Thursday, June 29, 2006

Mark of the Fluke


Happy T. Fluke may have been banished to the timestreams by Steve Austen's efforts, but he left behind his calling card: a test sheet used by photocopy repair technicians the world over. I doubt we've heard the last from the scoundrel, but for now Fakiegrind World Headquarters has been returned to some semblance of normalcy.

The twenty foot tall sculpture of Fluke made out of coloured lard in the lobby has been dismantled (melted down for pancakes), and the carnivorous Astroturf has been deactivated. It will take some time to sort out what's left of the Vaults of Oldness and catalogue all the items that Fluke didn't sell on eBay to fund his megalomanic schemes.

And Dept. H has decided to reinstate Flatlander as Blog Administrator, at least for now while we sort out the mess. Fluke took with him all the access codes to the photocopiers, as well, and its going to take our codebreakers some time to have them up and running. It looks as though, the next time we hire a new administrator, we will have to devise a better Android Detection Test for the candidates--and maybe an extra terrestrial screening process too.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006


Concrete Oasis

I lived too close to factories
I pushed a board around
Reliving my youth
In circles on the ground

The locals got to know me
We shared a scrap of hell
Turned it into heaven
And turned it back as well

A brotherhood of motion
And choreography
The older and the new school
Sharing history

Our own private Olympics
Tucked away from fame
Doing the impossible
Then doing it again

Few will ever understand
What it is we ride--
The mystery that surfs upon
The graffiti tide

I don't really comprehend
The meaning of it all:
The moment of suspension,
Salvation through a fall

I know I will forget the path
That lead me to that place--
The force that kept me stranded
Targeted by Grace

And moved my lips to bless the
Ground, the city and the sky
Trying to keep my balance
As trouble passed me by

Calling All Agents!


We just received this transmission from Dept. H's urban re-con vehicle, Mobile One!


Steve Austen has managed to infiltrate the suburban lair of Fakiegrind usurper Happy T. Fluke. Due to Austen's amazing bionically enhanced senses and super-human strength, he was able to circumnavigate the electrified fence and the carnivorous Astroturf™ unscathed.

A piece of Gatorade chewing gum staved off Steve's thirst long enough to allow him to resist drinking from the Moat of Forgetfulness, and the bionic superstar made short work of the hapless sentries, penetrating to the very heart of Fluke's compound to the arch-tyrant's pleasure dome/meditation chamber.

The infiltration took an unexpected turn, however, when it was not the aging photocopier salesman-turned blog magnate, Happy T. Fluke, but rather his ninja bodyguard whom Steve encountered in the inner sanctum.

Mobile one managed to divert these stills from security camera
feed of the ensuing duel:

"Well, ninja, it looks like I'll have to neutralize you before
getting a crack at your employer!"

"You seem to have lost your arms in some kind of meditation
chamber door accident, but you pack a mean kick!"

"Luckily, I know bionic Tai Chi!"

(Cue bionic sound-effects)

"Hey, you look eerily familiar. Could it be?"

(Cue melting synthetic skin effect)


"I thought I saw the last of you back in Episode 34!"

"But if you're Maskatron, then who's Happy T. Fluke?!"

"Could it be there are two Maskatrons?!"

"Bwa ha ha! Wouldn't you like to know, Steve Austen?!
Insectavoid minion, ready my escape craft!"


"He who blogs and runs away...."

"Lives to blog another day!"


Steve Austen shields himself from the glare as Happy T. Fluke's craft disappears down a time tunnel. Was he man, machine, or a little bit of both?--we may never know. Then again, we might only have to wait for the upcoming memoir: "Happy T. Fluke, Master of the Blogstream" which the author will be available to sign at a major bookstore near you sometime in late August 06.

Till then, Stay Old!

Monday, June 26, 2006

A Message from Imperius Supreme Internet Commander Fluke

Greetings blog aficionados and curious thrill-seekers. I am Happy T. Fluke, de facto ruler and Overlord of the communication lines known as the internet. Please send all tributes, monetary gifts and used toner cartridges to Lord Happy, c/o Fakiegrind World Headquarters.

Rumours have been circulating that a certain bionic television celebrity from days of yore has been dispatched to infiltrate my Pleasure Dome, recapture the Vaults of Oldness, and oust the Fluke. I assure you that no such ploy has even the most remotestest chance of succeeding. Even if such an intruder could get past the electrified fence, the carnivorous Astroturf® and the robotic Hounds, they would not be able to resist drinking from the Moat of Forgetfulness with which I have recently encircled my suburban compound.

So never fear, denizens of the Blog-o-verse, I will continue to police the information highways with the iron fish (sic) you have come to expect, keeping the capricious causeways clear of spammers, scammers and retro rock glam, uh, ers.

Ok, looks like my public relations post generator is on the fritz.

In other news, the Fakiegrind Family Picnic was a great success, with everyone having a grand old time beneath the carcinogenic afternoon sun--except for the Gibson family, whose dog chased a frisbee onto the carnivorous astroturf.

Also, last night we discovered this robotic surveillance unit, disguised to appear as a common moth, in the Blog Command room.

A spy in the house of Fakie

It is, no doubt, an attempt by Blogland resistance guerillas to glean intelligence as to our next move. Never fear. This morning's jump in the price of Mozzarella cheese stocks will not deter our campaign to establish the world's first on-line pizza delivery service.

Just imagine: pizza delivered anywhere, anytime, at the click of a mouse! Oh, there will be imitators, to be sure. Just remember you heard it here first.

This is Happy T. Fluke, Internet Overlord and budding restauranteur, signing off.

Saturday, June 24, 2006


I am The Watcher. For me past, present and future are as one. I have seen these things unfold, which will soon befall the blog known as Fakiegrind. But, truly, they have also already happened, for I am The Watcher.

In a secret bunker, somewhere in Mississauga:


"Steve, I've called you out of retirement because we need you for one last mission. Only someone with your special abilities could hope to accomplish what I'm about to ask. We have reason to believe that your old arch-foe, Maskatron, has resurfaced and is masquerading as the administrator of the skateboarding blog, Fakiegrind. He seems to be planning to take over the entire internet, and you have to stop him!"


"By the way, Steve, you're looking good--not a day over forty."


"Thanks Oscar. I'll take the mission. I was getting tired of sitting around watching Night Rider re-runs."

"Besides, I've been looking for an excuse to try out my new pair of bionic cross-trainers."

Meanwhile, at Fakiegrind World Headquarters, only those employees who have shown unquestioning loyalty to their Administrator remain.



And the one known as Happy T. Fluke takes refuge in his meditation chamber.


"You know what I love about burritos? You don't need a fork. Unless they're sloppily constructed--but soon I will put an end to such insolence for once and all! When I rule the internet, all burritos will be adequately rolled with premium-grade tortilla bread."

Suddenly, a warning knell is sounds in the communications room.


"Our spy satellites indicate a bionic entity heading our way!"

"Notify the Administrator!"

Upon receiving the intelligence, Happy T. Fluke dons his battle armour.


And sounds the alarm...


"We have the advantage. I will set a trap for the intruder! When he arrives in my inner sanctum, it will not be Happy T. Fluke whom my adversary discovers..."


"....but my ninja body guard!"





The security cameras recorded another intruder at Fakiegrind World Headquarters today, this time in the Botanical Gardens. I've had specialists pouring over the footage all afternoon, and they've come to the conclusion that it can only have been the legendary Bigfoot or Sasquatch prowling the grounds. Our security teams have been duly notified and are on the look-out for the beast.


Interestingly, while Warren Smith's groundbreaking study of the creature portrays it as having a humanoid body and the head of a seal, our sighting shows a much different animal.


Caught grazing amidst our giant Amazonian Gladiolus, the beast stood well over 12' tall.


I only hope we succeed in capturing the monster so our scientists can better understand this mysterious creature.




A Message from The Fluke

I wish I knew who was leaving all the anonymous messages on my posts, so I could release the Hounds of Time on them, removing them from history for good. But regardless of my detractors, there is little that can stop my plans at this stage. Soon I will own the internet, and all ye bloggers will have to pay Me, Happy T. Fluke, for your ill communications!

How, you might ask, did I afford the significant new defense shields to Fakiegrind World Headquarters, and the high-tech timestream gadgetry currently at my disposal? It's quite simple actually. I liquidated Flatlander's vintage action figure collection on eBay, and diverted the funds from Paypal directly into the Blogland Security budget. Now, all those tiny plastic guns, cannons and soldiers have been turned into a terribly real and powerful force to be reckoned with.

Dumpster? This is a T-4000 model Time Navigation Device!

Yes, I'm afraid this battleblog will be fully operational should any of those reprobate Agents show their faces again. And should Flatlander surface, through some ill-considered desire to regain control of his blog, I will have a little surprise in store for that slackardly stalwart.

He WILL bow to Happy T. Fluke!

This is H. T. Fluke, future Overlord and Master of Blogland, signing out.

Thursday, June 22, 2006

Intruder Alert


We caught this man/creature trying to navigate the electrified fence I recently erected around the Fakiegrind World Headquarters. He actually made it over, only to be caught in the poisonous barbs of the Carnivorous Astroturf surrounding my offices. The fellow seems to have been some kind of messenger or shaman. As the neurotoxins swiftly overtook him, he struggled to deliver a puzzling message that sounded something like


Then the poor fellow expired. There were some dissenting voices in the Headquarters Maintenance Committee when I started to implement our new safety measures here at Fakiegrind Central (all of these mavericks have been since "relocated" to various out of the way locals on Top Secret mission duty). Turns out the electrified fence, carnivorous grass and employee retinal scanners were warranted after all. For all we know, this guy could have been some kind of assassin, bent on destroying the Fakiegrind Empire. No, you can never be too careful with Blogland Security.

But what could be the meaning of the word he uttered with his dying breath? Perhaps he was saying "bee war", trying to intimidate us into silence by summoning the old bugaboo of an army of trained killer bees who will descend upon us in the night and do away with us in our sleep. Nothing to fear there, as I have recently taken the liberty of installing an anti-killer bee deflector shield that will be activated at the first indication of an insect invasion.

So smoke on that, scantily-clad shaman assassin guy--and next time, wear some shoes or something!

Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Distress Signal

We intercepted this distress signal on the interstellar crystal set:



Looks like some sucker DJs got a little too deep into the vintage video games for their own good. That'll teach them to rummage around in the Vaults without clearance! This post is way too abstract and over my head. Time to polish the photocopier screens.

Happy T. Fluke, signing out!

Wednesday, June 14, 2006