it's in the wrong hands.
A self righteous prick who's ready to do what it takes to get the job done.
That's right.
A Henchman.
The lowest sub-category of human.
And moreso unhuman, because of the whole.. dead thing.
I choose to behave this way. Whether Henchman, Minion, or Villain.
I am, what I am.
I have served none save myself, even when purposefully serving others.
That just makes me EVIL.
That's a label I can.. live... with.
Here in the NECROVERSE, where all things go when they die, we have learned immense patience.
You will come to us, eventually.
You all will.
It all comes out in the wash, eh?
For all your fury, you remain as you are:
nothing
welcomehomeapocalypse
welcomehome
-AW
*You would think after all these years and the boon technology would be to such a job, why doesn't he just get a GPS? I've spotted a few satellites in my day, one of em had to be from the North Pole.
I'VE DONE IT!
The Multiverse™ will soon fall to OBLIVION!
I've been working diligently all year, striving to complete this one.. thing.
A few years ago, I discovered a brilliant young scientist who was working with paradimensional resonance or some junk and took him under my wing (ie. held him at gunpoint and forced him to do my bidding; kill your family and friends leverage crap, you know the take). I funded his wild experiments and he made sure I was always with coffee.
He would explain quantum theory (or try to) and I would not sleep through his presentations ever! I payed 110% attention to every word, every detail.
As The Multiverse™ expanded, he expounded.
Just last year, several of the lowest levels of Los Sauces were flooded and we lost progress on several key elements. It was a setback, but only a minor one. We also lost a few investors that put us in the red.
That was a bigger setback.
Dr. Tarantula, greasy maniac that he is, offered to 'loan' us some cash to help get us back on our feet. He subsequently pulled the rug out from under us and we went spilling out of Los Sauces.
To be refused entry by chickens (of all creatures) was insulting.
It was Henchmen that we turned to, Dear Reader. Henchmen.
Vile beings, though loyal, who were willing to do what it takes to get the job done.
They caught me, my guard down, and pulled me from the edge of OBLIVION's caress.
Through the last year, with strides, I returned. Operation: Kill Kringle 2011 was not a complete bust, for I took from the Fat Man his coveted list.* With all the names.
All the names and all the addresses.
And all your desires.
And what do i want all this for?
Ü
to burn it all down, of course
Oblivion, Dear Reader, is my only course.
The Multiverse™ has it all. Everything. Every possibility.
The only action that would make any sense, that would have meaning, is oblivion.
Oh poo, I guess you caught me monologueing. Sigh, I guess you're going to try to stop me now.
Aw, shucks, I would have gotten away with it if it weren't for you rotten kids.
Oh wait.
I'm not giving you my plan.
I don't make plans.
I also wouldn't tell you any of what I am up to if you had any chance of stopping me. Operation Kill Kringle 2012 is already over. The Fat Man is already dead.
His sack was removed (long ago, according to his Missus), reindeer captured (barbequed, tasty!), elves slaughtered, and technology reverse engineered by capable robot hands. Better luck next ti ha ha haha. There won't be a next year, kiddies! Nets.
Santa's reindeer are a different breed, Magnus. They could chew through irradiated cables, mutated. Not keen on the netting. Or the barbeque.
Don't give me that look.
The Multiverse™ gents. And ladies.
And whatevers.
ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE.
Look into the face of Oblivion.
Gaze into nothing.
My marvelous weapon, Dear Reader, is yet to be revealed.
It took several raids, some in the dead of night when secrecy can be maintained the easiest. We tramped into others' territory and pilfered what secrets we could. I did a few drops in Lake Town, had a chilling brunch in Colorado Springs, and got crates full of loot out of New Jersey.
Oh sure, some of it smells.
A combination of alcohol, crow, and actors.
I spent some time up in Seattle, though brief, and came out the other end a more vicious, more determined ghost. I got down to Portland, up to Yellowknife, across to Kingston, and missed the flight to Essex.
We had more planned, but we don't make plans, so Beijing is right out.
Thanks for all the plans, scientist-types. Your work is harmless apart, together all is made dangerous.
The culmination is a weapon of awesome power.
Well, weapon is in the eye of, well, the hand of the be-- well, holder.
It's not a weapon, in the right hands.
Fortunately (unfortunately) it's in the wrong hands.
A self righteous prick who's ready to do what it takes to get the job done.
That's right.
A Henchman.
The lowest sub-category of human.
And moreso unhuman, because of the whole.. dead thing.
I choose to behave this way. Whether Henchman, Minion, or Villain.
I am, what I am.
I have served none save myself, even when purposefully serving others.
That just makes me EVIL.
That's a label I can.. live... with.
Here in the NECROVERSE, where all things go when they die, we have learned immense patience.
You will come to us, eventually.
You all will.
It all comes out in the wash, eh?
For all your fury, you remain as you are:
nothing
welcomehomeapocalypse
welcomehome
-AW
*You would think after all these years and the boon technology would be to such a job, why doesn't he just get a GPS? I've spotted a few satellites in my day, one of em had to be from the North Pole.
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