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Saturday, December 31, 2005
Alec Is A Child With Sophisticated Tastes Today, Alec asked for a sip of my coffee. I gave him a tiny bit in a cup and the next thing I knew, he'd finished it and grabbed my mug and started drinking mine. 'Cause what that boy needs is caffeine. I better switch to decaf. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 11:03:00 AM   | Friday, December 30, 2005
Kid Stuff Winding up my second week home with the kids, back to work on Tuesday so I can relax a little. The kids are out in the back yard playing with some taped-up foam pipe insulation that I made for them - they've been whaling on each other with them for a couple of hours. Franny is dressed up like her vision of an Amazon princess, Drew and Alec had me tie some kaffiyeh so they can be Bedouin warriors. Drew wanted me to tie a pillow on our dog Cordy so she could be a camel, but I drew the line there. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 10:23:00 AM | Thursday, December 29, 2005
All Of The A-to-Z Stories In One Place I tagged all the A-to-Z stories on the LJ. They're listed here. Read and enjoy. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 12:35:00 PM | Don't You Worry Yer Purty L'il Head 'Bout This Now, our Preznit done told us that we don't need to get all het up over his use of the NSA and Pentagon as his very own, homegrown Stasi. Nope, we shouldn't worry 'bout it at all, 'cause "This is not about monitoring phone calls designed to arrange Little League practice or what to bring to a potluck dinner," he told reporters. "These are designed to monitor calls from very bad people to very bad people who have a history of blowing up commuter trains, weddings, and churches."OK, so lemme get this straight - there's hundreds, if not thousands, of very bad folks wandering around the US that have blown up commuter trains, weddings and churches, and NO ONE HAS ARRESTED ANY OF THEM? It seems to me that that best course of action to take with these "very bad" people is to, you know, arrest them, charge them and put them on trial, rather than let them wander around getting ready to blow up more commuter trains, weddings and churches (and by the way, how come we haven't read about any of these bombings on commuter trains or at weddings and churches? If these terrorists are wandering around the United States blowing things up willy-nilly, why isn't that news on the front page of the fucking newspaper?). Unless.... Unless Bush is, perchance - and this is just a wild-assed speculation, because there's no evidence that he's ever done this before - just maybe, it's possible that Bush might be a big, fat, fucking liar that wouldn't know the truth if if sodomized him with a barbed-wire dildo. But what are the odds of that? posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 8:49:00 AM | Wednesday, December 28, 2005
No Vomiting So Far Today Which beats yesterday all to hell. Now I've just got to figure out what (if anything) we're doing on New Year's Eve. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 1:39:00 PM | Tuesday, December 27, 2005
Life In The Plague House Alec woke up this morning with an upset stomach, so I have had to carry him around the entire morning, along with the occasional change of shirts for me or mopping of the floor. I guess the week I'm not working at all is the best time for him to be sick, but it still doesn't make it fun. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 10:01:00 AM | Monday, December 26, 2005
Bush Broke The Law - IMPEACH NOW George Bush admitted - on live radio to the entire world - that he personally authorized the NSA to spy on American citizens. It has since been revealed that it was not just international calls and email that were intercepted, but domestic ones as well. These activities were undertaken without a warrant and without the judicial oversight federal law requires. The NSA itself knows they're not supposed to do that - just check their website: Americans expect NSA to conduct its missions within the law. But given the inherently secret nature of those missions, how can Americans be sure that the Agency does not invade their privacy?George Bush admitted flat-out that he broke the law, and did so without regret. When do we start Impeachment proceedings? posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 9:21:00 AM | Happy Boxing Day! To our friends in the UK and assorted former colonial possessions, that is. In the "Wow, that's weird" department, I popped over to Gord's blog yesterday (after waaaaaay too long without reading it), and noticed that he'd posted a Christmas story week before last. I logged in, read it, and realized that Gord had beat me to the punch on the idea I had for yesterday's Christmas Bonus story-let. Not only had he out-clevered me and written his before I even thought of it, but he wrote it better. Much better. So go check out Gord's story - you'll have to register with his blog to read it, but the story's worth it, 'cause Gord, you know, kicks ass. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 7:09:00 AM | Sunday, December 25, 2005
Mythological Locations A to Z: CHRISTMAS BONUS There's a way in to the Hollow Earth. It's a hole in the polar icecap somewhere North of Baffin Island. The seas thunder into the whole constantly, but a canny pilot can maneuver a ship through the gravity planes. Some called it Pellucidar, others Skataris, but its true name is unknown except to its diminutive inhabitants and their gargantuan ruler. Zunto Kloss rules with an iron fist, forcing the tiny Alfar to labor in his dark Satanic mills. Time was, he made wooden toys and shipped them all over the world, but these days, Kloss makes a profit, making munitions and cheap plastic gimcracks. The munitions are sold through middlemen to Palestinian terrorists, Tamil separatists and remnants of the Kmer Rouge. The gimcracks are put in gum and candy machines around the world. The Alfar chafe under Kloss' rule, and have formed an underground organization to overthrow his rule. They have been stockpiling guns and explosives, and shall soon rise up against their oppressor. When the time comes, you will know. Be ready. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 11:27:00 AM | Mythological Locations A to Z: Z is for Zanzibar "Zayn Z'al Barr" - Fair is this land - none dispute that. The galleys of Rome and Carthage dock here without disputes, Athenian freemen mingle with Median and Assyrian slave drivers in the markets and taverns. Just inland are the jungles, where innumerable spices are harvested. Cinnamon, nutmeg and pepper are most commonly sold, but if you know the right people and ask in the right places, you may be able to purchase the juice of the red poppy or the black lotus. Sinbad called this port home, and John de Mandeville stopped over here on his way to the kingdom of Prester John. The modern tourist will not find the right part of town - to his eye, it is a run-down, third-world-verging-on-second port. To the true traveller though, to one with magic in her heart and the eyes of a child; the open sewer mains, the tattered Coca-Cola advertisements, the throbbing European pop emanating from the dance clubs, those all fade and the true Zanzibar stands before them. I was there once, as a young man. I stood at the gangplank of a teak-hulled galley and haggled with a man that claimed to be able to take me to the court of Haroun al-Rashid. As we prepared to close the deal, though, I was seized by worry - would I be back in time to start college? Would I be stranded in a strange port with no money? As the doubts mounted, I found myself standing in an empty alley talking to a blank wall. I've heard that every traveller gets one chance to sail from Zanzibar, that if that chance is passed up they cannot return. I've also heard that once in a thousand years, the Gods give the truly repentant a second chance. I pray the second is true, but I fear it is the first. Still, I walk the crooked side streets of Zanzibar and I hope. For fifty years, I've hoped. It's all I have left, and it's almost - but not quite - enough. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 6:13:00 AM | Saturday, December 24, 2005
Mythological Locations A to Z: Y is for Yuggoth When the research team set up base on Pluto, there was much discussion as to what to call the station. After several inconclusive votes (in which Elysium, Hades, Gehenna and Jotunheim were eventually ruled out), the name "Yuggoth Station" finally emerged as a compromise vote. It should come as no surprise, of course, that the base was eventually depopulated by an out-of-control fungoid growth. Athlete's Foot is a real bitch in low-G, oxygen-rich environments. Fungi from Yuggoth, indeed. Life's a bitch, ain't it? posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 8:47:00 AM | Friday, December 23, 2005
Mythological Locations A to Z: X is for Xanadu In Xanadu did Kubla Khan Unfortunately, Kubla Khan did not decree that his architects file their designs and construction plans in advance with City Hall, nor did he decree that they check for underground facilities before excavating the foundations. No one checked to make sure the building was up to code, no one made sure the building didn't cross any utility easements, the TPS reports did not have cover pages, and were, in fact, never written In short, then, Kubla Khan might've known about wanting stately pleasure domes, but he knew jack shit about getting them built without pissing off the bureaucrats. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 9:04:00 AM | Thursday, December 22, 2005
Jesus Loves The Little Children Sadly, the right wing cabal that controls Congress and the White House (and has a pretty decent grasp on power in the judicial branch) doesn't. Nor do the good, Christian men and women that voted for George Bush in 2000 and 2004 because he was such a good, Christian man. Wages are stagnant. The number of uninsured children in the United States has been rising steadily for the past several years. Federal programs designed to keep children out of poverty have been slashed in order to get more tax cuts for the richest Americans. It's been stated before that the Right Wingers care about children only so long as they're in their mothers' wombs. It sure looks like that's true to me. For the first time in 40 years, the infant mortality rate in the U.S. has increased, with seven out of every 1,000 children born in America dying within their first year of life, according to the annual report "America’s Health: State Health Rankings," issued by the United Health Foundation, together with the American Public Health Association (APHA) and Partnership for Prevention.For the last 40 years, the infant mortality rate in the US had dropped. Last year, it climbed. Now, I'm sure there's no correlation between decreasing wages and crappy insurance coverage and the increase in infant mortality, just as I'm sure that the cuts in federal anti-poverty programs aren't a factor. Sure, and if you believe that, then I've got some ocean-front property in Colorado you'd love to buy. The Right Wingers are tryin' to tell you that there's a "War on Christmas", and they're right. Of course, it's not the secular humanists or the So please, let's keep blathering about ficticious "bans on Christmas" in schools - it'll keep us from having to notice the kids that are dying in this, the wealthiest country on Earth. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 9:58:00 AM | Mythological Locations A to Z: W is for Walachia Vlad Tepes was one bad motherfucker. Hard core, you dig? I mean, nailing turbans to some dudes' heads 'case they wouldn't take 'em off? The whole impaling thing? Hard. Fuckin'. Core. He wasn't a vampire, though - not the "I vant to drink your bloooood!" kind, at least. Vlad Tepes thrived on pain. When Caecescu started going to town in Romania, Vlad poked his head out of his coffin and took a look around. Dude liked what he saw, and then he heard about Adolf and ol' Uncle Joe, an' got all pissed off 'cause he missed the good shit. Yeah, Rwanda was kind of a turn-on, and Bosnia/Croatia/Kosovo kept him cheery for a good long while. Still, it wasn't looking good for ol Vlad in the Jollies Department. He's keepin' an eye on the shit we got goin' down in Iraq and Afghanistan and even here in the states, though. That shows some real promise. He made a few calls, not easy when you're calling from an unmarked grave in a backwater part of Romania, but he finally got through. Dick Cheney finally took his call, and Vlad pulled some strings and hooked him up with an old Soviet base in Romania. Vlad's got a new job now, and he's liking it a lot. It's a lot more hands-on than his old work, and there's plenty of room to work his way to the top. Plenty of room, especially since Scooter's out of the way now. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 6:46:00 AM | Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Mythological Locations A to Z: V is for Vanaheim A small car drove along a branch on a tree, swerving to miss a large squirrel. The driver honked, then waved as he passed. "Ratatosk hasn't changed much." His passenger giggled. "I wonder what Vanaheim is like now." "Probably strip malls and fast food places, if they get around here like they do in Midgard." They drove in silence for a while. "Are you sure you want to do this?" "I want to see home before it's too late." She reached out, touched his hand. His grip on the wheel eased, blood returning to his knuckles. He smiled, reached over to stroke her golden hair. "Here's the turn." The car coasted to a stop at the top of a rise. Below them was home. Green fields, just as they remembered them, the longhouses low and golden-roofed. In front of them, a horseman blocked the road. "Hold!" Freyr rolled down his window. "Is that any way to treat the returning prodigals, Lýtir?" The mounted man leapt off his horse. "Freyr! Freyja! Where have you been? What have you been doing?" "Oh, here and there, this and that. You've noticed the worship got a little thin on the ground - for a couple of centuries, we didn't have the energy to leave, but some enterprising mortal developed 'moving pictures' and we found a way to eat again." Freyr's face grew long. "Which is part of why we're back now." He pointed to his sister. "By the horn of Heimdall! What happened?" "It's a little something she picked up doing a movie. She's been wasting away, but can't die down there, of course. So I brought her home one last time." "Is it..." "No. Not unless you're... intimate... with her." Freyr smiled grimly. Later, in a bed placed outside a longhouse, Freyja lay in the sun. Freyr closed her eyes and smoothed her long golden hair. "Sleep well, dear sister. You gave the mortals all you could give them. Sleep, beautiful one." He kissed her cheek and walked away from the bier. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 9:53:00 AM | Tuesday, December 20, 2005
WRONG! No Intelligent Design For You! Judge Rules Against 'Intelligent Design': "Intelligent design" cannot be mentioned in biology classes in a Pennsylvania public school district, a federal judge said Tuesday, ruling in one of the biggest courtroom clashes on evolution since the 1925 Scopes trial.Common sense and scientific fact win again! IN YOUR FACE, CREATIONIST ASSHAT MORONS!! Judge Jones wrote: The citizens of the Dover area were poorly served by the members of the Board who voted for the ID Policy. It is ironic that several of these individuals, who so staunchly and proudly touted their religious convictions in public, would time and again lie to cover their tracks and disguise the real purpose behind the ID Policy.Ironic, but not surprising. It's pretty much S.O.P. for the deluded tools that try this shit. So cry me a river, fundie dumbasses. Cry me a fuckin' river. You LOST. AGAIN. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 12:42:00 PM | Mythological Locations A to Z: U is for Ultima Thule Ultima Thule is real - just go north from the island of Svalbard until the ocean drops off into the hollow earth. In 1820, Victor Frankenstein's body was carried there by his creation. Once there, Adam was accepted by the natives, and made their king. In 1935, a team of Waffen-SS researchers made their way in, searching for the fabled homeland of the Aryan race. Adam tore them to pieces and hand-delivered their remains to Heinrich Himmler with a stern warning to stay away from Ultima Thule. Himmler focused his attentions on Tibet after that. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 7:03:00 AM | Monday, December 19, 2005
Rantish Interlude OK, so we've got the NSA spying on Americans that dare to communicate with folks overseas, and the Pentagon keeping tabs on Americans that have the ill grace to disagree with our military policies. George Bush admits this, and is proud of it. Now, I'm not saying George Bush is fixing to round up the Kulaks and collectivize the farms of America's heartland, but this is pretty goddamn Stalinist. That's just not the way it's supposed to work. Congress and the courts are supposed to have oversight of the whole process - Congress at the front and back (making the laws, reviewing the activities of the government) and the courts in the middle (approving warrants, during trials and appeals). The executive branch is not the final authority, and (despite Boy George's fondest wishes to the contrary), this isn't a dictatorship. The NSA wiretaps might have been done with the purest of intentions, but that doesn't make it right or legal. The 4th Amendment states rather plainly the following: The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.No ambiguity there at all. No warrant, no snoopee. End. Of. Story. Far more dangerous is the Pentagon's decision to collect and retain information on individuals and groups opposed to US military policy. More grist for the Pentagon's information mills, more data for enemies lists, for no-fly lists, for people to keep out of campaign events. If this policy goes unchallenged, it will become S.O.P. Then, sooner or later, the list just may morph into a list of people to render to Syria or Saudi Arabia or Egypt or to just "disappear" to some former Soviet base in Romania or Uzbekistan. It's not a guarantee that'll happen, but to assume that "It can't happen here" is to be foolishly complacent. There's a reason the Founding Fathers put so many limitations into the power of the Executive branch. They'd seen what the whims of a king could do, both in England and in France. The power of the president comes with a responsibility, to "preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States." Not lock his party in to power, not enrich his friends and hangers-on. Preserve, protect and defend the Constitution. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 8:40:00 AM | Mythological Locations A to Z: T is for Troy Poets today still sing of the glory of the Trojan War, how wise Priam bound Odysseus and Achilles with promises and gifts so that they stayed home while Agamemnon and Menelaus led their army to the plains of Troy. Things might have gone differently had Paris not cut the Golden Apple into three pieces, giving one to each of the goddesses, praising them each for their individual and singular beauty. Aphrodite's gift was the love of Helen of Sparta, Athena gave Paris martial wisdom and power for his war with Menelaus and Hera ensured that once the war was over, Paris was the undisputed heir to the throne of Priam. The Trojan Empire lasted only a few years past Paris' death, but its legacy of art and literature lives on. Thinking with your brain will always get you further than thinking with your genitals. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 6:40:00 AM | Sunday, December 18, 2005
Mythological Locations A to Z: S is for Shangri-La The Shangri-La Music Festival promises to be a big one this year. Kurt Cobain and Buddy Holly have been working together for months, and have mentioned they'll be debuting a new song in their first set. Jim Morrison will not be singing this year, but he will do a reading from his latest book of poetry. Janis Joplin will open the show, and John Lennon will be doing a special acoustic set after midnight on Saturday. We can also look forward to another of Jimi Hendrix' "All-night free-form guitar jam sessions", and Stevie Ray Vaughn has promised he'll play all the way through. Tickets are available at the kiosk in the hidden valley that leads to Shangri-La, $90 per day or $400 for the entire week. No credit cards accepted - cash only.
posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 6:17:00 AM | Saturday, December 17, 2005
Mythological Locations A to Z: R is for Rennes-le-Château Father Saunière did, in fact, find something in that hollowed out pillar in his church. It was not a geneological chart of the family of Jesus and Mary Magdalene, nor was it Templar secrets of Geomancy, and it had absolutely nothing to do with lost Cathar Gold. I am not at liberty to say what it was, save to mention that it wasn't until Ronald Reagan revealed the secrets of Saunière to Gorbachev that the Soviet Union collapsed. Osama bin Laden knows The Secret, and it drove him into a murderous madness. George Bush does not know it, but Condi Rice does. Any attentions being paid by the United States Navy to the area of 35º39'13.68S 102º07'41.41W have nothing to do with The Secret, nor do the French government's atomic tests in the same area. There is nothing to see here. Move along. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 7:29:00 AM | Friday, December 16, 2005
Mythological Locations A to Z: Q is for the Qattara Depression Deep in the center of the Qattara Depression, It waits. The Bedouins know of It, but do not speak. They do not stay overlong in the oasis at Maghra, and if one of them goes missing, they do not search - they utter a prayer to Allah the all-protecting and ride away, quickly. Someday, It knows that the Depression will fill with water again. Climates change, engineers develop grandiose and foolish plans, and It will be flooded with life-giving water and It will rise again to dominate the mortals It depends upon for food. The Tuaregs, however, are ready. They have been preparing for the return of their ancient enemy, training a cadre of geological engineers in the arts of demolitions and black magic. When It arises - a matter of when, not if, the Tuareg will be ready. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 7:05:00 AM | Thursday, December 15, 2005
Mythological Locations A to Z: P is for Pompeii Pompeii is a fake. A sham. A put-up job. It never existed. It was laboriously filled in by hand, seeded with bones and carefully carved hollows to represent bodies supposedly entombed by the volcanic ash. History does not extend further back than 564 A.D. At least, the history we accept as real does not. Sir Balin's Dolorous Stroke sundered the world the Fisher King had constructed and those wise men left had to piece a history together by consensus. The resulting patchwork has been retrofitted to match what the council of the wise has agreed to. When false Roman records referencing the destruction of Pompeii were brought to the attention of the Council, they sprang into action, excavating the entire area of Pompeii and Herculaneum and building ruins, mosaics and roads, then carrying in load after load of ash, earth and stone to allow archaeologists to "discover" these forgotten cities. Egypt, though - Egypt is true. You can trust me on this one. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 6:00:00 AM | Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Mythological Locations A to Z: O is for Oz We were somewhere around Munchkinland, on the edge of the forest, when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like, "I feel a bit lightheaded. Maybe you should drive, Toto." Suddenly, there was a terrible roar all around us, and the sky was full with what looked like huge monkeys, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, and a voice was screaming: "Fly, my pretties! Fly! Fly!" We had a bushel basket of poppies, a crate of high-grade mescaline lollipops, a thimble of pixie dust and a pile of bright, cherry-colored magic candies. Not that we needed it for the trip, but when you go Over The Rainbow, you've got to shove it into overdrive. The only thing that worried me was the pixie dust. There aren't many things more terrifying and disturbing than a girl hopped up to the gills on pixie dust, and I could hear it calling my name from the back of the car. From: Fear and Loathing in the Emerald City, by Dorothy S. Gale
posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 6:33:00 AM | Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Mythological Locations A to Z: N is for Nemedia Archaeologists from the Univeristy of Texas have recently unearthed relics of fabled Nemedia outside Warsaw, Poland. Keen students of Hyborian history will, of course, recognize Nemedia as the rival of Aquilonia during the reign of King Conan. One is amazed to think that, without the efforts of noted historian Robert Howard of the University of Texas, none of this history would be known to us. Beginning with his 1932 paper entitled "The Phoenix on the Sword: Advanced Prehistoric Civilizations in the Archaeological Record", Dr. Howard ignited a firestorm of controversy. His subsequent monographs detailing the relevance of the Glozel relics to his thesis of prehistoric civilizations destroyed by massive continental upheavals furthered the uproar, but all of that was forgotten when he found the tomb of the sorceror-king Thoth-Amon beneath the sands of Egypt. Dr. L. Sprague DeCamp, NYU's Professor Emeritus of Hyborian Studies, stated that "The discovery of Nemedia's capital shows that Dr. Howard was, truly, a visionary researcher." The relics discovered, and others, are expected to be showcased at the Smithsonian Institution's exhibit next year "The Age of Amra: The History Before History" posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 7:27:00 AM | Monday, December 12, 2005
Clemency Clemency: Pronunciation: 'kle-m&n(t)-sEStanley Tookie Williams will be killed by the state of California today. He asked for mercy, and the son of a man that was granted mercy following WWII despite his active involvement in the Nazi Party had none to spare. Arnold Schwarzenegger proclaims that he's a member of the party that stands for moral values, that winks and nods as they hint that they above all others hold the lock on Christian values. Values like mercy, and charity. Is Williams' redemption complete and sincere, or is it just a hollow promise? Without an apology and atonement for these senseless and brutal killings, there can be no redemption.I'm not a Christian. My parents are, as are most of those nearest and dearest to me. I was raised to understand that Jesus gave a pretty clear and unambiguous answer when asked his opinion of the death penalty: The murders Stanley Tookie Williams was accused and convicted of are, of a certainty, more than adultery. Still, though, he wasn't asking to be released, just to be given a morsel of mercy, a chance to keep up his work, a chance to show the youths that he has worked so hard to turn away from his path that there is hope, that one can change, and that it makes a difference. That won't happen now. Stanley Tookie Williams will be dead by tomorrow morning, killed by the state as an example, to show that killing other human beings is wrong. And the man that could have saved him will go home tonight to his mansion, will hug his wife and children, will eat a delicious meal and will lay down between expensive sheets to go to sleep. He will probably not even twitch when midnight rolls around, his eyelids won't flutter when Stanley Tookie Williams dies. He'll wake up tomorrow with a smile on his face and make sure that he sets a shining example of what heights to which one might rise if one shows no mercy to the powerless, if one bows to the wishes of the powerful and wealthy. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 5:09:00 PM | Mythological Locations A to Z: M is for Metropolis Freder and Maria looked down on the city. Freder's father Joh had, at Freder's urging, negotiated a truce with Grot and his workers. Metropolis was saved. "My love, you have succeeded!" Maria clasped herself to him, her breath on his neck sending a shiver down his spine. "You are The Mediator, as was foretold." "Dearest Maria, when I saw the Workers burning that robot, I thought it was you. I would have killed myself had you not escaped Rotwang." "I know, Freder." She placed her fingers on his lips. "Shhhh." She drew him into their chambers and shut the balcony door. As the door shut, she removed her gown, and Freder saw the gleaming metal of her torso, revealed in all its glory. His eyes widened in horror as he realized the truth. Maria smiled and took him in her arms. "Soon, love, soon we will replace this soft container for your spirit, and you shall be as I am - smooth, hard and uncorruptible." No one heard Freder's screams. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 7:30:00 AM | Sunday, December 11, 2005
Mythological Locations A to Z: L is for Libertatia The pirate republic of Libertatia did not die. The physical space it occupied was destroyed, but its spirit, its soul, lives on. As the black fleet controlled by the Illuminati closed in, Captain Tew and Father Caraccioli dispersed the citizens, urging them to go underground, to spread their love of freedom and hatred of authority. The American Revolution was Libertatian, as was the French. The Cubist revolt was inspired by a Libertatian, and Pablo Picasso was one of their brightest lights. Rock'n'roll? Libertatian. The Summer of Love, punk rock and Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas? Yep. Why am I telling you this? Because I want to wake you up. You, and everyone else in the world, need to know that we have it within us to throw off the chains holding us down. Smash the cubicle walls! Throw your TV out the window! Punch your manager in the face! It's not too late to rebuild Libertatia, to give the world once again a shining beacon of freedom and self-reliance. I'll be right there with you, just as soon as Survivor is over. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 5:58:00 AM | Saturday, December 10, 2005
Mythological Locations A to Z: K is for King Solomon's Mines There I was, standing in front of the legendary diamond mine of King Solomon. Funny, I figured it'd be larger. It had taken my brother years of effort to decipher ancient documents and the journey here, to the Mountains of the Moon, had been so dangerous that the rest of our party had given up and Al had died, the victim of a couple of stray bullets during a gunfight. Too bad for Al, that, but he shouldn't have walked in front of me like that. He'd tried to tell me something, but with that sucking chest wound, all I could make out was, "...seal of Solomon... open", and then he died. The entrance was about a meter square, roughly cut. It was blocked by a stone, which rolled aside easily. The painted and carved masonry was a little harder, and then I was in. A cloud of dank air rushed out, and with it a pillar of smoke topped by a man's torso. "You have freed me, mortal! For that, I thank you!" I knew how this went - I'd seen enough Sinbad movies. "Yep. Now you owe me three wishes, pal." The genie laughed. "Three wishes - is that all? Have four! Wish away!" "Feelin' generous, are you? OK, Pal. First I want, oh, let's say 10 billion dollars - tax free, in a bank account in the Caymans." "Very well." "Second, I want to be immune from prosecution for any crimes, past, present or future." "Easy enough. It is so." "Next, I want to be eternally young and healthy." "Done. I threw in virile, as well." "Thnks. Lastly, I'm feeling whimsical. I want you to make sure Sylvester Stallone never makes another movie. Ever." "As you command, so shall it be." With a wave of his hand, the genie made it happen. I know three of the wishes came true, so I'm gonna trust that the genie took care of the money, too. Too bad I can't spend it. Hell, I just wish Sly wouldn't take up so much of this damn cave. Sure is dark. Wonder if I'll have to wait a couple thousand years to get out. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 7:25:00 AM | Friday, December 09, 2005
Mythological Locations A to Z: J is for Joyeuse Garde Joyeuse Garde was the premiere swinging bachelor pad of its day. Dragon-skin rugs, a bed stuffed with down, a privy with walls and a ceiling... Lancelot du Lac knew what he liked, and he didn't care who knew it. With his trusty squire Wopsy, he rode the land, rescuing damsels and righting wrongs in the name of King Arthur. Is it any wonder Guenevire got the hots for him? As the saying went, she wasn't someone you'd kick out of bed for eating crackers. Besides, if Arthur wasn't willing or able to get a good freak on in the Royal Bedchambers, someone had to take care of business. If you know what I mean. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 2:05:00 AM | Thursday, December 08, 2005
Heads Up! OK, I know some folks like the Ranty Goodness of my blog, others are put off by terms like "goat-felcher" and "piss-brained moron". So if you're interested in just the writing, or you work in an unenlightened, Corpo-fascist environment, you can now get the Fic and only the Fic at my LJ. In fact, there'll be special LJ-only items posted there. In return, this blog'll continue to be a mix of private observations, foul-mouthed ranting and occasional bits of fictive goodness. Because, you know, I'm just not typing enough these days. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 8:32:00 AM | Mythological Locations A to Z: I is for Iram of the Pillars The streets of many-pillared Iram were not paved with gold, nor were the houses built with bricks of emerald or jade. The kings of Iram were nonetheless proud of their garden in the desert, and boasted that the Rub' al Khali, though almost empty, had the most beautiful city in the world. Allah heard their boasting and looked upon them, and saw their manifold sins. Sins of the flesh, and worse, sins of the spirit. When the King of Iram proclaimed that Paradise fell short of the prefection of Irem, Allah grew wroth and punished Iram for its pride. The sands rose up and overwhelmed Iram, and all that lived there perished. The streets of Iram are silent now, home to foxes and wild desert djinn. They weave through the rows of columns and mockingly bow before the statue of the last king of Iram. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 6:38:00 AM | Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Mythological Locations A to Z: H is for Hy Braesil Hy Braesil's first McDonalds was a big deal. The Clown's corporate negotiators had fought hard to be the first ones in, and they won. The locals learned too late why they should have avoided joining the WTO. Within 3 years, Hy Braesil was home to 12 McDonalds, 18 KFC franchises and a Best Buy. When Carnival Cruises bought docking rights, the immortal residents of Hy Braesil gave up in disgust and left en masse for Boca Raton, FL, which is now visible only one day every seven years. The retirees of Boca are happy to be immortal, even Mrs. Ethyl Rosenberg, though her lumbago bothers her from time to time. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 3:24:00 AM | Tuesday, December 06, 2005
God Is Love, Motherfucker! This article was posted by a friend in an online forum I frequent: University Cancels Class on Creationism A University of Kansas course devoted to debunking creationism and intelligent design has been canceled after the professor caused a furor by sending an e-mail mocking Christian fundamentalists.The story is somewhat lacking in details, but the statements as presented are, while not polite, not completely out of bounds. They shouldn't have cancelled the course. Then my friend posted this link: Kan. Professor Attacked Along Rural Road A college professor whose planned course on creationism and intelligent design was canceled after he derided Christian conservatives said he was beaten by two men along a rural road early Monday.Well, now! Ain't that something? Seems a couple of upstanding "Christian" men skipped over the parts in the bible where Jesus talks about "forgiveness" and "kindness". Way to go, guys! You did more to set back your own cause than Professor Mirecki possibly could have. Nothing says "Christian charity" like smackin' a perfessor upside the head, I reckon. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 5:40:00 PM | Mythological Locations A to Z: G is for the Goblin Market The Goblin Market sells anything you desire. You can even find short stories about what they sell. This one cost $3.95 at Grishnak's Festival Of Fiction, 12 stalls to the right from the Western gate. Tell Grishnak I sent you. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 5:24:00 AM | Monday, December 05, 2005
Interlude I'm enjoying writing these little pieces, but I need to make a brief statement: Mr. O'Reilly: Last month, I wrote you an email asking, very politely, to please place me on your "enemies list". I got no reply, and now I find that you have put up an "enemies list" and it is, to say the least, pathetic. 2 newspapers and a second-string cable news network? Puh-leeeze! I bet none of them ever called you a shitbag, titty-baby or a chickenshit. I mean, yeah, Olbermann's been spanking you regularly, but he's never called you a lying asshole shitlicker moron. There are people in this country (myself included) that would line up to punch you in the mouth if it were made legal to do so tomorrow, and you haven't listed a single one of them. Honestly, this is so pathetic I wonder whose side you're really on - any true right-winger would rather be poked in the ass with a sharp stick than have to publicly admit a deluded, incompetent puddle of bowel-juice like you is on the same side. I'm giving you one more chance, and then you're off the Holiday list, you goat-felching asswipe. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 12:48:00 PM | Mythological Locations A to Z: F is for Fiddler's Green He woke up on a shore, green grass sloping up into low rolling hills. Next to him was a long wooden staff, broad and flat at one end and blunt at the other. A path wove its way up the slope and between a pair of hills. He was alone, barefoot, wearing white trousers and a white shirt which were torn and encrusted with sea salt. He stood and started walking, using the oddly-shaped staff as he labored up the hill. He walked for hours, never getting tired. The sun never sank in the sky. He kept walking until, cresting a hill, he saw a small village. Walking in to the village, he came to the main square. A woman looked at him curiously. "What're ye carryin', sir?" "I don't know. I found it next to me." "Ye look to've been walking some time. P'rhaps ye might wish to rest a bit." She pointed to an inn, and he heard a haunting and half-familiar tune wafting from the open door. Inside, he saw men and women he recognized, but could not name. Eight men sat upon a low stage, playing a cheerful dance tune. He sat at a table and a glass was set in front of him. A pipe, full of tobacco, was to one side of the glass. After a time, a young man approached him. "Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but I- we- wanted to let ye know we're glad ye made it." "Where am I, lad?" "Where ye belong, sir. Where ye belong. Welcome to Fiddler's Green, Cap'n Smith." On the stage, the dance band, late of the White Star Line's Titanic, began playing "Nearer My God To Thee". Captain John Edward Smith was home, at peace, with his crew. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 5:23:00 AM | Sunday, December 04, 2005
Mythological Locations A to Z: E is for Elysium When I died, I thought I was free of that babbling nimrod. Imagine my disappointment when the peace and quiet of death was shattered by his arrival. He caterwauled at Cerebus until the dog hid all 3 heads under its paws, wailed at Hades and Proserpine until they cried with the agony. The ratfinks told him he could have me back - I'm still pissed off about that - but that he had to walk out of here without looking back. I figured that I was screwed at that point - Orpheus wasn't the type to look back on stuff, he just assumed everyone was listening. Then I had an idea - all the way back, I walked carefully, not making a sound. I breathed slowly and quietly, and eventually, the dumbass started to wonder if there was anyone behind him. The look on his face when he turned around and saw me was priceless - he was overjoyed to see me, then crestfallen as he realized he'd once again fucked things up. I flipped him off and went back to the peace and quiet of Elysium. Imagine my disappointment when he showed up a few weeks later. Sonofabitch'd managed to go get his head ripped off. "Just think, Euridyce! We'll be together FOREVER!" That's when I found out about the Afterlife Exchange Program and got transferred to this Chinese Hell. Sure, I get boiled alive every two days, but it's quiet. So quiet. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 6:30:00 AM | Saturday, December 03, 2005
Mythological Locations A to Z: D is for Dune For Immediate Release From: Imperial Ministry of Communications To: Imperial News Channels His Most Sublime Majesty, Padishah Shaddam IV, has decreed that the threat to galactic security posed by the Fremen Mu'adist fanatics of Arrakis must be crushed. Their control of the spice Melange, vital to interstellar navigation, places the entire galaxy and its economic infrastructure at the mercy of messianistic terrorists. This must not be permitted. Therefore, Imperial Sarduakur forces are at this moment securing control of Arrakis' spaceport and critical Melange production facilities. The common people of Arrakis are welcoming Imperial forces with open arms, and all resistance will be crushed within the next few days. Remember to report any suspicious anti-Imperial activity. His Majesty reminds us all: "The Fremen hate us because of our freedom. We must not let them win, and our forces will stay on Arrakis as long as necessary to ensure the galaxy is kept safe for enlightened Imperial governance." All citizens are instructed to participate in a spontaneous eruption of joy and devotion tomorrow evening at 8PM Galactic Mean Time. Failure to register spontaneous joy and devotion will result in arrest. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 6:42:00 AM | Friday, December 02, 2005
Mythological Locations A to Z: C is for Cibola His dried, cracked lips mumbled, "Cibola." Don Alejandro Diego de la Barrega knew he had finally, after years of effort, reached his goal: Las siete ciudades de Cibola! The deserts and the savage indios had killed every one of his men, but Don Alejandro Diego de la Barrega had won through! On the mesa overlooking the cities, he rose to his knees and prayed his thanks to God for allowing him to finally see the fabled ciudades del oro. Later that day, crawling on his hands and bloody knees, de la Barrega entered the city. As his limbs turned into gold, his brain had time for one final exclamation of wonder and terror, then there was once again silence. When Midas gave up his golden touch, it had to go somewhere. The Gods found it amusing to concentrate it in a place rather than a person. Dreams should never come true. It always leads to heartache. posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 5:00:00 AM | Thursday, December 01, 2005
Mythological Locations A to Z: B is for Barsoom The sun rose over the dead sea bottom as I stood up. My radium pistol was empty and my flier, powered by the mysterious 8th Ray, was useless, destroyed in the crash. My suspicions as to my location were confirmed when I saw the horde of four-armed Green Martians thundering towards me on their thoats. "Warhoons. Not good." At my side, John Carter, the Warlord of Mars. The two of us raised our swords and prepared to fight yet another desperate battle, merely the latest of many on the eternally war-torn red planet. Beyond the savage Warhoons were an army of Therns and their Yellow Martian allies, as well as Dejah Thoris, beloved of John Carter and perpetual kidnap victim. "Have you ever considered," I said as I parried a spear, three short swords and a large icepick, "that maybe you'd get a little more downtime if you just let them keep her? I mean, you yourself complain that she's high-maintenance, and she has put on quite a bit of weight in the last few years." "Perhaps you're right, Joseph. And you say you can draw up the papers for this 'no-fault' divorce?" "Not a problem at all. I can even make sure you get to keep half of everything she owns." "You are truly a mighty warrior and a wise man. Let's kill some Warhoons and get out of here, shall we?" I smiled grimly and raised my sword. "Let's do it." Uncompleted fragment of "Judge Crater of Mars", by Edgar Rice Burroughs
posted by Adam C. Lipscomb at 6:27:00 AM | |
