Friday, April 30, 2010

plorbisse reporte de la sinquini fomblossonge!

Munckry Orthasso-Yleubunksius of the Reopter Transparency has condomned J. Arkhiwurst Volshecktigeitz for arpsiscental loonquaftery. The condomnation carries with it some rather stiff penalties: enduring a rebarbative orthelpfy by the Kerzoggers of Blyne, a runcewonsil by the Vice-Pleurongast of Yarguntile, and a deconsultation by the Blunder-Lords of Cozfnugh. Volshecktigeitz's condomnation has sent shockwaves through the communities of Prulhuraiq and Dindrevie, and the Utter-Wongle of Bitumenvlaarb has issued a meaningless memorandum that has something to do with the controversy, though he is legally enjoindered from having any idea what the meaningless memorandum is about. Stalespleen Liverknocket has written a series of articles for the New Flasborough Tunsect blasting the condomnation as a "Righteous Underzortching by the Arbiters of Cruftwhearl" and "Another Accident of the Disaster-Noxious", and so froth and so on. Orthasso-Yleubunksius has been thrown out of a pronoun, and with larger gleanfrostings on the horizon, can expect to be debrided from a prepositional phrase. Ardgejeun Daspluit has this to say about the condomnation: "Oh, why in Werdrew's dispy flonts did the Unterfonglers brolsame the mootch? It is because of this kind of knerverasty that the plumwuncks no longer come the the Greater Asterswesian Knar promontory, and all the charquires have to spend their vacations tumbling through underfumbled sulfur tubules. I don't quench such damnation, and neither should you..."

Monday, April 19, 2010

three three seven (337)

The strange violet sky glowed iridescent in the early morning sunlight, as tiny microparticles diffracted the sun's excrescence in numerous and mind-warpingly subtle ways. A Hortativee Bird flapped lazily in the sky, its massive baleen plates catching the aerial diatoms. It honked uninterruptedly as a metal rainbow slowly coalesced in the sky, a solid ring of indium trisulfide, about three atoms thick. The metallic arc would last about a half an hour then would dissipate. Flocks of aurjecs and nilimasts hid behind clouds and navigated their way to the safety of the cool pools of high viscosity oil in which they'd overday before emerging from them at the depths of night when things had cooled sufficiently to create a tolerable environment for them. A virescent schellengmeuss dived deep under the turquoise ocean to feed for the day. Loud crackling hums ricocheted off the Cliffs of Gelt, while thin spidercracked pit-pats of the tommous ant colonies bedecking the cliffs lost coherence quickly.

I'm fond of special things, but I think I need to make many of them. You know. Less one offs and more generics. If I have something that's supposed to be really special (a one off of one offs), I'll put extra special effort into it. If it's something that I can apply a script to or whatnot, I don't get caught up in the specialness of the specialness of it. It's good to make generic things, sometimes. Just as long as they're elegant.

Friday, April 09, 2010

The Traceless Christina Ricci Tensor and the Cardassian cosmology

Hereptma Sarbivin's genial coughing had attracted the attention of a buzzing noise, a bumbling bee of some repute (or some reeuptake, depending on the synapse of our mutual misattention) in Srelvwharve and Upper Laurasia, Grand Buccy of Sylmorea, and the Pobbobs of Blyvpvana. Aghast at the potential for epidemiological disaster, Sarbivin had quickly meandered to the local apocath and ordered half a dram of Colonel Havvaster Micturub's Famous Spicy Purple Octagon Ointment to take with her tea in order to coat her throat and aid in the commonweal. She had been hanging out by the Western Kettle and had been accosted by some British Bishops (which were neither British nor Bishops -- they were roly-poly men with gin blossom'd faces who tried to sell religions at the bazaar in the Kettle) while old Mrs. Enderflongle Ardgeorge was bartering a bossom of butter for a packet of highly purifed Pantarianism from the Bishops. A fully obnoisome lady, Ardgeorge bustled and hustled and hushed and shushed as the Bishops courted her attentions with wild and fantastic religions from faraway lands and distant clades.

Hereptma avoided the confusion, easily dodging both the Bishops and Enderflongle, obtained her ointment, and headed back to her home.

Sunday, April 04, 2010

nonblocking i/o on the booyakashic record

Ibaranga and Stryblins (403:1;1) wrote most expressively about the collapse of Teh Wavefunction, the cosmic sounding board against which no (turnips, blomongales, it's not clear -- for it's written in Low High Middle Fnoomb) walls will fall. Now, Monsieur Xarxy and Lady Amberflow Arheregasty weren't at the party with the collected riff-raff of Mastropunto -- the Majordomo, a pencil-mustachioed dinglebanana with an unhealthily pedantic penchant for protocol stood with perfect posture and made arrogant and salacious claims regarding the conquests (both sexual and otherwise) of his regiment in Avarhek, the Pvemberies, and the various bivouacs and encampments they made by the Ulydes river, two krasmeks north from the Drelyun promontory. Most of the guests smiled and nodded at the Majordomo's salubrious and disastrous claims.

Monsieur Xarxy was at the Spleen barber having some experimental tryptophan synthesizing tissue implanted in his pancreas because that was the thing to do amongst the well-to-do and the up-and-coming jet-setting fashion-conscious in-crowd these days.

On the other hand Lady Amberflow Arheregasty was at the beach, being ogled by a stick of celery that had been planted upside down in the sand. She was wearing metallic orange sunglasses that had been engineered by a spinoff of Joo Janta.