Posts Tagged ‘horror’

 

I dream of an ink vampire, draining chinese ideograms, celtic crosses, pictures of dogs, MOM, southern crosses, rebel flags, big boobed naked girls, meaningless epigrams, fanned cards, LOVE, band names, HATE, gothic script, military insignia, stupid lyrics, astrological signs, hula dancers, horned devils, feathered chiefs, bible quotes, affirmations, garish sleeves*.  How it thrives now, after years of sustaining itself only on sailors, convicts, military personnel and bikies#.  It has added hipsters and wannabes, footballers and crickets captains to its food supply.  All the skinny Zooey Deschanels^ of the world, not much blood, but lots of ink.  Spread the disease, so that the hungry may feed on the hipster inksters.  Share the plague, disseminate it throughout the world, so that the hungry hordes may rise up, then descend.  How they scream, the victims when they awake, searching their bodies for their specially chosen design, but finding only a faint outline left.  “Do you know how much that cost me?”  A small child wipes its mouth, hunger sated for the first time.  INK!  MORE!

++++

*I’m not talking about you.  I know that your (insert description here) tattoo has deep personal significance and relevance.  It is the others.  Keep it to yourself though.

#All personnel here at the lab are required to have a tattoo of Casper the Friendly Ghost, to remind them of the forces they are messing with.

^ bad example?  I only know hipsters from TV ads, and they definitely said “hipster Zooey Deschanel” on channel 10.  There are no hipsters here in Glossolalia, and certainly none in Katingal, where I grew up.

! Have I sufficiently alienated everyone yet?  Some rebel against their upbringing, but I was sufficiently indoctrinated.  Joe Chip Sr always remarked, “Why get a tattoo?  Buy a T shirt, when you get sick of it, buy a new one.  Whaddya gonna do when you get sick of that, buy new skin?  Scribble over it?”  Maybe that’s the next product line here at the lab, new skin for the tattooedly challenged.  I picture a sportsman being interviewed after an event, his torso covered with tiny ink stamps.  The camera zooms in.  It can just make out the writing: ‘Instead of being tattooed, I donated $500 to …’.

Advertisements

…the horror…

…the horror…

Reader, I cheat again, but you will see why if you click here

Here at the Joe Chip Laboratories, we try not to eat the living.  or even bits of the living.  And you wonder how the zombie apocalypse is actually going to start – its going to be with guys like these.

“Ma, I don’ feel so well.”

“You look awful – you bin eatin’ anything strange?”

“I didn’t eat it, it were only in my mouth but a moment.”

“Well Bubba stop chewin on me!”

[HP Lovecraft would envy my dialogue.]

Stolen from Mr Battersby.

Joe Chip, you are such a child, you hide your feelings by joking about them, you cannot even write the word “LOVE” – there, was that so hard?  Now, I want you to really chow down, there, get stuck into it, a great big plate of love.  There is going to be a lot of work in this taste test, Joe.  You have to work your way through a kilometre (1) of chocolate before you even get to the cardboard of pulped cards.  There are so many layers to this planet.  I know no human should have to eat roses, but Joe, it is for science, you cannot let a few mouthfuls of thorns get in your way.  Stuffed animals and inedible poem after inedible poem.  I know Joe, I feel your pain.  Here is a hard bit – you are going to fall a great distance through a void.  Your guts are going to flip, they will flop, your hormones will go astray, yes, even though you are a boy.  It won’t seem empty for a while, there are giga-years of trite and awful songs to accompany you, the god-awful soundtrack to your descent (2).

Are you in the darkness Joe?  Do you feel the pressure of the vacuum?  How rarefied the air, here in the middle.  How lonely you are!  But I want you to persist.  You are too far for the lights of distant galaxies to penetrate.  You are going to have to do this by touch.  You will need to trust that you still have senses, and that there is something to detect.

Feel them?  The rocks?  The weathered crusts, the wrinkles?  There is no air blowing down here, Joe.  If anything is smooth, it is because it is worn by years.  Don’t bite Joe, it will break your teeth.  There are no soft centres here.  There are no soft exteriors.  Not down in the pit of love.  This love is ugly, Joe.  This love is ancient couples, sculpted by years.  This love sits quietly next to a shell that memory has deserted.  This love feeds a child that can never love back.  This love is dribbling, Joe.  This love has forgotten its dreams and turns up to work each day.  Its nails are broken, its fingers blue.  None of this love is what it was, Joe.  None of it is what it thought it would be.  It is spastic, it is crippled, it is overweight, it is anaemic, it is windblown and time torn, years shrunk and care worn.  This love endured, Joe.  It is ugly.  It is beautiful.

Yes Joe, I know it is hard to taste with that crass red rayon teddy caught between your teeth (3).  I wish you could have skipped that level, or taken a more expensive route at least (4).   The things you do for science (5).

 

(1)  Science is metric.

(2) ha ha, he is falling in love.

(3) cheap lingerie, the scabby gifts men buy for themselves but pretend even to themselves that it is for someone else.  French maids outfit, anyone?  Sexy nurse, perhaps?

(4) such is the level of our funding.

(5) Happy Valentine’s Day, scientists.  Your mate loves youse all!

Wombats are big furry buggers that look like a giant crawling teddy bear and the unsuspecting say “oh cute, so cute” until they turn and outrun your wife and trip her over and you keep running you coward because you have soiled yourself you are so scared, they just keep running and you hear your wife scream because its stopped now, only a fallen victim will stop it, and you hear it, you hear her flesh being torn, it makes a ripping sound, and you cannot ever forgive yourself but you also hate her a little bit forever, because she cannot forgive you, and it is no consolation that the wombat does not eat the flesh, it tears and nuzzles for a moment then returns to its business, it does not eat her because it is a herbivore, but it rips her because it is a nasty big furry bugger, and it could answer the question if it could speak, it could tell you if your wife tastes like chicken, because it has tasted both even though it does not swallow, but even if it spoke, you would be too chicken shit to ask, you gutless wonder.  The relief you felt when she fell.

Not to be confused with the cryptid womb-bats.

I have had widespread communication with many on the blogospheriumacle regarding issues relating to diet and food and personal hygiene and bones.  “Hey, mymatejoechip”, begin a number of the requests to me, “can you please help.  I am a vegan/vegetarian, that is the way I am hard-wired and there is nothing I can do about it.  Even if I tried to put meat into my mouth, the Elder Gods would turn it into grass, water and sunlight, which tends to burn my tongue and feel uncomfortable.  I don’t want to apologise for who I am, but I am sick of nut cutlets.  What do you advise?”

Firstly, I advise never to apologise.  It is taken as a sign of weakness.  We are who we are.  Be proud.  But don’t be annoying.

Secondly, have you read my posts?  Why are you asking me for advice?

Thirdly, what did you do to piss off the Elder Gods so much?  Do you sense things moving just at the edge of your vision as you try to go to sleep at night?  Do you find personal items to be not quite where you left them?  You may not have much time left.

Fourthly, yes, I will help.  Of course I will.  I am your mate.  (But only with the eating.  Not with the demons so much.)

To get some perspective, I made contact with a vegan person whose post compared a barbecue to the Holocaust, to ask if she ever used antibiotics.  “All the time” she assured me.  Given that she used them so often, I wondered if it was part of a plan to destroy the efficacy of antibiotics through overuse, the sacrifice of several trillion bacteria now to guarantee the long term survival of their race.  “No” she replied, “I take them to stop being sick”.  “So vegans do not have a prohibition on germ warfare?”  “No, we only object to the enslavement and consumption of sentient beings.”

I learned a good deal through that intercourse.  There will come a time when GM produces non-sentient meat so that everyone will be happy.  Vegans will be able to eat like everyone else, and they won’t annoy omnivores by making barbecues difficult.  Until that day, it is up to me to assist.  And I have the solution: germ sausages.

With a small grant from Trevgene (and a large smirk from it’s proprietor), I have set up a laboratory to produce germ sausages.  You are all aware of my long held interest in the microbial.  Now I can put it to use to feed mankind, in particular those suffering the effects of dietary restrictions.  The process is in its early stages, however even now we are encouraging bacterial colonies to grow in sausage shapes, and in sufficient quantities.  Tiny sausages you can only see under a microscope may be cute, but they are not appropriate for sale in butchers.  We are using only wild, free-range microbes, nothing that has been caged or factory harvested, and to date we are mostly concentrating on strands that are relatively harmless to humans.

If you want to try this at home, good luck, its for a good cause.  As a tip, I have found that the main difficulty is in getting the germ colonies large enough.  To achieve this, you need a good culture.  I can’t give away too many commercial secrets, however we use cow’s blood in ours*.  I hope to provide photographs soon.  Our main aim is to get them to taste like chicken.

If you have tried this, please let us know your results.  We welcome any suggestions of good bacteria to use.

*Taken only from wild cattle who are dripping blood and leaving a trail, after being accidentally cut by encounters in natural surroundings, or savaged by wild beasts before we got there.