intermission

more fun with statcounter... some recent keywords that brought people to whomunculus...

* ngumuntu ngumuntu - a person is only a person through their relationship to others
* real cat stuck in the refrigerator magnet
* toilet taboos
* bungstarter definition
* ferrets tail partly bitten off
* cyclonic elevator dredge
* accidentally ejaculated
* commercial uses for ocelot
* english poem oni will use my power to stop litter
* pong-go dog disposal
* what to do in a hostage situation
* farts and carbon monoxide detector
* my ferret has a swollen anus
* dromedary costume
* the thumb strengthen
* use the globe and mail's newstype for the hostage note

the top two hits i get are: "tickle monster" and "greek word for planet means"

How can you be arrested for resisting arrest?

Lucy paused to observe a police officer talking to a girl and guy sitting in a doorwell. I walked up a few doors and found my own alcove and started to choke, then snivel, then cry... I was a little bit drunk and a lot bit maudlin: I was in search of fun and connection and it seemed increased efforts in pursual made me feel sadder and lonelier. While the details don't need to be mentioned here, I'd had a shitty week and I basically needed to reconverge with my people. It usually takes about 5 minutes for this kind of blitzcry to work, so I came back out of this creche feeling collected and relieved. I blinked away the last few sparkles and looked around to find Lucy talking to the same cop, but this time he was in his cruiser. Sven and Katherine had caught her up, and were flanking Lucy in querying the policeman...
I heard her say, very clearly: "What is the ticket for? What am I getting a ticket for?"
He refused to acknowledge her, so she approached the car. This he noticed: "Get back to da sidewalk, or else I gif you anudder ticked"
She complied and reiterated her question from the sidewalk. Sven joined in: "Sir, what is she being given a ticket for? You have to tell her."
The cop heard that: "I don't haf to tell you."
"Yes, but you have to tell her. Lucy, ask again."
"Sir, what am I being given a ticket for?"
"If you don't lower your voices I will gif you da ticked for da noise."
And this is where I chimed in: "They are forced to raise their voices in order to have this dialogue. If you don't tell her what the ticket is for before you give it to her you will be littering."
Sven says: "Guys, we could just walk away here, he has refused to explain the reason and so Lucy is free to go. Let's just go."
Then the cop got out of the cruiser empty handed. That is, without the aforementioned ticket or Lucy's identification card.
He approached Lucy directly. And then wheeled on me: "Show me a piece of ID."
I replied: "I know I do not have to unless you tell me why."
Sven said much the same: "No he doesn't."
Sven has a law degree.
The next words fell heavy:
"You are under arrest."
My vision flashed and he was grabbing for my arm, so I pulled away and said: "Not unless you declare reason." He grabbed for my arm again, this time making contact, but I broke the hold by pulling away.
He actually had a little mini-tantrum, a quick exhalation and stamp like a pouty child, then put his head to the right and spoke into his walkietalkie. And then grabbed for me again. His platinum blonde partner had somehow materialized beside us and tried to grab me from the other side. I evaded her hand too, saying: "I know you have to present probable cause before you do this, therefore you cannot. Do not touch me." Lucy and Sven were now shepherding me away from them. Then a second cop car pulled up and a uniformed man and woman approached in the process of putting on black latex gloves. And pushed past Lucy and Sven to extract me. Lucy's glasses were broken in the process.
They pulled apart our circle and somehow plucked me out. I was brought down to my knees, but I got back up. Each was trying to get a leg out from under me, not realizing that they were rooting me with their combined weight, so much so, they were falling over each other trying to do it. Then more weight was added and I went to all fours. Excruciating pressure was suddenly applied to my neck and armpits and I fell onto my face. They were still trying to get my arms behind my back, the left side by thumb manipulation, the right by force. My right shoulder was taking all the weight. My legs had somehow been pinned, then a hand came down on my head and I heard a crack against the pavement. A knee came down on my back and the strength faded from my arms, they came round like toffee. My neck was pinned, the weight of the assailant pushing my chin round. I was starting to get dizzy. My wrists were cuffed, and then my legs. I heard someone ask, "can you breathe?" And I couldn't say no. I literally couldn't say no.
This query made me focus on my breathing and my breathing alone. I was held there for what felt like a while. I regained my breath and told the man who had my throat that he was hurting me. He didn't budge.
I'd repeatedly asked "why?" and asserted "you have no right unless you give me reason" during the course of the whole event, which could've been eight seconds or half a semester for all I knew.
Then I was repositioned and I saw the maelstrom. Everything seemed a bit achronological and I reasoned I'd either been concussed or throttled out as I couldn't really comprehend what was happening. The street was cordoned off, gaggles of ogglers all stood watching down at me stoically. Cop boots marched past in all directions. I could hear Lucy's voice somewhere, but couldn't see her. I saw Sven getting directed into a cruiser. Then I my vision tilted as I was lifted to my feet by the handcuffs. I took the opportunity to look around, to look for friends, to look for sympathy, to just make eye contact, to see if I could tell what the DJ was playing at the Green Room, to see if I'd urinated or anything. I just needed my bearings. About a dozen cruisers and minivans gagged the street. Then I was thrown into the back of a cruiser, the seatbelt pulled across me and I was left there, I guessed at the time that it was to psych me out somehow. But I had no idea why.

At first I laughed a bit, looking at my situation. I still hadn't been given a reason. The cuffs had made my hands numb, and the manacles (I later asked a cop if they were called pedacles) just seemed absurd. I popped the seatbelt and looked through all the windows. I could see Lucy, I wondered what had happened to her pink wig. And where had her glasses gone? I tried to get her attention, but she couldn't see me. So I counted the cop cars. Ten that I could see. This is just a stupid waste of resources, I thought, and beat my head against the window. The cops were all leaning against the cruisers, and a few came over to peer in. "You still have not declared yourselves. I want to talk to the supervisor." They jeered and I started crying again. "You have no idea what you are doing, do you? You inept fucks! You are obliged to let me know what is happening." One cop, member of the glove-squad said "stop crying" and plugged in my seatbelt again. I immediately undid it. It was all I could do.

Time passed, and then glove-squad guy got in before his partner, saying "Shut up, bitch" as he sat in the driver's seat. I was quiet at that point, saving my water, and so I said: "What did you just call me? Did you just call me a bitch?"
"I don't understand you" he quipped.
"I don't understand you either, maybe because of the cock in your mouth" was my awkward and ungainly reply. "So if you don't understand me and I don't understand you, I will not be speaking to you at all. I will be speaking to your partner."
He rounded to retort, but he was chided by his partner in French. He winced out the window.
So I spoke to her instead. "Nothing has been explained to me here."
"It will be," she said, and closed the divider.
"Hey, I know now's not a good time, but while you're protecting my rights, can I file a report for a bike that was stolen a few days ago?" No response. But it lightened my mood some. This whole thing was just so damn absurd. Then we started to drive away. I tapped at the window with my foot. "Ey, wat are you doing?" Said Cockinmouth.
"Can you please tell him that I'm waving to my girlfriend."
"Stop dat!" He yelled.
I did, but only to sit up to see if she'd heard. She hadn't. I watched her as we left. She seemed distraught.
For some very peculiar reason, I didn't feel quite as lonely anymore.

TBC....

semidiotics

as yoinked from the BBC

My bike was thefted...

my right pant leg flies at half-mast for thee...

what to do in a hostage situation

the most frequent question i get asked on whomunculus is 'what do i do in a hostage situation?' and each time i stress that of foremost importance is that you don't let the victim see your face and to make sure that you regularly apply deodorant to the detained's top lip. Right Guard is the sensible choice if you reside anywhere in the Eastern Bloc; Old Spice if you are a United States Armed Forces officer posing as a black-ops insurgent; and a urinal mint if you are a cop (i don't want to make this too complicated for you, but the top lip is usually right where most people's moustache isn't, just above the bottom lip.)

other important considerations follow:

1. Don't state your demands on your blog, commentor's witticisms will just exasperate you. For example, 'no more reshelving fees at Blockbuster' might be confused as political activism, and that's obviously not why you're doing this... remember, political activists are bad people, while you're just a modest kidnapper with a fervent belief system and a questionable taste in attire. If you do, you might not be able to demand a plane to fly you to Lima, because you'll've been placed on the International No-Fly list, and won't be let on-board. Besides, Blockbuster will find you. Meanwhile, the comment's might get off-topic, such as attempting to get you to relinquish your hostage or by using potentially hurtful language, or, most likely, just talk about their own hostage-taking experiences and how they failed and were sentenced to work at Blockbuster to learn how to hold someone hostage successfully.
2. Don't let your boyfr-... I mean hostage... watch anything other than what you want to watch. and if you do, tell him it's stupid. Don't worry, Stockholm Syndrome will confuse him into thinking you had an equal relationship. "I know sometimes I was the kidnapper, but I miss watching America's Next Top Model with you soooo much. Since my remote-control finger atrophied, I need you baby... I mean, I miss you, faceless aggressor with the considerate backhand." Also, hog the popcorn bowl.
3. Make sure you laugh at your other hostages' jokes more.
4. Upon request, loosen only the most useless bonds. "I took the apron off you, didn't I? Next you'll be asking me to use the glue solvent on your nostrils. WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!"
5. Continue life as normal. If no-one sees you for a while, they might think that you're too busy kidnapping someone to hang out. "Ever since she started pistol-whipping that city-worker in that abandoned grain-silo, she just hasn't found the time to send me a Superpoke. That slimebag's really been the worst thing for her." Pet dogs outside the photocopier's like you're not a kidnapper. Wear a different coloured balaclava when you go out so that no-one makes any undue correlations.
6. Use the Globe and Mail's newstype for the hostage note so that the authorities think you can be reasoned with. Don't use the National Post's, they'll think they'll be able to send in an unhousetrained golden retriever puppy or budgerigar or some other commited NP subscriber to negotiate with you.
7. Make sure to split the cost of the day-time minutes you expend on the hostage's behalf with them. If not, at least use it in your next argument. "It was 33 cents to call the electrician in to exchange the electrodes. Don't think I'm not counting the tax. And I've no idea how to split the advanced 911 accessibility fee."
8. No field trips: that means no zoo, no black-light bowling, no cocktail parties... Possible exception: you might want to 'invite them along' in order to use the commuter lane such as when picking the gags up from the drycleaners, or to return the Babysitter's Club books you've been reading out-loud to show that you have a delicious sense of irony. Say 'we never go out anymore' once you get back home.
9. Blame all your farts on him. This goes without saying.
10. Make waffles one morning, and make him eat them all, saying you're not hungry but implying that you feel he thinks you are fat.
11. Read your own horoscope aloud. Then read his, but make it up: 'you will be dropped off the end of a pier encased in concrete up to your elbows. a small article you thought lost will be returned to you tomorrow. lucky numbers are: YOU'RE FUCKED!'
12. Don't be too hard on yourself, its tough going living with anybody, let alone with a helpless prisoner lying prone in a corner covered in their own excrement. If you have difficulties today, just remember, tomorrow will be brand new. Get up early, stretch a bit, kick the detainee in the groin, go water the plants... take it step by step, you know?
13. Consider bio-sustainable or 'green' hostage-taking. It's a little more expensive, but you'll feel better about leaving a smaller footprint on the planet!

This comprises just the smallest selection of criteria you should try to meet in a hostage situation. It can also double as a list of successful parenting/keeping-alive-the-romance tips.

nightling

perhaps around us, linked by some softly crackling oneiric thread, there are those who counterpose others' dreams. on the cirri of the dream's milky table, the redreamer will see what the dreamer forgets: the redreamer the dreamt-of to the one, and the one the dreamt-of to the redreamer. two subjectives assembling a conjective. i'd like to think, that tucked behind sleeplucent walls, asprawl sweat sweetened sheets, that sleepers form a quiet quilt of images... flickered one to the other and more, meeting gently in the night to form dreamscapes, bobbing ebbed and flown together, in complement.

i've been calling on older sources lately, to help me peer around a monolithic case of writelessness. can't even scribble notes for the shadows it lashes out. i woke yesterday, from a fried chicken induced nap, to look up the petrified lightning that once seemed so prescient. called fulgurite, after the latin, it consists of fused-glass sky-roots left behind in sandy areas after lightning. it can be triggered by the amateur meteorologist with a bucket of sand, a long spool of wire and a charged rocket. but i think the make-up may be different, as true fulgurite is hollow, like a vent-worm's tusk. it can't truly be replicated. and so, to dig through the deserts and high-bluffs and to excavate the old lightning's molds seems very telling to one so uninspired (fallen from the height of it? or just unimpressed?). i must go back and reveal the evidence, retinal echoes just weren't enough. i need that fulgurite. i hope unearthing it doesn't untether the heavens. pull on one stitch and you'll pull on them all.

pretty funny

statcounter's 'keywords used in search engines' that brought the querent to whomunculus... now printing these could set off a perpetual search engine feedback loop...

bumpy skull
greek word planet
chantal's stained glass
chainsaw mishaps
thales tale
spine wave fuck the company
michelle o'brodovich
planet greek word
greek word planetes means
chubby
foreskin, biggest,
greek word that means planet
the word planet comes from a greek word that means
the name planet comes from
prehensile toes
consciousness and thermodynamics
word for wanderer
marbles in foreskin
powaqqatsi, pronunciation
pore on my ear
axe commercial porcelain
10 things about me
russian tickle torture
tom jarjour photo
the word planet comes from a greek word that means:
staggers and jags origins
lenny kravitz swearing
adopt-a-word
the oddest person ive ever met
cancer i mean children
why are skulls bumpy
stm tickle monsters
maskadon
meaning of the carcass by charles baudelaire
dorset's motto is 'who's afear'd'.
greek word for planet
the word planet comes from what greek word
becky stage

groan shot

Frozen pizza. It has been on my mind a lot. I've been paying attention to the fluctuating prizes of the readily available commercial grade frozen pizza, and I should mention that now appears a good moment to buy in bulk. Delicio just SLASHED its prices, and a pizza offered at the previous price of $8.49 is now attainable for the dimunitive one of only $4.99. HOLY SHIT-SOCKS, you say? Gross, I say, sensible shit should really wear nylons for the obvious advantage that fleshtones would present, and also for its swingability.

So, with the over-cooked efforts of someone who's been thinking of blog material all day, I offer some alternative uses by which you can use frozen pizza to ameliorate the tedious human condition people are condemned to (ending on a preposition is like a lizard's tail-stump sucked on).

• TIMER: nail the frozen pizza (the crust must NOT be precooked) above an ON lightswitch, when it thaws, it'll turn off the light.
• THUMB STRENGTHENER: place your fist on a table, place frozen pizza on your thumb, lift pizza with your thumb. repeat. [NB: start off on a simple pizza, like four cheeses... within a week you'll be ready for the Deluxe.]
• CURRY-STAIN REMOVER: rub frozen pizza on affected article until the curry stain magically disappears.
• SHOWER-IS-TOO-HOT/COLD PROTECTER: have a frozen pizza handy for those moments when you hear your neighbour's flush. ha! foiled!
• SERVING DISH FOR PIZZA: oven-fresh pizza ready? no implement with which to offer it to your guests? use a frozen pizza!
• WEDGIE DETERRENT: how can Tyler Radmeister give you a wedgie if you've got a frozen pizza in the way?
• DRIVING ARM-TAN PREVENTOR: preheat pizza on sun-warmed dashboard to allow some flop to develop. put floppy pizza on arm nearest open window (usually the left one).
• FRIDGE MAGNET USER-UPPER: too many latent fridge magnets? use them on a frozen pizza.
• ECLIPSE CREATOR: why wait until the day after an eclipse to realize you missed it... again? eclipse the sun with your very own frozen pizza and then inform others that they missed it. the dicks.
• SNOW SHOES: put snow in your shoes and then, with both hands, hold a frozen pizza above your head and yell SNOW SHOES!!!

and now onto something completely different... today I walked along Ste. Catherine to do a 'tween-class perimeter check and saw a sight most peculiar... some bespectacled old dude was on a street corner using a stair-master. garbed in gym wear, I honestly thought he was raising money for the derelict pub he was exercising in front of, until I saw the popped trunk of the cab parked beside him... then the story materialized: it was a bored cabbie, who, concerned about his health - or trying to work off the viagra he'd been popping recreationally - doing cardio on the street corner! it made too much sense to be funny. 'can you take me home? and step on it!'