Oh Bitter Day!

Accursed Budget Exhibit, thou dost torment me!

Whilst I thought I was rid of thee last a fortnight ago

Thine ugly head has risen this day to befoul my noontime repast

Not one, not two, but three errors have made themselves manifest

Throwing all manner of confusion into those analysts

who were comparing it to the Congressional Brief, submitted this day past

Woe unto this writer who had to make ammends, pay homage to, and grovel

before the feet of no less than FIVE government customers

plus two contractor supervisors

Oh, bitter day!

Bitter, bitter day.

An Insprirational Poem

Woody sat atop the smallish mound of skulls. Pensive, with fist tucked under chin, he wondered what was taking the girls so long with those darned coconut cream pies. And, why hadn't DeBock, the one third Canadian, one third Cameroonian and two fifths apricot salesman/gunrunner and Nguyen Van Schott, the half-Vietnamese, half-American barfly/C++ programmer, finished his sleeping quarters.

Perhaps he had better get to work on his next inspirational poem.

He began,

"Oh Ninhursag, Oh Ninhursag
You tempt me with herbs so sweet
Eight they are in number
Yet forbidden am I to eat them
You wicked queen and temptress!

By night, into the garden
shall I steal and claim them
for mine own!



Yes. That would do nicely. The allusions to Sumerian mythology would be sure to intrigue the rest of the survivors. Woody realized that in ancient days, bards such as himself, often inspired the people even in the most difficult times.

COMING SOON

A new article posted by Lord Turnips

keep watching this space for more.....

AWESOME!

Why do I find this picture hilarious? I don't know, but it is. It's awesome too.

Point-Counterpoint

This is an actual e-mail conversation that happened on 21 April, 2009.

Woody: " Turnips, Admiral, I've posted another story gents."

Admiral: "Yea! All hail Woody! Death to all wyverns!"

Turnips: "I'm thinking of writing the article that blames Wyverns on the India/Pakistan split which led to millions of displaced and killed in 1947. "

A: "What are your sources? Will your article be heavily footnoted?"

T: "Yes, here is an example: Wyverns decided to split British India into a Hindu nation centered in between two primarily Muslim areas of to be known by the name given to it by Jinha and Muslim members of the Indian National Congress: Pakistan.*

* Yo Momma"

A: "It's hard to argue with you on that point. I always thought it was Basilisks that split the two countries, but perhaps I am thinking of North and South Korea."

T: "Hmm...very drakeo-determinist of you to assume that it wasn't caused by Wyvern's."

A: "You know, not all of the world's problems are caused by wyverns."

T: "See! Right there you continue your crypto-wyvernism by providing covert support for the possibility that mystical monsters other than Wyverns were the cause of great calamities of the 20th century. In so doing you undermine legitimate efforts to combat Wyverns."

A: "The whole world's black and white for you, isn't it? Your whole "you're either with me (against wyverns) or against me" attitude is very shortsighted.

Little known facts about the Basilisk:
1. Could split boulders with a single glance from their deadly eyes

2. Noxious breath would wither trees and bushes

3. Streams and rivers they drank from would be permanently poisoned

4. Odour of its sweat was foul and toxic

5. Land they passed through would become barren wasteland 6. These would counter the basilisk's lethal powers:
- The weasel [somehow immune to its death-dealing gaze]

- The rooster [the basilisk would flee at the rooster's crowing]

- The Rue plant [could withstand the basilisk's breath and was used by weasels to heal themselves if they were attacked by the basilisk]

7. All US Presidents since Harry Truman have been Basilisks

8. Would be destroyed by seeing its own reflection in a mirror"

T: "Jimmy Carter was only half Basilisk."

A: "Basiliskism is inherited through the mother, so technically, Jimmy Carter is full Basilisk"

All Ashore That's Going Ashore

The ragged remnants of Altair Flight 815 we gathered about the beach.

"I suggest we eat some of the tastier, less important passengers" declared a corpulent gentleman who tugged on his pants to keep them aloft. Curiously he wore both a belt and suspenders, neither of which seemed to be serving their purpose.

"Egad, man," the Admiral interjected, "We've only been ashore for 3 hours, surely you're not that hungry"

"Sir, I am absolutely famished, all I had before ditching we pretzel sticks" He paused, "and, they made me thirsy too" he added for good measure a bit sheepishly.

Another passenger, this one with a young lad in tow remarked that the lush greenery didn't look a bit sinister and that the propeller half-buried in the sand might make a useful tool. He'd seen as much on a popular television show.

The handsome chap, also known to his friends as Woody or Woodpecker-Smythe, to his legion of fans and adoring public, stood atop a small mound of bleached skulls to make the following announcement of duties:

"I expect this will be quite good sport until we are rescued - Lady Marzipan, why don't you go with Lady Lyme Weoghe and search out some coconuts and tropical bananas as is your wont. Turnips, why don't you get a start on the fire. I as party poet should begin a diary or poem to record or adventures. Admiral, perhaps you could mix us up a calming tonic. And, DeBock, why don't you build us a shelter, I'll need an extra wide bunk if you don't mind - and please, don't get sassy this time. I know your type."


"May a rabid wyvern use your femur as a toothpick" muttered DeBock under his breath.

Response Option Alpha Tango

A Datron model PRC-1077 radio abruptly crackled to life in a non-descript quonset hut on the West Coast of Tasmania. Silent for weeks, a message came through

The short broadcast consisted only of a mechanically repeated phrase "Execute response option Alpha-Tango - Execute response option Alpha-Tango - Execute response option Alpha-Tango." The statement was bereft of emotion or emphasis.

This broadcast was subsequently interupted by another eerily sinister voice that was, however, altogther human/humanoid. Regretably, it was broken up by a competing broadcast out of WIN-4 Wollongong.

"...Sporadic E,

"I now return you to your regulary scheduled broadcast of Australian Rules Football."

... Suspect Sprodic E"

"Today, South Fremantle versus ...."

Then all was silent.

Somewhere a plane was going down and things were about to get ugly.

AltAir Flight 815

"Man this flight to Aukland is long," thought Admiral Rossaroni, as he finished leafing through the in-flight magazine for the fourth time.

As he put down the magazine he looked around the cabin at his fellow passengers. Several rows in front of him was seated a very dapper looking gentleman who was having an argument with the stewardess over how often she was supposed to bring him a fresh gin & tonic. He was saying "every 15 minutes" while she was saying "are you barmy?" He had a kind of George Sanders look to him.

On the other side of the plane the Admiral spotted a man and his young son. The man had a bandage wrapped around his head and was helping his boy play with Legos. And by "helping," I mean he was doing most of it himself. So perhaps the boy was helping his dad play with Legos.

A few rows beyond them, the Admiral spotted a young woman who appearred to be in handcuffs. And, although she was in handcuffs, her hair was magnificently styled, as if she had trained weasels sitting atop her head. She also looked very annoyed.

Just as the Admiral was about to examine some other, ancilliary characters, the plane suddenly started shaking violently. SHAKE! SHAKE! SHAKE! SHAKE! SHAKE! Then part of the cabin ripped off and a few passengers, none of whom were important, were sucked out of the aircraft.

Fade to black.