4.26.2005

So this is where I left my blog

I know everyone is wondering what I’ve been up to? Where have you gone, Dane? We miss you so much. You’re the cooooolest.
You probably all have images of me stationed in Afghanistan, beads of sweat dripping down my forehead, lurking in a fox hole waiting to assassinate the next Bin Laden before he hurts anyone.
You see me with a dozen Shuriken strapped tightly to my belt. I have a black ninja-to dangling at my side. I also carry six smoke bombs in a pouch on the opposite side of my waist from my blade.
I crouch in the four-foot hole with brush all around. When I poke my head up, all you can see are two penetrating blue eyes. The kind of eyes that don’t hesitate. They’ll be your last memory as I plunge my sword through your abdomen. You’ll cough up blood as I slide my steel from you punctured torso.
A smile will cross my lips. One that you’ll never see, because my face is hidden behind a black mask. The mask of death. Yar, Yar, Yar.
For those of you who weren’t thinking that, I’m guessing you figured I was passed out on a beach on one of the small islands surrounding Hawaii.
You thought I’d fallen off the wagon right into that damn opium den on the outskirts of North Battleford.
Once I was severely messed up on the poppy seed extract, I’d get the urge for a little peyote and there my journey would begin.
I’d be off to Mexico, driving as far south in my little Nissan Sentra as possible. My hombre Mexican Mike would be at my side. We’d keep our opium buzz going all the way down.
The car wouldn’t make it, but a little skinny guy with a fat mexican don’t have a problem hitching rides. We’re a little too much like Cheech and Chong.
We’d have to hide in the trunk of some family’s trunk as we get smuggled into the states.
As long as the drugs keep burning, the trip keeps going.
Once in Mexico, I’d end up in a poker game. My Canadian money looks good but doesn’t add up to much.
I toss $5 into the pot on pair of queens. The lovely lady wearing diamonds and the bitch of spades.
Across the table sat a middle-aged man with a mustache and sunglasses. He tosses in a fin and calls.
Rico, my name for the cunt, has five cards in his hand and just ditched three on his lone draw.
I slight smile crosses his lips as he looks at the new cards.
I too slip three cards to the dealer. He returns three back to me: the jack of hearts, three of clubs and the seven of spades.
Crap! I think to myself, but my face remains cool. I didn’t give my crappy hand away.
I look at Rico, what a cunt. I look at my cards. I look back at him and toss $10 into the pot.
He takes a little time. I’m guessing he’s trying to lure me in.
Eventually he raises me $20. I raise back $20. He counters with $25. I look at my stack of cash. It’s dwindling quick with all the raises.
I count out $25 bucks. It’s the last of my cash. I look back at him.
He mouth quivers. He cracked. He has nothing. Damn bluffing cunt. Ye stupid bastard.
I throw my watch into the mix along with Saint Christopher pendant. It’s worth a pretty penny, if that penny was gold and worth a lot.
Finally he calls with a ticket to Hawaii on a two-week cruise.
I laid down my two queens a displayed my biggest smile. Two rows of teeth brightly shinning his direction.
He tosses his cards to the flow and spanish curse words come flying out of his mouth.
I collect my winnings and leave. My compadre Mike disappears.
My cruise is quite a bit like the the movie Titanic, except I’m the one about to fall over the railing. I’m in a drunken stupor and someone said I couldn’t swim back to shore.
A girl grabbed me from behind, by the collar of my shirt and hauled me back on board. She slapped my across the face.
All I could think of was how incredible her blue eyes were. An icy blue that sent tingles up and down my spine.
Her hair was a reddish brown and she had the perfect bottom lip.
That’s just what I liked about her from the dog collar up.
The rest of her was also extremely amazing. Why would someone so pretty save my life? It didn’t matter.
We didn’t leave one another’s side for the rest of the trip, but that was mainly because we both like to drink, the bar was open 24 hours and it was an all-inclusive vacation. The booze was free.
We told stories back and fourth. They all seemed to start with “this one time I was so messed up....”
She drank 40s of Southern. I drank rye, lots and lots of rye with an occasional caesar chaser.
While we were waiting for our drinks to quickly flow down our throats, we passed the moments away with pool, darts and an occasional game of rummy.
We stuck together once we hit the island, but only for a while. The drinks weren’t free anymore, but I knew I’d see her again. I do believe in fate.
I roamed the streets with no money. I begged tourists for change.
One day I gave up. I couldn’t take it anymore. I walked into the ocean hoping to never surface again.
I trudged deeper and deeper. My chest felt like bursting, spots formed in front of my eyes and finally everything went black.
I don’t know what the hell happened after that. I awoke on a sandy, soft, white beach.
I smelled bad. The aroma was a little like dead fish. I wished I was dead fish.
Okay actually, I’m just a lazy bastard. I didn’t really feel like posting. I didn’t really have anything to say.
I just took a little unannounced time away. It was a chance to gather my thoughts. A chance to reflect.
It was nice, but now I’m back. I hope to stay for a while, At least long enough to see the crisis end.

4.13.2005

Un Chien Andalou

Hello, again. I'm Nate Winkleton, returning to contine our round-the-clock coverage of Super Fun Happy Apocalypse. But first, in other news, the latest Ipso-Reid poll lists Paul Martin as having a shockingly high approval rating of almost ninety-nine percent. When respondents were asked why, they said "Simple. He hasn't changed his mind in over twenty-four hours." When asked about his dramatic increase in popularity, the recent stroke victim hurled his spill-proof cup and urinated on himself. We now turn to Sheena Easton, reporting from New York City.

Thank you, Nate! It appears that one of our recent guests - famed pundit and respected blog auteur Steve Smith - has gone missing, surrounded by a storm of controversy. He recently made the assertion on this program that the financial crash had nothing to do with the threatened termination of Dane and Joel's partnership. He was last seen assaulting a stockboy at an outlet of Safeway in a dispute over this very issue. If you have any knowledge of his whereabouts, please contact the authorities immediately. Do not, I repeat, DO NOT attempt to approach him yourself.

The benefit concert planned for next week is still going ahead, in spite of assertions from the scientific community that upwards of one hundred million people will die. Here to discuss the matter with us tonight is Dr. Ludwig Benanali, esteemed professor of cultural metaphysics at Yale. Good evening, professor!

A good evening to you too! Zat is a smashing tie, ja?

Why, thank you! Dr. Benanali, lots of our viewers can't quite come to terms with how singing of all things can have such devestating effects. Would you care to explain this for us?

It is really quite simple, Nate. At zis concert will be some of the most loathed minstrels of our time. This unholy combination will throw the Earth's Reichian energy system out of whack. You can feel something negative crackle in the air already, hmmm? Zat is just ze start of vat promises to be a tremendous build-up of negative orgone energy. Now, imagine the best orgasm you've ever had.

That's easy, that was ten minutes ago!

I vas not looking for an example, Nate. Well, that orgasm probably released 50 Reichs of positive - which is pleasurable - orgone energy. Although given the stories I've heard about you, I'm guessing the female released far less. Anyvay, by ze time Courtney Love waddles onstage in a Donald Duck costume halfway through ze show, zere vill be a build-up of over 300 trillion Reichs of negative orgone energy in ze system! By my calculations, ze system will completely overload sometime during ze grand finale performance of Mariah Carey, Celine Dion, and Barbra Streisand. Ze resultant energy wave will smack the average person with ze force of an unfathomable amount of anti-orgasms! 100 million people will instantly vaporize. Ze remaining global population will be rendered infertile and unable to feel pleasure of any kind. It vill be ze end of ze human race.

Good lord. Why haven't the people behind the concert paid any attention to your warnings?

Oh, you know celebrities, Nate. Give zem anything empirical and zhey ignore it, but if you sell an empty box and say zat it's full of hugs and love and feelings, zhey snap it up by ze thousands. Sean Penn even wrote a nasty open letter to ze scientific community telling us to not talk about matters ve know nothing about. It vas bracing; poor Franz wouldn't stop crying for three hours.

Tell me, what options do we have at this point?

Zere are a few things ve could do. First, ve could patch up the tiff between Dane and Joel. Failing zat, ve can increase ze esteem of ze artists involved with ze concert in ze public's eye. However, almost all of them have recently released new albums, so zis seems only slightly more likely than ze first option.

In the interests of our more conservative viewers, I must ask you this: Why not just execute the lot of them?

Vell, celebrities don't suscribe to ze same fundamental physical laws zat ve do. Ze god-like status zhey've been conferred allows zhem ze subconscious ability to bend temporal space to avoid injury. Naturally, zis makes them almost impossible to kill. Did you know ze American government has been tryng to assassinate Tom Cruise for close to twenty years now?

Err... that seems a little far-fetched, professor.

A little demonstration is in order, I think.

Hey! What are you doing?! Put that gun down!

*BANG*

Ahhhhh! You shot me in the arm, you goddamned SON OF A BITCH!

Oopsie... I forgot zat you, as a newscaster, are only a minor celebrity. It does prove my point though, as I was aiming at your heart.

Get the fuck out of here, you stupid quack! Fuckin' senseless asshole...

Oh, I'm sorry your pea-brain can't grasp ze big picture, Mr. Winkleton. Sense? You vould like to discuss sense? What meaning is sense in a world vhere ze breaking-up of two mediocre bloggers threatens to tear civilization apart? Why, under zese circumstances, it's not too ludicrous to presume zat a monkey could come come soaring out of my buttocks at any moment!

Hey... HEY! Pull your damn pants up!

Come, monkey! Leave your comfortable hovel inside of my colon! Spring forth and spread your wings! Fly, monkey; FLY! No luck? Perhaps if I bend over and touch my toes...

Oh, dear God! Cut to Sheena, CUT TO SHEENA!

Ah, man; that's a relief. Huh? GUS! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN HERE? Can't you see I'm taking a shit? Cut back, cut back!

He's reaching in! Other feed, other feed!

No! Out! OUT!

Commercial! Commersh-uh-huh-huh-hal... [weeping]

The world has become a dark place. The future likes grim. Are you frightened? Is your job unfulfilling? Will your children not shut up? Does your significant other keep nagging you to pay the phone bill? You can leave it all behind. Embrace the future and join Danehead.

My love is endless!

Danehead is a family organization made up of people just like you! We are the scions of The Fiery Lord of Chaos, Dane; and we follow his divine plan to acheive everlasting peace of happiness after the World's End.

Sniff of my pants and be merry!

Once you take the pledge, you will be unburdened off all your troublesome material possessions and bothersome financial interests and be free to live your life in the roomy five square metres that are assigned to you. You will spend your days spreading the glorious word of our Magnificent Leader, and your nights will comprise of several fun activities, like rigorous self-improvement and Bingo! How can you resist the call of Danehead? Phone 1-900-DANHEAD today!

Come taste the golden spray!

Danehead. It's what you must give to join.

H-hey! We're back. Still a little shaken, but we're back. Given the overwhelming nature of the current situation, most people have been content to sit back and accept their fate. But there are some who are actively fighting against the dark days ahead. One such group has organized a sit-in at Times Square to attempt to spur the global community to action. Sheena Easton is currently with the leader of Joel Isn't Happy Alone, Dane - One Curly-Sue Hanson - for an interview. We turn to her now.

Good evening, Curly-Sue. How are things going?

Oh, we're simply doing wonderful! We just passed the four-hour mark. Hey guys, four hours; you know what that means! Sing-a-long!

Oh gather round children
Together we'll learn
Of two heroes, once partners
Once partners... uh...
Down a wrong path they turned?

Goddamnit, shut up!

Yeah, where are the chicks? You said there'd be some here!

What do you hope to acheive with this demonstration today?

Well, we as a group are tired of waiting for Dane and Joel to sort this thing out by themselves, and we decided it was time to get pro-active! There's a lot of people hurting out there. We need to get the message out that they need to stop this petty fighting for the good of our world. I mean, the mere threat of them splitting up ruined our economy!

You fucking IDIOT!

Wait, did that hobo just yell at me?

(Man, I could go for a sandwich right now.)

Speaking of the economy, there have been reports of roving gangs of displaced day-traders attacking anyone they see. Aren't you worried?

Nope! I brought enough watercress sandwiches for everybody! Hey wait a minute, the cooler was right here a second ago... that hobo's making off with the cooler! Someone stop him!

Screw you! C'mon Roy, let's get outta here.

Nah, not yet; that reporter chick's smokin'.

I find it odd you'd choose New York of all places for a demonstration. You know, given that Dane and Joel live in North Battleford, Saskatchewan and Rocky Mountain House, Alberta respectively? Both of which aren't even in the same country as this one?

Sigh, I knew it was a mistake to talk to you. I just knew it was going to end up with you pointing your finger at me and laughing "Hey, look at the idiot!" I mean, they're throwing that concert here, and nobody's questioning or poking fun at that! And they're going wipe out all of humanity! This is affecting all of us, so isn't it for the best that we do what we can where we can? But I guess in answer to your question we did phone out to those places to see about forming chapters of JIHAD. However, everybody we called gurgled then slurred drunkenly into the receiver, then demanded to know when their welfare checks were coming. Nice places, those...

So you're planning on expanding your operations?

Heck yes! I'm hoping that JIHAD will engulf this entire country in a frenzy and... whoa, where did all those black vans come from?

So this demonstration is just of taste of things to come?

Yep! I'm not going to rest until I've brought JIHAD to everyone in America!

FLASH

*BANG*


Sheena! What's happening?

uuuuuuuuuuu...

Alpha Team, MOVE! Deadly force permitted, I repeat, deadly force permitted!

Hey, we're not with her; we were just here looking to score! We had nothing to d--

*BANG BANG BANG*

Roy! NOOOOOOOOOO--

*BANG BANG BANG*

Two tangos down! MOVE! Wait a minute... hold your fire! It's Gloria Estefan; you'll only be wasting your ammo! FALL BACK! Abort mission, repeat, abort mission!

Ah... *whistles* We'll be right back.

TO BE CONTINUED!