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No Pigs on the Futon Below are 10 entries, after skipping 10 most recent ones in the "Pope William T Wodium" journal:

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April 16th, 2008
08:14 pm

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Son of 2/31/CUS
Setting Orange the Thirty-Second of Discord in the Year CUS

I'm hungry, so I won't be writing long. Consider this a follow-up to yesterday's entry.

The exam went well, mostly thanks to my special privileges as one of the Brain Addled (said privileges amounting to Time-and-a-Half, in this instance). With ten minutes remaining of an originally seventy-five minute period and with three of eight questions yet to be answers, I was permitted to flee to [A Secure Testing Location] where I could finish my exam in something approaching peace. What peace was lacking was made up for by access to a vending machine. (Extra time is nice, but entailed in that is a test which is extra long. Strength must be kept up.)

And that drink from last entry? I kid you not. Down to the frosting, that stuff was a red Froot Loop in cool, refreshing liquid form.

I'm off to eat and purchase a burrito in the opposite of that order. Don't fall into the sewers and die.

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April 15th, 2008
12:22 am

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Prickle-Prickle the Thirty-First of Discord in the Year CUS

I just returned from Time-Out, a restaurant, where I had the disturbing experience of drinking a beverage with the consistency of cold water and the flavor of a red Froot Loop. The resemblance on both counts was so precise as to be uncanny.

Time-Out is a good restaurant if you like chicken, biscuits, and mashed potatoes and gravy. It's certainly convenient, at least insofar as it never closes. (24 Hours a Day, 365 Days a Year!, the sign proclaims.) It's a block farther to walk than other places, but nowhere much is open at 11:40 on Mondays here. Monday is the worst; it's easier to get a bite on Sunday, which is a little odd in some ways.

I'm incorporating naps into my weekly sleep patterns, and I'm also hoping that the place I found will be suitable for holding class outdoors on Thursday. The class in question is my poetry-of-everywhere-and-forever Engl 390, and the final exam for it is in about twelve hours. We'll still have class twice after the test though, and I just remembered that there's no class on Thursday, so they'll both be next week. With hope, the weather will be a bit less cold then. I'd say "warmer," but if you get much warmer than it was last week, you shift out of "warm" and into "hot." I'll be happy if it just stops getting chilly every time it rains. Rain is good, but warm rain is nice, and that's not at all the same thing.

Good. That's done, and now I'm moving on to the other things I'll do tonight. Mostly I just wanted to share about the Froot Loop drink.

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March 4th, 2008
05:11 pm

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Pungenday the Sixty-Third of Chaos in the Year CUS

Gary Gygax dies at 69

A moment of hush for Gary Gygax
For dragons in dungeons, a dwarf with an ax
For skeletons, dire rats, funny-shaped dice,
For pencils and paper. You know, it was nice
To sit in our basements, garages and churches
Pretend to be elves being blood-sucked by stirges
And all the while know that beside Lake Geneva
Dwelt Gary Gygax: that grand make-believer
Who cared so much more about wizards and prophets
Than stale business models and end-quarter profits.
Here's to ol' Gary, beloved cavalier
Who gamely gamed on through his sixty-ninth year;
He mangled the myths and distorted the past
But you have to admit - the great Gygax had class.

- Scott William T W Horton, on reading of the death of G. Gygax 3/4/2008

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01:00 am

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Answer the Question
Pungenday the Sixty-Second of Chaos in the Year CUS

How much bound round ground could a bound round ground hound hound if a bound round ground hound could be found bound to hound bound round ground (for a round pound of round ground round)?

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February 22nd, 2008
12:37 am

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Who encompasses the compass-maker?
Pungenday the Fifty-Third of Chaos in the Year CUS

I have experienced the miraculous.

When I was walking away from campus to see the eclipse last night (it was cool, in that celestial way, but fell just short of spectacular; I expected blood-red, and I got a cloudy tiger-orange, like a sunset without the pink, red, or purple), I pulled my compass out of my jacket pocket and discovered it was broken. I didn't even know they did that, but there it was, quite thoroughly broke. Something I'd done to my jacket had been just a little too much for the poor plastic device and the needle had come off the base and it was so long, Columbus. Oh, well. I'd wanted to use the bearing to the moon for reference once I'd left familiar territory, but as it happened I didn't really need to.

Still, it was a bummer that it had broken, so I mentioned this to my roommate a little while ago ("I didn't even know they did that,") and pulled the compass out of my jacket pocket to show him.

It wasn't broken!

It un-broke.

What?

I have lost my faith in objective reality. I am wondering if the next thing is to start a religion. Help me.

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November 21st, 2007
06:32 am

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Setting Orange the Thirty-Third of Aftermath in the Year CUR

Hey, everybody, I'll be twenty-one years old in a couple of days. I'm a free man as of a couple of days ago.

This means that I no longer work at the Unnamed Dine-In Restaurant and that the United States of America will consider me all the way an adult soon, not respectively. Also that I will eat a turkey tomorrow, just as I will the day before my birthday four times every twenty-eight years, assuming I'm capable and inclined to celebrate both holidays for the rest of eternity.

Last year my birthday was on Thanksgiving. That won't happen again until I turn thirty-one. This is because of leap year.

I leave you with Yankee Doodle:

Yankee Doodle went to Georgia, driving a Ferrari
Just to see a girl he knew to try and say he's sorry

Yankee Doodle, keep it up
Yankee Doodle driver
He's a man of business, yes
But not a nine-to-fiver

Yankee Doodle found religion stuffed into his dresser
Took it to the Catholic church and told his new confessor

Yankee Doodle, keep it up
Yankee Doodle sinner
Tell our Lord that you repent
And fry some fish for dinner

Yankee Doodle went to Egypt, just to see the pharaohs
Took the girl from Georgia with, and they made quite a pair! Oh,

Yankee Doodle, keep it up
Yankee Doodle trav'ler
Nothing gets her blood to pump
Like cent'ries old cadavers

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November 3rd, 2007
04:47 am

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Beans
Boomtime the Fifteenth of Aftermath in the Year CUR

I just had my supper.
A supper of beans.

But, beans are alright. Beans are important.
I like beans.
Though, they're not musical. And they're certainly not fruit.
They're actually seeds.

They're exalbuminous.
I forget what that means.

They may not be fruit,
but they're sure as hell beans.

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September 20th, 2007
07:16 pm

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Pungenday the Forty-Fourth of Bureaucracy in the Year CUR

In honor o' the occasion, here be a sea-shanty I wrote some time ago, concerning some friends o' mine:

First Mate McGraw is missing an eye
He won't tell you how, he won't tell you why
I hear that it sits in a jar on a shelf
An' I can't shake the notion he did it hisself

. . . Yo ho ho an' a hiddley-hee
. . . Drink in the breeze an' the salt o' the sea
. . . Yo ho ho an' a hiddley-hum
. . . Pieces of eight an' a bottle o' rum!

Murderin' Tom's a first mate as well
He sailed in that night on the Mistress o' Hell
Came to this tavern in search o' McGraw
That hideous grin meant he liked what he saw

. . . Yo ho ho an' a hiddley-hee
. . . Drink in the breeze an' the salt o' the sea
. . . Yo ho ho an' a hiddley-hum
. . . Pieces of eight an' a bottle o' rum!

Barnabas Crupp's a terrible sight
His fingers are black, his pupils are white
I'll tell ye the tale how his fingers turned black:
That's all that touched Hell 'fore Ol' Scratch threw him back

. . . CHORUS

First Mate McGraw is missin' a hand . . .Collapse )


Yarr.

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12:10 pm

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ITLPD, CUR
Pungenday the Forty-Forth of Bureaucracy in the Year CUR

Ahoy, me maties! Though me own arse be late,
'Twas that International Talk Like A Pirate Date
So wheree'er ye went an' whate'er ye ate,
Ye better've talked talked like a pirate, mate!


Arr. Yer good captain, Smilin' Scott Silver th' Splenophrenic, spent the better part o' yesterday slavin' away in the galley, so he did, scrapin' the bunghole-leavings off o' landlubber's plates. Not a happy pirate was he, mark me words. So, seein' as I missed all the plank walkin' and timber shiverin' yesterday, I'm declaring International Talk Like A Pirate Day today - for meself only.

Yarrr!

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September 12th, 2007
09:36 am

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Apologies to the Beadles
Setting Orange the Thirty-Sixth of Bureaucracy in the Year CUR

In the town where I was born
There lived a man who cured disease
And he told us of his life
In the land of diocese
So we joined the Holy Church
And obeyed the Pope's decrees
And we lived among the priests
In the Catholic Diocese

We all live in the Catholic Diocese
The Catholic Diocese
The Catholic Diocese
We all live in the Catholic Diocese
The Catholic Diocese
The Catholic Diocese

And our friends all love the Lord
They serve the clergy for room and board
And the organ starts to play

We all live in the Catholic Diocese
The Catholic Diocese
The Catholic Diocese
We all live in the Catholic Diocese
The Catholic Diocese
The Catholic Diocese . . .



So let's all give an Apple Corey welcome to rexx Morgan, KSC, newest and bluest of the Furst Church of Ripley the Cat! Like a few other Members Good at Standing (xkcd, des_demento, I'm looking at you), he was drawn to the Church by the enigmatic presence and cataclysmic sexiness of our very own Lord ripley_the_cat, Brigadier Saint of Eris Discordia and Feline Fire Chief (Soporific Subdivision). I get the feeling he prefers Robert Anton Wilson to Omar Khayyam Ravenhurst, but we all have our flaws. (I hear gin_and_satori still thinks the Joshunortonian dating system is heretical, the heretic.)

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