The Abyss

I have been traversing this Abyss for long. So very long. To be completely honest  with you - I cannot remember that I have ever done anything else. The Abyss is  deep, so deep in fact, that when I stand at its crumbling sides, It is deep, for I  cannot see the bottom of the pit that opens up beneath my feet. It is wide, for I  have never seen a glimpse of its other side. It is silent, with the exception of the  occasional clutter of rocks that plunge into the depths, as I attempt to come too  close to the edge. Many times have I found myself staring down into its depths,  wondering if there is any way to descend safely into its depths. On other occasions  I have found myself racing towards its edge, only to stop at the very last moment  and teeter over the edge for a moment before falling backwards and onto the hard  and dusty ground. And the ground, it is yellow. Like sand, but a clearer and at the  same time more putrid colour. It is mostly made up of rocks, small and large. Grainy  gravel and almost dust-fine sand - all yellow - makes up for the rest of the  landscape. The only thing breaking the monotony is the occasional rock or boulder  and the different shades of yellow that surround me. Sometimes, if I wander further  from the Abyss and turn back to look at it, it becomes hard to see anymore. I would  hazard a guess that it would not be very hard to absent-mindedly plunge over the  edge, were you not to watch your step.

I have been walking for some time now, it seems. For simplicity’s sake, I have kept  the gaping maw on my right hand side. Coming to think of it, hasn’t it always been  there? The sun is as yellow and hot as it always is and the air vibrates in the heat.  In all my time here, I have never seen another living life form. Am I even alive?  Surely I sleep, for every now and then I find myself on the ground. But I can never  recall having gone to sleep. When was the last time I ate? Does it really matter?
The yellow sun beats down as I force one foot in front of the other and continue  onwards. In the Abyss, nothing stirs.

A strike of genius! Today or yesterday? Tomorrow perhaps, I have decided to erect  a small cairn of stones. For weeks (months or years?) I have had a feeling that this  infernal chasm is actually circular. If I ever stumble upon my cairns, I know it is so.  (What then? I don’t know.) Time to build another cairn.

12. 56. 342. 634. 783. 532. 891. 612. Have I been counting wrong again? This is  cairn number 572, right? Putting the final stone on my creation, I stand back to  admire it for a while, before continuing my journey. Next up, cairn number 953…
The cairn casts a shadow over the ground that moves slowly along with the sun. I  am already far away and see none of this.

Sitting in the merciful shadow of a large boulder, I cast proud glances over at my  ten thousandth cairn, standing proud and tall a few hundred feet away. Obviously,  this Abyss is a plateau and I have been walking its edge for quite some time. It all  makes sense now.

With a shake and half-yell I awake in the cold darkness. I spy nothing around me,  no sounds in the night. With a grunt I roll into a ball and fall asleep.

In the morning I find my cairn from yesterday gone. Fist sized stones, the type that  I built it out of, lay haphazardly scattered over the land, further way. I breath slowly,  as I stand up and try hard to think back. Similarly suitable and ready to use stones  had showed up earlier too. According to my memory, there was a time when I had a  hard time to find stones, but eventually they started showing up. Through the haze  of my memories emerged a pattern. Launching myself once again into motion, I  pondered as my feet hauled me forwards. For a few days (weeks, months?) I built  my cairns. Slowly, over the time, I moved my construction work from the evening to  the afternoon and from the afternoon to around noon. It was from there easy keep  up a steady pace of walking, building and walking again. Until one day.

Laying the last stone on the cairn, I scuttled off. A large group of rocks not far  away made for a perfect place to … wait.

And I waited.

And waited.

And…

Days, weeks or months later, something happened.

A gaunt and lanky figure emerged from somewhere beyond the field of my vision and  slowly shuffled over towards my cairn. As I watched it started to dissemble my pillar  of stone, one rock at a time. It carefully carried them further away, laying them  down in no clear pattern or design. Once all stones had been taken away and my  pillar of guidance was gone, it shuttled off into the distance and was soon gone. I  sat in the shadows for a long time, until the sun moved to blaze down at me.  Crawling in between two rocks leaning against each other I planned, plotted and  pondered. And after an indeterminable time, I hatched a plan.

Once again my hands placed down the final stone and I sighed with relief as my  largest cairn so far (or was it?) was finished. Slowly, with my joints feeling like  leather, I limped over into the shade of a large piece of basalt. Staying absolutely  still, I waited.

And yes, soon enough (weeks, months?) the creature emerged again and started to  unravel my handiwork. Silently growling, I crawled on all fours, with an oblong stone  that I had chipped away against a hard stone earlier, between my teeth. Slowly, I  advanced on it and once I was close enough, I got up in a crouching position and  waited ten heartbeats. Then, with a silent scream, I threw myself at it. With a yelp  it went down with me atop and I started to hammer at it’s face and chest with my  crude weapon. I kept going long after it was dead. I stopped with a scream as the  crimson haze finally lifted like a veil from my eyes and I saw the creature’s face.  From my heat dazed mind a chill burned down my spine. Grabbing the mutilated face  in my hands, I cradled while peering deep into its empty, staring eyes. Cooing to  myself, I raised my make-shift weapon and started slicing and hacking at the neck  until only the spine held fast the base of the skull. Blood and gore covered my arms,  face and torso, while I twisted and yanked until the head came off with a cracking  sound. The stones under my feet were slippery and caked with blood and dust. I  scrambled over them, pulling the corpse behind me. Once at the mouth of the  Abyss, I tied the head by its hair to my clothes and lifted the corpse above my  head. With a scream I let loose my anger and frustration as I hurled insults into the  Abyss along with the headless corpse. Shaking with rage, I howled and hooted as  the torso disappeared into the darkness.

Suddenly.

Something stirred down there.

A large head emerged quickly from the darkness and snatched the body from  mid-air. It was the size of a lorry, scaly and a molten mishmash between purple and  black. Its eyes, yellow and shaped like satellite dishes, stared right at me for a  moment before it disappeared back into the darkness. The last thing I saw was a  tongue, like a tree trunk, lash out and in from its mouth. It looked… hungry.
Something warm trickled down my leg. My whole body was shaking. The sun burned  down and a hot wind caressed my cheek, carrying with it a sickly sweet swell of  decay and yellow dust from the depths of the Abyss. Fumbling with my clothes, I  undid the head and flung it with a maddening scream into the depth. Down in the  darkness yellow lights popped up. They stared at me and grew larger as massive  serpentine heads slowly rose from beneath the inky darkness. With it only a mere  few hundred feet below me, I turned and ran across the baking hot gravel, leaving a  trail of blood on the ground, as the first head rose above the darkness and let out a  high-pitched sound. Like a hunting call, sinister and full of dreadful promise.

How many days has it been since that day?

Can I even say for certain that it really all happened? That it was not just a fever  dream, induced by just a few too many sun-strokes. That I had not simply gone over  the border long ago. Was any of this real? Was the Abyss beneath my feet real?  Staring down into its inky depths, I saw no monster, like a hydra of ancient myth,  peer back at me from there. Nothing stirred, nothing moved. There had been no  wind here, ever. But had I not felt a wind? No, delusions. None of this is real. Real?  What was real? Can I even tell the difference. Piercing my skin with a sharp  oblong stone that someone had sharpened, the warm blood welled forth and ran  down the yellow dust that cake forever caked my bare legs. It formed rivulets and  was quickly sucked into the dry, baked ground. Was this real? Did it matter  anymore.

There were these annoying stone cairns everywhere. Someone had once told me  that the serpents used them to spy on their future prey. Who had said that? Had I  even heard anyone say that? Doesn’t matter, the cairns must be destroyed. I kept  taking them apart and scattering them not to attract the attention of the beasts.  Somehow, there always seemed to be more and more of them. My fingers are cut  and bruised and blood stains my hands. It has even gotten into my hair, forming  long tangled balls of dried blood, dust and sweat mixed with dirty mangy hair. And  there, the biggest cairn so far! The serpents are getting stronger. I must dismantle  it right away. Working slowly, I move the stones away.

Suddenly, a shadow falls over me and I catch a glimpse of something man-shaped  that falls upon me. I yelp and am soon overpowered by its savage furry. Blow after  blow from a sharp object rain down upon my face and body. It hurts, dear gods it  hurts so much. But soon, the pain goes away and my vision fades into a hazy  crimson, which in turn goes black. I slip away.

Later. Sooner? How can I anymore even tell?

It is warm. Who am I? Not burning hot like earlier. The sun still burns down and the  stones and gravel are hot under my back. But a cool breeze blows. It awakens me  from my pain-wracked body. Slowly, ever so slowly, I open my eyes. Above me  stands a creature of light. It speaks in a language I do not understand, but its  words feel good. Turning onto my side, I force myself up and onto my feet. The  man, or woman, is already further away, walking. Away from the edge of the Abyss,  where I have lain. It turns towards me and motions me to follow. With unsure feet, I  do. A last glance over my shoulder into that inky darkness. A glimpse of yellow down  there? Or just my imagination? I shudder and hugging myself make haste after the  being. Away, further away from that depthless pit. Towards the white lights in the  horizon, across the ochre flat stones and sunflower coloured boulders. Forwards,  ever forwards. Something fills my heart. Happiness? Joy? Certainty? The light  beacons me. Vapors rise and fall from it as it boils in the air. A step, another and  then, finally -

Later, or earlier?

I have been traversing this Abyss for long. So very long. To be completely honest  with you - I cannot remember that I have ever done anything else…

Still alive

Turned in my bachelor’s project in adult education a few days ago. Just thought I’d state that I am still alive, but currently brain-dead. Will write again once something comes up. Alternatively, I’ll try to finish part two of the web-comics mess I started. Or finally finish my story of how I got to rank 40 in Warhammer.

Until then. Toodles.

Urgent communique!

Man! Good I got contact wit u!

Dey r comin! DEY R COMIN!

RUN MAN! RUN! SOON IS 2 LATE!

Dey want 2 chop u 4 spare parts!

Esc vial u can! Soon s 2 late!

Soon collection o jars vials n fluids.

Dat all dat will b left o u! RUN!!!

Delirium Tremens

So, I was driving home one night, after having been in town for the evening. Not that far from where I live, out on a small hill, which is a slow down zone and general cop magnet; there I saw a hitch-hiker. Alright? It’s past midnight and even thought the law says you are not supposed to pick people up who are hitch-hiking, I stopped and rolled down my window to find out what was going on.

At first I couldn’t make out what the fellow was garbling about. But then he said that he knew me. Putting on the inner light, I immediately recognized the guy. Turns out it was Peter (name changed). He’d lived in the same yard where I had gone to daycare back when I was a wee toddler. I’ve met him every now and then since getting out of school, keep bumping into him at places. We also have some mutual friends and I know his family.

So, there he was, outside my car, in the middle of the night. Opened the door for him to let him in, he sat down and started talking about having been in a fight, that his girlfriend was coming and that we had to get out of there. Asking him where his girlfriend was, didn’t get me a clear answer anyway. So we drove a bit further, then a bit back and then again a bit further, to stop a hundred meters behind where I had stopped the first time. All this since he couldn’t clearly point out to me where to go. He was talking about “foreign bastards” and was afraid his girl was getting gang-raped somewhere nearby.

We got out of the car and he led me to the place where his girl supposedly was being held. Once there - and there consisted of a piece of street and a few bus-stops - we saw absolutely nobody. He had previously left his phone in my car and was trying to call the police with it, but had not managed to. Anyhow, now here, he started cursing at the houses behind the trees at the side of the road. Jumping over a ditch, he went up to a power transformer box (made of metal) and started accusing it. What? At this point I started to suspect that there was something else going on here. Problem was, I didn’t know if his girl was actually anywhere near or not. So he proceeds to beat the living shit out of the power box. With his fists and knee. I call out to him and tell him to leave the fucking metal box alone. He runs off to check behind a paper-recycling container and kicks it a few times too. Starts yelling about the motherfuckers leaving and asks me for a gun. I tell him I don’t have one. He asks me for one again. I tell him I don’t have one. He thanks me for the gun and puts it in his jacket. After which he starts asking me if I have any back-ups I can call in, friend’s who live in the area or anything. I tell him everyone has either move away or is asleep. Every time I try to ask him a question, he replies with a question. Keeps telling me to look into his eyes - which are unfocused - and asking me if I am willing to help him. After a while of this aggressive behaviour, he orders me to stay guard and runs off somewhere. I wait. He comes back, never going further than what I could see. Asks me to kill all the motherfuckers who will come down the road. I point out that I should get my car. He thinks it’s a great idea and tells me to block the road. I jog after my car.

Once inside, I pick up his phone and try to find his girlfriend’s number on it. Mary’s (name changed) is calling him. As far as I know, that’s his sister. I answer and tell the nervous young lady on the other side that her brother is currently at the intersection of two roads, looking for his girlfriend. I don’t have time to explain more, because the cops show up at that moment, stopping their car beside mine. Rolling down the window I tell them that I was hoping they’d show up. They ask me if I had called them. I say no. I tell them the man they are looking for is up the hill. I quickly retell what has happened. Another police car arrives. There are now four policemen and a dog. They ask me if he is armed. I say now. They pull their guns and their flashlights and go up the hill. Peter comes down the road, they order him to stop, he goes down on his knees and puts his hands behind his neck - all the while trying to explain himself. But his explanations make no sense. Two policemen escort him to their car. One walks in front of them with the dog and the one coming last lights a cigarette and takes a piss in the ditch.

The cops talk to me for a bit and I explain about knowing the guy, having seen him drunk before but not knowing what the hell is going on now. After a while one of them comes back, informing the others that this is apparently what has happened.

Peter was on a cruise. He came back today. Instead of going home, he went to drink in the next county over. [The police had now gotten in contact with Peter's girlfriend and found out that she was okay and was out looking for him.] Called his girlfriend from the train, saying he’d be in 20 minutes at the station and asked to be picked up. Took a cab, threatened the cabdriver, was thrown out. I find him hitch-hiking by the road. His pants are wet, he babbles incoherently and he has no gifts or any other purchases from the boat with him.

The police take him to a local gas station (closed for the night) to wait for his girlfriend. I tell them I’d drive him, but can’t know if he’ll turn aggressive or not again. I leave and go home.

The next morning, Peter calls me.

He apologizes for a while for his behaviour and then explains that he had gone to a friend’s in town (not the county), had some red wine and had then taken the train home. Called his girl and three hours later I find him. Kept thanking me for helping him. Confirmed that he had been in a cab, that’s where his credit card had been found. Asked me if I had called the cops on him, told him I hadn’t and that it had either been him or the cab driver that had called them. My money was on the cab driver after Peter had started to threaten him. We both came to the conclusion that he had had something to drink with someone at some point and had been drugged. The only explanations to his memory loss, lack of smell of alcohol and behaviour was that he had been given some drugs. Oh and those explain the hallucinations too, remember the box he attacked?

So there, quite a night.

Trip down memory lane, part I

Time has come to speak of something that I do almost every day. And that besides the multitude of activities that might have come to your mind, is most likely not any of those. Unless “read web-comics” was there among them. If so, you’re a pretty good mind-reader and should partake in ritual suicide right now. Go, hop on!

So, I’ve been associated with a website specialized in listing web-comics and later, other useful methods to kill boredom. The site grew out of my bookmarks. My bookmarks of web-comics, that is. Asking a friend to host me a simple html page of the buggers - for easier access at work - it ended up growing into a web community that lived for a few years. The site’s still around and apparently my friend is going to overhaul it into it’s… seventh, perhaps, incarnation. Or was that tenth? I’ve lost track. Anyhow, that is not important. Or rather, it will be, but only for you to understand the connection between things. Or so, knowing cake, elephants are lies.

It is neigh impossible to say which was the FIRST web-comic I read. But I know which were among the first patch that I started reading actively. Names like Bruno the Bandit, Sluggy Freelance, Sinfest… come to mind with fondness. I will now attempt, to in short detail, list the comics that I still actively read, that I have read and maybe discover some old gems among the ones I’ve forgotten about. This list is theoretically alphabetic, but I wouldn’t trust it to be.

Currently reading:

• Atland - This is an unusually well structured and drawn web-comic. Did a spotlight on it once long ago.

• Akward Zombie - This is one of those stumbled upon web-comics that I’ve paged through while bored. Sits still on my list due to the fact that it hasn’t been removed by force majeure (like a dead hard-drive).

• Bob the Angry Flower - Now this shit is just fuckin’ classic! My friend pointed me to the Ukraine strip and I was instantly sold.

• Brat-halla - Another stumbled upon. Pretty good actually. Nicely drawn too. Get’s hella confusing at one point.

• Bunny - Just adorable. Very low on content nowadays, was better in the past. But still a good read.

• Chicken Wings - Advertised on the site. Checked it out. Nothing ground-breaking, but still an okay read.

• Chugworth Academy - Semi-pornographic teen comic. Used to be pretty good, but suffers still from the dread “disappearance” fate that has struck so many other web-comics too. Tried to return, but failed at that.

• Clone.Manga - This one is dead. Was just fuckin’ terrible anyway. Don’t even know why it is still in the list. Better take a hammer to my hard drive now.

• Commissioned -The fellow who makes this is a talented enough artist, but has fallen prey to starting up several sub-stories, but failing to conclude them. While we can say that the adventure of the elf, dwarf and were-tiger is an epic story-arch, it suffers from the fact that it has been going on for so long that I can’t even remember where it all began.

• Contemplating Reiko - Wicked flesh-eating demon girl. Adorable? Or just an attempt to make guro mainstream? You be the judge.

• Backward Compatible - I like the guy who draws this. He also draws two other comics on my list. Okay read.

• Ctrl+Alt+Del - Guess you got to keep reading sub-par crap every now and then to truly appreciate the true gems. Take your guess in which category this comic falls. Case of Marty Sue, anyone?

• Dandy & Company - Guy who draws this is named Fish. That alone is enough reason to read it. Has hopped between dimensions, time-lines and realities a few too many times to stay on this side of reasonable. Confusing for new readers. Okay for the rest of us.

• Devil’s Panties -The person who draws this claims to be dyslectic. Not a reason for avoid the spellchecker entirely, if you ask me. If you are open-minded enough to ignore grammatical errors - you’re on the Internet, you should be, if only for your blood pressure’s sake - then it turns out to a surprisingly good read.

• Diesel sweeties - I dunno. Pixel comics? It seems borderline retarded, borderline brilliant. Suffers from lack of renewal, a common curse among web-comics.

• DMFA - Furries are bad, okay? Furries are the reason why we can’t have nice things, like cartoon animals without someone wanting to fuck some imaginary rodent in the ear hole. Aside from that, this comic is not only surprisingly decent, it has a quite vast archive too. And has nothing to do with what calls itself furry. Thankfully.

• Dresden Codak - Someone called this the most over-analyzed web-comic on the ‘net. I think that person was not only full of shit, but ignorant to boot. It is a nice enough collection of random strips leading up to a somewhat confusing story arch. It is best enjoyed for what it is, a graphically appealing and funny web-comic.

• Dueling Analogs - A gaming web-comic. But not the tired fan-boys talking, Sony vs. Microsoft shit. More a comic that makes jokes about games. New Mega man robot masters, anyone?

• The Devil hunter Online - There’s a giant dick demon in it. Actually, a few. Okay, many. Seems like the artist likes dicks. But that’s not important. The art (and the dicks) are well enough drawn and the story is compelling enough. Go read, if you are not afraid of farmyard birds.

• Edible Dirt - One panel strips. Features Bad Dad. Can be really good.

• Elf Only Inn - A chat room web-comic. Unusual, was dead for a time and then came back only to die again. Meh.

• F@NB0Y$ -Another gamer web-comic. Has had its moments, but is mostly pretty bland.

• Flaky Pastry - Before it side-tracked on the elven princess / chaos sorcerer room-mate, the story was fresh and interesting enough. Psychotic chicks with magical powers and an ego the size of Australia is nothing new people! For fucks sake, not this shit again! But the goblin cousins were funny. So I guess I’ll keep on reading.

• Flat Life - There was an idea somewhere there, but then this comic just died. And died again. Starting to sound familiar?

• Full Frontal Nerdity - Ah yes, gamer humor. But not the kind of gamer people think of when they say stuff like that. I’m talkin’ ye good ol’ tabletop role-players, miniature lovers and players of all kinds of non-electrical games. Good, you should read it.

• Geebas on Parade - From that dyslectic person comes a web-comic about LARPing. Good enough.

• Girl Genius - Hell yeah, read it!

• Girly - Yeah, pretty decent.

• Goats - Side-tracked something majestically. Was full of angst and drunkard humor and is now full of angst and saving the universe with Satan, a fish and a chicken. Or something like that, the comic has changed so much from its original form of making kind of sense to just being utter gibberish.

• Goblins - Was better before, but has been spending an god-awfully lot of time on an “epic” storyline that just needs to end before we all fall asleep. Charming enough.

• GOD MODE - Used to be funny, then changed a bunch of artists and became passé over the years. Generic non-sensical material.

• GU Comics - Single panel running commentary on games and the gaming industry. The kind of thing which half the times does not make sense unless you read the rant too. Changes between meh and good a bit much for consistency.

• inside_out - Another stumbled upon. Had a few cheap gags going for it, then it died. Surprised? Not really.

• Kevin & Kell - A web-comic classic. This one has been around for over ten years. Has kept its appeal by pushing very few envelopes or causing much shock to anyone. Weirdly enough, seeing how the comic has spanned different and complex issues in itself. May be due to its tongue-in-cheek humor. A web-comic equivalent of a newspaper funny page regular.

• Minus - Somekinda experimental web-comic with a small girl with somekinda superpowers. Essentially a god. Fun enough read. This comic ended some time ago.

• Least I Could Do - While changing artist has been the death of many web-comics. LICD has managed to keep itself and its sexually flavoured jokes going for quite some time now. Did a spotlight on it once. Still good to read. Has gotten a comic about the main guy’s childhood on Sundays.

• Little Gamers - I wouldn’t call these bastard children between hello kitty and bomber man as ground-breakin’, but you gotta admire the comic for still being around.

• Lizzy - Flash based web-comic, with moving parts and sound. A mite hard to follow at times, since it shifts time at one point, but otherwise an interesting and different experience.

• Looking For Group - Apparently this is supposed to be a World of Warcraft web-comic. Long ago lost track of the story, but the undead sorcerer keeps making me laugh with his wanton slaughter.

• Lowroad75 - Had a previous incarnation, but then the artist decided to overhaul the whole comic and start again. Now it is lackin’ a decent update schedule. Has potential.

• Marry me - Guy marries pop starlet, goes to Africa, something… something. Was apparently only a short project by the artist, which made it actually better.

• Menage a 3 - A web-comic attempting to sell with the sex-appeal of a bumbling french-canadian titty-monster, a boyish punk chick and their nerd friend. Everyone wants to bone everyone, but repressed feelings and utter mind-blowing reasoning comes in the way. Can’t decide if I like it or not.

• Miss Dynamite - Not actually a web-comic, more of a flash based comic-thing. Page is more the artist’s personal blog than anything, links funny stuff occasionally.

• No Need for Bushido! - A samurai web-comic. God knows we have too many of those anyways! Seems to be suffering from what I call “epic pacing” meaning that the story moves so slow that I keep forgetting what the hell was going on.

• Nodwick - Read it or be rejected by all that is good and cake!

• NSFW comix - Not safe for work. Read it at home and laugh! Oh Cuthwald! :p

• Octopus pie - I don’t really know what to say… It is good enough, but seems to  wander from one subject to another. Meh, read it anyway.

• Orneryboy - Read it. It’s good.

• Out There - Another stumbled upon. Doesn’t really seem to be going anywhere.

• Overcompensating - A fictional life blog in picture format about a delusional and deranged individual, or is it? Doctor Monkey says it is butt hobbits.

• Ozy and Millie - Another “safe” web-comic. Would fit well into a newspaper. But, is still funny and adorable. Read it you rat-bastards, read it!

• Pawn - Naked demoness and adventuring scholar out… do due something. Currently stuck in limbo. Sad, ‘cos it had a lot of potential. The other Swedish web-comic on this list.

• Platinum Grit - I found this last week. Supernatural web-comic about an idiot savant. Suffers from some cliches, otherwise good.

• Penny and Aggie - Teenage web-comic drama. Guess I started to read this ‘cos I read the artists other web-comic first. This one is pretty boring, unrealistic depiction of teenagers and weird moralistic bullshit thrown in together.

• Penny Arcade! - Ya know, not everyone can make a web-comic about games and still be successful. These guys could and have spawned a litany of shitty rip-offs in their wake. Occasionally hits the spot, but often manages to miss by a few feet. Or galaxies. Whatever you do, you’ll never be as famous as they.

• PlusEV - Another stumbled upon. About poker players. This proves my theory that “if you can imagine it” someone has most likely made a web-comic about it already. Goes together with “someone has already fantasized about it” and “yes, there’s porn of it” theories. Not a very good web-comic.

• Press Start To Play - Who’d thunk it!  Another gaming web-comic! Thanks Penny Arcade! Luckily this one is dead.

• Ps238 - Looks promising enough.

• Suburbantribe - Suffered from the shifting plot syndrome. Hard to follow at times. Died a few times and came back a bunch more. Read if you are terminally bored.

• Something positive - Nothing positive here! Wordy, art is bad, but for some reason I keep reading it. Has its moments.

• Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal - I complained that the above was ugly, this is even worse. But that hardly matters, the gags and jokes are so overboard that they become hilarious just by that. Check it out.

• Scary Go Round - Surprisingly good, whimsical and somewhat hard to follow web-comic. It seems like it is aiming to a grand finish, but I can’t really tell anymore. Read it anyway!

• Sinfest - If you read only one web-comic in your entire miserable life, let it be this one. Amen.

• Sister Claire - This one is about a pregnant nun. Seems promising enough. Maybe the moralists will self-combust when they read this?

• Sore thumbs - Used to be good, became a crap-fest and has only slowly started to make sense again. The art was always good, though.

• Striptease - I used to read this back in the day. Started reading it some time ago again. It seems to suffer from soap opera script writing with added hijinx that still tries to take itself seriously. Meh, read if bored.

• Subnormality - For once a pleasant surprise (and a stumbled upon)! This one has a pleasant and detailed drawing style, mostly unconnected strips and the sphinx in it. She eats people. Okay, maybe not the most original of things that I have come across, but it works lovely and I happen to like it very much, so bugger off.

• Sunday at Ten - … so damn much a stumbled upon that I occasionally wonder why I even pick up these onto my bookmarks. In general, it is unfunny, ugly and unoriginal. But then it has a moment as is actually good. But the cliches, god the cliches burn.

• The Bunny System - Like the above. Homicidal bunnies. Seems a bit familiar somehow, but whatever. I’ve read worse.

• The Chronicles of Avernyght - Stumbled upon much? Looked okay in the beginning, turned out to be boring.

• The Noob Comic - Now this is quality! The drawing style is not very good, but there are a lot of funny details and the story is about a hopelessly bad player in the game Clichequest. Funny for people who are aware of the Internet.

• The Pain - This used to run in a newspaper in Baltimore. Thankfully the artist offers us his works on his web-page too, otherwise I’d never encountered his brilliance. Pure classical stuff, read and be amused. For added value, read the rant associated with each strip to occasionally learn something.

• The Perry Bible Fellowship - Was brilliant, but is now over. Also a newspaper strip. Curse you newspapers!

• The unfeasible adventures of Beaver and Steve! - Dead, had its moments, but was starting to lag behind badly. Steve was some kind of idiot savant and Beaver… well, he was a beaver.

• Two Lumps - Not very well drawn, but still amusing story of two cats - one smart, one dumb. Sound familiar?

• VG Cats - While promising on many fronts and very disappointing on others, this gaming webcomic is suffering from dying, slowly. It seems to become longer and longer between updates, again. Unfortunate as this is, was still a good read.

• Viivi & Wagner - This is the story of a pig and a woman who loves him. Funny and quirky in its own way.

• Winger Comics - Already dropped this off my bookmark list on my laptop. Didn’t notice it was still here on the main box until I started writing this. Sadly enough it went from being somewhat clever into being a political bash fest. And with that I mean that it was used by the artist to talk about how the US democrats are retarded and blaming them for economical recession, while praising former president W. Causality anyone? Avoid this.

• Vlad Damien’s comics - Dead currently. My life with thrill kill karl and pater noster were pretty good and the latter specially was very appealing with its style and image. Hopefully will be resurrected one day.

• Kristy vs the zombie army - Lacks direction, clarity and as of lately life. Chances of being abandoned by artist to slowly sink to the bottom of the Internet; high.

• xkcd - “A web-comic of romance, sarcasm, math, and language” in the words of the artist. It’s about stickmen, math, science and philosophy. Pretty decent actually, for being stickmen. You’ll be surprised.

• Zoology - Ugh, another stumbled upon. A budding romance between a sheep and a monkey in a zoo. Neither one has ever seen the other. A cleverly disguised attempt at a tolerant world agenda, or just a place for furries to get their rocks off? I don’t even want to know.

And that was that. I’ll take the part I promised about other web-comics in part deux.

The End

They came from the sewers. Or maybe from Downtown. Were they already amongst us for a long time? Clarity in this issue is something that will never be achieved. There is very little time. And much, much confusion. It seems like the governmental forces are at the verge of breakdown. But it’s all good. I’ve got a gun. One way or the other, I ain’t goin’ alive.

Let me return back a day and night in time…

The city is quite sizable, even by today’s mega-metropol standards. It is located on a large island right of the coast. Ten long bridges connect the mainland with the city. On the other side are sprawling industrial parks, suburbs, shantytowns, several cities that have become swallowed up in the suburbs and hundreds of square kilometers of stuff I have no idea about. A massive military complex, science labs, airports, government mind control facilities, the fabled city of Nok’taul… everything. Not a word of which anyone really believes.

Time remaining: 24.00
Strollin’ down the streets, going to get some grub. Passing a newspaper stand, the noise from the TV brings my out of my musings. “Repeated gunfire… combat forces meeting heavy resistance … enemy taking massive losses…” Peering at the screen and its world of noise, flashing pictures and screaming Caucasian woman with microphone, the decision to ignore it is quickly made. Walking down the street again. “Damn news, always so depressing.”

Time remaining: 23.00
Sitting at a steakhouse I was busy attempting to decimate my plateful of dead animal as a television van screeched past the window, cut through the inner-section and was gone. “Another shoot-out? Or is it a bank-robbery this time?”

Time remaining: 22.15
Stepped into a book store to buy some books.

Time remaining: 21.45
Back at home, threw down the books and put on the TV. Slouched down on the couch, watched TV. All the news were about some fight between governmental forces and someone else. “Meh. Off to the boozer.”

Time remaining: 20.00
Had myself a couple down at the local corner bar. The news has gotten more and more frantic and most people in the bar seem glued to the TVs at the bar desk. Drown another and wonder aloud “What the fuck is so special with the bloody news lately?” Get a few confused and angry stares from the people and bartenders. The guy next to me pokes me in arm and mutters “Dat be off on de mainland, man. Not far from here.” I peer closer at the screens. Fighting, gunshots, dying soldiers… “A gang war maybe?”

Time remaining: 18.00
Step out of the bar for a moment, my cells been having a nervous breakdown for the last hour or so. Been ignoring it of course, nobody ever calls me with nothing. Answer the incoming call. It’s from Jeff. “What the hell does that gun nut want with me anyway?” Press the shitty little green button, lights come on and Jeff’s voice comes out from the speaker.
“Dude! Why the fuck haven’t you answered your god-damn cell! Where are you?”
“At my corner bar, having a drink - or ten.”
“Nah, no time for that now man, no time at all! It’s all coming down, we need to move fast!”
“Huh?”
“Haven’t you been watching the news?
“Yeah, somekinda gang war, right?”
“NO! NO NO NO NO! It’s motherfuckin’ worse than gangs!”
“Don’t yell, cock-breath”
“Fuck you too. Anyway, you’ll need to make your way to 35th and Elms. We’re gathering in the red house by the corner. Your life will depend on it.” With that the line went dead.
I walked back inside, bought a six pack and left for the subway. “Fuck if I’ll go there sober!”

Time remaining: 17.30
Waiting down at the subway platform for the train. Lots of people around, they all seem extremely agitated. Can’t really figure it out. “The news? Hundreds of people die here every day. Why would a new gang war make anybody give a flying shit?” Anyhow, here’s the train. Pressing inside, through the mass of people, I spot a vacant seat and sit down. People casting angry glances at me, guess they would have liked to sit too. Fuck them, I got here first. The train rolls off the station. I open a beer. More angry glances, even the occasional direct glare. Drown my beer in one sip, belch and scratch my face. Grin at the people looking at me. Wink and open another.

Suddenly.

A shock wave rocks the cart I’m in, sending people flying. The can in my hand flies away, but luckily I manage to hold onto the rest of the pack. People scream and the lights flicker. Pandemonium. Then the lights go out. The screaming stops and turns to whimpering. Something growls. Loudly. Close. Panic breaks out, pushing and showing in the darkness, people’s elbows, arms and legs hitting you from all sides. Madness.
What feels like an eternity later, the lights turn back on. People get up, stop screaming and clawing at each other. Bloody faces here and there, big bruises starting to swell up and go red. A deep baritone voice over the PA instructs us to exit the cart via the emergency doors. Once outside, we find ourselves in the darkness of the subway tunnel. On my way out, I managed to find my remaining beers, so I’m overjoyed. Opening another, I follow the flow of people filing down the tunnel.

Suddenly.

More screams. Gunfire. Up front. What the hell is going on? I duck into a small service corridor as people start pushing backwards, screaming. Down the corridor, a sharp turn and the bloody thing divides into three. Fuck. Okay, to the left.

Sometimes later.

“Where am I?” There are other people with me too, I notice. “Did they follow me? Did I follow them?” Doesn’t matter, there is almost no light. But that is okay, we seem to be standing in front of what appears to be an emergency door. Only that the bloody thing is locked. Most likely to keep hobos away. Someone has picked up a rusty piece of pipe. Hurrah!

We quickly break the chain and lock, letting ourselves access the stairs beyond. Rushing up the stairs, illuminated by blessed fluorescent light, we soon reach a service station. The man sitting inside opens the door when he hears us approach.
“What is happening down there? The screens have gone blank!”
“Hell if we know” I manage as I push past him, snatching up a revolver I spot on a table nearby. People start babbling to him about things… that make no sense. I ignore them and look at the emergency map to memorize the way out. While the others are still babbling, I step into the corridor behind and make a run for it. Only got two beers left. But got a gun now. Cool.

Time remaining: 14.15
Emerge from a service tunnel and out into the basement of the local subway company. Some confused faces, but I just blurt out that there was an emergency down below and they let me pass. Someone asks me where it happened.
“Close to the Alps?”
“That’s ten blocks from here! Did you walk underground that far?”
“Fuck if I know. Maybe I did?”
Walked out, into the street. Stopped.

The street was a mess. Police vehicles sped past along with ambulances and what looked like military police. Opened another can, noted I was down to one and started walking.
“35th and Elms is about twenty blocks away. It’s about midnight and I have no alcohol. Great going.” Stopped by a gas station, bought another six pack. Told the clerk to fuck himself and stumbled out. Down the street, started walking. Sat down after a while, stopped a cab, rode the rest of the way.

Time remaining: 13.00
Finally at 35th and Elms. At the red house. Armed with a revolver and five cans of beer. Knocking on the door, a spyhole opened and light shone in my face. Shielding my eyes I swore at the asshole on the other side, which caused the door to open. Now bathed fully in light, I was pulled inside by strong arms. Feeling a hollow pipe pressed against my forehead, I heard the safety being crooked. A sharp “who the fuck are you asshole” followed suit.
“I’m the prick aiming a gun at your gut, dumb-ass” was my reply as I pointed the revolver into the person’s abdomen.
“Yeesh! He’s with me!” came from the other side of the room and Jeff entered my field of vision. The person holding the gun to my head let go and I stumbled forwards towards that son of a bitch who I still called my friend.
“The fuck?” was all I managed.
“We don’t know. But people are dying” was his reply.
“Well, fuck” was my reply as I keeled forwards and hit the floor, or him, asleep. Doesn’t matter which.

Time remaining: 06.00
Awoke on a hard floor among a bunch of empty beer cans. Dunno what had happened, but there was a revolver next to my head. Overhead, a fan was buzzing and light filtering down through the blinds hurt my eyes. Jeff was not far from me, sitting on some boxes.
“The fuck?”
“Looks like some kind of monsters or mutants have begun a wide-scale assault on our city.”
“Fuck you.”
“No, seriously. Ain’t kiddin’.”
I grabbed the gun, put it down my jacket’s inner picket and stumbled up. The room was otherwise empty.
“What now?” was my only inquiry as I slumped down onto a box.
“We steal a military vehicle and get the fuck out of town.”
“Who’s we?”
“Me and a bunch of other people who know what’s goin’ on.”
“Fuck you, you don’t know shit you fuckin’ conspiracy theory fuck-wit!”
“Whatever, it’s all goin’ down and we are gettin’ out. And you’re comin’ with us.”
“Well, fine” I fell silent. After a while I had to ask the question.
“You got any fuckin’ alcohol?”
“Sure thing” he grinned “there’s a bunch in the fridge.”
Walked over, grabbed the strongest I could find and had a drink right from the bottle. Tasted terrible, so I found something weaker to drink instead. We sat in silence, passing the bottle for some time.

Time remaining: 04.00
The rest of Jeff’s asshole friend’s came back. They had located an underground military compound with an easily accessible entrance. The plan was for us to steal a police Raider and to drive inside of the compound. Once inside, we’d shoot our way to a Snake and get inside. After which we’d ditch the city. Supplies had been stockpiled somewhere not too far from the compound and it was supposedly easy to get to them. We got ready to roll.

Time remaining: 03.40
After some walking, we found a site where there had been an accident. Getting into the Raider was laughably easy. We sped off while bullets whistled past us. It was on now, no turning back.

Time remaining: 3:15
We drove up to the compound’s ramp. A soldier looked at us lazily but waved us through. After a while we were down in the loading area. It seems incredible how such an expensive facility has so little security. Inside there was one guard. And he dropped his rifle after we pulled our guns on him. Seems like he knew what was coming. He told us we could have the codes if he was let to stay with us down there. “Down there? What?”

Seems like this compound has been built to be a shelter against a smaller nuclear strike. Or any kind of bio-hazard situation. The others counted there to be enough food for years and the water routing system was self-sufficient for even longer. Not to mention that the place was well armed. Extremely well armed, if you ask me, but no one did. Jeff’s drunk friend got ignored as usual. “Oh well. Don’t really care.”

Time remaining: 2.15
Okay, so we have the snake operational now. The guard has talked some of our crew to lock the compound and stay there until the shit blows over. Seems like he knows more than the most of us. Told us not to take the Snake and leave. But let us do it anyway. We drove up, were waved through again and drove off to fill up our supplies. Half the crew stayed behind. Oh well, less of us to look after like this.

Time remaining: 1.30
Supplies inside, we drove out of the city, plummeting through a military blockade on the bridge. Weirdly, it seemed to be that we hit it from the wrong side…

Time remaining: 1.00
Driving through the suburbs on the mainland, it has become apparent to us that the outside word seems somehow… empty. Weird… seems to be devoid of life out here. Maybe we should have stayed in the city?

Time remaining: 00.45
Suddenly, we turn around a corner and find ourselves in front of a large group of mutants. Or monsters. Hell if I know what they are. They quickly swarm the Snake and we start firing at them from all possible holes. Suddenly they draw back and we are hit dead-center by a rocket-blast. The hull is punctured and we are boarded. Me and someone else get out of the main door and dart into a side street. Whoever it was is quickly caught, but I dart through an abandoned factory and disappear in the suburb.

Time remaining: 00.00
Fuck if i know, been sitting on this rooftop for a bit now. Seems like those monsters have overrun the suburbs. They also seem to be fucking everywhere. And armed. Saw them drag a survivor from the Snake past a moment ago. Poor bastard was screaming while they tore him to pieces. I’ve decided. There ain’t no fuckin’ way out. And there ain’t no fuckin’ way I’m about to be eaten alive either. Eat me or not, but I’ll rather not be alive to witness that. And seeing how I am out of alcohol, it seems like time to go.
Barrel to the side of my head. Push the trigge-

Two dreams from last month

Ugh, I hate it when I don’t have time to sit down and write what happened. Now I’ve lost most of the details on these two. Well, anyhow…

There is an ugly flat made out of concrete somewhere. It stands at the very end of a long and winding road, which itself follows the slopes of a large hill. Several flats, just as ugly as this, line the road on the right and left. But the last one, where the road ends and the forest truly begins, stands alone, a bit further off, on the left hand side. Behind you is the road and thick forest covers all other directions, closing you in into a small, grey and dirty track of road. Standing here, you can turn around full circle and see very little life at this hour. And this hour is noon.

Approaching the house, humming a gay tune, I pull open the door and enter into a Victorian-era hallway, with stairs on both sides, polished wooden railings and thick, plush carpets. Everything is either a dark wooden brown, or crimson. The only exception, the crystal chandelier that hangs between the stairs. A young maid greets me and inquires of my business within. Why, none other than to come courting the beautiful butterflies that are cocooned in this concrete shell. My partner-in-crime, Frank tilts his hat and winks at the maid, who blushes and dashes off.
Quite so, the ladies await. We walk down to a door, knock, hear a giggle and let ourselves in.

Two dark haired and pale skinned, ample buxom young ladies dressed in red, white and black wait for us inside. There is tea and scones, playing of the guitar, singing and retelling of jovial tales from adventures past. After another dashing retelling of our bravaderies, both Frank and me are invited into the ladies’ separate chambers for some discussing of the finer arts. Albeit the only art spoken off - and practiced - is the art of disrobing in a timely fashion.

Afterwards, in the dark of my lady’s bedroom, I would retell the story of the great fire and the men’s sauna club at the factory.

“It was a cold, cold winter. The snow had piled high on the street leading up to the factory. The icing winds carried powdery snow with it as I made my way up the street. The usual street vendors and hawkers had gone inside and only frozen citizens would wander the streets, trying to reach their destiny before their nose froze off. I was on my way to the factory, for it was my place of employment. As a junior manager on the factory floor, it was my duty to oversee a work team of welders, pressers, masons and others - all working on some elaborately complex piece of machinery I had no understanding for. While it may seem like I was guarding the men that was not the case. I was merely overlooking the process and trying to make sure everyone was at the right places at the right time and that no one endangered fellow workers with their actions. The men affectionately called me a “mother hen”.
After a hard days stressful work of varying kinds, we would relax in the factory sauna. It was a small hall in itself, a low and dark, with a large stove in the middle of the room and several levels of seating around it. This was where the men would gather and try to get the tension out of their sore muscles and backs. One man would oversee the heat and the rest would relax. Once we had sweated enough, the room would empty, as we’d file out into a back-alley connected to the sauna. There in the freezing cold winds and banks of snow we’d roll around, throw ice and snow at each others, have a nip to drink and grab a quick smoke, if one was so inclined. After which, we would go back inside and sweat some more. Sometimes we would sing in the semi-darkness. Sing about strength, love, women and the burdens of the life of the working man.
Now one day in winter, it was particularly cold and the winds cut like daggers through your skin. We were enjoying a post-shift sauna as usual. The team had entered the back alley and were standing around joking about stuff when the door opened and the boss of the factory emerged. Everyone fell silent and made him space as he walked out. Someone offered him a sip of spirits, which he took, thanked the guy and threw a snowball at the closest foreman. A snowball fight erupted. ‘Tis was the thing, in the factory every man knew his place, but after your shift, during sauna time, all men were created equal. Well, all men but one.
The door creaked again and a large and hairy man emerged. Much like our boss, who too was a dark and hairy man, this fellow was a grey and even hairier version of our boss. This was the Director, the father and boss of our boss. Like an old silver-back gorilla, he emerged from the depths of the sauna and slowly rose the metallic stairs next to the door up onto a halfway-ramp, from where he addressed the men. In the freezing cold wind, with his grey beard flowing freely, he spoke of things like camaraderie, looking out for your brother and friendship. After which he pointed down the alley and told us that the ol’ man Johnston’s factory seemed to be on fire. Someone picked up a ladder that had been discarded into he alley. Someone a bucket. Soon we were running down the streets - in the buff - carrying various tools and objects. All while people stared at us in the streets. Once at the factory, we arranged the milling and confused workers into bucket gangs, put the fire out, saw to it that those injured received medical attention and jogged back to our sauna. Joking and laughing, we passed cheering and blushing people in the street. Once back at our factory, we once again sat down in the heat and swapped stories of times past.”

And now for the other one.

Due to somekinda accident, war or something else - irrelevant for this dream really - mankind now lived in tunnels and mazes underground, where we battled mutants and other terrifying monsters. Maybe the world above had been destroyed by nuclear fire, maybe it had been something equally nasty. Matters not.

All I know is that I need to stop playing Fallout 3 so much.

Crafty counter movement before dawn

Life is an endless party, or so it seems while you are a resident here at my friend’s summer place. Where this place actually is, or in what country, I have no idea. Don’t care a hoot either, since the party goes on. Day and night, what could have been weeks or months by now. But every party has to end, otherwise life is just a merciful blur of flashing lights, music, women and wine. Albeit that is not true, for an never-ending party soon becomes synonymous with flashing lights, sirens and traffic screeching through the mouth of the alley you sleep in, other hobos and hootch. Also, the occasional glass in teeth.

Now, my friend’s place was made up of a collection of small islands interconnected with small and neat, almost graceful, bridges that arched over the small bodies of water. On the islands were built dainty cottages, houses of mansionesque stature, lofty placebos and various shacks in large bushes along with a plethora of statues, pools, piers and other odd bits and ends that were scattered around the islands in an almost whimsical manner. This was the place, the place where the party got down!

There was a city close-by to this place, a city where a bit festival was taking place. People had arrived with mobile homes, tents, trailers and other such, in order to take part of the massive celebration that lay ahead. The local police - were as usual this time of the year - nervous and jumpy, since for this weekend the local population doubled. So, me and my brother were hitchin’ a ride with our father to my friend’s place. We drove through the streets that were starting to fill with people; campers, mobile homes and trailers were already starting to dot both sides of the road. In a few hours, it would be a road travelling through a white and grey alley, with no sign of the houses beyond to be seen. As we arrived at my friend’s place, the party had already started.

The images are a bit hazy, but during the party there was a lot of dancing, drinking, joking and laughing. But it is what happened after the party was over that I remember the best.

Firstly, I had been drunk and obnoxious, cursing at one of the butlers and telling him to go to hell. Secondly, I had made lasagna while drunk. And finally, I was - now somewhat sober - moving a table from one small house to another. The reason for this, I seem to recall, was that the table had been moved from the smaller house to the bigger house and needed to be returned to its place of origin before my friend woke up. He was currently out cold, having drunk himself into an oblivious state. So, there I was, hauling the table with one or other guest at the party. My brother and his woman had gone to sleep bed early, so I guess I had either woken him up to help me or were just hauling the damn furniture around with someone else. Eventually, I had to invest in the help of the before-mentioned butler to manage with the damn piece of lumber. Under the cloud of apologies and sweating we got the table in and into the dining room downstairs. Only to notice that there was already a table. We decided to stack them on each other. Then our host woke up, looked around with bleary eyes and requested that people fuck off his property and go home already. Which we then did. My father’s car had turned up at the parking lot, so me and my brother spent some time arguing which one of us knew more about driving an automatic, since we both drive a manual.

And that’s where I woke up.

An accident in winter

The roads were slippery, I knew this. It was however, necessary to be out and about. There is a curve close to where I live that is extremely dangerous due to it being narrow, at a bad angle and steep. As I slowed down to take the curve, a car came from around the bend. It was going too fast, misjudged the curve and flew off the road. I braked, took the turn, hit my emergency blinkers on and ran to the crash-site. There was a car down there in the gully, looking pretty badly smashes. Getting out my phone, I jumped down the side and slid down though the snow to the bottom in the fading light of day. Once there, I approached the vehicle and noted that the driver had been pretty badly hurt. Forcing the door open, I checked inside. She or he had hit her or his head on the wheel and was bleeding from the right side, where something had pushed into the torso. Gently, I tried to awaken the person, but to no avail. Pushing the buttons on my phone, I called emergency service and informed them of the crash. Asking what to do, they told me to check if the engine was on fire. There was a weird smell in the air, mixing with the snowflakes. The voice on the other side told me to as gently as possible remove the person from the car and move further away in case of an engine fire. They told me the police, an ambulance and a fire vehicle had been dispatched and to wait. As gently as possible, I did what I had been informed to do and pulled the unconscious person after me to a bit further away. Using snow, I tried to make the bleeding stop. Waiting and waiting in the approaching darkness, I wondered if the help was still far away.

And that was it. Just a long wait for the ambulance. It was really stressful.

Out drifting

While the penguins, elephants and squirrels might be onto me. And my brave and loyal hamsters, walruses and purple frogs seem all to have relocated to the deeper voids of space, I find myself - like a fearless explorer out on a life-raft in the great Atlantic Ocean - once again to be surviving on my own terrified wits, razor sharp failure to recognize equally sharp rocks hidden beneath the surface, over bloated sense of self-reliance and an obscene amount of optimism. Those triangles coming this way might very well be a school of sharks, but it could be dolphins too. Even better, one or the other, it’s what’s for dinner.

And as us crafty plank-hoppin’ individuals know, the less time spent on semi-solid surface, means more time soaring through the air and pretending to be a hippopotamus on a beach ball, rolling down sandy dunes of the great deserts of our lifetimes. Therefor, while on the subject of deserts, it is important to pay homage to the great ships of the dry seas, those brave individuals who in their derangement have managed to convince not only the sand, the ground and the rock - but also their oceanic cruise ships, metal bolts, -plates and all - that why yes indeed! It is only natural that SS Jovial Times is plowing through the high sea of a sandy wasteland.

Wasted due to lack of proper marketing, investing and economically minded swarms of locusts in suits - we call those people office employees - from the depths of our Arctic home waters. For yes, of course I swam away from the bowl of shark fin soup that was starting to boil around the cracker I was lazily lounging on at high seas. A most tasty treat, it was. Now, those of use more well versed in the arts of personal sloth combat know that time the most important aspect of this awesome sport is not the way in which you conduct your pet to attack its opponent! No, heaven’s forbid that sloths slouch into combat. Jolly jellies, no! These awesome beasts partake in a much more terrifying style of combat than that of either combat wombats of a hillbilly wallaby chewing champion! These versitile and agile creatures hoist themselves onto the moral, spiritual and literal higher ground and settle into position to strike at their enemies. And those are sadly enough anyone passing below, for very seldom do the sloths bother to strike out against their assigned opponents, instead preferring to attack those spectators spectacularly stupid enough to come observe from beneath their tree. The sloth snoring champions will first fall asleep and then simultaneously shit on everyone below! A truly devilish tactic, only matched by the streams of hot piss erupting from above as koalas give tourists a sudden golden shower. And most likely, a terrible aversion for these nature’s cruel beast.

And that is why you can always bet on someone causing shit while you are looking the other way.