Life Outside PLT1

Look familiar?

Top photo courtesy of King of Cards

SON OF WANG: Part 2

To face your fear and find that there is indeed much to be afraid of; that is the only true defeat a man can know. It is akin to surrendering to your enemy in the hope of amnesty, but then watching as they tie up your family, urinate on their faces and set them on fire. And as they reach the point in their agony where they gracefully welcome death as a sweet release from their mortal pain, the flames are abruptly put out by a catapault; firing loads of jello. Wobbling, sweet jello. Then, as soon as you begin crying and a tear hits the floor, a big black guy named Ben shoves a hand grenade in your mouth and smiles like a downs syndrome child.

Now, what was the point of that entire spiel? Well, some might call it foreshadowing. Far be it for me to tell a story like I’m lecturing English; but I am. So listen and you might learn something.

I wasted no time in getting away from that room, away from my father and his nonsensical premonitions. Repeatedly in my mind, over and over again, disbelief throbbed at the tip of my thought spectrum. That same nurse from before walked past me in the hallway wielding a chainsaw, but I couldn’t think about what hilarity she was producing in her own time as I was dealing with a bombshell, my adoptive father is my biological father.

I sat in that seat outside the hospital for what seemed like hours, thinking about all the signs that pointed towards this. I never wanted to be like him, when he told me I was adopted I was relieved; what possibility that I would become like my father was erased. But there was one time when I was 6 years old that “not possible” changed to “remotely possible”; it was outside our old house with my friend “Octavio Octavio” yes, his surname is the same as his given name, Mexicans are weird. Well anyway, we were playing witches and I had a broom between my legs, then Octavio starting being a jerkwad,

“I cast a spell that makes your ding dong disappear”

I don’t know why that was so shocking, but the thought of losing my teeny peeny broke something in my brain, I saw in tunnel vision and I could no longer control myself, I grasped the broomstick, one leg still either side of the shaft and began to beat Octavio with it, the bruises that appeared on him urged me on more, the suggestion that my yoghurt cannon be whisked away was punishable by rage. My blows got steadily harder and his body grew steadily flaccid. I swung my hips to wind up a finishing blow, when I felt my father’s hand on my shoulder. He looked admirably at what I had done and said;

“That’ll do boy, that’ll do.”

That night, my father told me a story about when he beat up an elderly woman in the park using his enormous pink submarine. After that, I stayed in my room for 3 days straight, scared of what I could be capable of.

That was the very first suggestion that he and I might be joined by nature. “Not possible” became “remotely possible”, but even then, that was a small step up; it’s severity paled in comparison to what happened today; when “remotely possible” became “absolute certainty”, to have such a wang… It’s power would corrupt me… I couldn’t let it happen to me, “the embiggening” can’t happen. And I could never have a biological son of my own.

When my mother arrived to pick me up, the rain was beginning to die down. I threw the umbrella into the back seat and slumped into the passenger side, not bothering to fasten my seat belt,

“Son? You ok?”
“I’m fine, mother.”
“How about fastening your seat-“
“THAT WHACK-JOB IS MY REAL FATHER!”

Normally my thoughts leak out in the way of Freudian slips; so a blatant outburst like that was uncomfortable for all parties involved and hence, no-one said a word throughout the ride home and I never ended up fastening my seat belt.

I went straight to my room and sat on my bed; my mother appeared at the door brandishing a watermelon. At least one and a half times the size of my head,

“It’s true you know. Hard to believe, don’t you think? You and him; father and son.”
“I’m trying to get my around this; so if I’m 18 and he’s 30… He was only 12 years old when I was born?”
“RAAARGH!”

With that, my mother threw the watermelon at me and ran back downstairs, still screaming. To see the truth in prophecy, I stood up and flopped out my flogging wand; I placed it on my desk, thighs firmly pressed against the edge, and drew a line with a pen where the lengthiness terminated. I did the same before I went to bed that night; at that point I didn’t notice a difference.

When I awoke the next day, I leapt out of bed and cringed; it felt like I’d been slapped on the thigh. Tiredly, I flopped my porky pickle out onto my desk, looked down, and stared in disbelief.

MUSIC!

holy fucking deep-fried shitballs on a stick!

the Precursors remix of the UQM music is fucking brilliant!

Get the remix packs for the games, whole lot in ogg-ly goodness.

GO! NOW! OR I LAY EGGS IN YOUR BELLY!

the ultimate conspiracy theory

so, heres the deal, assuming that a kardaschev-5 civilisation can appear in 15 billion years, then there could likely be one. if there is (or even if the visible universe and all its physical laws were created by one) then we must be part of the energy production system of said civilisation.

–additional
It occurs to me that this kardaschev-5 civilisation isnt even going to be aware of a sagan-0.7 cilivisation like us. this likely abnegates the proposition that its a conspiracy.

–even more additional.
Dyson Spheres are cool, but we wouldnt be able to detect an efficient one.

SON OF WANG : Part 1

The weather did not look down mercifully the day I left to visit my father in hospital. The thunderstorm drew lines down my face where water seeped through the holes in my shitty umbrella; it belonged to my dad who used to repeatedly tell me “don’t you dare lose that umbrella; I once killed a man who tried to take it from me. That’s not just an umbrella, it’s a trophy.” How ironic it is that such past misadventures have brought their VENGEANCE upon him. Years of pelvic abuse, using his pocket rocket as a tool for execution of social JUSTICE have landed him in hospital with an injured wang, how HEROIC.

From the parking lot, to the waiting room, to the front desk; each step squished on my wet shoes and squeaked upon contact of wet rubber to waxy hospital floor.

“I’m here for a visit; the patient is here with a, err… Pelvic trouble”

The receptionist seemed unimpressed with my talent for devising euphemism;

“Injured wang” I said.
“Oh, I know the one. Your relation to the patient?”
“Son.”

Once inside the room, a nurse opened the curtains of my father’s chamber.

“Turn off the lights”
Said the voice from the bed from behind the green fabric screen.
“They’re not lights, it’s daytime. Idiot”
“BULLSHIT! YOU TELL LIES, YOU FILTHY- Oh, you’re right.”

With that, the nurse left the room.

“Dad?”
“YEAH SON, WHAT’S UP?”
Crude words; coming from an insane parent who rudely awoke to a visitor call.
“Not your wang, that’s for sure”
“BULLSHIT! ME AND THAT NURSE WERE JUST ABOUT TO PORK.”

Unfortunately, he speaks loudly enough to be heard from the next room.

“We are not going to pork”
A hilarious and discouraging reply; I make a mental note to get that nurse’s number when I leave.
“You were saying? ‘Father?’”

I always spoke the word “father” with such venomous overtones; as a child it was made clear to me that I was adopted. Instances such as the occurrences of the present made me feel glad for it.

“Nothing really, I asked you to come around to tell you something about the family.”
He seemed to have calmed down.
“What about the family?”
“You’re about to achieve your family heritage”
“Heritage? What exactly do you mean by that?”
“Our bloodline, you fuck. Our family is descended from the great Wanglorr; first among disciples to the glorious and fruitful wang god!”
“Oh, for pete’s sake-“
“SHUT UP BOY! This is serious, the gift of the wang god to Wanglorr is this; that any male child descended of his bloodline shall, when his father reaches the age of 30, receive ‘the embiggening’”
“Embiggening? What the fuck?”
“You know, I turn 30 this afternoon, boy”
“Oh yeah, shit; happy birthday you wangless old fuck”
“I GOT A WANG YOU DUMBASS LITTLE SHIT! AND AS SOON AS YOU LEAVE, ME AND THAT NURSE ARE GOING TO PORK!”

Once again, from the other room;
“We are not going to pork.”

Unphased, my father continued to speak;

“The embiggening, boy, is this: for the next 5 days you will wake up with a wang larger than before. Until finally; it’s as thick as a basketball and longer than a golf club.”
“Well, that’s all good and well ‘dad’; but I’m not of the bloodline you spoke of. I’m adopted, remember?”
Good god, who didn’t see that response coming from a mile away?
“Nah that was just a lie I told you because you’re a worthless son and I hate you”
Shocker.
“You mean… We’re related? For… Real?”
“YA RLY”

I paused for a moment, stunned into silence by the heavy news that had just dropped onto me. That man sitting before me wearing a derogatory t-shirt over his hospital gown, with a gigantic tubular thing emerging from his pelvis, covered in soiled bandages… My father…

“FUCK!”

While bored at night

For the truely bored you can attempt this online test. However if you do remember to post your result as a comment.

Lou Vincent

Thats just not Cricket!!!

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