The Problem With Pigeons

Fights for our side now. Agent 63...

Yesterday +Michael Penick and I were discussing the very real scatological threat posed by city birds, and it quickly became apparent that something far more sinister was at work than just a bunch of inconsiderate flying rats. They couldn't possibly be acting alone.

To that end:
At 2300 Zulu yesterday a small team was dispatched from our headquarters in Nepal to New York City. Their mission was to capture as many birds as possible and return them for interrogation. This crack unit successfully detained and exfiltrated 73 live pigeons, and one who died on the table. Apparently the birds fought like champions, but of course we overcame them with superior intellect, technology, and insightful strategy.

At this very moment we are placing them in the modified surgical interrogation rigs that were previously used for the koalas (the cutest infestation ever!) and are calculating the appropriate anesthetic doses.

The basic plan involves using Directed Quantum Therapy to change the harmonics on 3 of the dimensional strings at the center of each atom in their little bird bodies. This will allow them to process information like a human. At this stage they will be taught simple linguistics (think esperanto for first graders) and subsequently questioned.

Hopefully we'll be able to get to the bottom of this and rid ourselves, and the pigeons, of whatever dark force holds them in thrall and makes them act like total jerks. I suspect they don't like it any more than we do.

Of course any bird who chooses to cooperate will be given their choice of freedom or minion (to be sent to +Colin McK to reinforce his homicidal librarian - who hopefully hasn't gone rogue or been destroyed). Any bird who chooses not to cooperate ... well ... the term surgical interrogation rig does have a rather specific meaning...

When it comes to the problem with pigeons, the beak is stopping here.

Pantyhose and Alchemy

This is not Joey, but it could be...

When I was a kid (in the 70's) I had an uncle named Joey that could make gold from old pantyhose. I always kind of figured he had something going on the side, because he didn't work but had a really nice stereo, sharp duds, and traveled constantly.

I wheedled his secret out of him one night when I was 10 years old and he was drunk. I kept bugging him about where his money came from, and I guess he got tired of it. He told me that he got old support pantyhose (support hose worked best he said) from my grandma, and could get about an ounce of gold from 6 pairs. I was totally amazed and wanted to know more but he got all quiet and shifty eyed when my dad came in the room (my father's terrible sense of timing has plagued me my entire life).

A couple of years after that we were at his mansion for a visit with my grandma when I caught her slipping him a paper grocery bag in the kitchen - I could see that it was full of pantyhose. They both jumped when I came around the corner but Joey told her it was OK (I realized then that grandma must have been getting a cut of the gold - explains the corvette that she drove), and motioned for me to follow him into the backyard.

He had an old shed out back with a padlock on the door and this is where he kept what he called 'The Goose'. It sat on an old workbench in the shed and looked like an old beatup mini fridge with a red funnel sticking out of the top. He opened it up and I saw a smallish metal basket resting inside. Grinning, Joey stuffed the pantyhose from the paper bag into this basket. Then he closed and latched the door, and picked up a gas can from the floor.

"The secret is the kerosene." He sagely informed me, and tipped the can, pouring the clear liquid into the red funnel on The Goose. One of my clearest childhood memories is of that moment - the smell of the kerosene, Joey's striped bell bottoms and gold chain, and that bright red funnel. Oh that funnel!

Then he set the can down, reached around the back of the device, and flipped a switch. The Goose started to quietly hum. I was enthralled.

"That's it for now." he said "We have to wait a couple of weeks for it to finish."

"Wow" I said.

"Don't tell your fucking dad." He added, jabbing a finger at me.

Then we left the shed and he padlocked the door behind us. I never saw the finished product as Uncle Joey died exactly one week later driving my grandma's corvette. She got a new one (a new corvette that is, not a new uncle Joey) so I always figured that she got the machine after that, and I NEVER told my dad.

I'm relaying all this now because my grandmother passed away last month (yes, very sad. She will be missed), and from her will I received a single large cardboard box. Can you guess what was in it? Yep! The Goose! Yay! After all these years.

I managed to finagle some old pantyhose from my sister in law (boy was that an awkward conversation) for the promise of a corvette sometime in future, and I started a batch last night. The Goose is here beside me now, humming quietly, and I'm here beside myself also - waiting for the two weeks to be up.

Anticipation is a bitter mistress indeed...

Screw Wireless

I don't name detonators...

About 10 years ago, before they poured the driveway at my house I buried a small watertight cannister of C4 with a battery powered detonator underneath it. In case I had to like ... disable the driveway or something. Well now its time to change the damn battery and it turns out I'm going to have to tear up that entire section of concrete just to get to it. For a 10 dollar lithium battery. DOH!

Screw wireless - that's my new motto when it comes to detonators. From here on out I'm going to hardwire whenever possible. It's just simpler, and a damn sight cheaper.

P.S. I always make my chimp Little Elvis wire up my C4 detonators, but not because it's too dangerous for a human. He's just better at it.

No Exsanguination Required

Her name is Bella...

This is an update to my previous post about my lycanthropic homunculus.

Good news! I have found a new home for Little Arturo! Or, actually he found it himself. The last few nights of the new moon (for some reason he only changes on the new moon, not the full) he has been escaping from his cage and leaving the house. I haven't worried too much because he's eaten all of the other pets and hasn't seem interested in breaking stuff, so I've just kind of been letting him go. I was honestly glad to be rid of the destructive little guy, if only for a few hours.

Well last night my curiosity got the better of me so I followed him to see where he went. WELL, it turns out that there is a crazy Lycan Lady in our neighborhood! Yep! Once out of his cage he made an immediate beeline for a backyard about 3 houses away where someone had set out a bowl of entrails for him, and not only that, but there was another lycan homunculus there with him. A girl! :)

It turns out that there are quite a few feral homunculii running around our neighborhood (who knew?), and this lady always makes sure that there is food and whatnot set out for them. She also has a few domesticated of her own, and Little A's new girlfriend belongs to this nice lady. So she was more than happy to let him make his new home with them. This is so awesome! Everybody wins!

Just wanted to let you all know that the problem is solved, and without having to exsanguinate the little guy!

Postcards from the Edge - Tree on Fire

From a postcard sent to a happy little camper this summer...

This tree's name is Stan...

Hello my sweetie pie! I hope you are having a blast!

Your grandparents came over last night for an arm wrestling match and a foot race. The race was pretty mellow and I don't think I need to tell you who won, but then they started arguing during the strength contest. It got out of hand pretty quick!

They started wrestling all over the kitchen and knocked over the monkey cage, so the chimp got involved.

I just left.

When I got back home they were gone, but all of the lights in the house were on and the tree out front was on fire. :(

When will I learn? Oh well ...

I love you and miss you!!! 

xoxoxoxo - Xix

Life's Little Lessons #84

Austin...

I once had a friend who owned a poker playing chimpanzee. The chimp's name was Austin. Austin could beat just about everybody I knew at the game, because Austin was the best damn cheater I've ever seen. He palmed, counted, and bluffed like a pro. Once he even put his cigar out on a mans hand to distract him. He was an asshole monkey, but he was our asshole monkey and he was worth a gold mine!

Sadly, in the end, he died in a car accident. He wasn't driving but he had been drinking. I still miss him...

Moral of the story:
The only thing cooler than a poker playing chimp is a belligerent poker playing chimp who cheats!

What part of 'No Soliciting' do you not understand?

Unnamed illiterate...

There is a large red stain on the entry carpet at the front door. I don't know where it came from, it just was kind of there one day. Creepy right? Whenever we get salesmen or proselytizers I stand with the door open and shift my eyes between them and the stain as they are giving their pitch. When they are done I say: "Come on in, stand right here," - gesturing at the stain - "and don't move."

Usually they decline.

This works even better if I happen to be holding skin moisturizer or duct tape at the time...