I've

got nothing

Left

except for a short story excerpt .

The interview with the Fat Guy.

It's Lion Moyer, the talk-babe. She'd recently been deemed (by deemers of the ultra-fuss) to be 'counter-lectual.' Ya, it was a new word. But it had the dinge of moral force: the essence of veritas and Gubba-ality. It had been a smeer campaign and Lion Moyer was not pleased with her drop in pop(ularity).

Her image consultant: Tendereasem the fashionista from the far ultra fashion establishment (who always walked as if he was turning a corner, negotiating switch backs, like he was on the fashion stage again). Before he'd gained one hundred and twenty five pounds, back in his tranny days on the Sao Paulo stage, when he was popular with the guys. Now he had transitioned (or 'transgendered nicely', coining a new verb) nicely from transgendered gay and lesbian and homosexual to middle-aged doyenne for fashion children (who need a moral guide to help them choose the right connections).

And when he was drunk Tendereasem would often go off into automatic talk-squack mode about 'the good old days.' sometimes lapsing back into the dialects of his Caribbean Island youth (as a kidnapped boy) when the water was warm and the drinks always spiked (kidnapped by his momma-ista) and he was shopped out from father to father, some of the men who would play along. Some of the men who would tell him that they were a 'friend'. some of then wanting to be more of a friend. Tenderesem was able to have an alibi for what happened, so he was heard blathering when he was too drunk (or high on pills, does it matter which?) to know better. So no one faulted him for these 'kill the pedaphile' stories. A swarm of sharks off the port stern. He motors the giant powerboat off towards far away islands. He ship wreaks it on Drinkers Island. There are people there who help him. They seem to know his story. It is like a secret world of liberation. People here escaped from the whore-mongering world of the metro-soppy. It was a nether world (nether-word?) at the bottom of life where these children were forced to breath in the danger and live with the pain that it made them feel. Betrayal by those close to you. Being locked up, tied up, forced. It made Tendeasem bitter for very many years. But on the Island of the Unwanted (Goys, though some of them were not Goys, so don't worry, it just rhymes and sounds funny and invokes an old Holiday Season television show, very metro-wowwsey with a lisp talking puppet doll, obviously a moke up designed with some grand Hollyweirdo old line and washed up sorry sap having been used and then discarded, so sad. But you love him.)

Yes , you love him and see how broken he is. All of the lines where the strings used to be attached seem to have been cut. And now it is not a puppet anymore. There are robotic modes to his elbows. He is now Robo, the ex-fascist puppet (it's a schitk, he was never really a fascist, it's a Punch and Judy thing). But he's actually been modded into an attack drone of sorts. And they say that software is everything? He is holding his own controls! imagine it, people, he is fully autonomous!

And though he has the 'look' of an evil clown molester doll, he is not, in fact, such a creature. In fact no such creature actually exists. It was all a cyber-war FUD stream emanating from the septic Island servers (where such sluge is manufestered by drone clown puppets that look strangely like our evil ex-fascist marionette transformed into a robo-clown).

but because of his very very sad demeanor. And recently empowered, he was able to afford a re-buffing of his face. So he hired a face painter who came over and gave him the look of a fore-lorn stand off in the hills in the sun far away kind of strong male image (of some long ago imagined). It would be the ruddy look of the happy male of the late 19th century. He would be of indeterminate family. You'd see him from behind, or to the side. He'd be there at duty, fully empowered. You can only imagine his face. You never actually see his face. That is how the clown had his face repainted, so that he was that handsome man who stands in the far off place. This is a ridiculous clown. These are out of control faces. He realizes that now he is the aloof clown. He stays away from people.

But when he gets up on stage they all clap so loudly that the roof shakes. Suddenly they realize it is a down-burst. The stage is collapsing.

But he's a puppet with super powers. As the script is pre-known (when the writer uses an outline) the puppet clown robot (he is, after all, manufactured) deploys giant airbags out of his fruffy shirt. He is, of course, unharmed. The stage is propped back up. Everyone is safe. And the show must go on.

But the people are leaving now. They've been scared away. The facade of life is pierced. There is weeping from the teen aged girls. The show is over. The stage doors are shut. The small group of children standing there for autographs from the internatinalist superstar wait with anticipation.

Finally someone comes out the door. Tendeseam is out there fishing for an autograph. The man who emerges says that the puppet-robot has already left. "You can't find him even if you know where he is." says the man. He fleets away off into the misty night of fog, tipping his hat as he skip-scaddles away, fully in an overcoat, fox hints all around (it's Iddy Fox?).

And as the mysterious man runs off they all realize that it was the puppet clown. Not Iddy Fox (another superstar) but the Robot Puppet Clown who used to look like a scary molester though he never was.

Tendeseam went running after the Robot Puppet Clown. But the clown was now gone and far away. That was, in fact, the Robot Puppet Clown's last performance on the Islands and Tendeseam never saw that act again.

After that Tendeseam worked at extorting rich European bankers by posing as an underaged male prostitute and then black mailing them. OK, he didn't discriminated. They didn't have to be bankers. Anyone famous would do. That gig lasted about three years until he was shot by a jealous wife. She had been enraged to discover her husband gay on their wedding night. Tendeseam was paid a large sum of gold which he brought back to the Island of Unwanted Goys (where every castaway and cast-out can feel belonging, goy or non-goy). That handsome bankroll was used to build The Children School where derelict children can be trained in self-reliance and do-it-now-ism.

All of that went very well. They got grant money from a rich ocean tycoon (a drug lord it has been rumored) who had a giant yacht. He would float the yacht near the Island of Unwanted Goys and all of the tourists from the boat would malinger with the children of the Cornflower (who were the inhabitants of the Island of the Unwanted Goy).

At that time the name of the Island was changed. This was done for very many reasons. The first reason was that the name seemed to offend some people. Of course there was feigned incredulity about this "I don't understand why people are so touchy" blathered Tendeseam at that time. But he knew that the naysayers were not really nay saying. "I am wrong." he announced one day from his podium. That was when he gave up running the Children of the Cornflower Color School. The Islands name was changed to The Island of the Unwanted. Part of the reason was that the database where they stored the name of the Island only had enough characters allowed to put the The Island of the Unwanted. Database. Not funny. That was the story he told after that, and official Island history.

tiny aside:

At this point the censourious-saur (the dinosaur like agency-mole who is assigned to read these drivilish blogs) goes "huff." and says "If there is anything here, I don't see it. Maybe you can assign me some different blogger?"

"You." sound of a whip snapping. "Keep reading."

"I didn't sign up to be a slave of the thought police." says our governed guy at his blog-reading post.

end of tiny aside.

Itallo's Indestructible Stairs

Let anyone, governments, anyone, try to build indestructible stairs and they may accomplish it but . . . Ozzimandais, king of kings, beckons you to his memorial.

November 14, 2012

"got anything? I got nothing."

Looking for Reason he found chaos. If only he hadn't asked so many stupid questions that have even stupider answers. And he didn't heed a one. Then he was done too young.?

Sometimes even the stupid answer is a lesson one does well to learn.

 out in the tide
 he fell apart
  all broken up about
  his lost
     wantted it to 
   wish it coulld a's
 that didn't geminate.

 Dude, thats
    a pack of seeds
 you didn't
  plant
 and a bag of soil
    and some empty
    pots.

 Thanks. 
    Thanks for
  pushing my
   nose down in it.

    But it wasn't any work
   for handy Andy.
 Before they'd burned through
      the rest of the evening's
       Andy had all the pots filled
 and the seeds put in them.

 They indoor
   flowers
    by the first of February.

Sage advice immortalized in the psalms: Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord for his deep and unfailing love for us!

Sage advice immortalized in the psalms: Thank the Lord! Praise the Lord! Thank and Praise the Lord for his deep and unfailing love, for his overwhelming generousity, and for sustaining this world for us to inhabit!

He has established it on the seas and made still the waters.