Hitchhiking is dangerous… too dangerous. Cannibals, you know.

I’ve been described as “A huge, hulking creature, with thick drool gurgling through tremendous pearly white fangs…a thick, bristly hide of poisonous quills and razor-sharp, rotating spines, exhaling a noxious, flammable gas from dripping nostrils, and can fire a concentrated energy beam from squinky, red eyeballs.”

I don’t have rotating dorsal spines and electrical ray-gun eyeballs. I am kind of husky though, and the nose drip and eye redness is only when I hit something I’m allergic to. The Noxious, flammable gas doesn’t come from my nose, and that’s only when I have a lot of broccoli.

Dave is a go for Lost realms this morning. That’s good!

Newt’s a sweetie… i ran out of soft treats to give him, and instead just poured a few kibs into my palm for him to have. He ate them just as greedily. I think he just likes being hand-fed by his mamma.

Received a wrong number phone call this morning… I’ve had them call before. A 6:15 call wasn’t what I was wanting to start the day with, but it got me up and moving. I’m off to the quest… until later, dear journal!

continuing a headstone theme…

From earlier this year, dream of Newt at a graveyard, breaking a skellie…

Newt knocking the head off of a skeleton.

I’m going to hop into my amazing x-5 nitro-burning dyna-plunge® crust-crawler sedan, made in Austria (probably by hopping gnomes), designed for burrowing lithely through the earth and into dreamland, with my sweetie by my side. (I saw an ad for it in the back of Hammerhead Comics, right next to the one for X-ray specs:”Look at your friend’s head. Is that really the throbbing brain within?”) Hee-hee! After working all summer at the state fair’s pony-ride concession, I sent away, and six to eight weeks later, Hoo-Boy!

Off to dream Leopard-spotted dreams of comfort and rest.

Nighters, dear journal.

I’m going to write you a reality check…or would you prefer the cold, hard cash of truth? -The Tick

Wow, Wachovia lets you do things *easily*

I set up a nice checking/savings system over the web, and I got a human to call me back in about an hour to verify stuff.. it’ll be open by Tuesday for me to drop my funds into. easy as pie.

Off to a good start, unlike the lamebrains at Washington mutual. Service means something to me… service with better interest rates.. yum!

Tomorrow’s Journey…I’m going to head out at approximately 11 am for Lost realms… (the gaming store that Mark works at now) I may take Dave or the Bro with… I invited Sappho, and by extension, Riker, but I don’t think that they’re going to come along.

If by bus (should Dave not be able to go – )
Route 81 to Lauderhill Mall,
From there take the 18 North to Boca (Sandalfoot & 441)

Lost Realms – 23066 sandalfoot Drive (maybe a short walk to get to it from the stop.)

Pick up Zombies game, Zombies 2, and bag o’ glow in the dark zombies. plus maybe some terrain, craft supplies and whatever impulse buy crosses my path. Oh, and a New bus pass…this one dies on the 20th.

Here’s what I could have, if only I responded to spam sent to me today – (this is just from 5pm on, I purged my email then)

  • Get Free Shipping on any Adult Video or DVD
  • A Diet Success Story
  • End your tax problems
  • Penis Enlargment!! (spelling error included)Gain 2+ Inches GUARANTEED)
  • Add Inches! Gain 1 to 3 inches on your penis (different place… does that mean I get 3-5+ inches? that’d be unwieldy.)
  • Immediate Debt Help. Eliminate Up To 70% of…
  • Work from home, earn THOUSANDS! (I got four of these…)
  • FIXED term Mortgage at 3.25%, Never Again! (Two of these)
  • Amazing Discovery Coral Calcium

A picture of a tombstone got me to thinking….

Discovered that the only email I seem to get from Bigfoot is spam, anyway. Let it bounce, I say.

bigger tombstone, actual scribble sizebetter looking shrunkenI feel that the resized version actually helps the tombstone out… smoothes it more comfortably, and kills the jaggies.

Reflecting on the little service tunnels in the Boynton Beach mall. when they were building it, my brother and I would run around in there, and I played lazer tag (that spelling always bugged me… it’s LASER! Acronym! Light Amplification by the Stimulated Emission of Radiation! Like SCUBA, or NASA) in them with my buddies at the time. The perfect place to run and hide was underneath the escalators being built… reminds me…when I was a child, I remember having nightmares about escalators. They were in department stores, so underneath them, bathed in the green light, lived the mannequins. Where else would they live when they weren’t wearing clothes? a whole nation of subterranean naked mannequins…maybe it’s just me, but it’s still sort of scary.

I just looked at the mall food directory… the Taco Viva (yikes… whose nephew did they get to do the homepage?) I first worked at is gone. Fun times in the giant freezer, with rubber gloves full of frozen “el scorcho” sauce, set up to look like a lopped off arm… the mop dipped in hot water, and then slapped against the roof, freezing it there. I wonder which place replaced it? I didn’t know that Taco Viva, like Burger King and Miami Subs got its start in South Florida… I wonder if it’s just a local phenomenon? Weird… the first Taco Viva that ever opened was launched exactly a year and a day before I was born. I still remember the horrible Clint Eastwood “Mirage” commercials of folks lost in the desert, only to find a Viva oasis… (MM! over salted, spicy food when you’ve been trapped in thirsty heat!) When the person said “MmmM! Great taco, it all evaporated, because “he didn’t say viva…” “When you say taco, say viva” was the tagline. This is what the viva looked like, to a degree. A 3-d drawing of the old place… very strange seeing it like that, something like 17 years later. Thing is, they have far better food than Taco Bell… fresher, better portions, and serve beer with the meal in the food court. When I gamed with the Colinas, it was a regular mall staple. (Though they eventually turned me on to the much cheaper bell )Now I wonder if there are any Perkins or Lums left. (After research, Perkins, big yes, Lums… mehbeh.)

Anyhow, running around the mall after hours, whooping loudly, and laughing with the big security guard guy… what was his name? PJ? Something like that. I can’t remember but he was a nice guy, though sort of creepy because he was 30ish and seemed immature to us 16-year-old guys. A giant empty mall is the best place to play lazer tag, ever. Especially if you have two teams of about six people each.

Parting Quote from Norville “Shaggy” Rogers –

Hey, lady! Like, I thought this was America? I don’t want to live in a country where four hippies and a talking dog can’t have the freedom to catch fake ghosts with the occasional help of Phyllis Diller or the Harlem Globetrotters! That’s my America! And while you may not agree with my opinion, you’re not gonna change it!

Last but surely not least…
HAPPY 2ND BIRTHDAY LITTLE LEXIE LUTHOR!

If Zombies walked the earth, I’d wear a helmet.

Erica came by tonight with Bailey, so that he and Dexter could run around and play, while she caught us up on what’s new in her life… work/school/dance pretty much. She mentioned that she’s looking for an after-hours job…I don’t know how she can handle that sort of workload… you’d think that she’d like four free hours a week to rest and recover. I suspect that she’s tight for money right now, though.

Picture of Dexter And Bailey tonight, after hours

Rather cool out this morning…. quite nice, really. Tomorrow, I’m going to remember the GPS, and measure my downhill speed over the drawbridge. I suspect that I’m hitting 25ish mph there. (But I could be vastly overestimating) Note to big-breasted women with too-small bras… the “split-boobie foursome” look isn’t good. Find a top that fits, please. I worry that a too-tight brassiere is cutting off circulation, or is painful in some way.

This weekend I’m swinging by PPF to pick up a bag of 100 glow in the dark zombies, and the Zombies!!! game… a friend there is giving me an employee discount, where he’s throwing in the extra zombie-bag for free! I’ve got to make a point to send a few zombies to friends and family.

Some maintenance guys doing yard work out back… Newt’s fascinated. It’s impressive to me that he’s not frightened of the noise. I think that if he got near a blower, he’d take off, though.

A pic of newt from a few months ago... I'm thinking of submitting it to kittypix or color theory

Spiky, sporadic dreams last night… I don’t remember them too well, because I neglected to commit them to memory right as I woke. I do remember that they were pleasant for the most part, but some adrenaline in there, too.

I’m air?

Dinner tonight is maple & brown sugar oatmeal… I’m too lazy to make anything more complex than prefab oat flakes in microwaved water.

Newt wins this round… he tuckered me out, and is still batting at my wagging foot. He’s a playful little booger.

nigh nigh, dear journal.

A little Fort Lauderdale history..

THE 1836 MASSACRE IN FORT LAUDERDALE
The Killing of the Cooley Family

PLUS:

Fort Lauderdale’s first industry: How to prepare coontie starch

“Cooley was reported to be growing coontie (arrowroot), and he had a mill to make it into starch, the manufacture of which appears to have been the area’s first industry. By 1835, coontie starch was bringing eight cents a pound in northern markets.”

The following text is exactly as it appears in the original:

FROM THE CHARLESTON COURIER

SKETCHES OF THE PENINSULA OF FLORIDA — By Dr. Strobel.

When about half way between New river and the Miami, our water suddenly shoaled, and we were under the necessity of getting out, and dragging our canoe over. This place is called by the people the Dividers, the water south of it running towards the Miami, whilst that on the north empties itself at New river. It appeared to be nothing more than a sand bank running from east to west

As we approached New river, the land upon our right consisted of the same sandy pine barren as I have already described. The Indian arrow root, called coonte, is found here is great quantities. We landed, and collected several roots, which were very large, weighing several pounds. This is the Indian’s principal bread stuff. It is met with in most of the pine barrens in this section of Florida, but it grows in such profusion in this neighborhood, that they come from considerable distances to procure it. Mr. Cooley (whose wife and children were so inhumanly murdered by the Indians a short time since) was engaged in the manufacture of this article, and had brought it to great perfection. The following is the manner of preparing it: A sufficient number of roots being collected, they are peeled, washed, and grated, in the same manner as potatoes, and thrown into large tubs of water. After remaining in soak for a certain length of time, the water is stirred and strained: by this process it is greed of the feculent matter. The coarser portion, thus separated, may be given to hogs, whilst the finer portion, which passes through the sieve, is allowed to settle. The farina, which is almost insoluble in cold water, subsides at the bottom. The water is drawn off, and the yellow portions which remain on the top are removed. The white arrow root, which from its specific gravity, is found at the bottom, is collected, and repeatedly heated with fresh water, until it becomes perfectly pure and white, of a granular, glistening, crystalline appearance. I am inclined to think that , when thus prepared, it is very nearly, if not quite equal, to the Bermuda arrow root, not only as a starch, but also as an article of diet. And here I may as well mention the circumstances attending the murder of Mr. Cooley’s family, as they are calculated to illustrate the treachery of the Indian character. He had resided among them for many years, spoke their language well, and treated them with uniform kindness and hospitality. Indeed, such was his friendship for them that he named his sons after two of their chiefs. Standing in this relations, and confiding in their profession of friendship, which had led him into a fatal security, he left his home for a few days, and returned to find it desolate. His wife and children had been murdered, and the smouldering ruins of his house lay before him. It is a remarkable fact, that the villains who did this deed had not the hardihood to scalp the poor wife and her three innocent children. Was it the recollection of former friendship that induced them thus to spare? Or were they conscious that their own savage colleagues would have blushed for the chivalry of those warriors who could find no work more becoming their tomahawks and scalping knives than the cruel butchery of women and children? The unfortunate schoolmaster shared a different fate; to him they owned no obligation of friendship: he was a man, and, as such, capable of resistance; his scalp was, therefore, torn from him, and borne off as a testimony of their cruel and savage triumph.

It should be borne in mind that, in their devastation of his other property, Mr. Cooley’s manufactory was spared. This, no doubt, will be serviceable to them hereafter, in preparing their food. I have no pretensions of being a military man, but it appears to me that it would be well to place a sufficient body of troops between Cape Sable and New river, to cut off the supplies of the Indians from that quarter, and to prevent them from escaping into the everglades, from whence they may readily pass to the Florida Keys. If they once cut down into the everglades, they will scatter like a covey of partridges, and each one will have to be hunted up separately, which will be an interminable task.

Towards night we came up with several Indian hunters, who were lying around their fire. We went ashore, with the determination of joining them. On our approach, a dog sprung out, and uttered a noise between a yell and a bark, which echoed and re-echoes through the woods. In an instant the Indians were on their feet; but a whoop from JOHN soon brought them down upon their haunches. We went up and seated ourselves around the fire

They at first seemed to take no notice of me, as they sat on the opposite side of the fire, their dusky faces partly obscured by the current of smoke. Occasionally they eyed me sulkily and by stealth. A few words, chiefly monosyllables, passed between them and JOHN, but they did not enter into any length conversation. A silence of some minutes having elapsed, which induced me to believe that I was not a welcome guest, I concluded that something must be done to conciliate. I therefore told John to inform them that I had something to eat, and some fire-water, and that we must be good friends. This information acted upon them like a charm. They began to snuff the air like a parcel of hungry dogs, become more sociable and conciliatory, brought out some fresh venison, which they placed over the coals to broil, having first run a stick through it. To keep my word, I produced my cold ham, and biscuit, and gave each (they were in number three) about a gill of gin; the instantaneous effect of which astonished and alarmed me. It was almost miraculous: from being silent and demure, they became talkative and forward. They insisted upon having more whiskey, and endeavored to possess themselves of the bottle by force, and I was obliged to conceal it. They were now unable to repress their flow of spirits, and began to sing, and dance, and to make the more horrid faces, thrusting their tongues out of their mouths, and rolling their eyes in every direction. As they reeled, and danced, and yelled around the fire, throwing themselves into the most ludicrous attitudes, they resembled a parcel of infernal spirits, or the furies. This sport they continued until perfectly exhausted, when, one by one, they sank upon the ground, and fell into a sleep. I place my buffalo skin on the opposite side of the fire, covered my head with a cloak, and slept soundly until morning. The Indians were up betimes; they rose from their lairs, shook themselves, kindled up the fire, and ate a scanty meal. Upon the subsidence of the effect of the liquor, all their former reserve seemed to have returned. Having collected some coonte, they placed it along with their venison in their canoe, paddled rapidly up the everglades, and were soon out of sight. It being now time for me to think of returning, John and myself took the opposite direction, and paddled back for Cape Florida, and, as we had nothing to delay us, arrived at the Cape about 3 o’clock in the afternoon: there, according to agreement, I found Mr. Dubose’s boat in waiting for me. So that I was enabled to reach the Light-house about six o’clock in the evening.

finn spotted my and sappho’s entry regarding her being annoying here – (the entry is friends-only now.) strangely, she let us know in a weirdly passive-agressive way. She posted a reply, and then came into karen’s office to let us know that she wrote a reply, but didn’t confront us in any way. Instead we spoke about livejournal and puppies.

I went in and smoothed things over with the Finn… turns out that sappho blabbed my aim to karen to diana, and it got back to the finn again… another breach of security.

“If that’s a confession, my ass is a banjo.”

Edgar Allen Poe story… Hop-Frog… men dressed in orangutan outfits set on fire, the perils of drinking wine, and why you shouldn’t piss off a dwarf, even if you are a king.

Mmm…. Mexican sugar skulls.

I lost a game of world war to the palmtop…Mongolia finished my last landmasses in Asia. Before I knew what I was saying, I muttered “F-ing MON-GO-REE-ANS!”. I need a great wall to keep ’em out.

I’ve seen no sign of Oktoberfest anywhere. I missed it! German-American Club (warning, tacky embedded wav), you’re slacking with the advertising. I want a hot pretzel with mustard, and a beer! I guess I’ll have to enjoy Bavarian music and chicken dancing in the privacy of my own home.

Looks like a rainy day today… I’m all for that… I just hope it doesn’t make me too sleepy!

Valhalla, I am coming! Image of Newt as a Viking Kitten, shamelessly taken from rathergood.com

Is Thomas a Rhymer? A Peeper? A Doubter? A Tank Engine?

What’s the plural of Strega? Strege? Streghe? Italian? Albanian?

last day of the 9-5 deal.

just as well… I hope that there’s a minimum of nonsense today. I’d like to get some things done without having to run them twice or four times due to technological troubles.

Something out of a sci-fi magazine… a news story about rocket belts, intrigue, and jealous murder. Yeah, Rocket belts!

Not feeling too talkative….(typeative), and I’ve got to head off to work. until later, dear journal.

Dan and I were just talking on the phone, and composed a lovely entry into the moon pie contest.

Our collaboration was limited to only 100 words per entry, though… so our story had to cut out Rufus the albino green-eyed Asian boy, and his eventual end at the home for the incontinent and criminally insane after blessing the flotilla feast. Also Cut was Barney, and his forest-splitting staccato flatulence. I’ll have to add them to a different, future entry.

It was a lot of fun though… we broke into laughter a few times.

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