The Fantastic and Amazing

Section 19.03. Capital Naruto

(a) A person commits an offense if he commits naruto as defined under Section 19.02(b)(1) and:
(1) The person narutos a peace officer or fireman who is acting in the lawful discharge of an official duty and who the person knows is a peace officer or fireman;
(2) The person intentionally commits naruto in the course of committing or attempting to commit kidnapping, burglary, robbery, aggravated sexual assault, arson, or obstruction or retaliation;
(3) The person commits naruto for remuneration or the promise of remuneration or employs another to commit naruto for remuneration or the promise of remuneration;
(4) The person commits naruto while escaping or attempting to escape from a penal institution;
(5) The person, while incarcerated in a penal institution, narutos another:

*section excluded*

(b) An offense under this section is a capital felony
(c) If the jury or, when authorized by law, the judge does not find beyond a reasonable doubt that the defendant is guilty of an offense under this section, he may be convicted of naruto or of any other lesser included offense.

That faceless man with the single, enlarged eye.

The Fink.

Reinhardt Streiber.

Misha's Canyon.

Three glasses of prune juice and two bowls of oatmeal.

Jacque Lamont and Jackson Smith

Nazi Opera.

The Cheese Party.

Will the created follow us into the future? God bless these chosen few, and preserve my eternal gratitude for these essential elements of healthy humors. More exist, but only a numbered few may be mentioned at a time for status of mental perseverance. Thank you, year of two billion and five, and farewell for all of eternity. May your descent into the unspeakable oblivion where all past years meet their great fates be acceptable.

I do hereby welcome the new year. I welcome the horrors that lurk in this named future. I accept the fate that certainly grips us all. The end is here. The beginning is here. Time meets time and the world keeps on spinning.

Blast off in you shit rocket for great victory in the year 2006.


Peace out, shitters.

Eve’s pass – First Cycle:

I now recline in a secluded vault, high atop a parapet in Jameston’s surreal construct. The day’s journey has been nothing short of phantasmagoric, and I am fortunate to have such a respite in documenting my peregrination. This, I must note, is a profound time in which I take great safety in considering these word’s eventual read.

Our departure remained on schedule as Grand Sol’s energy blanketed the land. Lilliforth’s quaint farmlands stretch to the foothills of the Gregoran Mountain Range. This is an important matter, Baralesk, as Jameston’s Citadel of Hydrargyrum is located at the summit of Mount Zhivah, the most notable and horrific precipice among the Gregoran Chain. The dangerous and violent vapors of Zhivah were no location I would pleasure a trip of the Great Ship Magnamanon. Jameston is also terrifically fearful of airships. Alternatively, I led a convoy of alloyed-brass, steamed tanks and wagons up the steeps of the marvelous ascent.

Mild portions of the light’s cycle were dedicated to the plain travels, and were decently uneventful. However, one small issue of interest did transpire. We traveled heavily armed, as these estranged lands are wracked with baffling wars and misdeeds. It was near a forest’s glade that we happened upon a band of calamitous delinquents, rudely posing as children engaged in a game of Ruthsphere. I was able to decipher their unspeakable intentions, observing the apparent surprise upon our notice – they surely knew we were saints of justice, yet made the attempt to dissuade our judgment in screams for their vile progenitors. Before they could produce any defiance, I had them exterminated with an appropriate firing line of pressure guns. A said few of my men nearly fell victim to the demon’s joust and dared to question my command. These individuals have been promptly noted as villainous traitors and will not leave the elevations of Zhivah.

Following this banal turmoil, we swiftly arrived at the base of Mount Zhivah. This monumental peak is fairly nightmarish in geological structure. Its gargantuan jut is colored with a bizarre brown-yellow, save for the gray and snowed cap: it’s nauseating to behold, as the mountain’s hue resembles the heavens moments before a meteorological catastrophe. The most pivotal unease was due to the mountain’s subterranean systems: Mount Zhivah has an unusually powerful geothermal artery lying within, alongside a vast and deep aquifer. The whole thing steams, Rudolph! Geothermal vents dot the entire landscape of this treacherous grade – it brings to mind an inconceivably archaic and gargantuan machine with a defectively designed pneumatic system. Regardless of this ultimately bizarre visage, we continued the voyage without hesitation.

Jameston’s defiance over the natural order had given me great relief, as a blasted trail rendered our journey fantastically simple. The vegetation of the land was absolutely peculiar. I witnessed Aegels in atypical full bloom, Norsford Cones with atramentous foliage, and Gaping Willows with their reproductive spires withered into outstretched lateral truncations. The clambering boulevard, though a great aid, was intersected with immense crags and the occasional hissing steam vent. It wound for eons; it seemed, zigzagging its way up the acclivity. As the vegetation grew sparse, it gave way to various mineral outcroppings. The air was gradually spreading thin and the temperatures were steadily dropping. The warm and oxygenated steam spouts became welcome points of temporary cessation. As our scaling grew great, the shoulders of our avenue gave way to severe and terrifying drops. This development bore a sibling, as the great swirling and violent gales of Zhivah’s effluvium accompanied the path’s evolution. Our journey became excessively difficult from this point forth. Upon a particularly treacherous detour in the route, Major Sigmund Felton lost his footing and plummeted to a rather unfortunate demise: I had not trusted his sleek saunter and felt little remorse for the man’s fate. The velocity of the squall must have achieved that of a Reeniaus Colossal Cyclone. The crew’s morale was depleting at a significant rate due to the inclement horrors. It became impossible to visually decipher our surroundings. I took an opportunity to wield my personal-fashioned, reaction pistol and discharged several silent rounds towards the nebulous location of the traitorous fiends; I was able to dismiss a number of them without notice.

A fantastic thing happened here, Rudolph; the pathway altered to a descent and the monstrous tempests gave way to a simple, and less bitter, breeze. We had passed between two great, monolithic spires that provided the maw for a strange mountaintop sanctuary. The great expedition came to a halt as the men and wagons funneled into the bastion. In its entire strange and baffling splendor, there stood Jameston’s anomalous residence at the far side of the alcove. The corps of well-hardened officers and scientists was magnificently transmuted into a mindless pack of awed sub-humans. Language degraded to grunts and gasps as the personnel viewed the bothersome edifice.

The great manor stood with magnificence of both opulent residence and prolific industry; it remained mostly gray and silver. It was constructed as an ancient cathedral and a modern alchemic refinery; awesome flying buttresses intertwined with snaking pipeline. Great and beautiful towers stood alongside haunting and soulless furnaces. It was built into the far side of a mountaintop enclave, with a vast courtyard garden carpeted before it. The garden, however well kept, was entirely dead and petrified. Within the garden, a semi-circle of great fountains, clustering before the epic archway of the grand and ornate ingress, erupted with indecipherable liquid. Central of this semi-circle was a gargantuan statue of the great messenger Mercurius, fashioned from Absolute Silver; which is, if you are unfamiliar, the rarest element to science’s great understanding, only third to Megacosm Pelenium and Omnitricolance. The superb fortress produced an audible humming of almost rhythmic and musical qualities; the structure’s great machinery was certainly powered by a composer’s heart.

A deafening metal clanging rudely interrupted this splendor. I curiously observed the grounds before the manor shift and up heave. Hinged plates burst open from the floor to produce gilded, domed turrets. Several roofed portions of the residence had shifted to expose large and bizarre cannonry. It was hardly a moment before this great arsenal interjected our pleasurable observations with a surly barrage – Jameston had provided a rather interesting situation for us. The Citadel’s manless armaments were quite effective, as two wagons and thirty-or-so men were immediately mangled and shattered into elemental ribbons. We had a significant distance from the fortress and were able to quickly position ourselves behind powerful boulders and move into bedrock trenches. At this point, a company of strangely uniformed troops poured from previously unseen hatches located at the base of the fortification. These men, too, were armed; armed with absolutely bizarre looking rifles – something akin to an oversized scepter of the Glorious King attached, via a golden tube, to a back-laden generator of some sort. Obviously hostile, these enemies aided the castle’s bombardment on my convoy. I respected these men for their luxuriousness, but concluded that they must be dispatched for the majestic glory of my lordly scholarship.

I ordered the men to procure some of the more deadly and experimental weaponry that accompanied our luggage load. The steamed tanks were ordered to suppress any advancement of Jameston’s Guard with a barrage from their main artillery. Several of my soldiers fashioned the chemical mortars while I was able to assemble the tripod for the prototype Fragment-Catalyst Discontinuation Cannon. A significant field test, as the cannon operated with maximum efficiency as predicted by my calculations. The weapon dissolved the greater amount of the guard’s bodies upon contact and sufficiently annihilated non-flesh targets, as well. A great cannon fired from Jameston’s stronghold, landing a particularly flashy artillery shell amidst my steamed mobiles. A counterattack was provided most immediately, as a great incendiary package was delivered upon the weaponed roof of the Citadel. It’s rather bothersome to visit, but we were in a great deal of peril at this point; Jameston’s troops had driven us from the prototype cannon’s emplacement and their numbers were steadily increasing, while our numbers were operating in quite an opposite fashion.

At the moment I decided to conjecture the possibilities of a tactical retreat, a fantastically loud alarm filled the air. Its origin was Jameston’s manor and it forced an abrupt halt to the guard’s firing. My men continued to fire a few uneasy shots, but quickly rationalized the apparent cease-fire. The turrets and cannons of the great fortress retracted into their respective bays. Several of Jameston’s uniformed men tended to the damaged and burning areas, while the larger body formed two formal parade columns, each lining either side of the Citadel’s grand entranceway. The massive panels of the gilded gateway slowly creaked open and a flood of ornately dressed flag-bearers poured into the courtyard, taking their places in between each saluting guard member. Queer fluting replaced the klaxon and the clouds above slightly parted to allot a few eager rays of light through. This display was so vivid that I expected the Magnificent Mind himself to emerge from those doors.

With a violent break in the harmony, a deranged screaming burst through the great corridor, followed closely by a well dressed, yet unstable-looking man – It was Theadeux Jameston. By this point my convoy had nearly made its way to the column of soldiers, estimating the safety of the situation. As I neared, Jameston took notice of my presence. He quickly clamored over, holding a seared leg of beast – apparently the skirmish had interrupted Jameston’s evening feast. His jabbering was so wild and contorted at this point, that I could rarely make out a word. Even so, we engaged in a warm formal embrace and made wordless amends to the silly mishap that we had just endured. Fairly swiftly, Jameston was able to articulate his words in a communicative fashion and he and I briefly shared our friendly sentiments towards one another. He explained that our visit had slipped his mind and he assumed our outfit was that of the Dreaded Scribe’s. I, of course, accepted an old friend’s absent-mindedness and we proceeded inside.

Jameston provided room and board for my men, repair for my vehicles, and a private, marvelous wing for my own refreshment. He insisted that I take my rest for the eve and that we save any discussion on means of business for the next day’s break. There is much more to detail, but I am eager to rest. Dear Rudolph, I will continue my documentations soon.


Prof. O. Quizbium

Dr. Rudolph Baralesk
Gramner University
Department of Physics
Room 606



Dear Dr. Baralesk,

Subject: Empire of Aberration

It is rather unfortunate for me to mention, dear friend, but my resources fall terrifically short for my profound ambition. Furthermore, my destination is unspeakably skeptical; I am inexorably drawn by the echoes of archaic engineers and the murmurs of caged mystics. Under these circumstances, it struck me as a logical contingent to seek an old consort of mine.

If you are at least minimally familiar with the world’s economy, you will certainly recognize the name Theadeux Jameston; prodigiously known as the Baron of Alchemy. In this great age of steam and mechanics, Jameston has brought about paradigm shifts in the geological, alchemical, and physical sciences with his great works.

Allow me to elaborate on some of the more esoteric components of Jameston. Twenty epic revolutions ago, the meek Jameston was a striving student under my grace, back at Gramner. He was certainly a queer individual; sheltered, care of a nobleman’s upbringing. It was on a fateful eve during the Era of Decisions that Jameston burst into my office, conjecturing and extrapolating on impossible figures regarding an imaginary apparatus. I issued a calming injection of morphine to the man’s carotid. The passing Jameston’s hysteria ushered the production of a concise schematic for a precision mineral drill so unnaturally efficient in design that it was rather disgusting to study. He pleaded with me for a requisition of resources to construct such a device – he was significantly impetuous with his disagreement in exploiting his family’s wealth for such an endeavor, as he feared disappointment with his father. I bargained thoughts with Jameston until I concluded with allotting the funds and my personal aid, out of curiosity if nothing else. The extraction unit was assembled with great haste, and Jameston left his academic responsibilities behind. It seemed as if hardly a moment passed before Theadeux Jameston had cornered the mineral markets, and had amassed such immense opulence that governments would pursue him in hopes of a handout.

Jameston’s resource empire continued to burgeon as he pursued other forms of industrial economics. He and I were still left in warm regards and had a decent amount of communiqués during this success. Jameston had provided a copious stipend for my personal laboratories. Indeed, without this financial magnate’s assistance, my scientific explorations would surely have been less impressive.

Jameston’s magnificence was only recently eclipsed by his enigmatic behaviors. Without proclamation, the mogul departed for an unorthodox hiatus in foreign territories. As the Grand Manuscripted Media made a multitude of meticulously modeled manifestos attempting to muckrake in the wake of the mysterious man’s migration, no clear course of conduct was construed concerning Jameston’s curious conduct; a lot of refuse for the masses to swallow. He and I fell from contact, as his kismet had led him astray. Only until recently, did this change.

As you have surely sworn to secrecy our correspondence, I shared no word of my proximate communication with Theadeux Jameston. But I find it, now, rather necessary that this informative exchange transpire. As you must have certainly concluded, I am rigorously pursuing an assemblage with the great Jameston. He is fairly expectant of my venture, but I am swayed to worry at the man’s mental state. I will be vacating my temporarily camp here in Lilliforth at the dawn’s break for Jameston’s montane acropolis. I am speculative and exceeding curious as to what the coming visit will produce; I am beginning a diary indicating such occurrences.

Prof. O. Quizbium

Dr. Rudolph Baralesk
Gramner University
Department of Physics
Room 606



Dear Dr. Baralesk,

Subject: The Mad Hatsman

I was astute in my worries of a trans-oceanic trip. Though I am now safely grounded in foreign lands, I am discontented from an excessively adventurous flight. It was not my plan to dispatch another telegram so eagerly, but I believe my journey has already provided another suitable digest. It’s difficult for me to consider that my early days of such a lengthy epic have already provided such turmoil; it is both exuberating and dispiriting. Let me now do my best to sufficiently recount the proximal occurrences.

Our departure was rigidly on schedule. The great ship Magnamanon soared into the heavens of a dying sun, with no worries weighing on her magnificent hull. Most of the crew was in high spirits, as I provided suggestions of exotic delights at our port of departure. A few of the men were slightly wary though, as they held glances at variable armaments that were loaded aboard. I promptly made note of these traitorous thugs in preparation for a seaward evacuation.

The vessel ran magnificently, Rudolph. It is majesty in itself to take seating in this docked ship. Her gilded innards, draped with gorgeous velvets, would bring joy to a monarch’s heart. No gauge’s arrows slump lazily, no valve speaks softly, no gears gnaw heedlessly, no dial goes unblinking – the ship is alive with the era of machine. The steam-work piping pulses with the beat of a metal heart. It’s truly eerie in the most scientific of fashions. I spent the duration of early flight in awe of the great ship Magnamanon’s decency as a lady.

As I took my commanding throne, placed before the Great Silver Pipe Organ of Theory, I felt a strange sway in the environment’s gravity. I took my leave to seek out the piloting officers. Indeed, we had been grasped by a strange aerial pattern of a west northwestward draw. The bridge crew seemed satisfied that such an event was not bothersome and I did not protest, as I was heavy with absinthe by this time. I left the pilot’s quarters with decent care and made my way back to the commander’s vault.

My dainty legwork was ruined by the unexpected cacophony of klaxons. I hurriedly staggered to the control system vault, through the reddened corridors, to find that the ship had suffered a mysterious electrical malfunction. The technicians had no words of assurance as they aimlessly punched dials and threw their limbs about. The ship had seemingly discharged a great deal of energy, cracking the hyper-photon vacuum sphere, dislodging the crystalline energy rudders, and confounding the eletro-sextant. Obviously said Rudolph, we had lost the ability to steer our magnificent airship.

A dreary strain of curiosity drove me to wander off into the starboard observation deck. I found myself staring into a starless sky. I thought it strange that all the plentiful of monstrous, cosmic furnaces were taking a leave on such a non-obfuscated night. A terrific flash of lightning jerked me out of my moronic daze, as I realized the unlit sky was blackened by a tempest of horrific might. The ship’s indolent state was assuring this atmospheric monstrosity’s gain. In retrospect, I realize that would have been able to avoid the following if I had then considered unpacking my weather machine.

Without the passing of more than a minute, it seemed, the great ship was pulled into the gaping maw of that abhorrent vortex. No crewmember was prepared for such a dissatisfactory event, and quite a bedlam was presented. I took this opportunity to locate those men I had previously taken note and indicate a proper route of evacuation for their safety. I whimsically herded them into a private cargo hold I had designed for such a purpose – indeed; it’s visual presentations were that of a detachable escape vessel. The ship rocked furiously as the strength of heaven’s beast primed. This only aided my purpose, as the corrupt lackeys sped their collection into the hold. They must have thought me a hero. As these several, vacuous souls were finally corralled into the chamber; I sealed the bulkhead behind and initiated the protocol evacuation drill. Not a second passed before the bodies of the vultures were crushed and incinerated by a cleverly designed hyperbaric furnace pod. The whole thing looked rather silly.

Now, dear Rudolph, this is where things become a trifle queer. I extended the hold’s bay doors to purge the great ship Magnamanon of such putrid ashes. I took the time to watch the scattered, charred remains waltz about as they descended into the unseen pitch. I was simply dazzled at the amount of matter that was residual from these servers of the Great Deceiver. Unfortunately, there must have been a hasty construction of this bulkhead that I was situated behind – apparently the pressurized incineration had loosened its bearings. The hatch was torn off and sucked into the darkness below. The pull threw me off of my footing and I lashed about, attempting to stabilize my descent. I was rather lucky, as a hydraulic piston had positioned itself to protect me from a perilous departure. As this point, however, I was driven to look into the lightlessness below. A halcyon funnel opened to the uneasily near seas below.

Dear Rudolph, what I felt as I beheld a mystery beyond man’s understanding cannot be explained with words. However, I have derived an appropriate equation to convey my deep sentiments on the subject:

Qn = (1/4πε0)(QaQG/Zk)( p0U1/3) / 1.661*10-27kg

- Where Qa is the threshold at which Quizbium concedes to stress levels of 9.332j1/4 or greater, and QG is Quizbium’s constant (refer to local text if this mathematical brilliance is not at mind’s grasp, though I am sure you have it terrifically memorized.)

I am sure that you are able to now fathom the emotions that welled within me. What I saw, Rudolph, is no easy thing for me to recount. I will do my best, however, to record such a thing for the purpose of science. Though I was laden with heavy matters of thought, fear of peril, and tad delirious from Arsenic injections, I know that my concentrations were lucid enough to do my memory justice.

I bore a banded, telescopic monocle atop my forehead. As I tumbled about, the vision piece had forced itself over my oculus – an unfortunate coincidence, as I would have rather not beheld that which I did. In that hazy maelstrom, I was able to decipher a small craft: a vessel no larger than an elemental boron reaction tube shell casing. It hardly moved in the stirring waters, so strange was the stoic stance of this raft. To my horror, I was able to visualize a man on board. Bear with me, Rudolph, as this is providing to be more difficult than I had considered. The man, he was wearing very strange clothing, for what I could tell. Something of a light-clothed tunic, with short sleeves, on his torso. Shabby looking trousers – only half-complete with shins exposed, nothing like standard pantaloons. The most apparently strange unit of apparel that this figure donned was a bizarre headpiece. This headpiece looked so awfully contorted; something that would certainly have made Euclid weep. It appeared as an inverted bucket, with wide brims, equally extending in a radial fashion from the ascending central cylinder. I can only come to term with referring to it as a bucket-hat.

As I stared down at the man, standing peacefully in the midst of such an abomination of weather, he stared back up at me. Rudolph, I do not understand any of this, but I have seen it all. It seemed as if eons passed while we stared at one another, rectifying our differences in light of the Great and Wise. The man then made a gesture that I cannot ever hope to see again. He extended his arm, upwards into the heavens, to produce a vector aimed at myself, and my great ship Magnamanon. I apologize for this visualization Rudolph, but it’s entirely necessary that an account of this be made. His hand stayed in fist-fashion, wrist extending to the heavens. Suddenly, and without a proper emanation, the man extended his middle digit: entirely, rigid and forthright. At this point I almost leaped from the safety of the piston to a desired death, as this man had bestowed such a bizarre salute to me that I could not fathom from what unearthly knowledge he had conjured such wicked contortions. I do not understand what this man could have been trying to tell me with his unknown signal.

It was ironic what followed. Perhaps it was some greater force that was offended by this man’s unforgiving transfer of archaic symbolism, as the man was suddenly swept under a vast monolith of water. I stayed there for a while to see if the man would reappear from the frothy swirls. Alas, Rudolph, no sign of this man or his tiny craft was seen again. The man’s peril, suitably enough, put my thoughts at ease as I was able to make my way back into the ship’s corridor.

The great tempest seemed to leave with sufficient haste after my profound experience with the Mad Hatsman. The storm’s passing allowed for a quick repair of the great ship’s systems. The rest of the journey, over that vast and deadly ocean, was rather boring. I am unresolved with my convictions on this situation. It will take me sometime to sort out my theorized conclusions. I believe I will be taking a decent rest in this port town before I continue my push for understanding.
Godspeed, Rudolph.

P.S. I have indeed misappropriated the Silver Pipe Organ of Theory. Tell Chuckles that I strapped it to my steamed autotransit and rode it off of a bridge construct. Though he’s the keeper of Theory, he’s extremely gullible when it comes to stories of fatality.

Prof. O. Quizbium

Dr. Rudolph Baralesk
Gramner University
Department of Physics
Room 606



Dear Dr. Baralesk,

Subject: The Present Departure

As it has become quite clear to you and others in the department, I have made a hasty disappearance, leaving no indication of my whereabouts. I’ve taken great care to leave my absence a mystery. Before I begin to elaborate on my state, I will ask that you read such letters in only the most clandestine of fashion. No one is to know that I still exist, for it would only serve to hex my greatest work. Also, my wife and children would be rather displeased to know that I am not dead, as is what the information I have properly arranged should unveil.

For the past month I have been orchestrating a myriad of fanciful schemes to aid in the preparation of my indeterminate hiatus, along with the appropriate measure of covering my tracks. I worked with crooked accountants to falsify spending records, in effect making it seem as if I had utilized over three quarters of my vast fortunes on failed investments. In reality, these assets were being liquefied to purchase a vast amount of supplies for what journey I have planned. I took caution to sway the favor of local law enforcement, fire brigades and wrecking crews, as they were to carefully arrange a false automobile accident, with myself being the unfortunate fatality. I even took the time to arrange several grand assemblages with The Great and Wise to verify my qualifications as an adept. You can rest assured that these misleading tales will rear themselves as the truth in little time. For the sake of mankind’s ability to understand, Professor O. Quizbium is dead and gone.

You, Rudolph, are one of the few people I feel that I can trust; the only one I feel I can trust with this clever tale. It is both a curse and a blessing for me to bestow you with what will most certainly follow from these correspondences. I have indeed left on a journey of discovery, Rudolph. Such is the nature of this journey; I ask that no attempt be made at pursuit, whatsoever. Of all information that I share, you must let it die within you, simply for the sake of the right-orderings of the universe. Strange it would seem that I must send these letters that are so forbidden, but I must have one contact in a homeland I can reassure myself with for the sake of preventing madness. To consider seeing your wizened eyes gaze upon this tattered parchment allows me to reel my mind away from what maddening horror I feel bearing down on my mind. We’ve been through much turmoil together and I’m sure you will understand the reasons for what I have done.

Dr. Rudolph Baralesk, it is clear to me that I must seek out the Cosmic Diode. What myths have followed it seems never-ending and generally unspeakable. Though The Great and Wise did not suggest against such pursuit, there was no clear indication of assurance; something that no man could possibly consider. As one of the two librarians of the Forbidden Vault, I feel that my destiny lies in destruction. However, such destruction wrought brings miracles to being, and this is a hopeful goal. The Cosmic Diode, the Fueled Epicenter, the Nuclear Top, the Luminous Logical Dynamo, the Particle Feaster, the Magic Mind, the Grand Bizarre Reactor, the Antiquated Mass Injection Cere-dome, the Unblinking Radical Photo-Mind Processor, the Free Pink; a multitude of names for the single greatest mystery of our time. No man has seen what this could be, but all men have predicted its presence. I will make this discovery, or perish trying. I do not plan to return from this trek, Rudolph.

At the present, I have just boarded my recently constructed, quad-engine, empyrean vessel; using the propulsion specs designed by our own engineering department back at Gramner. All whom knew I was connected to this ship’s construction were signed on as crew members; this will assure my covert desires, as dead men tell no tales. I am languidly seated in the central bridge lobby as I finish this report. The ship’s fuel cylinders are nearly prepared and we will be launching in several minutes. I will be far overseas by the time you receive this acknowledgement. My apologies for the unsightly packaging that you are forced to tear through to beckon the fruit of this letter, but such is necessary to prevent an accidental opening and subsequent reading of this forbidden text. I do hope this reaches you in good health.
I bid you a most eternal farewell, Rudolph.

P.S. Instruct Dean to teach the rest of my classes – the man is a bit pathetic, but he will do best to pick up whe
re I left off.

Prof. O. Quizbium

SASHA WAS STARING AT JOE'S DICK.

THE CONTEST IS OVER.

To all who participated: Thank you for your glorious attempts at achieving cool. The great volcano of creation erupted with unspeakable fury. How disgusting, yet fulfilling.



The winner(s):
Though I was immediately taken by the inu yasha icon and the furry sexual innuendo icon, I had to think long and hard about who produced the most unspeakably mind-enlightening icon. In the end, I was forced to choose two icons.

Super Congratulations to:
herohigh and </span>
unamerican

Your images will forever burn the minds of those who dare read the shit I spew.
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Also, here's an inappropriate picture to get your jive juices swirling:

 

 

Think about it.

 

I am issuing a call for those who are thirsting for competition. I feel the need to return to this lovely "livejournal" THING so that I may properly slather the uncontrollable brain eruptions I have, on the internet world. However, my avatar is out-of-date. This has made me rather anti-rad in the eyes of the web. I will not settle for the compuworld frowning down upon me. So, with a heaping load of persuasion, I call out to you:

A COMPETITION FOR GREATNESS: Design a Live Journal icon for me to use and be best friends with.

All are welcome, and encouraged, to participate.

Preferably something grotesque, offensive to the sensibilities of mankind, or entirely mundane. Or, take your own brainroute - creativity is God's second, screaming mouth!

 

THE PRIZE:

If you triumph against all odds, I will treat you to a lovely evening of friendship, ending with a Jim Dandy Sundae at Friendly's. Or, if there is no available Friendly's location, we will go out into a field and destroy an effigy of myself adorned with a canteloupe brain. The latter will probably occur, regardless.

 

START

This event will end IN A FEW DAYS OKAYS>!>!?

Icons with ham references will not be accepted. In the event that Friendly's is attended, the winner of said contest will be required to consume three jim dandy sundaes in one sitting with a time limit of twenty minutes - if this is limit is exceeded, a proper punishment will be decided upon execution of crime. NO PRESENTATION OF HUMOR FADS WILL BE TOLERATED - subsequent retribution of virtual,verbal shitting will be issued.