Wednesday, April 26, 2006
We, the Consortium behind the Black Cheddar Consortium, to be known, just this once, as The Dudes (because The Dudes only strike once--that's all it takes) hereby declare ourselves to be the administrators, protectors, and editors-in-chiefs of Fakiegrind.
Due to several large and outstanding literary debts on the part of Flatlander and the other Fakiegrind Agents, The Dudes hereby seize the Fakiegrind franchise as collateral, until such a time as those parties involved present metaphysical acumen enough to satisfy the major shareholders that future posts will generate enough readership and merchandising spin-offs to justify the substantial investment made in the blog by certain parties who wish not to be named.
This decision is binding and not open to negotiation. Do not try to contact The Dudes, or in any way interfere with our administration of this blog.
The parties involved will be notified if, in the future, a change in circumstance causes us to reconsider our action.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
It took me a while to locate the place, despite some reliable intelligence. I had to fend off carnivorous robotic pigeons, shape-shifting dumpsters, and poison-soaked torpedo shrimp, amongst other perils.
These cages housed zombie ferrets, before I dispatched them to Hades.
Cutting back a swath of strangling vines and cursing the swarms of malaria-rife gnats, I suddenly came upon the object of my quest.
The first Tim Hortons shop looks much like any of them, except for a single retro sign, and a plaque on the wall. Several rotting skeletons heaped beside the garbage can warned me not to tarry too long in the parking lot.
The interior is a little smaller than most stores, with about six tables and two glass cases with memorabilia. The approach to the cash register is awkward, requiring the intrepid coffee drinker to avoid stepping on the white linoleum tiles and keep only to the red ones, lest he be pelted with day-old Hawaiian sprinkled Timbits.
The lady working behind the counter was a little camera shy, and she told me I would have to come back tomorrow to meet the oldest surviving cashier, who has been working there since '67.
The place was simply teeming with pastries, but which ones
contained deadly nitroglycerin, and which ones would
bring the Visions?
But I wasn't after coffee--black death we call it in archeology circles. No, I was after the rare and valuable Boston Cream donut, hoping to bring a specimen back to civilization in order to dissect it in front of my graduate class on 20th Century Confectionaries.
Walking carefully home, my prize donut in one trembling hand, I didn't have my backpack. On a deserted strech of sidewalk, two locals inquired about "buying" my camera, which was dangling around my neck. The situation threatened to turn violent, and I was considering throwing my donut at them and making a run for it.
Beware, the robo-elk!
Then I remembered the festive Norwegian Elk Summoning Dance, always good for disarming a potentially hostile situation. Soon we were laughing and joking like old friends, and I took the opportunity to sell the rogues some old vinyl siding that had been sitting around my yard for months. Exchanging e-mail addresses, I managed to make a graceful exit before the street was flooded with stampeding Norwegian elk.
Double elk milk, please
Well, there you have it: another Steeltown first.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Psycho-linguistic analysis of writing samples from this blog, compared with several dry cleaning receipts and one grocery bill recovered from the abandoned wreck of one the Adjuster's time machines indicates that the mysterious figure known as The Banker on the hit TV show "Deal or No Deal" may actually be the Endtime Adjuster.
Could this be our man?
What's worse, the scoundrel is up to his old tricks. Fakie intelligence has been able to gather, through a complex series of wiretaps and satellite signal shunts, that the Adjuster may be conspiring with host of "Deal or No Deal", Howie Mandel, to attempt to buy the souls of the show's contestants.
While appearing to communicate with Howie via cell phone to offer amounts of money to buy back the contestant's attache case, it appears that the Adjuster/Banker could actually be coaching Howie on just how much pressure to apply to get the contestant to buy an Endtime Insurance Package.
Here is an excerpt of one such intercepted communication:
Adjuster: I think this one (contestant) is ready to cave. Next commercial break, push the Endtime Nuclear Jump Suit and the Soul Non-Reclamation Clause.
Howie: I have no idea what you're talking about, but this is the best gig I've had in years, so Ok.
Howie may or may not be involved.
If our suspicions are correct, the Adjuster might make the bold move of trying to lure one of the Fakie Agents onto the show. We're activating an Anti-Rapture sleeper cell to infiltrate the studio audience and see if they can gain more information regarding the Adjuster's possible future moves. In the mean time, we're sifting through re-runs of the program to decode any hidden transmission that might have been made to other subversive elements such as the elusive Xister, Maskatron or Spirella.
Sunday, April 16, 2006
Problem is, I'm too broke to find a job. Luckily, there are always disco records; they never fail to sooth my soul, even when eternal salvation becomes more than I can handle.
Long time Fakie readers will remember this classic video.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
I recently added these disks to my collection:
When disco man and woman meet on the dance floor--watch out!
Dear Dan: your crappy disco record is safe with me.
And the Sleaziest Santa Ever award goes too...
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Tuesday, April 11, 2006
Well, thanks for all the scrutiny, and stay old!
Found Photo #339-PP41X
Monday, April 10, 2006
The team came up with several well-considered interpretations for the word/symbol/random inscription/call-it-what-you-will, leaving us no other choice but to fire them, following Occam's Law of inverse Scrutiny, which states that any explanation arrived at by a team of highly trained professionals couldn't possibly be the correct one.
To continue investigating the enigma, we have hired the renown earthquake researcher, Styles Rubbermop, to develop the world's very first earthquake-proof coffee mug, reasoning that, without peace of mind regarding our ability to imbibe caffeinated beverages during periods of seismic instability, we could never undertake the delicate task of translating alien communications into comprehensible earth meanings.
Dr. Rubbermop has already produced a working prototype mug, from which I am sipping this very moment, when we are just about to flip on the Roboshrub Inc. Random Earthquake Generator we bought through eBay last week. Once the dust settles, if the joe is still hot in the mug, we'll take another stab at the meaning of WOT.
Proposal for construction of the extra-large cup, spring 2008.
There is still no word from Dept. H's Captain Canuck and Nelvana, who left for Baffin Island several days ago to investigate the alleged UFO landing.
Saturday, April 08, 2006
I suspected that the whole "alien transmission" a couple posts back was some kind of hoax, or perhaps an hallucination induced from my eating the LSD-soaked brains of the members of a hippy commune a few days ago. (It's nice to remember the sixties, especially when you didn't have to live through the era personally. Craftans? Ew.)
However, just yesterday, the Blogland Security branch of Dept. H took this photo of what seems to be an alien landing craft lowering itself to the ground somewhere on the shores of Baffin Island in northern Canada. Captain Canuck and Nelvana have made the trek northward and are investigating the scene at this writing.
Perhaps first contact with an extra-terrestrial intelligence is truly upon us! The mysterious visitors seem to have manifested a single word of greeting on the front of their craft, but the possible meaning of the term is still being investigated by a skilled team of Fakiegrind semioticians.
We will keep readers informed of any further developments in what could be the biggest news story of the dawning millennium!
Friday, April 07, 2006
Given up eating brains for lent. So far haven't noticed any sines of stupidifying, but keeping close cabs. Took grate panes to haul large suitcase of LPs home. Nearly dislodged putrefying arm from decayed socket. Worth the trouble. Memo to self: use spill chicker.
Yes, good record haul. Dreampt was assembling a monser sound system to DJ a party. By the time I connected all the cables, the party was over, and it was morning.
Seems some entity has hijacked the blog. Might be actual alien intelligence (the only kind?), or perhaps some hoax on the part of the Blogmind. Darn thing writes itself these days--never should have spilt that protien shake on the keyboard.
We walk around in circles singing
Oh Oa O!
In high school there were only a few teachers who tried to convince me that resistance was futile: 1) the Home Ec. teacher; 2) the Vice Principle; 3) Art teacher. Ha ha! They failed. Resistance is never futile--even the passive kind. All resistance will be rewarded in heaven, in the form of virgin skateboards. Maybe even sooner.
Our heads were filled with things
that didn't matter anyways
Oh Oa O!
Ok, time to bend like a weed in the wind. Resistance is nubile.
Said, "Wot yu want?!"
Thursday, April 06, 2006
In coming days, a large spacecraft, some 4000 cubits by 2400 cubits and resembling one of your technological devices known as a "television" will land in an as of yet undisclosed location of your northern hemisphere.
Do not fear.
We have prepared a special emission to be broadcast simultaneously in all known Earth languages, including Pan-Atlantic Dolphinese and Yeti, that will explain something of our people's history, journey and the Great Message of Peace that it is our mission to propagate throughout the known universe.
We have judged that your Earth civilization is at the proper stage of its development to hear this Great Message (and your solar system also happened to be just off our route to Freioan Quadrant, or else we would have had to hit you several thousand years from now, on the way back).
We have thus deemed it meet that your generation should be the one chosen to be blessed by our Great Good Tidings, and that your governments should thus declare Tuesday, April 24th to be a global holiday of much rejoicing, as it is on this day that our Mandate shall be fully Revealed.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
The din of battle: subsided. The victors: indeterminable. Just like The Sum of All Things. I've got this song stuck in my head: high pitched synths, echoing drum machine indicating a vast expanse. It's quite mystical.
You remember mystical right? That feeling when all the bloodlust leaves you alone for a moment. Happens to the best of us, then it's back--the will to survive above all else. The most sublime act is to put another before you. Sure fire method. Eventually, ignorance exhausts itself.
Except for the few. Except for the multitudinous dudes. Dislodged. Freed from the loop. It happens, but not often. In the end, there's no escaping escape. But it's not like skipping off school or work.
It's just your home's dream of vagrancy. It's just the balance of light and darkness giving birth to colour. It's just a drunken cowboy singing songs to the cactus under a full coyote moon.
Maybe not just yet. But someday...