Okay, now I'm picturing a funny situation on Traipah. Bit of background: It's a common naming convention among those of the dominant culture, Yahgahn, to give kids "nest names" that they'll likely shed as adults when they pick adult names. These names tend to mean things like "Beloved" or "Third child" or various simple things. But of course, with lots of people in the world, and especially in big families, that can lead to there being like, 14 "Beloved"s in a single class at school. (Which come to think of it, means there might be a secondary convention of nicknames based on something more unique, but let's not get sidetracked.)
Anyway, my idea was that it might become popular on Traipah, after situations like that become common enough, that they might come up with more interesting nest names. Sure, at first it might be something similar to the Amerindian naming convention of things like "Wild Bull" or "The Sound of Running Water," but the funny idea I had was this:
People deciding to name their kids names that mean things like "Insert Unique Name Here," "I Couldn't Be Arsed To Think of a Better Name," "Pile of Ancient Scrolls," "The One With Purple Hair and Green Stripes," "Hopefully I Won't Disown My Mother For This Name," or others along those lines. Like, I can see the 12th kid in a large family being named "My Parents Aren't Going To Remember My Name Anyway." Or just, like, name a kid a line quoted from one's favorite book, like a kid named "It Was The Best of Times, It Was The Worst of Times," or "It Was A Dark And Stormy Night."
And given how their culture doesn't have any shame regarding sex, I could see some people using names like "Wedding Night Threesome," "We Were Bored," "We Were Drunk," "Hope Xe Ends Up a Better Lover Than Xer Father," "Forgot To Pull Out," "I Don't Know Who My Daddy Is," "I Have Three Daddies," "Conceived In Bondage," "The Condom Broke," "Mommy's Best Orgasm (Was The Night I Was Conceived)," "Unbreakable Love, Breakable Condom," "Never Fuck On A Tin Roof During A Thunderstorm," "The Fastest Little Swimmer Was Me," "I Got Lucky, So Did My Dad," "The Only Good Thing To Come Out Of My Parents' Marriage," "Best Damn Hatesex Ever," or "Should've Masturbated Instead."
Other possible names: "Sounded Like A Good Idea At The Time," "I'd Better Appreciate That My Mother Went Through Twelve Months Of Hell For Me" (Ah'Koi Bahnis gestation is 12 months), "That's The Last One I'm Ever Having," or "Mommy's First C-Section."
One that would work for them if they had capitalism and certificates of deposit would be "Made A Withdrawl At The Sperm Bank, Invested It In A 250-Year CD." (AKB can live up to 250 years.)
(Also a genderless version of "My Daddy's The Mailman" could work too.)
(To any not in the know, Molly Elizabeth is our collective's primary child Face.)
The stars are cold and uncaring, they do not speak your fate; they merely provide the door to where your fate is hiding.
Haries (March 21-April 19) = I’d like to say that’s an FBI surveillance van in front of your house, but that would be a lie. You should move away, carefully, in the dead of night without taking anything with you but your ATM card. Take out all your money in cash and get an airplane ticket to outer Mongolia. Trust me, the guys in that van will make a few years at Gitmo seem like a day at the spa.
Fnord Taurus (Apr. 20-May 20) = The door to where your fate hides is locked. Not sure whether that’s good or bad. Probably bad, though.
Gem-in-eye (May 21 - Jun. 21) = The spiders… THE SPIDERS! They’re everywhere! The spiders… the spiders… *extended groan* *weeping*
I’m-sorry-but-it’s-Cancer (Jun. 22-July 22) = This week, you are either going to catch your ass on fire or amputate your own arm accidentally. Not sure which it is, but you should keep some tourniquets and a pile of sand around the house just in case.
Fleo (July 23 - Aug. 22) = Odd… I see a man, but he has no face. Just pale white skin. And he’s bald, and wearing a nice suit. He’s very thin, as well; too thin. He’s waiting for you just out of sight. When you least expect it, he’s going to kidnap you. No one will ever find your body.
Virgone (Aug. 23 - Sept 22) = Don’t leave your house this week, whatever you do. It’s totally not safe out there. I swear I’ll protect you and not murder you. Sincerely, Your House.
Lee-Bra (Sept 23-Oct 23) = There is a kind of mushroom that is extremely delicious, but will kill you in anywhere from several months to several years by causing your kidneys to fail. There was one hidden in your food. You should set your affairs in order.
Pinscorpio (Oct.24-Nov.21) = Oh hey, it’s good news this time! You’re going to get a nice new boyfriend. He’s smart, handsome, kind, gentle, tall, and strong. Oh hey, there’s a name. Let’s see… Sam Winchester. Good for you; he looks like a nice young man.
Exsaggitarius (Nov.22-Dec.21) = [Your fate has been censored due to its extremely violent, graphic, and disturbing nature, which might cause people with weak hearts to suffer heart attacks.]
Chaopricorn (Dec.22-Jan 19) = Don’t accept any packages in the mail this week. Someone has sent you a cursed object that will turn you into an unquiet spirit that drowns children and puppies in the river and throws their corpses through the windows of their weeping families.
Aqua-hairius (Jan.20-Feb.18) = Hey, I have this app that translates foreign languages into English, but it has to be spoken aloud and I’m a mute; can you read the following aloud for me? "Vs lbh ernq guvf, sbby lbh or, qbbzrq gb rgreany zvfrel. Lbhe fbhy vf genccrq sberire zber, xrcg sebz tbvat guebhtu qrngu’f qbbe. Qnzarq guerr gvzrf gvy whqtzrag qnl, ng juvpu gvzr lbh’yy gehyl cnl."
Spiceez (Feb.19-March 20) = After decades of successfully downloading pirated music and movies, you finally get caught. Adding insult to injury, the file they caught you downloading is something really embarassing, it’ll be all over the news, and you’ll be the laughing stock of the town for the next decade or two.
December 4, 2014
Colinson, Indiarka; United States of Vespuccia: Three months ago, a 2 year old black boy named Tyke Tanner was shot to death by Colinson police officer Raysis T. Bashtard. The boy, who was asleep at the time, was shot in the back 118 times. His death has been ruled to be self-defense by the Colinson police force and grand jury, both of which are branches of The Righteous Brotherhood For The Ethnic Cleansing of Vespuccia, of which Officer Bashtard is a member.
We at Ye Olde Goldyn Appyl Presse interviewed Officer Bashtard - who has retired from the force - before he left to Bermuda to live with his supermodel girlfriend in his new mansion, and he gave us an account of the incident with the boy in question. "He came at me like The Hulk," Officer Bashtard said while trying to hold back his laughter. "He had an Uzi in one hand, a grenade launcher in the other hand, was belching fire out his mouth and had lasers coming from his- oh God," he said, doubling over with laughter. "I can't believe those idiots believed that bullshit!" After five minutes of uninterrupted laughing, Officer Bashtard finally calmed down enough to continue the interview, in which - between giggles - he explained how the unarmed, sleeping child had savagely attacked him via astral projection, giving him carpal tunnel, osteoporosis, pink eye, and a paper-cut.
Doubtful of his claims, our intrepid reporters have done their own investigations. All the evidence against Officer Bashtard has since been destroyed by the Colinson police department, citing "National security" reasons, but before that happened, we obtained access to coroner's reports, which show that the boy was in a common sleeping position when he died, and was shot in the back from a distance of 10 feet. We also got reports from many eye witnesses in the park that the incident occurred, who saw Officer Bashtard sneak up on the boy as he slept on a park bench after a very exhausting play date, and without provocation shot the boy 118 times in the back. All the witnesses we spoke to have since either been arrested on various charges including "resisting arrest" (simply by not being home when the officers came to arrest them) or else have mysteriously vanished, last seen in the vicinity of officers from the Colinson police force. We watched videos they took of the incident - verifying their claims - that had been uploaded to ViewCube, but all the videos have since been taken down on claims of copyright violations.(1) Other videos were uploaded to Loa, another popular video site that only allows 3 second long videos, but were taken down for spam, since each video of the incident had to be broken into 600 separate videos. Other less popular video sites have all been hacked and the incriminating videos deleted.
We made copies of all the videos before they were taken down, of course, but recently a group of hooded and masked members of The Righteous Brotherhood For The Ethnic Cleansing of Vespuccia firebombed our offices and charged millions of dollars worth of racist memorabilia to our credit cards, and we are now reporting from an old typewriter inside of a storage unit we are illegally using as an apartment until we can recover from the identity theft.
We also investigated Officer Bashtard's claims of being attacked by the boy via astral projection. All the experts we found agreed that astral projection attacks cannot cause physical harm, only spiritual harm, and that nobody under the age of 10 could possibly have the knowledge and experience necessary to attack anyone via astral projection. One expert even claimed he had investigated claims that Officer Bashtard possessed a soul, and could find no evidence supporting that claim. All these experts have since disappeared under mysterious circumstances, and all their houses received burning Ichthys (Jesus fish symbols) on their lawns shortly after speaking with us. The burning Ichthys is, of course, the symbol and calling card of The Righteous Brotherhood For The Ethnic Cleansing of Vespuccia. In fact, their nickname among those who hate them is "The Ichthyits," a pun on "idiots."
Medical reports pertaining to his post-shooting medical examination, which we stole from the hospital, also showed that Officer Bashtard had and has none of the complaints which he claimed to have gotten from the attack, not even the paper-cut. The proof burned up in the fire that took our office building, sadly. And the original records have also vanished.
In response to the ruling of "self-defense," the black community peacefully protested in Colinson. Colinson police, needing the peaceful protesters to look bad, sent in tanks to fire concussion grenades and pepper spray bombs at the protesters. Protesters naturally fought back in self defense, which is being reported by most media outlets as an unjustified riot. But since Ye Olde Goldyn Appyl Presse refused Rufus Moneybags' buy-out offer three years ago, we can report the news as it really is, rather than being part of Rufus's Propaganda Conglomerate. (That is not editorializing, that is literally what he calls it.) (2)
The reporters of all conventional media news have been expressing bewilderment that the people of Colinson and others around the country of Vespuccia would be rioting, despite the fact that last year, when the country of Gogtorok declared war on the nation of Delshinki because a Delshinkian ambassador insulted the head chef at a roadside hovel, to which Gogtorok nuked Delshinki until all that remains are horrifying mutants whose chief export these days is their own bodily slime (which makes an excellent machine lubricant), those same reporters had no problem understanding the anger of the Gogtorokkans. Reporters in the mainstream media have also been calling the protesters all kinds of names that are not fit to be repeated here.
The vilification of young Tyke Tanner by the mainstream media has been very thorough. Lacking any real "dirt" on him, they have begun claiming that the 2 year old had a bad habit of screaming at his mother and throwing his food at her in a tantrum, and when that wasn't enough to justify the murder of a toddler, they reported that the boy's great-grandfather once visited a speakeasy and had a single glass of wine before leaving peacefully and never breaking another law for the rest of his life (even the obscure ones nobody enforces anymore), which "obviously means" that the boy "is a hardened hooligan" and thus "had to be put down like a rabid dog." Never mind that Vampires, most of whom are white, were accepted into our culture 10 years ago and are never prosecuted for drinking the blood of homeless people until their victims die; I guess being adapted to sunny climates and therefore being walking, talking evidence in favor of evolution merits more hatred than does murdering the lower class for their blood; but I guess the police can't prosecute the Vampires for having an activity in common with the upper class. (Okay, that was editorializing, and I apologize.) (No I don't.)
Protesters are also angry that The Righteous Brotherhood For The Ethnic Cleansing of Vespuccia had raised a billion dollars for Officer Bashtard's defense fund, money he is now taking with him to Bermuda, most of which went into a down payment on a 20 story mansion made entirely of platinum. It is said to be so bright that you can literally see it from the moon; our contacts in New Luna - the capitol city of the moon - have confirmed this. In fact, there is even a 30-foot tall carbon nanotube wall around the mansion, because without it, the mansion is so bright that it catches the neighboring environments and cities on fire with the intensity of its light, and Officer Bashtard has enough money already without adding "genocide by fire" to his list of crimes.
But perhaps nobody is more upset at all this fuss than President Chortle Squadhammer, the half-black, half-Vampire President of Vespuccia, whose first act as President 7 years ago was to declare National Racism Is Officially Dead Month. But we wouldn't know for sure, as President Squadhammer's only official response was to condemn the riots, saying, "the only justifications for violence are drinking the blood of the poor, nuking third world countries for oil, and cutting off the hands of third-world children who don't work hard enough picking cocoa beans." Well, Mr. President, we here at Ye Olde Goldyn Appyl Presse declare 2014 to be National Racism Is Officially UnDead Year.
PS: There are Vampires outside the door to our storage unit, and we are afraid. Please send garlic and Garth Brooks CD's via Owl Post to 2342 Stoat Boat Shoal, New Dover City, Texarkansasoma, USV 43449, as Vampires are physically harmed by Garth Brooks's music.
(1) = Please see last month's article about Mr. Gargleford Nugget's lawsuit, "Nugget Vs ViewCube," wherein he sued ViewCube for claiming they had a copyright on Mr. Nugget's face, and that he could not film himself without their permission, a case he lost. ViewCube, a once massively popular online video service, is now filled entirely with videos by ViewCube employees of them making fart jokes and reading private emails sent via SqueeMail, the free email service offered by ViewCube's parent company, Bajillion.
(2) = On that note, we apologize that gwn.yeoldegoldynappylpresse.nws has been replaced with an image of a dancing gerbil giving everyone The Finger, but the Internet was recently bought by Mr. Rufus Moneybags, and he has banned us from the Internet. This is why your subscription has had to be delivered to your window via Owl Post, as Mr. Moneybags does not believe in wizards to such a degree that a wizard could literally turn his son into a toad in front of his eyes and he would see neither the wizard nor the transformation (and would probably stomp on the toad), and so has not been able to buy out wizarding communication networks.
I have a species of people in my main scifi universe, they are called Ah'Koi Bahnis. They are hermaphrodites with a long green, retractable, prehensile penis that looks like a snake or a worm or a tentacle without suckers, which is called a grahbihn. (Click that link for a demonstrative picture.) Most of my friends know about the Ah'Koi Bahnis, and my fascination with the culture and religion I made for them, to the point that I adopted it as my own. And I had thought Brooke was one of the friends who knew I wanted to be an Ah'Koi Bahnis, but either I was wrong or she forgot.
Anyway, so last night Brooke gave me one of those Good News/Bad News pronouncements. What follows is a lot of paraphrasing:
Brooke: Good news: You have the female-looking body you want. Bad news: You have a grahbihn.
Me: How is that bad news? They're retractable, so I would just look like a cis woman. Besides, I would love to have one.
Brooke, recovering quickly: Well it would be hard to explain to a gynecologist. And you just KNOW he or she would find something "off" about your anatomy.
Me: LOL, good point. I can just picture him poking around down there, being like "What's this?" and accidentally triggering it coming out and wrapping around his head in self-defense or something. Poor man would be psychologically scarred for life. *laughing*
Brooke: He'd be like "WHAT ARE YOU?" He'd call security and you'd end up in Area 51 being studied.
To which she just recently added: "BTW, the you with a grabahn(sp?) bit from last night? Just occured to me that you could be charged with "carrying a concealed weapon" "
I then had to explain that it's called a grahbihn, with an i, and that Grahbahn with an a is the name of the Deity of Life. Further explained that "grah" means "worm," "bahn" means "person," and "bihn" means something along the lines of "thing" or "member." So grahbihn with an i = "worm thing/ worm member." Grahbahn with an a = "Worm Person."
EDIT: Actually, kengr, it occurs to me now just how right you are. With a body like that, I would not look like a cis woman, at least not on closer inspection. I wouldn't have a clitoris!
Well... these "tacos" looked about as much like tacos as raccoons look like human beings. I don't even know what they were made of; the goop inside... all I can say for sure about it was that it was fatty and may have been made of plant matter of some kind. And may have had animal matter in it, too. But seriously, this thing didn't really look like food.
For one thing, tacos are always either soft-shelled or hard-shelled. Somehow, these were both at the same time. I am not sure, but I *think* they spread their goop in a tortilla, folded it over, and pan-fried it (or used a griddle) so that the sides got crunchy while the fold stayed flexible.
Seriously, though; the yellow-brown mess they served me barely even qualified as food. At least Taco Bell stuff *looks* like real food, mostly. The tacos JITB has looked like they were designed by someone who had only ever heard tacos described fourth-hand, wasn't too skilled at making food, and probably has never required food themselves. Thus, my theory is this: The Jack In The Box CEO sold his/her soul to a demon in order to get the business back from bankruptcy back when that whole "tainted beef" thing was going on. Said demon had an intern, very enthusiastic but has never dealt directly with humans before. Said demon was one day approached by the intern with a recipe for a new food item for Jack In The Box to sell. The demon was like "Dude, this doesn't even look like human food. It looks like you took some antique parchment, spread manure on it, and folded it in half. What is this supposed to BE, anyway?"
"It's a taco, Master!"
*Gives intern the side-eye* "Sure it is. Listen, kid; I admire your enthusiasm, but nobody in their right mind is going to eat this unless they're fucking starving half to death or on a dare or something."
"I'll bet you that it will be a big seller!" says the intern.
The demon laughs and says "You're sure to lose, so yeah. I'll promote you to Senior Undersecretary if you somehow win this bet."
They shook on it. And to the demon's utter astonishment, the intern won. The intern is now much higher in the demon hierarchy (or lower, as the case may be) and the demon has taken to drinking too much and going "The stupid... it burns..."
Nonetheless, I have to admit, for all its ugliness, it... wasn't terrible. It fullfilled the fast-food industry requirements of being fatty and addictive, hitting the pleasure centers of the brain to get you hooked. And if I were sufficiently desperate for a fast-food fix, I would eat it again. Even though it's the fast-food equivalent of cocaine cut with powdered laundry detergent: the quality sucks, you put your health at risk ingesting it, and it feels weird going in, but it gets the job done.
Molly: Bird turd!
Tempest: Bird turd is the word.
Alex: Furred bird turd is the word.
Tempest: Spurred furred bird turd is the word.
Molly: Whirred spurred furred bird turd is the word.
Alex: Whirred spurred furred bird turd curd is the word, I heard.
Alex: I WIN!
Alex: Whirred spurred furred bird turd curd herd is the word, I heard.
Lately, the woman has been setting off her smoke alarm every 15 minutes when she cooks. I'd say she's a bad cook, but honestly, when I first moved in I found the smoke detectors so sensitive that they'd go off if I used the electric kettle (which was nowhere near the smoke detector), the steam would set it off. So we take the battery out when cooking.
We got so annoyed with this latest trend that we actually went up there the other day (me fighting acrophobia the whole time) to teach the poor woman (a Muslim we suspect is an immigrant) how to take the battery out of the thing when she cooks. Which she seems to have been doing.
But here's the thing: I'm a pagan. My roommate is a Christian. When we got back, my roommate said, "How long does it take a pagan, a Christian, and a Muslim to take the battery out of a smoke detector? Sounds like the start of a bad joke."
First mistake: the steps on the stairs leading to the place where the door would be, were too big. There were only two steps, but each step was almost as tall as my character was. When I pointed out the absurdity of this design and asked if its architect was a sadist, all I got were stares of the kind that made *my* character look like the weirdo.
Second mistake: There was no door into the building. We had to climb up on the railing, lean out into the air, and be grabbed by someone already inside and pulled in. When I asked if we could try the back door, the others looked at me with a "what is a door?" expression on their faces.
A fun bit from that dream: 1. John Cleese played the role of the headmaster. (This was a British school.)
Sort of related: most of us in this collective are so timid and quiet that if it was just us in here, we would frequently miss two bus stops trying to get out of packed buses with whispered "Excuse me, I need through"s, but Alex just does stuff like shouting "OY! MOVE IT OR LOSE IT!" much louder than any of the rest of us could manage. What *we* consider us shouting is still barely audible to most people; Alex could probably shout down a Marine. Seriously, if we need to be loud about something, Alex is the one to pull to the front. He literally once helped someone *else* get off the bus by being the only person to shout "COMING OFF!" loud enough that the bus driver heard him despite us being in the back of the bus. So yeah, if you're ever with me and I've been mostly very quiet like usual and I suddenly shout really loud, that's Alex doing it.
Also, if we needed to be mean to someone (like for comebacks), we would call on him, because when he can manage to force aside The Filter, he's quick-witted and has a tongue like a razor blade. We would find it difficult to call someone a poopy head, but he'd snap back that they were "a baby-raping, half-sentient sack of horse-shit and I hope you drown in your own vomit!" He's also quicker than the rest of us to flip off people who need it, and he'll often do stuff like shout "FUCKING ASSHOLE! WATCH WHAT THE FUCK YOU'RE DOING!" at people who do shit like turning into pedestrian zones when we've got the white light.
Where the hell was this guy when I was being bullied in school? If I can, I'm going to reincarnate to another universe where Alex joins the system around age 5, just to see how differently things would turn out.
As it is, we've been working on getting him to be able to break through The Filter more often. :-)
So the dream was about this odd family that is hard to describe. The parents drink, smoke, and cuss like sailors. The whole family (parents and two boys) fight frequently, but that seemed to be their way of expressing love for one another. The whole family spoke with a British accent, were nudists, and did some kind of family business where they all worked on some kind of art that they sold at scifi/fantasy conventions. Aside from the nudism and the geekiness, they were like British rednecks.
At the beginning of the dream, I was seeing everything from the younger boy's point of view, but I was just observing through him, I wasn't actually him. The older boy didn't seem to like the younger boy; I'd guess their ages at 8 and 9. The older boy teased the younger mercilessly, when he wasn't ignoring him, and even pushed him into a pile of animal dung at one point. But later in the dream, the two get a lot closer.
Halfway through the dream, they moved into a house that was extremely crappy, and it took on the aspect of a sitcom. The house apparently used to be a meth lab, but was decontaminated. But the house was also dilapidated; in one scene, they were replacing floorboards that had rotted. In another scene, they couldn't get through the door to the main bedroom. In his search for an entrance, the father went onto the roof for some reason, and fell through the roof into the bedroom... just as the rest of his family got through the door.
Something was wrong with the boys' bedroom, and they spent the first night out in a tent in the yard.
At some point in the dream, the younger boy realized that his older brother was a trans boy. For some reason, this had never been an issue; the boy even peed standing up somehow, without help. This was not some tomboyish girl, no; this boy OOZED male-ness, radiated it like the enriched uranium of gender. Like the rest of his family, he cursed like a sailor and fought at the drop of any hat.
The two boys even drank, too. But their father limited them to one beer a day.
After I woke up and started thinking about them again, I got more of the story. The older boy had violently rejected anything remotely feminine, and so by the time he was 1, they knew he was a boy. And a story idea appeared wherein the younger boy turns out to be a t-girl; she didn't realize this until after figuring out that her brother was a t-boy. How was it coming out in that family? They were in a store when she asked her mom if they could go to the girls' section for new school clothes. Mom's response was a quick glance, then a nod.
When she told her father, his response was "Well we have a daughter now, eh? So would you like a different name now?"
Because I'd gotten the names of the boys: the older one is Jamie, the younger *was* Chuck and then became Julia.
Oh, and another thing: they all have nicknames for each other. Chuck *was* called up-Chuck by his brother. He in turn called Jamie "Jim sock." I don't know the details for the parents yet.
One last bit: they may fight a lot, but the older brother's attitude to his younger sibling is "Only *I* get to beat (him/her) up!" And he'll beat the living shit out of anyone who hurts his sibling.
But yeah, I'm fascinated by this family.