OMGWTFLEGO

See, I would have uploaded this here, but that's an exercise in futility and despair. YouTube will have to suffice, instead.

News from the "Scene"

S: We now cross live to Guerilla Journalist, Cam, who has infiltrated a gathering he has deemed worthy of your filthy eyes. Initial reports are sketchy, but apparantly, it's a... uh... a... Bogan Wedding?!? Oh sweet crunchy saviour....
S: Are you still on the scene, Cam?
C: No, it only lasted for twenty minutes, thank god. I don't think I could have coped with the amount of smoke that was being CONSUMED whilst the wedding was in progress.
S: Scintiallting. Any estimates on the crowd size?
C: Maximum.. problably 25 people
S: Gee, that sounds like the wedding lasted at a rate of 1 minute per person
C: The bride looked like Jabba the Hutt in a dress, the resemblance is quite scary, even the skin colour is alike.
S: Yikes. I do believe we have a comparison shot here.
S: Back to the story, what kind of man or woo-man attends such an event?
C: I can guarintee that only 2 or 3 people there were not on government handouts. It also appears that these 2 or 3 sorry souls were the only ones who were paying for the entire wedding, as well as the reception.
S: Where abouts was this illustrious event?
C: Back of Maitland Park, under the shitty old rotunda, next to the cricket ground (which seemed more interesting than the wedding, and I hate Cricket)
S: Where was this reception held?
C: Easts bowling club. All you can eat buffet. $12 a head at the most. I don't understand why someone so OLD would get married. The Ex-Husband was even there, and he made a speech. The even joked (I'm not sure if they know HOW to joke) about receiving half of the Ex-Husbands paycheck.
S: Love is surely in the air, tonight.
C: I don't want to think about that. (looks at the ground)
S: Looking at these photos, there's a few odd things here
C: That wedding dress is borrowed, and looked like it was hardly holding. Oh! And the smell.
S: Flowers?
C: Urine.
S: My Word!
C: Did I mention that the front row consisted entirely of Cripples? Some without teeth?
S: Do we have any photos of it? Ah, yes we do.

[Incriminating Photo Removed due to pending legal action]

S: I gotta get out of this town

Then the Officer Said...

Seb, you appear to have "Dropped The Ball", people are saying, in regard to my lack of posting (lack here referring to failing to generate "lols" since July). I have previously put this down to my rock and roll lifestyle of waking up at 1PM and drinking all night. Well, enough of that! Also the secondary excuse of "I'm not bitter enough to write this bloody thing anymore" (which was met with congratulations, but I knew that deep in their hearts were TEARS for the glory of the past, and the knowledge that this era would no longer be present) might be tested.

But enough meta-wankery (that's for LATER). LET'S GET SOME MEAT ON THEM THAR BONEZ.

Let's have a quick recap of a certain European trip. I can effectively refer to the whole thing as "Great Scaffolding of Europe", since I have the magick powar that consists solely of causing great attractions of the world to be cordoned off when I am near. At least that's what appeared to happen back in 2002/2003. To this effect, I present this collage:



Don't you feel ENRICHED? Like Uranium, I bet! I KNOW I AM.

Also if someone can explain to me why I'm obsessed with Westerns at the moment, but make it a sex-based reason, they'll win another imaginary prize. What we need more of, is filth.
Or this.


Hell, this might be my last farewell ride for all I know.
(rants into oblivion. or Hogwarts. or whatever.)

The Great Debate: Should I Join Facebook?

As you're all probably aware, I'm very stubborn when it comes to signing up to any sort of social networking service. In fact, I've made it perfectly clear why I haven't signed up in the past. If you can't be bothered re-visiting that essay, then I can sum it up by saying: "Frankly, I don't see the point."

But on two separate Wednesday's, I've had people virtually implore me to join Facebook. So I thought that fair's fair, and I should give everyone a chance to convince me. So add a comment to this post, and convince me to sign up. You never know, I actually might do it.

However, I reserve the right to tear apart any and all of your arguments as I see fit, in which case you'll have to do some more convincing or give up. (Let me pre-emptively tear apart one of those arguments by saying that even if you do prove to me Sarah Blasko is on Facebook, which as far as I know she is not, then you'll have to prove to me that it's better than following her beautiful website.)

Alternatively, you're also more than welcome to argue that I should not join Facebook.

A Revised Guide to Public Transport (Incase You Thought it Couldn't Get Worse)

Having been subject to the revised public transport system for some time now, I felt it was time to update the guide, alert you to the horrible changes that have occurred, and discuss some older ones that no doubt existed beforehand but has only been my displeasure to experience after the revamp. If you thought things couldn't possibly get worse, prepare yourself for a shock. If you recognised a bus route number from the old system and naively decided to hop on said bus then prepare yourself for a bigger shock, because you aren't going to end up where you think you will.

Yes, the "geniuses" in charge ludicrously decided to keep the bus route numbers, but change the final destinations. Raise your arm if you think that's a good idea. I can probably guess how many arms are raised and count that number on zero of my hands.

Thankfully, like before, we can place the typical experience into two categories: the Route 100 experience, and the Route 226 experience. And so, once again using experiece and anecdotes, I will explain why applying the phrase "It couldn't possibly get any worse" to the revised network has proven that impossible things can happen.


100

Let's get the nitty gritty out of the way first: those of you with a very good memory (or those of you who cheated just now by looking through the archives to find the old guide) will notice that three numbers are missing from this category: 101, 103, and 108. Apologies to everyone who used to catch these buses, but they're gone forever. And so instead of having a service from the increasingly laughingly named CBD to the Uni through Mayfield every 20 minutes, you have to wait every half an hour. Fantastic.

So, say you want to get from Mayfield to somewhere that one of these now defunct routes went. You have one of two options:

1) Work out a hideously complicated journey that involves a change of buses at one or more points in your journey.

2) Failure.

The 100 now also goes past John Hunter Hospital, one of the many characteristics it has stolen from the 226. But the more things change, the more they stay the same. This bus is always still full of punk school kids and bogans who smell of bogan smell and cigarette smoke. Even if the bus is not full of punk school kids, evidence of their presence still remains in the form of a huge mess on the floor, graffiti everywhere, and the occasional hole cut into the seats.

This route also has the dubious honour of now always being serviced by the air conditioned, wheelchair accessible buses - another honour it tore from the grip of the 226, thus confusing many a 226 passenger when the changes were rolled out and they suddenly found themselves on an old noisy bus.

Surprisingly, the bus no longer suffers from excessive lateness, but having now travelled beyond the bounds of the University towards Charlestown, I have discovered some of its other dirty little secrets. The approach to Jesmond shops will always make your heart sink as you pray that the 50 people sitting around near the bus stop sign aren't all going to get on your bus. I'll touch on the area around Charlestown Square later, because the real kicker that needs to be discussed is the bus stop at John Hunter Hospital.

Anyone wishing to catch a bus outside of the main entrance to the hospital is faced with the ridiculous situation of having buses travelling in both directions being serviced by the one single bus stop on the one side of the road. So not only do you have to make sure you get on the right bus, you have to make sure you're on the right bus that is heading in the right direction. If you don't pay attention then instead of getting into town, you'll end up in Warner's Bay by getting on the wrong 363.


226

As I've already mentioned, the once always wheelchair accessible bus route is now serviced by a mixture of new and old buses. With that in mind, you could be forgiven for thinking that the type of bus you're going to end up on is going to be a bit of a gamble. If you end up catching the bus with any regularity, you can begin to detect a pattern. Catch the 226 at a certain time, and you can know beforehand whether you're going to get an old bus, a new wheelchair accessible bus, or one of the buses that was taken out of service for a bit because they caught fire for no reason.

The once scarcely populated 226 is now guaranteed to be populated with many more people. In fact, when the new networked was rolled out, so many people were catching it during peak hour that it was leaving people (including school kids) behind. Thankfully that frustrating and anger-inducing characteristic has abated (for now). Instead, it's been replaced by a bunch of stupid school kids who get on at School-Kid Central (aka Nineways), and then get off at the next stop. Why can't they just walk?

If you thought that was bad enough, then the 226 gave birth to two new types of bus travellers that are probably now common on may bus routes: the sniffer and the cougher. The sniffer sniffs so much that they sound like they're snorting drugs, and you either want to turn around and yell "Dude, blow your freaking nose" or turn around and punch them in the face. The cougher coughs so much that all you can do is feel disconcerted, and pray that they're covering their mouth and aren't contagious.

These negatives are somewhat compensated for by the fact that the number of people that used to get on at Broadmeadow Train Station has dropped from "An entire, heart-sinking bus load" to "About 10 at the most". Unfortunately, many of the familiar faces from the old guide are also gone. Some are occasionally still around, but most have dissapeared completely (such as Phone Girl, who I think I somehow managed to neglect from the original guide). It is more likely you will find a whole batch of new familiar faces instead. Sadly for you, I haven't given any of them names.

This is all fine if you want to catch a bus from own to Uni, but what if you want to keep going into the realms beyond? I haven't done it myself, but I can still make a few observations anyway. So pay attention 007, because the 226 is like everything wrong with the new network compressed into one neat little bus route package. Officially, the 226 goes from the CBD to Glendale via places like Broadmeadow, University, Jesmond, and Wallsend (and obviously it does the reverse going the other way). The thing is, not every 226 service goes to Glendale and, believe it or not, not every 226 goes to Newcastle Station.

The 226 runs every 30 minutes, like every other "popular" bus route, but it only goes to Glendale once an hour or so (it gets a bit hazy at certain times of day). So you could end up being stuck in Wallsend for half an hour waiting for the next one, or you can wait around in town and catch a different route all together to save you the trouble. And you have to be just as careful going back into town as well. You might end up on a bus that terminates at Broadmeadow Station, or the start of the CBD.


Bonus Content: Other Buses

The one advantage of taking the 100 out towards Charlestown from Uni is that if you wish to head back into town after your trip, you don't have to catch it again. Your best bet is to (usually) catch a service beginning with "3", which for some reason are primarily filled up with old people. The only problem with these buses is that you have to decode an interchange at Charlestown Square nearly as stupid as the bus stop at John Hunter Hospital. Instead of having buses going in two directions on one street, they have buses going in one direction on two streets.

So not only do you have to make sure you're on the right side of the road to catch the right bus going in the right direction, you have to make sure you're on the right street to begin with. If you're not, you have to hike around finding a completely different street to catch your bus, a task made all the more difficult by the fact that the streets in the area appear out of thin air, disappear into the same thin air, and generally don't seem to obey the laws of physics.


Conclusions

At the end of my original guide to public transport, I asked the question of which bus you should catch to Uni. Seeing as now aspects of both routes sometimes want to make you weep, that question is no longer relevent. So what of the network as a whole?

Well, if you want to travel to a popular destination in the city, such as Charlestown or Glendale, then the network can eventually get you there. Just don't expect to be on time: you're either going to be 20 minutes early or 10 minutes late.

I Told You to Vote, So Why Didn't You Vote For Blasko?

Since everyone's jumping into the proverbial pot of cooking comments on why no women made the recent Hottest 100 of All Time list, I thought it necessary in the interests of balance to throw in my two cent coin and contaminate the meal. So firstly, why didn't I vote for any women? The answer is I did, and if you didn't figure that out then you obviously don't know me very well. In fact, had you been following the comments after I told you to vote, you would know that if I had my way Sarah Blasko's cover of Flame Trees would be #1. You should also expect me to have voted for a couple of her other songs, which I did.

So why didn't the rest of you vote for women? The answer is that actually, you probably did as well. So why didn't they make it?

Statistics.

Yes, our old friend from the days of Emperors and Scum has reared its ugly head and come back to haunt the entire nation.

Let's first consider the period that the poll covered: all of time. Since this is too large a time period to be practical for our purposes, let's instead consider music from the 1960's onwards. The 1960's is a good decade to start from, since that's the earliest decade that features in the list. So if all things were fair, then each decade from the 60's would feature 20 times. But nothing's ever fair, and so it's not the case: The 60's & 70's combined come in at about 20% of the entries, the 80's & 00's both feature about 20% each, and the 1990's dominated with over 40% all on its own.

If you were a band in the 60's you were up against the likes of The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, etc. Good luck being remembered, then. So going by our decade-by-decade analysis, women now only have a shot at about 90 spots. The only band with female members from the 70's that comes to mind is ABBA, and that also neatly brings us to the second factor to throw into the fray: The Hottest 100 voter demographic. Do you think a typical voter for the Hottest 100 is going to be a huge fan of something like "Waterloo"? Me neither.

Unfortunately, I can't name any prominent female artists from the 80's. Hell, I struggle to name more than a couple of artists from the 80's anyway without having to resort to Wikipedia, let alone any good songs from the era. So that leaves the 90's and 00's, which equates to about 60 spots. All being fair, they would be split evenly, giving female artists 30 spots on the list, give or take. So where are they?

According to some, the commercial charts. They make music in certain genres that appeals to certain demographics, but nothing that's going to go down in history as The Greatest Song Ever As Voted By People Here and Now Who Might Not Listen to That Sort of Thing Anyway. They're still successful, so they're doing everything right. They just won't make it on to your shortlist.

But what about the ones that will? Like I mentioned, odds are you voted for at least one of these. But which songs did you vote for? Were they the same songs that I voted for? Probably not. And therein is the final heart of the anatomically incorrect beast.

Ask me to name my favourite Sarah Blasko song, and I'd say, "Her cover of Flame Trees. Were you not paying attention at the beginning of this article?" But if I were to ask you what your favourite Blasko song was, you might well name a completely different song. There's no one definitive song that stands out for everyone, and the same goes for a lot of other female artists/bands/etc (and while we're at it, a lot of artists/bands./etc in general). They're all equally good, and so all equally likely to get votes. The votes get split, none of them make the final 100, and the media kicks up a fuss about nothing.

In other words, we shouldn't be panicking. Statistically speaking, a good portion of the list is probably filled with one hit wonders anyway.

A Call To Arms

Attention, fools!
It is time that we, the people, did something for the community, nay, the WORLD, and I, your noble leader dude that you all seem to listen to for no apparent reason have one particular deed in mind.
Bring this article up to scratch, and you'll be the win. Because a town as terrible as Newcastle NEEDS a page that's at least not filled with irrelevant crap, but rather scathing criticism and thinly veiled truths.
Thanks!
-MGMT.

Reasons to be cheerful

Well, I imagine that the main reason to be cheerful is that you're not sleeping in what can effectively, and correctly, be called a "Dogs' Nest". Because I am. Ain't life great?

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's once again dive into the mess I've gotten myself into in this "pub", whilst also forming an effective catalogue of illegal practises and other evidence which would get this place shut down in the wink of an eye if it ever fell into the hands of the relevant authorities.

So, why mention a bed/nest? It's my bed, and I must lie in it, right? Well, there are a few other things that may be handy to know. Like the fact that the frame in my bed collapsed in half, because the frame was actually broken before I arrived. Nothing puts me (or my hips) in a good mood like sleeping on a warped surface.

Speaking of broken equipment, let me direct you towards a device called "Henry"

This poor fellow is held together with Gaffer tape and dreams. Terrible, terrible dreams. So please, ladies and gentlemen, remember the Henry's in your life. They need love too, not just more electrical tape.

Right, time for the "There's no way this building would pass an inspection" shootout! We've got some Hott contenders tonight! Let's meet them!


Weighing in at "Amatuer Backyard Blitz Hour", we've got the Men's Toilet! Punters will note a complete lack of in floor drains and leaking urinal pipes. We can also include his wife, "Ladies Toilets"! Like her husband, she's got no drainage, but comes with a layer of permanently wet carpet. What a potent duo! Knock 'em dead, you two!



Coming up from the pits below, we've got the crumble in the jungle: BROKEN FOUNDATIOOOOOOONS



Look out, ladies and gentlemen, keep watching the skies, because this little scamp will be one to put up a good fight! It's... PILLAR SUPPORTS FALLING OUT OF THE CEILINGGGG!



The stealthy fighter lurks in the corners, ready to dispatch any, and all, comers! It's... water leaking through the wall and causing electrical shorts that make the drinks fridge shut off and the disabled toilet's hand dryer suddenly turn on for no reason

This competetor will be a tough one to beat! WHO ELSE DARES COME?



The plucky filth incrusted gas cannisters in various states of repair! Long forgotten by gas companies, these pillars of wonder stand as a testiment to incompetence. That, and they're adheded to the floor by a pool of liquid filth from the cellar





BUT HERE IS OUR CHAMPION! Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen! Boys and Girls! Say hello to the terror in the cellar, the chunder from down under, The Open Sewer in the wine cellar. Doesn't sound that bad? Imagine the smell, and the fact that both the lightbulbs have burst down here and the management won't replace them. You can easily fall into this death trap! Will this be the biggest star of the OH GOD awards?

Well. I believe that the real star will be one that cannot be shown with mere photography. I'm talking about Racism (against Blacks, Australians, New Zealanders, South Africans, and anyone else who isn't French or English), Dodgy tax activities(after talking with an agent, he mentioned that my contributions were as if I was earning over $100,000/year, based on the percentages, a complete disinterest in obtaining correct details for tax purposes, including aggressive attacks when details were provided), a total lack of professionalism from Management (taking buisness personally, complaining about having to work, overworking staff, underpaying staff, financially punishing staff for management incompetence, using abusive language around customers, blaming all failings on others, inability to accept responsibility, expecting training to occur via osmosis, trying to justify evenings off after a 9-hour day as time off, zero formal documentation, the opinion that everyone except yourself is "Wrong", etc), a lack of Employer Liability Insurance, no interest in maintainance for staff rooms (windows falling out of stills, doors falling off hinges, etc), and so many other forms of idiocy.

So, why do you stay, I hear you cry. Well, there's a somewhat ok reason for that. Guess who decided to work in the UK when unemployment was at it's highest level in over 50 years?

Alright kiddies, back to the Music Discussion with you!

Wake up and smell the ashes.

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Well, Have You?

If you haven't, you'd better have a damn good excuse.

Eurovision Roundup 2009: Wogan's Gone, But The Horror Lives On

As you can probably guess from the title, the undisputed voice of Eurovision, Terry Wogan, decided to call it quits last year after he felt that the competition had been overrun by political voting, or some such nonsense explaining why England finished poorly. I would have thought he'd give it another shot now that they've re-introduced the jury. But more about all of this later, because we've got a lot to get through before we even reach the actual competition.

For those of you who thought it all began on Friday night, you're very, very wrong. The over-the-top drama of Eurovision actually began back in the middle of March when the organisers of this year's event claimed that Georgia's entry, "We Don't Want to Put In", was anti-Russian and aimed at Russian president Putin. Since political entries aren't allowed in Eurovision, they told Georgia that they could change the lyrics in question or use a different song altogether.

Instead of removing the apparent references to Putin, the people in charge of Georgia's entry (Georgina TV or something) decided to chuck a hissy fit and announced that Georgia wouldn't be competing at all. And to make matters even more childish, they announced towards the end of April that they would be holding their own Eurovision style competition with 15 countries competing.


Counting Down to Eurovision: Previews, Lies, and a Pink Limo

In the days leading up to the main event, there was this nice little three part special called Eurovision Countdown. It previewed the city of Moscow, the arena, and the acts competing. The two hosts of the show drove everywhere in a bright pink stretched limousine. It was every bit as painful on the eyes as it sounds.

To preview each song entering the competition this year, we got a taste of the film clips that go with them. And you thought the songs were bizarre. I'm pretty sure there was also a claim in the second episode that explained how the jury system worked. Never happened. But by far the most puzzling thing about these shows is that they were clearly narrated by Mr Amercian-Accent. Well, except for the last episode, which was in part narrated by Mrs Sort-of-Irish-Sounding-but-Still-Mostly-American-Accent.

Each of the three episodes featured a segment by Dr Eurovision (for those of you who've seen Good Game, think something along the lines of those Wagglemax ads - he even sounds like that guy). He explained what happens in case of a tie for first place, and how to be the spokeperson for your country and read out all the points awarded for each country (or how not to). In his third and final segment, he explained that gimmicks are a Eurovision staple, with a nice tip of the hat to DANCING.


Semi Final 1: Send in the Clones Clowns

For the first time since SBS's failed attempt to send their own representative to Eurovision, they decided to have another crack at it now that Wogan's retired. While the British broadcast (and thus Seb) got Graham Norton, we got Julia Zemiro and comedian Sam Pang (who, in the final, wore shirts saying "Terry Wogan's not doing it this year" and "Yes, we miss him too"). Even they acknowledged that no one can replace Wogan, they still did a remarkably good job.

Semi Final One opened with a story about some kids trying to figure out how to fly. After asking various plants and magic animals, including a freaking magic horse, they figure out that the secret of flight is through song. They risked burning the audience with pyrotechnics to tell us that? Ah well. After being told we could SMS our vote and then trying to figure out how the hell you were expected to text "Bosnia and Herzegovania" in time to lodge a vote for them, we got straight into the action.

Montenegro were first up, featuring someone who looked a bit like Suzie Costello dancing around some guy and an office chair. The song was called something like "Just Get Out of my Head". The lyrics, however, make no sense. The basic idea of the song was ""I love you heaps, so because of that, get out of my life." Eh?

Next up was the Czech Republic entry, whose name is that of a website, and whose act was gypsy rap sung by the disturbing contents of a child's toy box. Belgium entered Elvis, singing into a prop mike (the keen eyed viewer will have spotted the face-mike he was wearing), followed by the most bizarre title card I have ever seen on television: "Round Loaf of Bread".

Then came Belarus. Hair metal fronted by a blonde guy in a white suit. See if you can work that one out. Sweden was let down by the mix of the song, which drowned out the main singer, but she got through to the final anyway, so I'll discuss her act later. Armenia did as well, but I'll mention them now because their act featured yet more clones.

Then we cut to an ad break. I wouldn't normally mention this if it weren't for the fact that one of the ads was about tank collecting. Seriously. It was one of those "Buy this magazine and get some free models and stuff in each one." But for TANKS.

After learning that you can smoke "safely" underneath the stands, we were treated to a girl band from Andora, which was more like a cross between Abba and the Spice Girls than anything else. A clone of the woman who sang for Montenegro sang a duet for Israel, and the obligatory political peace song made it through to the final.

Our first look at the the greenroom proved it was not a greenroom. The greenroom is never green. In this case, it was a bar. Which would explain a lot, actually, because the hosts appeared to get drunker each time we saw them. Bulgaria sang a song called "Illusion". You'd hope there was magic or explosions or something. Prepare to be disappointed, because the only illusions I could see were some guys on stilts and some medieval imagery.

F.Y.R Macedonia only proved what we've alway known: part of Eurovision is stuck in the 80's. At least there was a ghost ship and a ghost dolphin in the background. Elana from Romania was next. I won't say much more about Elana from Romania's act, other than to say Elana from Romania made it through to the final. (I just like saying "Elana from Romania".)

After a few more forgettable and/or winning acts, we finally made it through all 18 songs. And then by pushing a magic button, the hosts made us relive "all the songs we've already seen" again. And then after failing to pad out the remaining 6 minutes, they decided we should watch them all again. Oh, but that only padded out the voting part. Now we had to pad out the vote tallying time. And they did that with an act that had everything Russian except those doll-in-a-dolls. We had an army choir, gypsies, drumming, crazy military drumming, t.A.T.u (the fake lesbians), and a bright pink tank with flowers painted on it.

Wait, what?


Semi Final 2: A Change of Pace With The Slow Death of Comedy

The second evening of the proceedings began with a musical number. And it's not just Eurovision without a bunch of covers of past Eurovision winning songs, is it? We finally got those Russian doll-in-a-dolls on the stage, 24 hours too late to feature where they should have featured. After starting off normally, we suddenly entered the realm of the bizarre, with break-dancing to Abba's Waterloo, followed by six people in bear suits dancing to what I think was last year's winning song. That's right, dancing bears. Thankfully our hosts for the evening had sobered up after last night, because they were sensible enough to try and crack a joke about being thankful the bears weren't real.

The theme of the night was slow yet operatic songs sung in front of a wind machine, preferably (although not always) wearing dark colours like black or blue. Poland, Cyprus, and Slovakia are all guilty of this. Their sentence was not making it through to the final, even though they all tried to spice it up in some way. Poland tried to incorporate ballet and gymnastics with those ribbons, Cyrpus sang about fireflies on glowing white boxes, and Slovakia littered the stage with unnecessary pianos.

Ireland had sobered up after the horrific singing puppet turkey from last year. Unlike last year, the audience liked what they were seeing this year, and what they were seeing was a punk rock band singing a song called "Et Cetera". Unfortunately, like the turkey, it didn't get them through to the final. Probably because the crew had forgotten to turn the wind machine off from all the slow songs and not set off any pyrotechnics.

Latvia sang a song about "Probka", or "traffic jams" for you people who want a translation, yet couldn't explain what specific type of traffic jam he meant when Sam Pang asked him about it backstage. He rambled on about traffic jams of the mind and heart and car. But what just do you rhyme "Probka with"? "Vodka," apparently.

While it's debatably whether the Latvian entry was a "comedic" entry or not, Serbia's entry clearly was. But it only showed that the comedy act suffered badly from the attack by the mental-scar-inducing Irish turkey puppet, and was represented in a diluted, dying form by a guy who looked a bit like Penn from Penn & Teller wearing a yellow jacket and with absurd hair (so absurd that it was hard to tell if it was a wig or not). Sure, it had the obligatory accordian that all Eurovision comedy acts must have, but it didn't have much else.

After our hosts had become drunk again, and the hostess had refashioned her hair to become one of the aliens in disguise from Mars Attacks, we were treated to a 3 and a half minute song introduction from Slovenia, who opened in silhouette form. After a tediously long section in which no lyrics were sung, and in which the instrumentalists came out from silhouette form, the singer decided to stay there until about halfway through the singing bit. And then the song just stopped, only to be followed by a lesson in bad fashion sense by Hungary.

After a few more acts that made it to the final, we were once again treated to the "Start your tank collection today" ad. The stream of acts ended with the Netherlands, who's song was called Shine. Sequinned suits, glowing palms, and back-up singing divas in white. What else did you expect?

After once again failing to pad out the voting time in an entertaining way (yes, all 19 songs were recapped twice this time too), the hosts also failed to once again pad out the vote tallying time. This time we were treated to folk dancing from different countries. No such segment is complete without some good old Zorba, and I have to admit, the Russian folk dancing was rather impressive.

Now, because I didn't cover it in the first semi-final, I'll do so now. Here's how the songs that were going through to the final were revealed: The hosts pushed their magic button again. And again. And again. Once to reveal each song, in fact. Given how they managed to stretch this part of the proceedings out, it's baffling to think that they struggled to pad out the voting and tallying. It was probably the alcohol.


The Final: "Did You Ever Go To A Place... I Think It Was Called Norway?"

Well, odds are you would be next year. They were the favourite to win the final, with betting odds of $1.50. That's a pretty sure bet. But what was their act like, and what was their competition like? This year, in order to stamp out "political voting" the organisers of the competition decided to make the scoring system even more complicated by re-instated the jury, who gets a say on where points go. Beyond that, I've got no idea how it works.

Before we got to figure out whether Norway would win, we were treated to a (shock horror) sensible opening act featuring Cirque du Soleil. After honouring the Eurovision tradition of featuring last year's winning song performed by a guy on wires doing acrobatics, we were introduced to the new, sensible, sober hosts. Sam Pang summed it up best when he said "It's sad when they get hosts who know what they're doing, isn't it?"

Mercifully, we didn't have to put up with them for too long, and we finally got the opportunity to figure out whether betting on Norway is a good idea. Lithuania performed magic, since the piano he was playing kept making sounds after he got up, and then he set him palm on fire. (Sort of.) France gave as a cabaret singing corpse, and Spain gave us what she would have looked like if she was alive, with a bonus magic trick that was incredibly easy to figure out.

There's always a rule that Sweden enters Abba into the Eurovision Song Contest. This year, instead of enetering Abba, they entered one of the members of Abba singing Popera (that's pop fused with opera). Croatia proved that you can't do Eurovision without an act that involves slow, overacting movements and a wind machine.

Germany gave as someone with an American accent singing about something other than happiness and joy for once: a big band swing number, silver pants, and Dita Von Teese. The real Dita. Not a Eurovision clone. Portugal gave us something along the lines of what Germany usually enters.

The other real-life cameo of the night went to England, who were desperate not to come last again. So they gave us a Whitney Housten look-a-like accompanied by the real-life Andrew Lloyd Weber. Denmark gave us a Ronan Keating look-a-like singing a normal country song.... until the pyrotechnics.

The closest thing to an Australian entry at Eurovision was Greece, because two of the song writers were Australian. And they know the golden rule for a Eurovision song: It must feature a key change. I only hope that it wasn't choreographed by Australians, because that would be something to be ashamed of. It was like Ricky Martin doing disco.

Russia gave me false hope. She looked damn fine in the interview on Eurovision Countdown, but on the night the song fell flat, and she looked like Catherine Zeta Jones had just woken up, thrown a towel around herself, and was about to have a shower. Turkey got through to the final on sex-appeal, by doing what they always do: belly dancing.

Estonia was fronted by an Emily Browning look-a-like who also played violin. "Part voice, part fringe" as Sam put it. In keeping with the movie-star-look-a-likes-who-can-play-also-play-violin theme, Norway gave as a Zac Effron look-a-like singing an upbeat folk song that would be more appropriate for Ireland. You're singing for the wrong country Zac!

Ukraine and Albania went for a different theme: bizarre costumes that have nothing to do with your song. Ukraine sang a dance floor number about Valentine's (which for some reason later morphed into "anti-crisis girl"), but if you can explain to me what giant cogs and dancing Roman centurions have to do with that, you're doing better than the rest of us. But Albania takes the cake by giving us a peek at what Nikki Webster's career could have been like: singing in a pink tutu with two vampire mimes and a human disco ball thing whose meaning is never explained.

As usual, if you're like me, you don't bother sticking around for the voting, and once proceedings are over you look up who won on the official website. Or, as was the case this year, stumble across the result while searching Wikipedia trying to figure out how to spell "Zemiro". And the winner? Lets' just say that Norway's gamble to please the High School Musical crowd paid off, giving them the win with a "record breaking" score of 387. Iceland came second with 218.

So to everyone who bet on Norway: Congratulations, you've hardly made any money at all.

Reasons for Advice from Friends

Sometimes, when you are saying your bittersweet goodbye to good friends outside a train station, something they say will stick in your mind. This time, it was Sarah's words that stuck with me

Find a new job and place before you get Hepatitis, ok?

Despite having shots to protect against such a thing before departing, I now strive to achieve such a lofty goal.
This is all very confusing, allow me to bring you up to speed...

This is where I work for (at least) 45 hours a week. Behind a bar. Not so bad, right? I mean, you meet plenty of interesting characters, such as a racist football hooligan who calls his dog "Nigger" (the dog looks happy and wags its' tail), the illiterate, the people who will only drink one thing, the confused tourists, and the insanely self-opinionated. Overall, not a bad crowd.
Let's dig a little deeper...

Here's the cellar/sewer/laundry. This place is such an enormous fire-hazard, I'm surprised I haven't been immolated yet. That white stuff on the floor doesn't come off. Believe me, I've tried. I think it's a stalagmite of soap powder, but I could be wrong.
This is what's right next to those aging whitegoods. An open sewer with a steady flow (and backflow) of spilt beer and filth.

Here's the sink that resides next to the washing machine and the Icebox. See that brownish tint on the bottom? That's not a mirror shine. That's a filth I don't dare touch. I think it's growing.
Let's step outside and see what's going on in the neighbourhood!

It's exactly what it looks like.

Final stop on the tour of terror is.. the most horrid of all.
The Staff "Bathroom":



To clarify, that's orange mould/bacteria/virii on the walls, there's a black trail of something, (appears to be blood), and the sink is about to fall through the rotten countertop.
And this is after I cleaned it up. Imagine it before. Yeah.
So, what do I think about playing Exotic Disease Roulette everytime I have a shower?
Yeah. Feel the love.

The Law of Conservation of Relationships

For any social group whose size remains constant over time, the average number of people within this group who are in a relationship will also remain constant over the same period of time.

Discuss.

More of the Paranormal, According to YouTube

Since the first post seemed to entertain you skeptics so much, I decided to hit YouTube for another round of dodgy video "proof".

More UFOs and Aliens

There's nothing quite like run of the mill UFO footage. For the uninitiated, let's take a moment to consider what a run of the mill UFO video is made up of:
- Distant light moving in "strange" ways.
- Multiple witnesses who are either so speechless they can only go "woah" or are so excited that they can't stop talking in ludicrous exaggerations like "this is end of the world type shit".
- Shaky, amateur handheld footage zoomed in so far they lose sight of it every ten seconds.

What could be better than that? How about TWO lots of shaky, amateur handheld footage? Even with two shaky cameras in roughly the same location, it's difficult to tell what it is. Who'd have thought?

Run of the mill alien footage seems to be something we've encountered before. Remember that video with those idiots going outside to find whatever was peering in their window, and then running away? Ladies and gentlemen, I give you a new group of people doing exactly the same thing. You can either watch the 35 second short version where they get freaked and run, or you can watch the full 5 and a half minute version that includes all the explanations and build up while they wait for darkness to fall.... and also a sped up game of ping pong accompanied by the song "Banana Phone".

Here is a video of some traffic police in pursuit of some strange lights. Now, I'm going to let you watch this video once (without reading the comments, please) so you can come to the same conclusion that everyone else does.....

Finished? Think they were chasing the lens flare in the windshield, do you? Wrong! According to one of the comments, apparently they were chasing that small white light on the horizon that's only visible for half the shot. So yeah, either they were probably chasing a plane, or some idiot has posted some highway patrol footage on YouTube out of context.


Monsters

Let's venture somewhere we didn't go last time, and take a look at monsters. The great thing about videos of "monsters" is that they're usually just some normal, harmless animal in an unusual light. Or crap CGI. A perfect example of the former is this video of a "monster" caught on CCTV footage running across a highway. Yes, Britain is running rampant with dogs or deer or something.

But, if it isn't an alien, then there seems to be a trend on YouTube to call it Chupacabra with no regard to how the legend actually describes Chupacabra. The Wikipedia entry on the creature describes it as either a lizard like creature, or some sort of dog. All I know is that it does not look like this. While Britain is running rampant with highway invading deer, the U.S. is being invaded by warthogs masquerading as Chupacabra.


A.... What is That Meant to Be, Exactly?

This video says it's a fallen angel in Catalonia. They don't speak English in it but don't worry, it's subtitled. (In Spanish.)

This video raises a lot of questions. If it's an angel, then why did you run away from it? Why didn't it say "Be not afraid?" Wait, why were you even in the forest at night in the first place snooping around?

So, what is it? There are a lot of instances of this clip on YouTube. Some claim it's chupacabra, and you might find one touting even more possibilities by asking whether it's an angel, an alien, or even gollum. So which on is it? Chupacabra? A fallen angel? An alien? Gollum?

Or maybe it's, oh I don't know, a malnourished homeless man eating a bird?

So Seb, What have you been up to?

Yes, it's exactly what it sounds like.
There was even a daring escape.
Life is good... when I'm not working.

Facebook: A (Hopefully) Comical Rant

Alternative titles I was playing around with were things like "Reasons Why I Hate Facebook", "Some Reasons Why I'm Not on Facebook", and so on. I think you get the picture of where this post is going.


Security, Part 1:

Apparently Facebook is being targeted by naughty boys and girls who like to write malicious software and distribute it using social engineering techniques. This is a minor quibble, since Santa Claus will deal out justice to those people in due course. But I'd rather not have to deal with it in the first place.


Security, Part 2:

I hear that when you first sign up, your profile is available for everyone in the World of Facebook to view. Sure, you can fix this by changing the security setting, but if it announces my full name to the world immediately, without my permission, and without even telling me it was doing it (like it was when I somehow managed to accidentally sign up for Windows Live Spaces or whatever the hell it was), then that can't be a good thing. Ever.

The only thing going for Facebook so far is that you can't sign up accidentally.

At least, I don't think you can.....


Content:

I hear you can sell people and buy people. In the midst of the current financial crisis, this can not be a good investment. Nor can it set a good example. I also hear you can become a vampire and bite people, or some such. Again, not a very good case of example setting, and probably only a good way to meet Twilight fans, of which I am not. I doubt all the other stuff you can do to people is any better if you apply real world logic.

There's also these Facebook Group thingies, the general rule of which seems to be "The name of the group must be at least 60 words long, be super-specific, and sound stupid." And they all sound pointless. The "I secretly want to punch people who walk slowly in the back of the head" group is a prime example, and I wouldn't be surprised if there was a "I like to walk backwards for 37 minutes every Saturday morning" group. What's the point? What do these groups actually do? They can't really talk about the subject of their group because they've said most of they need to say in the super-long title. There's only so many other things you can say about walking backwards for 37 minutes every Saturday morning, and the stuff you can say is about as interesting as "Nice weather." (It wouldn't surprise me if there was a "Nice weather" group too.)

And that brings us neatly to the real killer: the conversations that take do place, anywhere in the midst of Facebook. Bob once mentioned his arse in an argument, claimed that it was due to logical progression, and therefore legitimate conversation. If Bob can mention his arse, I do not want to imagine what other people are capable of talking about. Such things should never be written/typed, said, implied, sent via Morse code, signed in any form of sign language, or (God forbid) drawn/photographed. I don't want to ever have to read stuff like that. I'd rather not be reduced to tears, thank you very much.


Reputation:

Let's face it, all social networking sites have had their reputations soiled by several things..... Alright, one thing: MySpace. From the stereotypical people who use it and their ability to torture the English language, to the page layouts that made a trip to the optometrist mandatory, it dominated the social networking scene and adopted a scorched Earth policy at the same time. The social networking landscape will never be the same again.


It's Not Efficient:

Everyone who I want to give out my contact details to already has them. If you've already got them, why do I need to tell you all what they are again? And why do I need to sign up to some service to do that?

And even then, it seems to me that you all only seem to be using it as a glorified messaging service to tell people about your next party. You're still not being efficient because you've still got to tell the people who aren't on Facebook (e.g. Me) by Some Other Means. So why not use that Some Other Means in the first place? Wouldn't that be easier? I mean, I'd still have to sign in to Facebook in order to see all this stuff, whereas if you just emailed me, it's in my Inbox ready to go.


"But Lambie, You Can Have All Those Alerts Emailed To You!"

Oh, so it can spam me with notifications, can it? Brilliant.

I won't ask why you can't just cut out the middle man (or should that be middle face?) and just email everyone, once, with the notification they need. I suspect the answer will dismay me.


You All Seem to Hate It Anyway:

No, really. Every time Facebook is even brought up, it always seems to be about how you all hate it and don't know why you use it. "It crashes my laptop if I leave it open and put the screen down." "I don't want my details spread out to everyone in the world." "I don't care if it's some guy's birthday who I went to high school with. Stop telling me." Sound familiar? All those quotes came from Time Magazine's Person of the Year for 2006. (You.)

No one's actually managed to give me a convincing argument as to why I should be using it. All I see and hear is reasons why I shouldn't.

Against my better judgement, I present this....

Hey Peoples!
In a series of increasingly stupid dares with myself, I've been attempting the emulation of the (amazingly excellent) A Softer World, and so, I present to you, some fan arts of sorts.





Normally, I'd ask you not to call the police, but I think I fear a visit from Joey more than anything the autorities can do. That man will punch you in the penis.

Hearts & Minds

Congratulations, London. You've won me over. Sure, you've got absolute tripe on the TV, the prices on everything are predominantly huge, and the level of security and paranoia is frightening, not to mention that the police will stop you in the street for looking out of place, and travelling around is a nightmare.
Yes, inspite of all your ills, you have won me over.
This is how.

You've got Pvt. Hudson's Armour.

A Message From the Caretaker

Let's face it. While Seb's gone, the blog won't be quite the same. However, let me reassure you for the umpteenth time that this does not mean there will be no updates at all while he is gone. I will continue to give you new content whenever I can, but I can't guarantee that it will be as frequent as Seb's offerings.

In other words, you've got no excuses to stop checking this place for updates. After all, if Seb does end up posting something you'd miss it, wouldn't you?

And let's not forget that Eurovision is just around the corner....

Stay tuned!

END_OF_LINE

Hey fellow fools, since the economy crashed, and crashed harder than running my computer on a 40 degree day with no airconditioning (Read: The GPU overheats and turns off, and won't turn back on until you turn off the computer and let it have a good hard think about WHAT IT HAS DONE), the costs of living and such have risen through the roof, and, on the advice of my "accountant" (a shrivelled up moth in a jar), I am liquidating assets and fleeing the country for greyer pastures. London is calling, and it's telling me that I can now be the ultimate cheapskate by not watching TV because you have to pay for it over there. Woo! Also Colour is too expensive these days, so I'm going back to Monochromatic Vistavision, instead of the expensive Technicolour. The wonders!
So! Whatever is to happen to this, the dead-end of the Internet? Well, I suppose that you might get some more postings from I, but I wouldn't put your house on it, or you'd get forclosed. Just wait and see, is the official line.
Until further Notice, I leave the blog in the hands of Lambie, to do with as he sees fit.

GAME OVER

CONTINUE? (10)

Depth charging the abyss

Unfortunately for all those involved, there were still more horrors to be unearthed. Tales of lessons long since lost to the mists of time, references to "in-jokes" (with myself, unfortunately), and what some are interpreting as an unadulterated stream of consciousness. These could be considered the staple of such arcane scribblings.
Of course, there are the occasional exceptions to these rules.


This incredibly archaic find appears to predate the previously shown "Year 9 Diary", which is an almost unheard of occurrence. Note the savage and untamed flow of the epic tale, divided into chapters to prolong some semblance of logic and progression. The shear power behind the writing indicates to us that the author must have worked himself into a furor, similar to the berserker viking warriors, cackling madly as he butchered the rules of literature without abandon.


Moving on, here we see a rare example of a completely intact title page! The fact that the vast majority of our finds are constrained to a 2cm wide section of the page further highlights the importance of this work. While we revel in it's colour, we see reference to a historic event, which some of the academies more enthusiastic researchers refer to as the "47 Pags = $940" night. The common consensus is that this event occurred back in the completely undocumented time known as "Schoolies", but most stories heard today must be taken with a grain of salt, as the ravages of repetition of generational story-telling have warped some versions of this tale beyond recognition.


In this article (a rare example, as it is also not confined to the "2cm regions"), there are two main areas of interest. The first is a comparison of two historical figures, believed to be father and son. While most works reference the elder as a Walrus, here we witness a burst of unbridled creative spirit, as the artist has chosen fruit over mammals. Deeper meanings to be drawn from this startling find are being feverishly discussed, and the academy is expected to release the results in 8-16 months. The second item of interest comes from the female form, which some say represents a "Lilith"-like figure. Some have identified her as the threat sleaze poses to self esteem, or the danger of false identity. Others simply say she is a drug-fueled slag illustrated to draw attention and ridicule. The truth? We may never know.


In a much celebrated return to form, precious scribblings were found once again, creating a great deal of 'excitement' (read: Terrified wailing and howling) for the archivist whom located the aforementioned text! References to music, culture, and everyday life litter these columns. They give us a glimpse of many things, including Science, which was only available to the mass media via "Brainiac" in those days. Dark days, when Richard Hammond was referred to as a sniveling little twerp, it is whispered, rather than the People's Champion he is known as today. Parallels may be drawn between him and Robin Hood, who's reputation amongst the people similarly mutated over time, until the early days were long forgotten to most.


The above image has been enlarged in order for some of the finer details to be examined. It is believed to be one of the few remaining documented Year 12 Physics scriptures left in existence. Further speculation on the nature of this strange work is underway as of present.


In this collage, we see the work of several periods combined into one, which oddly enough, does not contextualize the work, nor alter it's meanings. This page seems to be fueled by ennui and rage. Let us not dwell upon it too heavily, lest we end up with the rumoured "Tourettes Column".


While the previous collage held many stories and tales, this image contains some of the earliest known images of "The Toaster", a near-mythical being who sees into the dark hearts of men, and knows what you are up to. This moral compass is still in use today by some prominent scientists. Also of interest in this collection are what appears to be visual learning aids for probability and chance, despite the maths being lost to time, the concept of the problem is still obtainable, and has been left to the reader as an exercise.


On this page, we see the tale of "Karyn Vs. CAT5 REPAIR FANCIER", a tale of torment and suffering. Due to apparent size restrictions, the complete version of this tale would not have been recorded here, as the number of CAT5 fanatics was both overpowering and too horrifying to be fully committed to paper, it is said. We also see reference to a meat-based feast, or at least the planning of. While some details about the actual event still remain, these appear to be alternative suggestions for the event! Such a rare find! We also find a tale of blundering upon these pages, in an incident known to an educated few as "Scooby Doo with Sodomy". The rest of the tale has, unfortunately, been lost to time.


In our final exhibit, we have a large collection of pieces, spanning all of the "University-Era". Of interest is the heroic tale of the "Cuz", and his noble plans for his nonadecannual celebration. Stirring tales of chivalry, indeed! The remainder of the work can be entered into on extended detail at request, as can any of the other works.
I humbly seek your forgiveness,
Snr. Fratosaur Esq.
Boog Div.

Trawling the oceans of horror

After digging through layers and layers of school, uni, and god-knows what else papers (due to the "I want your room, get out of my house"-esque cleanings that also caused me to catch diseases which have died out completely on the rest of the planet), I found several "gems" of interest. As for the kind of interest, I'd say that most of it was perverse curiosity about what kind of shite ends up in my work books. Let's just say that the end products sometimes need to be seen to be believed...


Here we see a historical record of a stand in substitute science teacher, known as "Hargraves". This ineffectual mentor has been immortalised for the ages, as was his effect upon those classes he oversaw. Mister Hargraves, we shall never forget you.

From here, we venture into a world more terrifying and unknowable than the great old cold one, C'thulhu: It's the remains of a Year 9 diary. This ancient tomb contains arcane and forbidden knowledge, and has been foolishly reproduced below.


Tremble in fear at the true face of Craig David, an RnB artist lost to time, we also need to heed the dire warnings of eggs & fruit.



The universally recognised Skull and Crossbones here serves as a warning to all who would venture into these waters, with the dainty hat as a potential homage to the village green preservation society, as they are the true face of evil. If we can draw our gaze away from the visual warning, and ponder the text on this page. The apparently life affirming farming motto should be presented to parliment as a way to revitalise the agriculture community through a school apprenticeship program. Or perhaps Villain Van Gobble is the real answer.


Here is a brightly coloured page, which warns potential predators of its' extreme poisonous nature. Even through digitisation, the maximum viewing time should not exceed 0.5 seconds, as this is the time required to reach your yearly acceptable dosage of Fluro Texta. We should at least be thankful that a protective flap has been installed to shield our eyes from the scene most profane. The cave-painting like scrawling tells of an epic battle between history teacher and her students (and her car keys), and let the word go out: Those who forget history are doomed to be hit in the face with sharp metal objects.



The overall message of this page is mixed. Perhaps the true nature of this page is to simply be penultimate in a terrible story. Or it could simply be about heavily armed seals.



It appears that the former assumption on the former image was the correct one. As for the moral of this tale, it appears that we will have to settle with "EH?". Of interest to the reader on this particular page is not the inclusion of the paranoia, but the mention of the now published MacDeath. I wasn't lying when I said it was 7 years in the making, now was I?



Here we see a tale of a great deception, and battle. A costume party, of man in elaborate baking cloth versus Wangi Rat. We also see a stirring critique of the impact that over analysis of literature can have on malleable young minds, viz: "English Blows Donkeys".



Here, we see the recording of an event that shaped the Western Hemisphere like no other. Unfortunately, we will have to settle for this "on site" recording of September 1211, complete with crude reproduction, without fear of censorship. Also, advice for the younger generation about the potential damage to the bulbourethral glands, the spermatic plexus, and the paminiform plexus, especially when encountering several vibrations and shock. A warning to the cermastic muscle, and those who would disregard its importance.



In this piece, we see the culmination of 9 months of a school year. The messenger appears to us in a technicoloured vision. He is a man of remarkable physique and stature, towering above the pettiness of trivial matters such as Sport and Education, but instead represents an übermensch of sorts, a higher form of human, a goal for humanity to strive for, after the rejection of slave-master morality. Further evidence in support of this hypothesis are the words present above this icon, which empower the reader to break free from his cage (Microsoft Excel Spreadsheets) to his ultimate freedom (some sort of 3D game hidden in the code which bloats out the software by a few megs). Thus Spoke Zarathustra!



After reaching an epiphany in the previous entry, we may fast-forward 5 years. Here we see a page which may be familiar to some more astute readers. While not as inspirational as some of the earlier works, it still holds merit. Would we not be lost, for instance, without the terrible result of combining our avian ally with gluten-based foodstuffs? I seriously doubt our world would be in it's current state without this knowledge. We also see reference to the return of Batman, but how powerful an effect this will have on future generations is yet to be seen. This brings us to the final page in our Diary series...



Present on these pages is, perhaps, one of the finest, biting social commentaries on the Harry Potter phenomenon known to the world. Simply titled "QUIDDICH", it demonstrates how with simple substitution of hair colour, hats, and a few textas, any 3 males and accompanying lady can recreate any of the 7 Harry Potter books in an effective manner. When you are reading these tales to your grandchildren, remember this addendum, as it will enrich your family for generations. Or, potentially, the dangers of being a journalist.
Speaking of dangers, prepare thyselves for one of the most shocking images ever placed upon this blog. We are proud to present a collage of margins from a text entitled "Digital Comms". Many researchers died to bring us this, let their sacrifice not be in vain.


On such a terrible note, I must leave you, as the hour draws late. I prey that such terrible revelations do not keep you from dreams most rancid.

Your Friendly Neighborhood Fratosaur,
Boog Division.